by Julia London
Another door adjoined Hannah’s room to the bathroom. Of course Hannah had been granted the best room with the window seat. Holly had always loved this room with its high Victorian ceilings and its bay windows and its yellow wallpaper with tiny little green vines and white flowers trailing up to the crown molding. Her mother had given Hannah this room because, she’d said, Hannah kept her room so clean and her grades high, whereas Holly hadn’t been quite as neat, and of course there were those pesky Cs that had determined her privileges.
Holly was sleeping here now, however, as it was next to the nursery.
The rose-colored bedspread matched the drapes. On the dresser was an assembly of Hannah’s school awards and trophies. She’d been second in tennis, first in track, and first in debate for three years in a row. And there was the tiara that she’d worn as homecoming queen her senior year.
Holly put it on and looked at herself in the mirror. The day after Hannah had been named homecoming queen, she’d put it on Holly’s head. Holly had been so thrilled that she’d danced around with it, being silly. But then she’d made the mistake of wearing it down the stairs, her arms extended, queenlike. Her mother had walked out of the kitchen to see her, and her face had darkened. “Take that off,” she’d said ominously. “That belongs to Hannah. You aren’t ever going to be no homecoming queen, so take it off.”
“Mom, I gave it to her,” Hannah had said from behind Holly.
“Take it off,” her mother had said again, and Hannah had wordlessly accepted the crown from Holly and retreated upstairs. Holly’s mother, apparently satisfied that Holly would not usurp the throne of her favorite daughter, had walked back into the kitchen. And Holly? She wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought she’d written a song in three-quarter time: The summer night feels heavy when the flashing lights come round to say / Mom ain’t coming home tonight, no, Mom ain’t coming home … Holly laughed softly at her teenage self. If you can’t beat them, kill them off in a song.
She took the crown off her head, gathered the rest of Hannah’s trophies and medals and symbols of success, and walked back through the bathroom, depositing them all on top of the bridesmaid’s dress on the day-bed. Today was feeling like a good day to clean house.
Holly walked on to the nursery where Mason was sleeping. She’d moved the crib away from the toy boxes her father had built, which still held their Barbies and other dolls. When they were girls, Hannah and Holly had spent hours playing in this room. They’d been the best of friends, inseparable, playing Xena, Warrior Princess, commanding armies of dolls.
When did we lose each other? How did I lose you now? Where are you?
She moved quietly down the hall and downstairs to the kitchen, where she found a box of big black trash bags. She went back upstairs and walked into her mother’s room and closet, and began to take her clothes off the hangers, one by one, pausing to put her mother’s favorite sweater to her face.
It was time.
She stuffed the clothes into the trash bags. And it was time to stop letting the past define Holly, to stop allowing Hannah’s many successes to shine over her. It was time to do something with the homestead, starting with a good cleaning of this house, top to bottom.
She’d put all her mother’s clothes and shoes into bags, and had piled them on the bed to be hauled downstairs, when a sound caught her attention. Holly stilled; it sounded as if someone were on the porch. Her heart leapt; she checked on Mason, then hurried to her room to grab her cell phone and the fire poker she was keeping at her bedside. She cautiously headed downstairs, her finger poised to hit 911 in an instant if she needed to.
Wyatt had just pried his muddy boots off his feet—the result of trying to fix a spigot at a stock tank—when his phone rang. He eyed the caller ID suspiciously. He didn’t recognize the number, and unknown numbers were never good news. It was usually someone wanting money or some good-hearted woman wanting to “check on him.”
Then it occurred to him that it could be someone about the latest batch of checks he hadn’t gotten around to signing, and it would be just like Linda Gail to give out his personal number. Wyatt answered it.
“Hey, Wyatt.”
Wyatt recognized Sheriff Pickering’s voice immediately. He and the sheriff were friendly due to a few sizable donations Wyatt had made to Pickering’s reelection campaign. Wyatt didn’t have any political leanings anymore—that would require more thought than he had in him—but he figured the donations would be good for something. “Sheriff Pickering, how are you?” he asked. “What’s up?”
“I’m good. But I got an emergency call from your neighbor up there.”
“Who, the Russells?”
“Nah. Someone out at the Fisher place. Seems like your cows got out again and they’ve wandered up to the house. I guess one of them was feeding on some plants she had on the porch and she thought it was a burglar.”
“A burglar,” he said, thinking that was about the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. A burglar worthy of his profession would not make the sort of noise a cow made. But never mind that—Wyatt and Jesse had fixed that fence this morning, and this news annoyed Wyatt. He’d never had so much trouble with a fence as he was having on that northeast side. Fortunately, Jesse Wheeler was still here, rummaging around in Wyatt’s kitchen like he lived here.
“I sent a deputy out there, but she’s holed up inside while your stock grazes the yard.”
“I saw that yard earlier. I’m doing her a favor.”
Pickering chuckled. “Just get your cows out of there, will you?”
Wyatt sighed. These were the moments he wished for a good cow dog instead of the lump of black lying on the floor, head between his paws. “I’ll head over there. Thanks for letting me know.” He hung up, pulled on his boots again, and looked at Milo. “Are you going to help me? Or are you going to make matters worse?”
Milo lifted his head and thumped his tail against the floor. “That’s what I thought,” Wyatt groused, and walked on to the kitchen. “That was the sheriff,” he announced to Jesse, whose head was in the fridge. “That fence didn’t hold. The cows are out.”
“No way,” Jesse said, and stood up. He had a sandwich in one hand, a beer in the other.
“Help yourself,” Wyatt said.
Jesse grinned. “Thanks,” he said, and bit off half the sandwich.
It was easy to see why women of all ages fell for Jesse Wheeler. He had movie-star good looks with that honey-streaked brown hair and soft green eyes. His grin was irrepressible and a little infectious. If Jesse could act, he could make some money with that face and that build. Too bad he couldn’t act.
“No way that fence busted out again,” Jesse said thoughtfully through a mouth full of bologna sandwich. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Last thing I want is to drive back over there, but I’ve got cows grazing the lawn of the Fisher house and need to round them up. Can you give me a hand?”
Jesse glanced at his watch and then winked at Wyatt. “I guess Kourtney can wait another hour.” He guzzled the beer, took another bite of sandwich, and threw the rest at Milo, who caught it in midair and wolfed it down. “Let’s roll,” he said, and brushing his hands against his jeans, he walked out of the kitchen.
They put the tools in the back of the pickup and barreled up the caliche road to the Fisher house. Cattle were standing on the road and in the yard, grazing contentedly. A patrol car was parked on the drive and the deputy was leaning against the hood, chatting on his cell phone as casually as if he were in a lounge chair by the pool.
Wyatt parked the truck; Milo jumped over the side and went trotting through the cows, his nose to the ground. Absolutely no help at all, that dog. Wyatt and Jesse got out and surveyed the scene.
The deputy closed his phone. “These your cows?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Can you take it from here?”
“Yep.”
“Great.” The deputy waddled on back around to the driver
’s side. The car listed when he got in and kicked up a cloud of dust as he sped up the road.
“Let’s go have a look at the fence,” Jesse said.
They started up the hill to where the fence could not be mended, and there it was, a huge hole where the damn cows had marched through like they’d been invited to dinner. Jesse crouched down and studied the wire. “Someone’s messed with this,” he declared, and pointed to where it looked like there was a clean cut through the wire.
“You sure we didn’t do that?” Wyatt asked, squinting at it. They’d cut some wire today as they restrung the fence, but this was cut in an odd place.
“Sure of it.” Jesse stood up. “Now, who’d want to come cut a newly strung fence, I ask you? That’s just all kinds of wrong.”
Wyatt agreed, but they had the more immediate problem of getting the cattle through the fence and back onto his property. “Let’s get the cows,” he said, and turned back to the house and his truck. When he did, he noticed that Holly Fisher had come out on her porch with her baby boy. She was wearing a dress, a short blue thing with thin little shoulder straps, that skimmed her thighs. A nice pair of thighs at that. Holly Fisher had an attractive set of legs on her.
Beside her, Milo was laying on the porch like he lived there, his pink tongue hanging to the porch slats. The baby was grabbing up handfuls of him and pulling his ears, but Milo just panted. Wyatt saw the reason why—Holly Fisher was holding what looked like a generous-sized cookie in her hand.
“Well, now, who have we here?” Jesse asked, and pushed back the brim of his trucker hat to have a better look.
Wyatt didn’t answer; he was striding down the hill.
Holly’s strawberry blonde hair was clipped to the back of her head. She was wearing a necklace around her neck, and Wyatt was surprised that now he was noticing that she had a very nice neck, because his radar for all things feminine had been dead for a long time.
“We meet again,” she said cheerfully when Wyatt and Jesse walked up to the bottom step of her porch. She took a bite of the cookie.
Wyatt didn’t say anything. He’d zeroed in on the fact that the necklace, which was hanging just above a fairly enticing cleavage, was the yin and yang symbol. Why did people have to announce their spiritual beliefs? Taoism, noun. Chinese philosophy advocating humility and religious piety. Whatever. That sort of thing meant nothing to him anymore. He had no belief system.
“I sure haven’t had the pleasure,” Jesse said, and shifted slightly, knocking Wyatt with his elbow.
“This is Jesse,” Wyatt said, hooking a thumb at his friend. “Sorry about the cows. Got a bad fence up there. Milo, get off the porch.”
“He’s okay,” Holly said. “And I gathered as much about the cows.” Her baby gurgled happily at Milo and grabbed his ear. “I’m Holly Fisher,” she said to Jesse, and smiled like all women smiled at Jesse, yet Wyatt detected something a bit tired about her smile.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Jesse said.
“I’m sorry I called nine-one-one,” Holly said. A strand of her hair had escaped the clip and was drifting down her temple. “I heard something awful and thought someone was trying to break in.” She smiled self-consciously and took another bite of the cookie.
“If there’s any damage, I’ll take care of it,” Wyatt said. “Milo, come off that porch.” Milo wasn’t going anywhere. He rolled onto his side and held up one paw, like he thought the baby was going to rub his belly for him.
“I can’t imagine there’s any damage to this old place,” Holly said, and bent at the waist to look around the side of the porch before popping the last bite of cookie into her mouth. “I think one of them ate a couple of dead palm trees.”
“Ba ba baaaaAAA,” the baby said.
Jesse crouched down beside the steps. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, grinning at the baby. The baby grinned right back and slapped his palms on Milo’s side. Even that little stinker was captivated by Jesse’s charm. “What’s his name?” Jesse asked Holly.
“Mason.”
When she spoke, Mason looked up at her and gurgled. Holly smiled in a way Wyatt wished every child got to see from someone.
“So, where did you come from, Holly Fisher?” Jesse asked.
She smiled and folded her arms. “Venus.”
“Venus,” Jesse repeated, nodding. “Did you just fly in?”
Holly grinned. “Limped in is more like it. Actually, I came in from Austin, but I grew up out here.”
“Oh yeah?” Jesse was undoubtedly wondering why she wasn’t in his database of women. “Where’d you go to school?”
“Cedar Springs.”
“Get out,” Jesse said, and shifted forward, propping one foot on the bottom step of her porch. “I went to Cedar Springs. What year did you graduate?”
“Ninety-five.”
“No kidding? I graduated in ninety-eight. You know what? I remember you.”
Holly laughed at that. “I don’t think so.”
“Tennis, right?” he said.
“No.”
“Basketball?” Jesse asked, undaunted.
Holly giggled; she was enjoying it. “No. Band.” Jesse’s face fell, and Holly laughed roundly. “That’s right, I’m a band nerd.” She seemed kind of proud of it. She had a very easy way about her that Wyatt liked.
What the hell? What was with all this noticing all of a sudden? It made Wyatt feel uncomfortable. He was ready to be done with this job and get back to his porch and his beer and his word of the day. “We’ll get the cows out of here and get the fence fixed. Milo, come,” he said sternly, and Milo hopped up, toppling the baby on his rump in his eagerness to run down the stairs. Wyatt started for his truck.
“Oh, hey, Wyatt,” she said.
He paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“Thanks for the washcloth tip. It worked!”
Of course it did, but she said it like the mystery of the universe had been revealed. He nodded, gave her a short wave, and walked on.
“Thanks!” he heard Holly call again.
Wyatt got a pair of long sticks out of the bed of the truck to herd the cows, one for him, one for Jesse. When he turned around, Jesse was standing there, frowning disapprovingly. “What?” Wyatt asked, and handed him the stick.
“Where’d you go to charm school, anyway?” Jesse asked as he took the stick.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I am talking about. I’m talking about how you talked to your neighbor back there. Or didn’t talk. Just stood there looking annoyed.”
Wyatt frowned and waved him off. “I am annoyed. We came here to get the cows off her lawn, not to stand around and chitchat. So, are you going to stand there chitchatting some more or are you going to help me?”
“Man, you are an old grump,” Jesse grumbled as he walked away.
Once they got the cattle up the hill and back through the hole in the fence, they set about repairing it. Jesse was a talker, that Wyatt knew, but usually Jesse was talking about himself, and Wyatt could easily tune it out. Not today. Today Jesse was analyzing him. “I’m honestly amazed that you don’t have a line of single women right up to your door, Casanova.”
“Shut up,” Wyatt said.
“Look, Wyatt, it’s none of my business—”
“You’re right, it’s none of your business—”
“—but it’s been a couple of years now since Macy left.”
Just hearing the words made Wyatt cringe inwardly.
“What are you going to do, live up here all by yourself with a FedEx box and a volleyball for a friend?”
Wyatt paused and glanced curiously at Jesse. “Come again?”
“You know,” Jesse said impatiently, “that movie where Tom Hanks gets stuck on a deserted island.”
“Oh. Right.” Jesus, now he was talking movies. Wyatt turned his attention back to the fence.
“My point is, you’re not getting any younger,” Jesse continued. “Especially living out
here all by yourself.”
Wyatt did not care to be reminded that he was getting older; he’d be forty in a few months. “Now, when did you go and get your license to hand out free advice?” Wyatt asked. “I seem to recall a time in your life that you weren’t exactly sociable.”
“Hey,” Jesse said, pointing a finger at him. “That was a bad breakup with Molly. You know how bad that was.”
Wyatt smiled wryly. “Oh, I know. Which is why I find it a little odd that you’re feeling so good about things now that you can weigh in on my life.”
“I guess because I know what I’m talking about,” Jesse said amicably. “I’m just saying, you’re wasting some of your prime daylight pining away for someone who’s never coming back.”
Wyatt bristled at that. He wasn’t waiting for Macy; he was just trying to live without her, that was all. It didn’t help that when he went to pick up his daughter, he had to see Macy looking so beautiful and happy and, God help him, pregnant again. Pregnant women did something to him, pushed a little button that made him feel all gooey inside. “I know she’s not coming back. And if I need any more advice, Ann Landers, I’ll give you a call.”
“I wouldn’t mind that call one bit,” Jesse said. “And even though you’ve been plain hateful to me on occasion, I’d be happy to take you out on the town and buy you a couple of beers at the Rawhide,” he said, referring to a gin joint on the edge of Cedar Springs. Jesse picked up the tools and tested the barbed wire once more. “Nothing’s getting through here,” he said, and the two of them started down the hill. “I’m not kidding, Wyatt. I’d be happy to help you get back to living again.”
“Will you please put a cork in it? I’m fine. I don’t need your help or your advice. I am perfectly happy.”