“Everything’s going to be okay,” she promised even though she feared nothing could be further from the truth. As much as she’d fantasized about the two of them sharing a future, about her being the one to fix him, could she? Fear that she couldn’t knotted her stomach, caution lights flashed in her heart, but she refused to give up—not when she’d come so far. “I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have broken down like that. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“You’re human.” She was back on her knees in front of him. “There’s not a thing in the world wrong with you—there would be if you didn’t show pain. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I’d be honored if one day you’d tell me, but if that day never comes, that’s okay, too. All that matters is getting you better—or, at least as good as you can be.”
He nodded.
It brewed a special brand of torment to witness one of the toughest guys she’d ever known surrender so easily, but she suspected nothing about his acquiescence had come easy. He’d warred with it as much as whatever action he’d seen that had led him to this dark place.
“I have to ask,” she said, “have you been mixing alcohol with your pain meds?”
He shook his head. “I don’t take any meds.”
“Why not? Your doctor prescribed them, didn’t he?”
“Sure, but they’re too addictive.”
“Are you kidding me?” It took a huge effort not to conk his head. “But you think alcohol is so much safer?”
“I know a lot of guys who got hooked on drugs. Booze seems like the lesser of two evils. You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” She forced a deep breath, drawing strength from the long-familiar sounds of early evening on the mountain. The wind high in the pines. A hawk’s lonesome cry. “When’s the last time you had medication, and did it work for you then?”
“I don’t know. I guess back at the hospital I took some. And sure. It worked fine. But the last thing I want is to become another veteran statistic. On top of everything else, it’d be too—” he tossed up his hands “—cliché. Pathetic. Sad. Take your pick of terminology. It’s all pretty much the same.”
“What if it’s not? What if you take your meds exactly like your doctor prescribed, and surprise—you actually feel good enough to take back your life? How amazing would that be?”
“I can’t take the risk.”
“But drowning yourself in booze night after night is acceptable?”
“When are you leaving?” He tried getting up, but she pushed him down.
“Stay here.” She yanked open the creaky old screen door to find more of a nightmare than she could have imagined.
Littering his kitchen island were dozens of booze bottles of varying shapes and sizes. Some full, some empty. All telling a story she didn’t want to know. But now that she did, she felt responsible to rewrite.
She fished beneath the sink for trash bags.
This far from town, most folks burned their garbage, but she planned on dragging every last memory of booze out of the cabin and straight to the city dump.
A plastic jug of cheap vodka was first to go down the sink’s drain, then whiskey, then scotch, then she started over with tequila.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He tried stopping her, but she wasn’t playing. When he grabbed hold of her arm, she pushed him away.
“Saving your rotten life is what I’m doing. You can thank me later.”
“Screw you! My life is fine.” He began gathering the unopened bottles she hadn’t yet touched.
“Then how come you cried for a good thirty minutes out there on the porch?” She hooked her thumb in that general direction.
He didn’t have an answer.
“Do you think you’re already an alcoholic? Or are you drinking to mask pain?” She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. “Is there a difference? I’m hardly a professional. I don’t know.”
Hugging the bottles as if they were a lifeline, he shook his head, then nodded. “I don’t think I’m an alcoholic. I just know that times like now, when my leg hurts so bad I could scream, the only thing that makes it bearable is to drink—a lot.”
“Have you had anything lately?”
He shook his head. “But I want to.”
“Try something else for me instead.”
“I can’t take those pills. What if I start and can’t stop?”
She abandoned her latest bottle to wrap her arms around him, resting her cheek against the wall of his solid chest. His heart hammered in her ear.
When he wrapped his arms around her, her body hummed, as if on a soul-deep level she’d come home. But Wiley wasn’t home. He wasn’t anything more to her than a dear old friend who needed help. But if that was the case, why did she clutch him tighter? Why was she terrified that if she loosened her grip for even a moment, he’d be in peril? And then so would she, because somehow their lives had become irrevocably intertwined. Or maybe they’d always been, but time and distance and a lousy marriage had stolen what they’d once been and finally, this was their fresh chance.
Which made no sense, because if she was honest with herself, aside from their lone hot dance on his graduation night, that’s all there’d ever been—at least on the surface. But for her, there had only been him.
Rex had been a poor substitute.
“Where is your medicine?” she asked.
He released her to take her hand, leading her toward the small bathroom. From the kitchen, she’d had a view of Henry, still sleeping in his carrier on the truck’s front seat, but from in here, the view was blocked, which made her antsy.
Wiley opened a medicine chest and removed a large bottle. “I’m supposed to take two of these, three times a day. But that seems like a lot, you know?”
“Sure, but, for the rest of today—maybe tomorrow, could you please try my way? Your doctor’s way?” The room was too cramped for comfort. Not only couldn’t she see Henry, but under the glare of the bare bulb mounted to the ceiling, she saw all too close just how changed Wiley had become. His dark hair had always had a slight curl, only now that it had grown longer, the waves nearly brushed his shoulders. His facial hair was well on its way to becoming a mountain man’s dream, but if she had her way, he’d be clean-shaven.
The room smelled of the Irish Spring soap he’d always used, which made her mind drift to him standing in the claw-foot tub for a shower. Better yet—lounging in that tub, with all of his muscles on display.
Macy shook her head. This wouldn’t work. She was here to help the man—not molest him.
“I should check on Henry.” With the pill bottle in hand, she returned to the main room where she found her son still sleeping. If she didn’t want him up all night, she should wake him, but not quite yet. Not until she’d convinced Wiley to at least try dealing with his pain in a different way.
Wiley had followed and now stood behind her, not touching her, but close enough for her to feel every solid inch of him. He was still a powerful man. She couldn’t imagine what he must have been like before the accident that had for all practical purposes taken his leg.
“He’s a good-looking kid,” Wiley said. “I actually got a kick out of watching him with the puppies today.”
“Me, too.” Are you going to try to stop drinking, Wiley? The question was right there but she was afraid to ask. Had she already pushed him too far, too soon?
As if he’d read her mind, he asked, “Is this whole meds thing open for negotiation?”
“Depends.” He was still behind her, and it took every shred of her willpower not to turn around and hold him. Kiss him. Beg him to let her into his heart and never let go.
“I’m starving, and the d
irections say to always take them on a full stomach. Think you could wrangle me up something to eat? I’m sick of protein bars and ramen noodles.”
“Of course, I’ll cook for you—anything you want.”
The only thing she wouldn’t do was let him sink back to that dark place where he’d almost been lost. And the beauty in saving him? The fact that she’d also be saving herself. She’d once and for all prove Rex had been the one with the problem—not her.
No way would fate bring her the perfect man, only to have her heart break all over again.
Chapter Nine
The relief was palpable.
Wiley sat at Macy’s kitchen table with Henry chilling in his high chair next to him and he felt lighter, yet stronger. It was crazy. Thirty minutes before taking the pills, he’d been in agony.
Now, he was free.
Flying.
For the first time since leaving the hospital, he was able to be himself. There was none of the booze’s confusion, no bad aftertaste, no thick tongue. Just peace. Gone was the sensation of his body warring against him.
He rose from the table in a fluid motion. His leg wasn’t as strong, but the stiffness and sharp pain didn’t have him tensing in anticipation of looming agony.
“Sit down,” Macy said from the stove where she stirred a pot of chili. Blinkie sat at her feet, hoping for a handout. The food smelled good. The ground beef and tomatoes and onions. Everything had taken on a kaleidoscopic glow. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I’ve been resting. Now, I want to run—hell, dance.” He slipped his arms around her slim waist for a turn around the room.
The dog barked.
Henry shrieked and clapped.
Macy laughed. The happy sounds quenched Wiley’s thirsty soul. He hadn’t realized how much he’d craved happiness and good cheer. He never planned on living life as a crusty old hermit, and now, he no longer had to.
“Take it easy,” she said. “That medicine said no working machinery, driving or heavy lifting.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re light as a feather.” He stopped dancing to lift her. Granted, back when he’d been on active duty, he could have bench-pressed her a hundred times before breakfast, whereas now, he swiftly set her down, but this was at least progress. It gave him a starting point and a new goal to work toward: carry Macy around her cabin. Check.
“Stop.” She gave him a light push toward the fridge. “Since you’ve got so much energy, how about grating the cheese? You’ll find a brick of cheddar in the side door, dairy compartment, and the grater’s in the cabinet to the left of the stove.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He easily found both, and soon they sat around the table, laughing over the simple meal of chili with cheese and saltine crackers.
He’d given the dog a cracker, and Blinkie slinked off to the quilt Macy had puddled on the floor for him to use as a temporary bed.
“Slow down,” she said midway through the meal. “You’re eating like you’ve been starved.”
“I have. As good a cook as you are? I’m that bad.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Wiley... The change in you...it’s...it’s like a miracle. You sure you’re okay? The medicine’s really working this well? You’re not just putting on an act for my benefit?”
“I’d think better than anyone, you’d know my acting isn’t much better than my cooking. Why did I hold out for so long against taking this stuff? It’s a miracle. For the first time since I’ve been back on the mountain, I feel like I can do the work necessary to run not just my place, but yours.”
“I appreciate that...” She ducked her head in the process, hiding flushed cheeks with a spill of her hair. “But, Wiley, please take this slow. While your pain meds are kicking in, you also need to use that opportunity to do your physical therapy exercises, okay?”
He waved off her concerns. “Stop worrying. I’m a new man, and have you to thank.”
Macy prayed the solution to his every problem was this simple.
He didn’t just cover her smaller hand but engulfed it. In the process, unlocking a curio cabinet of possibilities. Could a couple pills be all this bear needed to remove the thorn from his paw? Her every instinct screamed for her to be cautious where he was concerned. Nothing this good came easy, but what if it did? What if all the hopes and dreams she’d secretly carried for them just as easily came true?
Of course, she’d lied to her mother.
Macy wasn’t just attracted to Wiley, but spellbound. Before tonight, that attraction had been spurred by memories of the guy he used to be, but now that he’d taken his meds, she found it all too easy to focus on the man he was—strong and charming and thoughtful.
When her gaze met his, it became a struggle to even breathe. The intensity that had always drawn her to him was still there. It had been trapped, but was now free—like her.
“How can I ever thank you?” he said.
“You don’t have to.” Her breath hitched, and she licked her lips. “Helping is what friends do.” But the raw truth was that she didn’t want to be just his friend. Did that make her a bad person? Helping him, but with a selfish motive? Was his success with just one round of pain meds still more proof that they were destined to be together? That he was the key to her finding a second chance at love, at life, at everything?
They finished eating and took turns feeding Henry his pureed beef and carrots.
They opted to leave kitchen cleanup for later, since Henry had gotten more food in his hair than in his belly, and needed a bath.
Macy drew water in the claw-foot tub that was a twin to the one in Wiley’s cabin, then set Henry’s plastic bath chair in the center.
Before she’d had a chance, Wiley took Henry from his high chair, and now made funny faces at him in the mirror. She couldn’t get over the change. It was truly remarkable. So much so, it was a little scary. The last thing she wanted was to go looking for trouble where there was none, but she couldn’t bear to consider what would happen when Wiley’s meds wore off.
Would his pain rush back? Or, as long as he kept up his dosage, would it forever be held at bay?
“Isn’t that water a little deep for this guy?”
Macy glanced up to find Wiley pointing at the water’s rising level.
“Yikes. Thanks. Mind stripping him while I let some out?”
“No problem.”
Unlike the bathroom in Wiley’s grandfather’s cabin, Macy’s had been part of a remodel her grandmother had done in the nineties. She’d transformed the second bedroom where her father had grown up into a master bath with double sinks and a wall of windows overlooking the Eagle Ridge valley. She’d moved the antique tub to allow her a beautiful view while soaking up to her neck in bubbles. Where her vanity table had been, Macy now kept Henry’s changing table. A vibrant oriental rug covered most of the wood floor, and she’d painted the walls a soothing blue. The golden-hued sunset slanted in deep rays, making the room all the more inviting.
“Here you go, buddy.” Wiley slipped Henry into his tub chair. He’d winced, but now that he was on his knees, he took the dolphin mitten sponge from the wire basket hanging over the tub’s edge, and squeezed in a dollop of baby shampoo. “I haven’t smelled this stuff in years. I guess since I found that stray cat, and Mom made me wash it before letting it in the house. Dollar General had been out of pet shampoo, but they’d had plenty of this.”
“I haven’t thought about that cat in forever. What did you name her? Tulip? Rose?”
“Daffodil. She ran off not two months after I’d caught her. She always was wild. She’s probably still holed up around my parents’ old house, terrorizing baby birds and bunnies.”
Macy laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Seems like ornery pets always live longest, which means Charlie and Lulu should be around a good lon
g while.”
Watching Wiley bathe her son did funny things to Macy’s stomach—wonderful happy somersaults and flip-flops. He was tender and gentle, yet took time to play with Henry’s boats and teach him to splash and make chugging sounds—all the things a father rightfully should. But Wiley wasn’t Henry’s father, which left Macy all the more confused. How had she come to feel so much for him so fast? Had her sense of failure over the divorce woven its way into her crush on Wiley that had apparently never left her system?
When they knelt shoulder to shoulder, she yearned to lean closer to at least kiss his cheek.
As for kissing his lips?
A hot rush engulfed her. It wasn’t as if she was unfamiliar with the birds and bees. So what was it about Wiley that made every slight brush of skin to skin and lingering look such a thrill?
Henry yawned.
Wiley asked, “Getting sleepy, bud?”
“Thanks for your help.” Macy reached behind her for her son’s giraffe-hooded towel wrap. She stretched it out on the floor, then fished Henry from the tub to plant his behind on the towel before pulling up the hood and wrapping him nice and snug. Bath time was her favorite part of the day. Sharing these precious moments with Wiley made this night all the more special.
She was already carrying Henry to the changing table when she noticed Wiley struggle to get back on his feet. “Need help?”
Lips pressed tight, he shook his head. “I’ve got this.”
He pulled the rubber stopper from the tub, then tucked Henry’s toys back in the basket and wrung the dolphin cloth before hanging it over the tub’s side.
She kept one eye on him and the other on her son while Wiley used the tub’s lip for support. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he stood. Only then, did she dare exhale.
“Maybe you were right about taking it easy,” he said with a wry grin.
“What? Could you repeat that?” she teased. “My ears must not be working.”
The Baby and the Cowboy SEAL (Cowboy SEALs 2) Page 9