by Julia London
“I heard you were going to be on the big float in the Fourth of July parade,” Mr. Graeber said to the obvious delight of the others.
Finn didn’t want this; he didn’t want any attention. He’d always been the guy to hang back—he was shy that way. All he wanted was his old life back; he didn’t want any part of a parade, or the adoring smiles of these people. An overwhelming image of dismembered bodies flashed across his mind’s eye, and Finn looked anxiously at his brother.
Brodie understood him, because he said to the small assembly, “He just got home, folks. We’re hoping he can just breathe for a few days.” He gave Finn a bit of a friendly shove away from the driver’s door and opened it. “I’ll drive,” he said, and gestured to the passenger seat.
Finn flashed a smile at the enthusiastic little crowd.
If only they knew, he thought. If they knew some of the dark thoughts that went through his head, were going through his head right at this moment, they wouldn’t think he was such a hero. He waved and climbed into the passenger seat. Brodie rolled down his window and put the truck in reverse. “Thanks for welcoming my brother home,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing Finn around town.” Then he backed the truck out of the lot and pointed it toward town.
He sighed irritably and glanced at Finn. “You took off in my truck, dude.”
“Yeah,” Finn said, and looked out the window. “Sorry about that.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.” It was hard to explain that for a few minutes at a gas station, he’d tried to be the man he’d been before Afghanistan. “Just took a little ride.”
“Next time, don’t leave me behind with the blue hairs,” Brodie said gruffly. “So, are we heading to Macy’s?”
Finn looked out the window. “I ran into her.”
“You did? Where?”
“In town. Look, do me a favor and take me out to my place. I want to see it.”
Brodie didn’t speak; when Finn looked at him, his brother’s eyes were on the road, his jaw clenched. “What?” Finn asked.
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Finn asked.
“Dude…there is something you need to know,” Brodie said tightly.
Finn snorted. “Don’t tell me—the house and barn burned down and there is nothing left but charred earth.”
But Brodie didn’t laugh. He kept staring ahead.
Finn’s gut tightened. “What is it?” he demanded.
Brodie sighed. “Finn, listen. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this—”
“Say it.”
“They sold it. Or if it’s not sold, it’s damn close to being sold.”
Finn’s gut clenched. He could feel the blood drain from his face. “Why didn’t she tell me?” he snapped. They’d just talked about it. She could have told him.
Brodie didn’t answer.
A rush of hot anger surged through Finn. The combination of seeing Macy and wanting her so badly, the crowd, the whole ordeal of coming home, and now the news that the ranch had been sold, was more than Finn could handle. He slammed his fist into the dash. “Jesus!” he shouted. “Didn’t anyone try to stop her? You just let her sell land that’s been in the family for more than one hundred years?”
“Calm down!” Brodie said. “We couldn’t have stopped her if we wanted to, Finn. None of us could take it over, and Uncle Braden said to let it go—”
“God damn it!” Finn bellowed. He glared out the window, trying to make sense of it. His horses and cattle, Two Wishes Ranch, his dogs, his wife—all gone. He felt betrayed, completely and utterly betrayed.
“Okay, look,” Brodie said, sounding nervous. “Uncle Braden thinks the city will annex a good piece of it anyway—”
“Turn in here,” Finn said, pointing at Rawhide, an old cowboy watering hole on the fringe of town.
“Where, the Rawhide?” Brodie said disbelievingly, squinting at it.
“Turn in,” Finn demanded, pounding the dash.
He had the door open before Brodie could even bring the truck to a halt.
At that moment, Finn didn’t care why Macy had sold it and had failed to tell him. At that precise moment, he realized that the life he’d once lived in the Hill Country of Texas was truly dead and buried and the only thing that mattered to him was tequila. How much, where, and how soon he could get it.
15
Macy bounced down the gravel drive to Laru’s house, parked in her big circular drive, and let Milo out of the backseat. The damn dog raced for the river, and she heard the splash as he dove in. Macy didn’t bother trying to call him back; she was emotionally spent. She slung her purse over her shoulder and dragged herself and all her confusion to Laru’s front door and rang the bell.
She expected Ernesto or Consuelo, Laru’s part-time hired help, to answer the door, not Jesse Wheeler. Jesse was about four years older than Macy and was known around Cedar Springs for riding rodeo, which he did with fearless élan. He was a good-looking man, too, with dark, wavy hair and striking green eyes. Macy knew him because he’d shown Finn’s cutting horses a couple of times. One summer, when he’d broken his arm in a particularly fierce bronco ride, he’d been the dream of every woman in Cedar Springs.
Jesse planted one arm against the jamb above his head, then grinned as he casually scratched his bare belly, which, Macy couldn’t help but notice, was as hard as the rock on the house. “Macy-cake Clark,” he drawled. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
Confused, Macy looked past him. “Is Laru here?”
“Macy, hon, is that you?” Laru appeared from behind Jesse, ducking beneath his arm to stand in front of him. She was wearing a very short silk robe and her hair was mussed. There was no mistaking what had happened here this afternoon, and Macy was stunned. Jesse had to be at least fifteen years younger than Laru.
“Girl, what are you doing out here?” Laru asked, peering past her to the Jeep. “Is Wyatt with you? I thought you’d be tied up with everything for at least a week.”
“No. I…” Macy hesitated.
“Is something wrong?” Laru asked, her eyes narrowing with concern. “Did something happen?”
“No, no! I just…need to talk to you, Laru.” She glanced sheepishly at Jesse.
“Ah,” Laru said and turned around, putting her hand on Jesse’s bare waist. “Do you mind giving us a minute?” she asked, and went up on her tiptoes—and probably kissed him but Macy couldn’t be entirely certain, because she ducked her head at the last moment.
“Sure,” Jesse said.
When Macy heard him shuffle away, she looked up at Laru. “Jesse Wheeler?”
“What?” Laru responded with a shrug. “He’s cute!”
“He’s practically young enough to be your son!”
“He is not!” Laru protested as she grabbed Macy’s arm and drew her inside. “He’s in his late thirties.”
“He’s thirty-two.”
“Okay, thirty-two!” Laru conceded. “What is age but a number? Anyway, I am sure you didn’t come out here to lecture me about my love life, kiddo.” She linked her arm with Macy’s, and led her into the enormous great room with the big picture windows and stunning view of the river.
Laru had a gorgeous, sprawling house. A massive limestone fireplace on one end and a high-end gourmet kitchen and beautiful limestone-and-granite bar on the other flanked the great room, with its high, box-beamed ceiling and recessed lighting. On one side off the great room were the master suite, library, and office. On the other side, behind the kitchen, were the guest rooms.
“So how long has this been going on?” Macy asked, looking around for signs of Jesse.
“Well, Mom, for a bit,” Laru said with a laugh. “Come on, now, what about you? How are you, honey? How is Finn? Jilly said he looks good.”
Jillian, Macy’s mother and Laru’s sister, despised being called Jilly, and Laru was the only one who was allowed to use that childhood name. “He looks…he looks ama
zing,” Macy said with a smile. “A scar on his temple is the only visible sign of his ordeal.”
“Poor guy,” Laru said. “I always had a soft spot for Finn Lockhart. Jilly said you were trying to work out what you’re going to do.”
“I was,” Macy said. “I mean, I am. Oh God, it is so hard, Laru. I don’t know what to do. I love Wyatt, but it’s Finn. My Finn.”
Laru smiled sadly at Macy.
“I can’t stay home. I can’t think straight there. Laru, I need a place to stay.”
Laru blinked. “What does Wyatt say about that?”
“He doesn’t like it,” Macy said as tears welled in her eyes. Lord, she was sick of tears. She’d cried buckets and buckets when she’d been told Finn had died, buckets and buckets when he’d come back to life. It seemed impossible she had another tear inside her, but here they came. “I still love Finn!” she blurted. “Heaven help me, I never stopped loving him, and I still love him. But I love Wyatt, too! He saved me from myself, Laru. He brought me back to life again, and he didn’t ask for this and he doesn’t deserve this. I don’t know what to do!” She angrily swiped at the tears that began to slide down her cheeks.
Laru opened her arms and wrapped them around Macy. “Of course you can stay here, sweetie,” she said. “As long as you need.”
Macy sincerely hoped Laru meant that.
Wyatt couldn’t get any work done, not with the events of the morning still weighing heavily on his mind. A woman didn’t make love like Macy had that morning and then get up and walk out. But trying to figure out what was in Macy’s head was just making him crazy. His powers of reasoning had been seriously depleted; frankly, he felt as if he’d been kicked in the head.
He was thinking of leaving, of getting out of the office for the afternoon, when he heard Linda Gail say, “He’s on the phone.”
But Wyatt wasn’t on the phone and hadn’t been on the phone for a while. He got up to see who Linda Gail was talking to and saw Caroline Spalding. She was a couple of years older than him. She had a pretty smile. Rumor had it that Caroline got around, but she’d always reminded Wyatt of a preacher’s wife.
“Hello, Wyatt,” she said.
“Hello, Caroline.”
“Wyatt, are you off the phone already?” Linda Gail said, popping up between them. “Here, you need to return these calls. Caroline, maybe you can come back when Wyatt’s got a little more time.”
“I just need a minute,” Caroline said.
Wyatt had no idea why Linda Gail was acting so batty. “Come on back, Caroline,” he said. With her back to Caroline, Linda Gail scowled something fierce—if looks could kill, he’d be a dead man right now.
Caroline walked into Wyatt’s office stepping daintily over the plat maps and rolled-up blueprints and the basketball he never used anymore. Wyatt perched on the edge of his desk. “What’s up, Caroline?”
“Well, for one thing, I am thinking of selling some land and need a broker. I need the best broker, and that is you.”
“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “What land?”
“A chunk my dad left to me. He passed away last year, and it’s been sitting there unused. It’s out near the resort you’re building.”
That bit of information certainly perked him up. The more alternatives he had to the Lockhart piece, the better. He’d planned to use a portion of the Lockhart land in the footprint of the resort, and the profit from the sale of the rest of the land to help fund the resort. He could work around the footprint problem if he had to, but it was the profit that he really needed. Without the sale of the Lockhart ranch, he was short, and investors were expecting it to be funded and underway by the end of the month. “You’ve got my attention.”
“I’d like to show it to you and see what you think.”
“Maybe we can take a look at it this week,” he suggested.
“I would like that.” She smiled again, shifted closer. “How are you holding up, Wyatt?”
“Fine,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“It must be so hard.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Everything is good.”
She smiled wryly. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it. But if you ever want to, maybe we could have a drink. I think you’ll find that I am a good listener,” she said, looking directly into his eyes.
Wyatt smiled. “I don’t think so, Caroline. I’m married, remember?”
“I remember. I’m just offering a shoulder, Wyatt. Call me if you need it.”
“Thanks. But the only thing I’m going to call you about is that land.” He stood up and walked to the door. “I’ll have Linda Gail get in touch.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Caroline said with a smile. In the front office, she said, “Good-bye, Linda Gail. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.”
Linda Gail smiled thinly. When Caroline stepped outside, Linda Gail swung around in her chair and leveled a dark look on Wyatt.
“Linda Gail, I don’t need a hall monitor,” he said before she could start in. “Set something up with Caroline so I can go look at her land.” He grabbed up the mail. “I won’t be back. Lock up, will you?”
“Don’t I always?” Linda Gail said pertly.
Outside, Wyatt sat in his truck, trying to decide where to go. He didn’t want to go home—it wasn’t home right now; it was nothing but a heap of limestone and brick with a tile roof. All that he’d put into that place for Macy seemed like a big cosmic joke now. So he put his truck in gear and drove aimlessly, until he found himself at Daisy’s Saddle-brew.
As he walked into the Saddle-brew, he overheard a couple talking about the Fourth of July parade and “The Hero.” He looked at them blankly for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Samantha Delaney behind the counter.
She smiled sweetly at him. “Hey, Wyatt. You look like you could use a large, black, really plain coffee.”
Wyatt chuckled. “How’d you know?”
“You’re sort of predictable,” she said with an easy smile.
“Wyatt, you old dog!”
It was Randy Hawkins. Randy was richer than anyone in Cedar County—oil money—and he liked dabbling in ranch deals. He sauntered up beside Wyatt. “Coffee, black, sweetheart,” he said to Sam, and Wyatt wondered if Randy was also predictable. “Glad I ran into you, Clark. Are you still trying to find a buyer for that land east of Fredericksburg?”
Trying? Wyatt was desperate. “Sure am,” he said.
“I’ve been thinking about it. Have Linda Gail call and I’ll find a time we can go have a look,” Randy said. “So how’s everything else? I hear the hero’s home, huh?” he asked congenially, as if Wyatt had brought Finn Lockhart home himself.
“Seems like,” Wyatt responded, and took the cup of coffee Sam put before him.
“Yeah, I saw him up on Guadalupe Street earlier today talking to your wife.”
Wyatt’s heart suddenly stopped pumping. He hid his shock behind a sip of coffee.
“That must bite,” Randy said with a sympathetic smile. “Come home after all that time and find your wife has moved on.” He shook his head.
Sam slammed Randy’s coffee down and it splashed. “Whoa!” said Randy, jumping back and looking down at his shirt. “Careful, sweetheart!”
“Samantha,” she said. “My name is Samantha.”
Randy’s brows rose. He picked up his coffee as Sam walked away. “PMS, anyone?”
“I’ll have Linda Gail get in touch,” Wyatt said. He looked at Sam. “See you, Sam.”
“Bye, Wyatt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Wyatt turned and walked out, gripping the coffee cup so tightly that it was bending inward, liquid spilling out the little hole in the top. He walked outside and tossed the cup into the trash on his way to his truck.
He was fumbling for his keys when a blue truck pulled up. Wyatt didn’t pay much attention to it until he heard the driver say, “I’m not taking you home like this, Finn. Mom would string us both up and invite the coyotes to
feast on our hides.”
Wyatt kept his head down as the driver walked past him and into the coffee shop. He lifted his head then and looked at the passenger in the blue truck, and his gaze locked with Finn Lockhart’s. Wyatt didn’t know if he or Lockhart moved first, but Lockhart was out of the truck amazingly fast for someone as unsteady on his feet as he seemed to be.
“Hey, don’t run off on my account,” Lockhart said as he moved around the front of the truck.
“You’re drunk,” Wyatt said.
Lockhart laughed derisively. “No shit. You would be, too, if you found out your land was gone.”
Okay, Wyatt saw where this was heading. He decided to be the sober guy here and get in his truck and drive off. He turned away.
“Hey, don’t run off. Let me ask you something, there, sport,” Lockhart said.
Against his better judgment, Wyatt paused and glanced back.
“Do you make a habit of hitting on women whose husbands are fighting a war?” Lockhart asked, bracing himself against the hood of the truck. “Or did you just single out my wife?”
“I didn’t hit on her,” Wyatt said evenly.
“Yeah, they warned us about guys like you,” Lockhart said with a sneer. “Predators who move in on vulnerable women and charm the land right out from under them.”
“Look, pal, you were dead. And she—”
“She what?” Lockhart said, his expression turning dark.
That was enough for Wyatt. He took several steps toward the drunk. “Don’t come at me like I stole your wife in some ugly affair. She was a widow. It was legit.”
“But she’s not a widow,” Lockhart said, swaying a little. “So you should be a man about it and back off. Like all the way to Oklahoma, some place where I can’t see you or smell you.”
“Maybe you ought to be the man here,” Wyatt snapped.
Lockhart lunged for Wyatt at the same moment Randy opened the shop’s door, holding it for Lockhart’s brother, who was carrying two coffees. “Hey!” the younger Lockhart shouted when he saw what was happening. He dropped the two coffees and grabbed his brother, wrestling him into his truck as Lockhart shouted, “You think you can take what’s mine? I’ll make your life hell, Clark!”