Their Wander Canyon Wish

by Allie Pleiter

  She should have told them. She should have warned them. But then again, wouldn’t that only rush the pain toward them? After all, what could any of them have done?

  Mom’s eyes were unreadable—half wonder, half suspicion. “Did you know?”

  The fact that Mom could have been talking about half a dozen things rung hollow and foreboding in Marilyn’s chest. She could have unloaded about all that she suspected in the months before Landon died, but she chose to start with the facts she knew. “It’s what Tessa came to tell me.”

  “How did Tessa know?” Dad asked.

  “There was a Courier reporter digging around on the Mountain Vista issue. They wanted our local paper’s cooperation. Landon’s name had come up. She told me it wasn’t—” Marilyn ran her hands over her eyes, still not yet wide enough awake to really take it all in “—kind. But the details... I knew some.” She looked at her dad. “But I’m pretty sure there’s more.”

  Dad sat down. “Well, now everyone does. They’re saying Landon has been working with Mountain Vista to size up and buy land for four years. If not longer.”

  “Four years?” She hadn’t even bothered to look at the date on the memo Tessa had shown her. Somehow none of the details seemed to matter now that the floodgate was open. Did it really matter how long Landon had been conspiring with Mountain Vista? The first rancher had sold out to the resort about two years ago. Marilyn pulled the paper toward her, catching sight of an article sidebar labeled “Bovine to Botox? MV’s Aggressive Plans to Expand.” The article’s first few paragraphs quoted some of the leaked memos Tessa had. The language accused Mountain Vista of plans to ruthlessly gobble up most of the canyon in order to expand, but that wasn’t news. What was news was how the article went on to talk about “sly use of local influencers.” It named a few names, but only one with direct connections to Wander Canyon. “Landon Sofitel, husband of lifelong Wander resident Marilyn Ralton Sofitel, deftly gained community trust, secured inside information on potential ranches vulnerable to sale and secretly pressed for needed zone modifications.”

  There it was. Landon’s name and hers. It didn’t matter that his wasn’t the only name mentioned. Nor did it matter that no one seemed to be sure if whatever Landon had done was illegal or merely unethical. It looked wrong, felt wrong, would be perceived as wrong. And she was attached to it in front of the whole world.

  Marilyn didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to meet the questions in her parents’ eyes. “Landon did business with all kinds of people. I never knew half of them.” Shame heated her cheeks. “In the last year I started to have...questions. He’d talk about connections he needed to make if he was going to launch a Senate run. He started to have an—” she fumbled for a way to describe it “—edge to him I didn’t like. Preoccupied and demanding. We used to talk about everything and it slowly stopped.” She couldn’t figure out how to communicate her innocence without sounding clueless. Maybe it couldn’t be done. Maybe she was merely waking up to the fact that her own husband, the father of her children, had fooled her like he fooled everyone else.

  Mom’s jaw clenched. “People will believe this.” The words held a desperate hope that there might still be a chance it wasn’t true.

  Marilyn no longer had that hope. She held her mother’s tight gaze. “I think it’s true. It’s at least possible.”

  Mom picked up her coffee mug. “That man was your husband.” Marilyn couldn’t tell if her mother meant you should defend him or you should have known better by her statement.

  The deeper truth she’d been trying not to reveal to Mom and Dad came tumbling out of her. “Landon changed. By the time he died he wasn’t the man I married.” She stopped just short of saying “He wasn’t the man I fell in love with.” Whether or not she loved him felt totally beside the point this morning. Her last name was Sofitel now. Margie and Maddie bore that name. That name was in the papers. The dread she’d felt nipping at her heels for months now was out and roaring, ready to eat her alive. Marilyn’s spine iced over with the knowledge that this was likely to be only the first of many revelations. Public opinion loved a pile-on, and Wander was always watching.

  Landon Sofitel may have started out a good man, but he didn’t die one. And now the whole world would discover it right alongside her. She could claim she didn’t know, but would it matter? At all?

  Dad laid his hand on top of hers. “Mari, honey, why on earth are we hearing about this now? If you were unhappy, why haven’t you said anything before?” He squeezed her hand into his. “Why at least didn’t you come to us Thursday when Tessa warned you?”

  Mom set down her coffee mug. “Did he know? Didn’t you say he was applying for some job with that company?” She said it as if the she couldn’t even bear speaking the name Mountain Vista.

  It took a minute for Marilyn to work out that her mother was talking about Wyatt. “What’s Wyatt got to do with this?”

  “He showed up demanding to speak to you the day after Tessa visited, didn’t he? Wanting to know if you were okay?”

  It was all right there in Mom’s tone. Suspicion caught like a wildfire in these parts, burning things down at the slightest association. She’d be viewed as part of Landon’s scheme, and whether she ever was wouldn’t matter at all. Mom, for all her split-second condemnation, wasn’t wrong. She could hear the voices already. “Poor Ed and Katie. Their daughter married that Sofitel scoundrel, didn’t she? Shame no one caught on.”

  The phone rang despite the early hour. Mom looked as if it was the first drop of a torrential rainstorm. Dad merely sighed and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, Pastor.” Pause. “Yes,” he said wearily. “We have. Only just.”

  Mom’s eyes squinted shut.

  After a pause, Dad said, “No, I don’t think that’s necessary just yet. Why don’t you stop by later in the day. We’re still just sorting things out over here.” Another pause. “Much appreciated. No, she’s just awake now. We’re talking things over. I’ll tell her. Thanks.”

  Dad looked at her as he hung up the phone. “What are we going to do now?”

  Marilyn gave the only answer she had. “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  Wyatt had never had a job interview on a Sunday morning on a golf cart before, but it beat a weekday interview, filling out a pile of forms in some cubicle. The unconventional setting and timing made Wyatt think maybe working for Mountain Vista wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

  They weren’t actually playing golf—Wyatt had never taken up the game, which thankfully Tim told him wouldn’t matter. They were simply touring the nine holes Mountain Vista had up and running now as Tim laid out the firm’s plans for four golf courses over the next few years. “Things are a bit nuts at the office right now with the press that came out this morning. I figured it’d be easier out here,” Tim said as he steered the little vehicle around a curve toward the next hole.

  Wyatt never read newspapers. “Good PR day?”

  Tim laughed. “Hardly. The Courier came out with some piece on our land purchases. You know, the stuff everyone always complains about. Folks never like progress if it lands in their own backyard.”

  Wyatt elbowed his friend. “You mean if it steals their backyard.”

  “Bought. At a fair price,” Tim corrected.

  Wyatt knew most people in Wander Canyon would take issue with that particular statement.

  They were about to round a set of shrubs when loud voices stopped them. “You told me Sofitel could be discreet!” one voice shouted. “You told me he wouldn’t leave loose ends like those memos hanging around!”

  “Oops,” Tim whispered, moving to turn the vehicle around. “Thought we’d be more alone out here.”

  “Well, he hardly kept up his end, did he?” the voice continued.

  Wyatt held out a hand to stop him. Tim gave him a “huh?” look, but kept the c
art still.

  “He did,” came the other voice. “The guy married a local. How much more did you want him to do?”

  Wyatt’s gut went off like an alarm bell. He slipped out of the cart and edged up to the bushes to view two older men squaring off over their golf bags.

  “Well, look at all the good it did us,” said the nearer one. “Our guy on the inside up and got himself killed, and now all his dirty laundry comes out. Linked straight to us.” He shoved the club he was holding back into the bag. “I told Landon they should have lived here rather than Denver, but no. He kept insisting it was enough that he married her.”

  “Well, that was the deal, wasn’t it?” the second man replied. “He establishes himself as one of them, we back him for the Senate seat. If you ask me, he did keep up his end of the deal.”

  The first man just grunted.

  “Family man, twins and all,” the first man went on. “He was heading downhill when he died, you know that.”

  “The DUI,” the other one agreed. “And that business with the secretary.”

  Wyatt nearly winced from the stabbing feeling in his chest. He was glad the man hadn’t felt the need to elaborate. It didn’t take much of an imagination to guess the details. The wounded look in Marilyn’s eyes made sense now. It had been a while since Wyatt felt such a powerful urge to punch something. Or someone. Landon Sofitel ended his time on earth as a first-class jerk. He hoped for Marilyn’s sake that Landon hadn’t started out that way, that he’d been some type of husband and father to his family.

  The men started climbing back in their golf cart. “Hey, the way I figure it, we dodged a bullet. And besides—all that young-widow sympathy? It could work in our favor here.”

  Wyatt found himself glad the men were driving away from him, because he wanted to stomp through the bushes and tell those idiots to stop talking about Marilyn as if she was a promotional asset. She was a grieving mother. A widow. How low could these types go in pursuit of a profit?

  “Like I said,” Tim offered. “We’re out here because things are a bit tense at the office today. But you know what they say—the only bad press is no press.”

  Wyatt merely grunted, unsure of a safe reply given the anger clanging around in his chest at the moment. And then it came to him, clear as the morning air. He looked at Tim. His friend seemed taken aback by having stumbled onto a private conversation, but oblivious as to what Wyatt considered the despicable nature of the conversation. He’d known Tim half his life, but suddenly felt as if he didn’t know the man sitting next to him at all.

  He looked around at the neatly tended grounds, the fancy golf cart, the high-end coffee drinks Tim had brought for them from the course’s espresso bar. What was he doing here? On this cart on some ritzy golf course? He looked at the Mountain Vista logo on the golf cart, on Tim’s shirt, even on the paper coffee cups. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a corporation guy. He wasn’t even an office guy. Why had he made this move toward something he never really wanted?

  Wyatt no longer wanted to be out here at all. “You know what? I think we’re done here.”

  Tim balked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not your guy.”

  “Hey, don’t let those two guys spook you. It’s just a bit of bad press. They told us to expect some pushback.” Tim looked at him. “Wait...you don’t... Mari Ralton...”

  “Marilyn Sofitel,” Wyatt corrected with emphasis. As in the local they were just talking about.”

  “C’mon,” Tim scoffed. “It’ll all blow over and you can laugh at the critics from your shiny new truck.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “Nope. I’m done.” He wanted to go find Marilyn and stand guard between her and anyone clucking their tongues this morning. He didn’t know what the Courier had written, but it didn’t matter.

  Tim slammed the golf cart into gear. “I stuck my neck out for you. Really, Walker, since when do you care what people think?”

  “This isn’t about what anyone thinks of me.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, man.”

  Not what, Wyatt thought. Who.

  Tim dropped Wyatt off at his truck—a perfectly fine shiny truck he already owned—and stomped off with a few choice words about Wyatt’s ungrateful attitude. Wyatt hoped the longtime friendship hadn’t just ended, but couldn’t ignore that he’d just met a Tim he hadn’t seen before. Maybe one he should have seen coming.

  Then again, who had really changed? Tim or himself?

  He stalked around the truck for a moment, not quite sure of his next move. The only clear thought pounding in his head was a burning need to protect Marilyn and the girls. But from what? And how? At a loss for a better plan, he dialed Marilyn’s cell phone.

  “Wyatt?”

  He hated how frail her voice sounded. “Are you okay? I mean, I haven’t seen whatever’s in the papers but I know it isn’t good.”

  “How?”

  Because a couple of jerks were dragging the Sofitel name through the mud a minute ago. “Who cares how? Where are you?”

  “At home. Where are you?”

  He couldn’t stomach telling her he was at Mountain Vista. “I’m heading to the garage. You could bring the girls there... If you need to...get away.” It wasn’t really a sensible suggestion except he needed to see her and he didn’t think Ed and Katie would be too keen on visitors—especially him—right now.

  “I don’t know.” Marilyn’s damp, doubtful sniff went right through his ribs. She’d been crying. What was in those papers? “Going into town feels...”

  “I’ll open the bay door and you can pull right in. No one will know you’re there. Let me help, Marilyn.” A surprising thought struck him. “Or go to Dad’s ranch. I can meet you there if that feels better. You don’t really want to stay at the house with your folks right now, do you?”

  She lowered her voice. “Well, no.”

  Dad would just have to get over his shock that he was bringing Marilyn Sofitel and her girls to the ranch. If home really was the place where they had to take you in, today seemed like a good day to test the theory. “Head to Wander Canyon Ranch, Mari. I’ll be there.” He pushed the anger out of his voice, softening it as much as he was able. “Let me do this for you. For the girls.”

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Wander Canyon Ranch kitchen smelled of coffee and pancakes when Wyatt pushed through the door a few minutes later.

  Pauline looked up from her breakfast, rightfully surprised at his entrance. “Wyatt! Your father’s—”

  He cut her off. “Marilyn Sofitel and her girls will be here in a few minutes on account of—” he noticed the Sunday paper folded open to an article with Mountain Vista in the headline “—that.”

  “Oh, my.” Pauline took it all in, then seemed to shift into gear. “Well, your father’s in the barn,” She opened a kitchen cabinet. “Will the girls want breakfast?”

  What time was it, anyway? “I suppose. I didn’t really have a plan when I told them to come.” Wyatt turned in a slow circle, hands raking through his hair. He suddenly had no idea what he was doing or why he was here.

  Pauline filled a mug of coffee and handed it to him as she nodded toward the paper. “She’s got to be devastated by all that.”

  He didn’t even really know what “all that” was yet. What he’d heard from the men on the golf course was bad enough. What was in the papers? He remembered Marilyn’s words to him from yesterday at the swing set. “Whatever you read, whatever you hear...” She’d known it was coming.

  “They’re welcome here,” Pauline said, one hand on Wyatt’s arm. “As are you.”

  There had been weeks in his recent past where Wyatt hadn’t felt welcome here. Only home didn’t stop being home just because you hated it. And he’d never really hated it, just the pressure of doing something he never se
emed meant to do. Funny how Pauline—his father’s new wife—and Marilyn and the twins had gotten him to that realization. He didn’t have much to give Mari and the girls, but if he could extend the refuge that was Wander Canyon Ranch, then he’d endure whatever odd looks came from this morning’s unlikely appearance.

  The door opened behind him to reveal Chaz and Yvonne. “I saw Wyatt’s truck come in.”

  “Mari and the girls will be here in a few minutes.” Wyatt offered, as if it explained everything. Which, of course, it didn’t. Not by a long shot.

  “Here?” Yvonne asked. She had every right to be surprised not only that Wyatt was here, but that he’d invited guests. “Why?”

  Pauline simply held up the newspaper. “Seems we make an excellent hideout. What’s wrong with Ed and Katie’s place that Marilyn has to hide here?”

  Wyatt shut his eyes and gulped down his coffee as Yvonne skimmed the article. He probably should do the same before Marilyn got here, but he had no hope of reading something that fast. Then again, what was in there didn’t matter half as much as what she knew and he’d just heard. “Can we please just forget my massive shortcomings and be nice to her and her girls? She needs a place to think this through. I need a place to think this through.” The raised eyebrow Chaz gave him at that last remark made Wyatt regret it. Still, he needed to find out what Marilyn knew before he shared anything of what he’d overheard on the golf course. And he couldn’t do that with the girls around.

  Wyatt walked over to Pauline. “Can you and Yvonne... I don’t know...play with Cecil?” Chaz’s dog was good with kids. “Bake something with the girls? Anything so I can talk to Mari alone?”

  “What’s going on between you two?” Chaz asked pointedly.

  If he knew the answer to that, he’d be a lot calmer than he was right now. “Nothing.”