by Erica Penrod
She tilted her head as her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened. “Exactly.”
He broke away from her gaze and looked down at the floor. “Like I want to be seen as more than an addict and all the mistakes I’ve made.”
Tayla tucked her arm beneath his. “I see a strong man who’s humble and kind.”
They both watched as Charlie wiggled in his lap. He opened his mouth in a wide yawn as he stretched out and then collapsed again.
“I know Charlie adores you almost as much as I do,” Tayla added.
“Adore?” Waylon gave her a slighted glance. “I don’t think anyone has ever adored me before.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” Tayla grinned. “Remember the humble part.”
“Alright, I won’t.” Waylon put his hand on her leg. “But for the record, I don’t like your money.”
Her chin jutted back, and her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
He waved his hand back and forth in the air. “No, no that didn’t come out right.” Waylon contemplated for a moment. “It’s cool what you’ve done with Prevail and how successful you are, but if I’m being honest, the money is a little daunting.” She didn’t move, and he took the hint. “Maybe if I’d met you a year or two down the road, but right now, where I’m only a few months clean and living on a lot less than I’d like to, I can’t help but feel intimidated.”
Tayla bit her lip and furrowed her brow. “I won’t apologize for making more money than you.”
“Whoa.” He picked up the sleeping pup and gently laid him on the couch beside him. Waylon turned to Tayla, commanding her attention. “I’m not asking you to apologize.” He lifted her chin. “I’m new at this honesty thing, and obviously I’m not very good at it, because nothing is coming out right. What I’m trying to say is that your money doesn’t matter to me.”
“It bothers you that I’m a woman and I make more than you.” Her accusing tone tempted him to respond in anger, but that was the old Waylon.
“No.” Waylon breathed in and out. “I’m intimidated by Jamon’s money, and it has nothing to do with him. It’s difficult when I know I’m the one who squandered away my life, and I’m fixing it, but I’ve got a long way to go yet.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I’m crazy about you, no matter what.”
Tayla leaned into his touch. “You are?”
“Yes.” Waylon moved in and pressed his lips to hers.
Tayla responded to his touch, her mouth taking the lead, and he followed. Fire coursed through his veins as he reached up, cradling her face in his hands, savoring her kiss. And then she stopped, leaving him longing for more. He opened his eyes as Tayla’s gaze bored right through him. His first instinct was to turn away, afraid she’d see too much, but as her eyes pooled with emotion, his defenses deteriorated. The instant spark between them burned, yet in her eyes, he saw so much more: an eternal flame, an everlasting light to lead him through the darkness. Waylon caught his breath, afraid to believe what was right in front of him—home.
Fourteen
Tayla slid into the saddle, and like with a bike, everything came rushing back to her.
“You ready?” Waylon adjusted the reins in his hands.
“Yes.” She grinned, patting the horse’s neck. “Ginger and I are ready to go.”
“Alright, Jamon, lead on.” Waylon, Tayla, Jamon, and Gemma took advantage of the unseasonably warm afternoon and headed out on horseback. “Wait till you see this place.” Waylon’s horse walked beside Tayla’s, with Jamon and Gemma up ahead. “Jamon calls it the Back Five. He left the acres in their natural habitat, other than a couple amenities—” He winked. “—so he’d have a place to trail ride with the horses.”
Tayla tried to sit properly, feeling muscles in her body come out of hibernation. They took a gravel road before they turned off and headed up the trail wide enough for their horses to walk side by side. The November sun, diluted by evergreen trees and leafless limbs of the deciduous, lost its concentration, and the temperature dropped a few degrees.
Jamon called over his shoulder. “It’ll warm up again once we reach the clearing.”
“It’s not too bad.” Tayla smiled but was grateful for her wool jacket and gloves.
“You’re sure you’re warm enough?” Waylon’s leg brushed hers. Waylon’s ability to let her be the strong, independent woman she’d always been, while showing her it was okay to be taken care of too, continued to surprise her.
She nodded, and they rode in silence, listening as the last of the leaves drifted from the treetops, enjoying the world around them.
Tayla’s stomach somersaulted as they approached a steep slope. She’d ridden horses most of her life, but the hill daunted her. Jamon went first, followed by Gemma, and the climb didn’t look too bad until Ginger took off and Tayla fell way back in the saddle.
“Just hold onto the horn. Ginger’s done this many times.” Jamon smiled from the top.
Tayla’s lips quivered as she smiled. You are pathetic, her younger self chided her. This little mound was nothing compared to some of the climbs she’d made back on the farm. She gripped the horn and gritted her teeth. Ginger had her on level ground in seconds. “I’m ashamed to say it’s been too long since I’ve done something like that.”
Waylon’s horse bounded up the hill. “You did great.” He sounded like she’d just conquered Everest.
“Thanks.” Her face heated, fueled by his enthusiasm, and then she laughed. “But I didn’t do anything. That was all Ginger.”
Waylon cocked his head. “Yeah, but you sure looked good doing it.”
“Come on, you two.” Jamon chuckled. He and Gemma walked on, revealing the space behind them.
Tayla turned to Waylon. “That is so cool.”
Waylon smiled. “Jamon’s been working on this little oasis for a few months.” In the center of the clearing was a fire pit with bench seats made of cobblestone. To the right was a gorgeous wooden table and a set of matching chairs.
“Let’s tie up the horses and start a fire.” Jamon climbed down and led his horse to a hitching post a little distance from the table.
“And I brought stuff for s’mores.” Gemma dug into the saddlebag, pulling out a box of graham crackers, chocolate bars, and a bag of marshmallows.
“Sounds wonderful.” Tayla got down and walked Ginger over to the post. She tied the mare’s reins around the rail next to Waylon’s horse, and he took her hand in his as they walked over to the fire pit.
“Alright, Boy Scout, let’s see you start this fire.” Waylon winked at Tayla as he razzed his brother.
Jamon dropped a bundle of sticks into the pit and pulled a handheld butane lighter from his back pocket. “Always be prepared.”
“Dry wood and everything.” Waylon nodded. “I’m impressed.”
“I’ve got some stashed away up here, just for times like these.” Jamon lit the kindling, and a tiny flame emerged. “But you’ll have to make your own roasting sticks.”
Gemma spread out the s’more supplies on the table. “Help yourselves.”
Tayla leaned into Waylon. She missed having a family and wondered if things had been different, if she and her sister might’ve had a relationship like Jamon and Waylon’s. Waylon had told her his drug addiction nearly ruined everything between them, but if that were true, there was no evidence in the easy banter between the two. A pang of loneliness seeped into her happy heart. Tayla ignored the annoyance, centering on the man beside her. Waylon reacquainted her with a way of life she’d been too busy to remember: the simple pleasure of a horse ride, the feel of a fishing pole in her hand, and the serenity of a hand to hold. Waylon West reminded her she needed more than her job and her friends. Tayla needed family, and maybe that was what she’d found right here.
* * *
“Thank you.” Tayla ended the call as her belly danced with excitement. “Ma
llory recommended several therapists, and of course there will be some red tape and a huge learning curve.”
“But she thinks it’s a great idea?” Gordon sat back in the chair across from her desk. He rested his hands on the belly he’d threatened to get rid of for the last five years.
“Yes. She said equine therapy is widely used to help with addiction. I need to do my homework. I’ll want the best people managing the place.”
“Of course.” Gordon grinned. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
Tayla chuckled. “You know me so well.” She jotted down a few notes. “I’ll get Saige working on finding some property for us. Ideally, it wouldn’t be too far from Prevail, but I guess we’ll deal with the logistics once we see what’s available.”
“Yeah.” He stood up, raising his arms in a stretch. “Have you done anything more with the halfway house idea?” Gordon dropped his arms and put his hands in his front pockets. “We’re at full capacity with our in-house treatment.”
“I know.” She tapped the pen on the pad. “I’m working on that. If I can get the owner of the old building behind us to sell, then I’ll have the ground I need.”
“Sounds like you might be in Seattle a bit longer than you expected.”
Waylon’s face popped up in her mind. His dark eyes and deep dimples … and then there was his mouth … “Um, yeah, you could say that.” Her phone rang, and she glanced down. “Excuse me, Gordon, I’ve got to take this.”
“I’ll see you later.” He stepped out of her office and closed the door behind him.
“Hey, Jamon.” Tayla looked at her schedule, hoping she hadn’t missed something with Jamon. She had been distracted lately. “What can I do for you?”
“Have you seen Waylon?” Jamon’s shaky voice pushed the panic button within her mind. “He wasn’t at work today. His boss said he called in.”
Tayla put her hand to her head. “Maybe he’s not feeling well and stayed home. I assume you’ve called his phone?”
“Yes, and it went straight to voicemail. I’ve already stopped by his apartment.”
“I don’t think we need to panic just yet.” Her heart pounded in her chest. “Something must’ve come up.”
“Tayla …” Jamon paused. “Howard is sick. He’s got cancer. He told us late last night, and Waylon wasn’t handling it well. I tried to get him to stay with me, but he wouldn’t.” He sighed. “I should’ve made him stay. He’s not been clean for that long. What if—”
“Hold on.” Tayla sat up straight. “We don’t know that he’s using again.” She wanted to reassure Jamon, but he probably knew the statistics as well as she did.
“I hope you’re right.” Jamon’s voice softened. “But his history says otherwise.”
“Let’s just pray for the best. I’ll try to find him too.” Her words came out raspy. She couldn’t get enough air. Demons from her past reared their ugly heads, their serpent arms choking her lungs. This was like her father all over again: a good man unable to combat the evil dependence inside. What was she thinking to get involved with an addict?
“Okay. Thanks, Tayla.” Jamon sounded like he’d summoned up some courage. “I’ll stay in touch.”
Tayla let the phone fall from her ear and land on the desk. Her mind circled the possibilities of Waylon’s whereabouts. They’d been together nearly every day over the last month, and she knew his usual hangouts. There weren’t many. Surely they could track him down. Tayla grabbed her purse and left without a word to anyone.
We’ll find him, we’ll find him, we’ll find him.
She rushed out to her car, praying that they wouldn’t be too late.
Fifteen
Tayla drove home, despair hovering in the car like a black cloud. She’d checked a couple of Waylon’s favorite fishing spots without a catch and drove past his apartment once again, but his truck wasn’t in the parking lot. With each passing second, doubt crept around her mind like an unwanted spider, casting webs of fear, trapping her vulnerable faith.
She passed through the security gate at The Cove as an idea, like a thin line of hope, resurged within her and she grabbed on. The first time she’d met Waylon, he was walking through her neighborhood. Maybe there was a small chance he’d gone for an extended tour of The Cove to clear his head.
With some added pressure to the gas pedal, she headed for her house. Tayla pleaded with the heavens that she’d find Waylon’s truck parked in the drive. She tried to regulate her breathing; the proverbial pang of disappointment threatened to claim her. Waylon was not her father, and she had to believe in him. But as she pulled up to her home’s empty drive, tears brimmed in her eyes and she had to measure each rise and fall of her lungs just like all those years ago.
Where are you? Tayla combed the neighborhood until the road blurred and she had to pull over. Rain began to fall as she wiped her eyes. Her shoulders slumped as horrible scenarios played through her mind. No. She shook her head. She wouldn’t go there—at least, not yet. Wasn’t that what she’d told Jamon?
* * *
Tayla sat with Jamon and Gemma in Jamon’s kitchen. They’d searched everywhere, and Waylon was nowhere to be found. Gemma had double-checked the list she’d made of all the possibilities they believed Waylon might be, and one by one, they’d crossed them off.
Jamon spun his empty glass on the counter. “I never should’ve let him go.” The pain in his eyes mirrored Tayla’s own. The look was the same heartbreak she’d endured for so many years.
“You can’t control this, Jamon.” Tayla reached out and touched his hand. “You know that.”
He nodded as his eyes dampened. “It’s just that he was doing so well. I really thought he’d done it this time.” Jamon wiped his eyes with the back of his hands as Gemma handed him a tissue. “He has a job and he met you. Everything was good.” He gazed over at Tayla. “It was like I didn’t see the addict, but I saw my brother.”
Didn’t see the addict … Tayla’s eyes widened, and hope floated up and out of desolation. Waylon needed someone to believe in him, and that would be her. She owed him this much after what he’d given her. The man she knew was strong enough to vanquish the villainous desires his mind was no doubt throwing at him like fiery darts. Addiction could not be cured, but it could be kept at bay, and if anyone could do this, Waylon could.
“I think he’s okay.” Tayla stood up. Jamon and Gemma gaped at her. “I mean it. Waylon is—”
“Waylon is what?” Waylon walked into the kitchen and stood next to Tayla. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He returned her embrace. “Hello, beautiful.”
“Where have you been?” Jamon put both hands on the counter. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Why? Is it Howard?” Alarm sounded in Waylon’s voice.
“No, Howard’s fine—I mean, not fine, but no different than last night.” Jamon’s eyes scoured his brother from head to toe.
Waylon’s body relaxed. “You think I’m high.” His shoulders slumped.
“I was worried.” Jamon crossed his arms. “When I couldn’t reach you on the phone, I stopped by work and they said you called in.”
“That should’ve been your first clue.” Waylon put his arm around Tayla and pulled her close. “If I was out using, I would’ve never called into work.”
“I’m sorry.” Jamon shook his head. “I assumed the worst.”
“That’s because I’ve never given you a reason not to.” Waylon cleared the emotion from his throat. “I’m messed up over Howard. He’s been like a father to us.” Waylon’s lip trembled. “And the thought did occur to me to find some pills and get rid of the pain. That’s when I called into work and went to an early meeting.”
Early meeting. Tayla hung her head. She never thought to check the roster at Prevail.
“After that, I decided to go fishing and I didn’t have service.” He took the phone from his pocket. “And the battery is dead.”
“So you’re okay?” Gem
ma’s hazel eyes glistened with tears.
“Yes, I’m okay.” Waylon turned to Tayla. “I’m sorry. I should’ve realized you would all be worried.”
“You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Tayla kissed Waylon’s cheek. “But don’t ever do that again.”
“I won’t.” Waylon sealed the promise with a kiss on her lips.
Tayla believed the man’s promise, but the addict inside him would like nothing more than to twist Waylon’s words into a lie. She’d endured so many broken promises from her father before, and the thought was paralyzing. But Waylon wasn’t her father. Her father never tried to get help; he tried to fight his monsters on his own. Waylon had just fought his first major battle since his sobriety, and that was something to celebrate.
* * *
“Howard, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Waylon held Howard’s pants in his hands.
“I’ve been putting my own pants on for over sixty years, and I ain’t about to quit now.” Howard huffed and then coughed.
“Listen, you stubborn mule.” Waylon knelt, forcing Howard’s foot into the opening. “The sooner you let me help you, the sooner you can get out of this bed.”
Howard rolled his eyes and pulled on the beard that was no longer there. “Fine.” Chemotherapy took the hair from Howard’s body, but it couldn’t take the fight, and Waylon was glad to see it. Once his legs were in, Waylon helped him stand, and together they yanked up the man’s pants. Howard moved out of his apartment above the barn and in with Jamon while he completed his treatment. His home health nurse was on her lunch break.
“Your chariot awaits.” Waylon helped Howard into the chair, wrapped the knitted throw Tayla had made for him around his shoulders, and put on his slippers.
“Don’t tell Tayla I told you this, because I’ve grown awful fond of her.” Howard waited for Waylon’s nod. “But this here shawl looks like it was knitted by a heard of cats with yarn tied to their tails.”