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“I’m thankful for your help with the garden—but mostly, for you being you. I’ve been so wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself, I never stopped to consider just how many folks have it worse than me. Raising Henry on your own can’t be easy.”
“It’s not, but...” Did he really equate her son with his having a disability? Just when they’d taken a baby step forward in behaving civilly toward each other, why did she feel as if they’d now taken two giant leaps back? “You do understand that no matter what happened with my ex, Henry’s a blessing?”
“Oh, sure. I meant that we all have our own crosses to bear.” He conked his forehead. “That came out wrong. I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a great mom, and your baby’s not cute as a button—just that it’s tough enough caring for your livestock and garden on your own, caring for a baby alone must be ten times harder.”
“True. But I don’t dwell on the fact. I prefer to look on the bright side, which is that I’ve been gifted with an angel to remind me how sweet life can be.”
“Wish I were able to share your optimism.” He looked down. “Right now all I can see is about three steps ahead, and that’s scary. I’ve always believed I could weather any storm, but this thing with my leg is different. From the start, it was totally out of my control—and I hate that. If something’s happening in my life, I ought to be able to confront it head-on.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “What you’re going through—I can’t imagine. But things are going to be okay. They always are.”
His gaze turned cold. “Wish that were true, but it’s been my experience that a lot of times, shit goes from bad to worse.”
“I think you were right...” It was on the tip of her tongue to scold Wiley about cursing in front of her baby, but why waste her breath? Considering his dour frame of mind, he’d only do it again. “It’s probably best if we keep to our own parts of this old mountain. All the plants I owe you are in my wheelbarrow in your side yard. I’ve got the roots wrapped in damp paper towels, but you’ll probably want to get those in the ground sooner as opposed to later. Leave the wheelbarrow by my gate. I’ll come around to get it.”
Before she lost her resolve, Macy hiked Henry higher on her hip, then took off across Wiley’s yard.
“Aw, hell...” She barely heard Wiley mutter. “Macy, wait!”
“Can’t!” she called with a backward wave after stooping to pluck Henry’s backpack-style carrier from where she’d left it in the garden.
And that was the God’s honest truth. She no more trusted herself to turn around for one last look at Wiley than she did not to eat an entire plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies.
He’d always represented something larger-than-life. Years before he’d been a hotshot SEAL, he’d possessed a cocky swagger. A way of squaring his shoulders and jaw that had not only mesmerized her, but alerted her to the fact that he was beyond her reach—not that he’d ever said it in so many words, but in her heart, she’d known.
Even when she was fourteen and more than ready for her first kiss, she hadn’t dared hope to experience the feel of her lips grazing Wiley’s. He was destined for better than her—a greatness she’d recognized even all those years ago. At the time, she’d predicted he’d one day be a famous bull rider—maybe even a movie star—and considering he had a face handsome enough to charm the devil, Macy figured Wiley would end up with a rodeo queen or a brilliant doctor or lawyer. Never in a million years would he end up with a girl as ordinary and plain as she.
And yet now, walking away from him, she recognized the tables had been turned. Oh, he was still every bit as handsome as he’d ever been. And his slight limp didn’t bother her in the least. What she did find inexcusable was his attitude. She was sorry for what he’d been through—couldn’t even imagine the horror. But that didn’t give him the right to abandon life. Where his gaze had once been vibrant and sparking with energy, those same brown eyes now looked dead. And that scared her.
* * *
FOR ABOUT FIVE SECONDS, Wiley considered chasing Macy, but what was the point? They’d said all they had to say—he’d spilled far more than he’d ever planned to share with anyone—let alone the firecracker who’d tormented him for as long as he could remember.
He exchanged his flannel pajama bottoms for jeans and a red plaid shirt, rammed his bare feet into socks and then cowboy boots, then headed to the garden.
The notion that Macy had uprooted her plants for him had him all messed up inside.
Who did that?
Sure, they’d been friends back in the day, but they were nothing now—less than acquaintances. Which begged the question, why had he spewed all that personal BS? And why did he now feel like crap over the fact that yet again he’d sent poor little Macy skittering as if she was Beauty and he was the Beast?
So what? Why did he care?
Maybe because that story she’d told about her cheating ex hadn’t set well. She deserved better. With that crazy-colored hair of hers and freckles that looked as if angels sprinkled cinnamon atop the bridge of her button nose, she was more than pretty. In fact, there had been a point before his grandfather died when Wiley had started to look at Macy in a much different light than merely the pesky little kid from next door.
She’d been fourteen, and he’d just turned eighteen—too old for her, yet incapable of turning away from the kid-transformed-into-sexy-young-woman stealing the show at his high school graduation party.
Macy had tagged along with Dot and Clem.
He closed his eyes and saw her as plainly as if he’d stepped back in time.
The night was unseasonably warm and scented with a bouquet of feminine perfumes. A thunderstorm approached and lightning backlit the partiers making good use of O’Mally’s deck. Every so often thunder boomed. Eagle Ridge had only four restaurants, but this was his favorite, which was why his parents held his party there. So many people had come that the event spilled out of the private dining room and the local band his dad hired set up on the covered stage located just off the spacious deck. The stage was two-sided, which allowed whoever was playing to perform inside or out. In the winter, a garage door closed it off from the snow, but tonight, that door stood open for the band currently performing a Bon Jovi classic.
Liquor was flowing, and Wiley’s grandfather kept sneaking Wiley and his friends steady rounds of whiskey shots and beer.
“Hey, Wiley,” Macy said when she left the dance floor for a cup of his mother’s virgin punch. She looked different—better. “Excited to be out of school?”
“Hell, yeah.” He couldn’t stop staring. What had she done to transform herself from pain-in-his-ass to hottie? When had she gotten boobs?
“Got big plans?”
“Nah. Grandpa needs me to help on the mountain. I figure I’ll do that in the off-season, then hit the rodeo circuit. You know I won my last three bull-riding events.”
She rolled her eyes. “Duh—like you’ve only told me ten times. Get a new story.”
“Kiss your mom with that sassy mouth?”
“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind kissing you.” She raised her chin, and the challenge in her eyes did funny things to his stomach. She’d put her long curls up, and instead of her usual T-shirt and jeans, she wore a blue sundress that made it all too easy for him to peer down at her female assets. Her mounded boobs had him not only hitching his breath, but shifting his weight to hide the instant action beneath his fly.
“You’re just a kid,” he mumbled.
“Not anymore.” In the shadows with the band now playing a slow country song, she sidled up close—uncomfortably close. Not because he wanted her to go away, but because in that moment, he didn’t want to let her go.
She escaped his hold to dance solo, waving her arms above her head, which only put more of a strain on her dress’s thin fabric. Lord, her boobs were nice. How had he never noticed?
Thunder cracked.
Other guests shrieked while running inside to get out of the sprinkles promising to soon be a downpour, but she stayed.
The rain made good on its promise, and even though the band had stopped playing to move their gear inside, Macy danced to her own music, swaying and laughing with her eyes closed. As long as he lived, Wiley doubted he’d ever see a more beautiful sight. Her hair had fallen and her soaked dress had turned see-through. She wore no bra, and in the light cascading through the windows, nothing was left to his imagination.
She was no longer Little Macy, but a girl he had to have.
“You’re wild!” he called above the storm.
She giggled. “I know.”
“I’ve got to kiss you.” Wind pushed him closer, and with his hands on her sweet ass, he pressed himself against her, needy for release.
“It’s about time.”
A gust stole his straw cowboy hat, but he hardly noticed on account of how badly he wanted her. He leaned in for that kiss, but then her dad charged onto the deck and grabbed hold of the back of Wiley’s shirt.
“Boy, what the hell are you doing?” To his daughter, Steve barked, “Macy, get inside!”
“Y-yes, Daddy.” Her teeth chattered.
“I—I’m awfully sorry, sir. It—this, won’t happen again.”
“Good. It better not,” Steve said. “Get out of this rain and sober up. You smell like a damned brewery.”
“Yessir.” In the packed restaurant and bar, the increasingly drunken crowd turned rowdy, but Wiley’s brief interaction with Macy’s angry father turned him sober.
Wiley tried finding Macy, but her whole family was gone.
Hours later his parents were, too—only forever.
Having had too much to drink, his father had taken a curve too fast on the slick, winding mountain road leading to their home. The car careened off a steep embankment, and according to the sheriff, his folks had died instantly.
By all rights, Wiley should have been with them, but he’d been back at the bar, shooting pool and drinking beer with his friends.
A week later, Wiley joined the Navy and didn’t return to Eagle Ridge for ten long years until his grandfather’s funeral—which, considering what a great man his grandfather had been, pretty much made Wiley scum. Now, four years later, the only thing that had brought him back was his bum leg. Otherwise, he would still be doing the job he loved, with the friends he loved. He sure as hell wouldn’t be back on this mountain where everything he saw and touched reminded him of all he’d lost.
Not just his health and way of life, but his entire family.
It was too much loss for him to cope with, let alone understand, so he finished in the garden, then retired to the front porch with a bottle of Jim Beam. And he drank and drank until the whiskey’s warmth dulled the physical and emotional pain, and Macy was no longer an attractive, vibrant woman from whom he still craved that long ago stolen kiss.
Chapter Three (#ulink_57abef73-3c31-53aa-874f-9d76d5e18016)
“Ever going to spill the real reason why you dragged me out here? I doubt you needed help finding just the right cucumbers for your new pickle recipe.”
“Busted.” Macy cringed, hating that her mother knew her so well. It was Saturday, and while her dad had stayed home with Henry, Macy and her mom strolled Eagle Ridge’s farmer’s market, winding their way past vegetable and fresh-cut flower and artisans’ stalls. A local bluegrass band played in a cordoned-off section of the parking lot. A trio of bare-bellied, long-hair hippy-types from a local commune danced with tambourines and streaming ribbons. Sunshine and cool mountain air laced with pine and incense reminded Macy why she’d come home from Billings after Rex had gone.
It had been two days since she’d last seen Wiley, yet their simple hug—and the electric jolt she’d received from that most basic touch—had been branded into her short-term memory. As for her long-term memories? Those were a tad more complex.
Macy said, “I have a question for you that Dad’s not going to like. So please don’t tell him, okay?”
“Promise, my lips are sealed.” Adrianne pretended to lock her lips.
“Thank you, but the last time you used that gesture, your lock turned out to be made of Silly Putty. I still have nightmares about what Dad said he’d do when or if he ever sees Rex again. You didn’t need to tell Dad he cheated.”
“Of course I did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have understood the divorce. But that’s ancient history. This time, I really won’t tell.”
“Hope not.” Macy was skeptical, but all of her high school friends save for Wendy had moved on to the big city, meaning at the moment, her mom and Henry were all Macy had to use for sounding boards, and one of the two didn’t say much beyond goo and gah. “What if maybe I was attracted to Wiley?”
“I don’t understand the question.” Adrianne plucked tomatoes from a bushel basket and dropped them in her paper bag.
Macy forced a deep breath. “Well, it’s no secret Dad doesn’t approve of him, and he’s got issues, but part of me wants to kiss him so bad I can’t hardly stand it.” Shocked by the extent of her own confession, she covered her mouth. Cheeks warm, she said, “That came out wrong. What I meant was that he looks awfully good in his Wranglers and cowboy hat. That’s all.”
“Honey...” After paying for her produce, Adrianne led her to a bench tucked alongside the stream bubbling its way through the park. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fooling around.” She winked. “After all Rex put you through, you’re entitled to some good old-fashioned noogie with a tall, dark cowboy. Which is a long way of saying, I guess I’m still confused by your question, since it’s okay—even perfectly natural—if you’re still crushing on Wiley.”
“I know, but it’s complicated,” Macy said. “He’s not the same person anymore. Sure, he was always cocky and had a sarcastic edge to his humor, but now something about him is so dark, and that scares me. But at the same time, I’m more attracted to him than ever. I’d about given up on him when he confessed he didn’t want me to see him with his bad leg, and...” Pain for him—for what he must have gone through—radiated through her. “Mom, I was lost. At that moment, I wanted to do whatever I could to help him. But then I noticed how dead he looked in his eyes—it was as if he hadn’t just lost full use of his leg, but his humanity. Maybe this time Dad was right, and I should stay away?”
“Is that what you want?” Her mom had a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “Because the way I see it, aside from those few rocky years with Rex, you’ve pretty much pined for Wiley since you were a little girl. Now, he’s back, and yes, he might be broken, but when have you ever turned away from anyone or anything in need of extra comfort? You were always bringing in strays, and you treat Clem’s nasty old llamas like family.”
“They are family.”
Her mom grinned, but also shuddered. “Last time that big one spit at me, I wasn’t exactly thinking of giving him a nice hug. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is this is Wiley we’re talking about. Up until he left for the Navy, you thought he hung the moon, stars and every rainbow in between. Clearly, he’s in need of a friend, so why would you even think of turning your back on him?”
“Because I’m scared.” Macy crossed her arms. “Mom, Wiley’s not just a little sad, but fundamentally changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think something happened to him on that last mission of his that he’s not talking about—and honestly, maybe I’m not strong enough to hear.”
* * *
“AGAIN?”
Monday morning, after an endless weekend spent either drunk or sleeping or working his way to each respective state, Wiley stared down Macy’s llama who contentedly munched his newly planted green beans.
The animal spit at him. What was his name? Charlie?
Wiley spit back. “You might act all badass, but that sissy bell Macy’s got you wearing doesn’t do much for your manhood.”
The llama ignored Wiley’s speech in favor of taking another big bite. This time, the beast tugged hard enough that the whole plant—roots and all—came flying out of the ground. The shock of the dirt and dust in his face spooked the llama, and he took off running—only not toward his pasture, but Wiley’s cabin.
Upon discovering that was a dead end, the llama bolted into the side yard. This portion of land was close to the property line, and mostly consisted of a weed-choked, forgotten rust pile where his grandfather had dumped busted fridges, cars and washing machines for decades. Also in the mix was barbed wire, and when Charlie reached it before Wiley could stop him, the animal let out a sound signaling he was in pain.
“Damn it,” Wiley said under his breath, limping to the rescue as fast as his bum leg allowed. Seeing any creature hurting was awful, but knowing this big lug was a favorite of Macy’s made the situation all the worse.
“Calm down...” The rusty wire had looped around the right fetlock and knee. The more Charlie struggled, the more his heartbreaking moans dragged Wiley back to another time, another attempt to avert injury that had ultimately failed.
But not this time.
Wiley clenched his jaw, working the wire loose while somehow not getting his head stomped by one of Charlie’s angry kicks.
“Hang tight, Crow, I’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“I’m already gone,” his SEAL teammate said from between gritted teeth. “Get out of here—save yourself.”
“No way, man. Let me—” BOOM!
The final bomb’s concussive force killed his buddy, Michael Young—called Crow by his friends—and threw Wiley backward a good fifteen feet. The blast rendered him deaf for days—although he still had some ringing in his ears that sometimes kept him up nights. His protective gear saved him from extensive burns—at least everywhere except his leg. He had a few faint scars on his chin and left cheek, but that was nothing a few day’s beard growth didn’t cover.
The internal wounds hurt most. The mental images of the countless other lives taken. In the dark of night, those were the souls haunting him, clawing at his heart and mind until he damn near felt dead himself.
“There you go,” Wiley said to Charlie, stroking the animal’s back while taking gentle hold of his bell collar to lead him from danger. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get the vet up here to clean you and give you a couple shots and you’ll be right as rain.”
Wiley’s soothing words earned him a grunt.
When it came to horses, Wiley would have understood this noise, but llama-speak might as well have been Martian.
Wiley led Charlie to the barn, then found a lead rope to loop around his neck, only Charlie wasn’t having it. Even with his leg scratched, he dug in to the barn’s dirt floor, refusing to budge.
“Looks like we’ll play this your way.”
He slipped the rope off the creature’s stubborn head, then limped back into the sun, closing the barn door behind him. He’d long since given up on his cell having a reliable signal, so he made it to the cabin and dialed the vet’s number on his grandfather’s old-fashioned black rotary-dial phone. Affixed to the wall with yellowed tape was a sheet filled with numbers written in Buster’s familiar scrawl. The vet’s office was just one of the numbers his grandfather had jotted down for eight-year-old Wiley to use in case of emergency. The next number happened to be for Clem and Dot’s—only the voice on the other end of the line was the last he wanted to hear.
“Macy...” Wiley said. “Don’t get upset, but Charlie’s been hurt.”
* * *
