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As he walked away, he heard Venetia whisper, “Do you think one of those young ladies is his girlfriend?”
“Maybe both,” Mrs. Bryant replied, and then they chuckled.
He should have introduced Cassie and Louisa, but they’d already walked past when Mrs. Bryant spoke to him. Next time, though, he’d make sure everyone knew that they were employees. He didn’t need rampant speculation that he’d brought two young women to town for his amusement while he completed his sentence. Besides, they were both professionals, even if Cassie looked as though she would be scared to death if someone whispered “boo,” and Louisa was so petite a blue norther could blow her away.
“What’s good here?” she asked as he sat down across from them.
He took another look at her thin face. “You really should try the cheese fries,” he said with a smile and picked up a menu.
What a blast from the past. This place had barely changed. Even Mrs. Brody looked the same. She was the mother of his best friend from childhood through high school. He and James had been a pair, getting into more trouble than any of their parents could handle. Well, to be honest, Wyatt reminded himself, he’d gotten James into more trouble than the Brodys could handle. From the comments of the ladies in the booth and the people he’d already talked to on the street, everyone expected him to continue to get into trouble.
Well, this time he wasn’t going to meet their expectations. Despite wanting to provoke Miss Mayor, he was going to be on his best behavior while in town. Decorating the community center for Christmas was a mild sentence, one he could work through as long as he didn’t have to assemble many more mechanical displays. And he wouldn’t be terrorizing the Settlers’ Stroll or streaking past the church or painting the water tower. His old paraglider was long gone, as was his souped-up pickup truck. He was pretty sure his parents had gotten rid of the ATVs and dirt bikes, so really, how much trouble could he get into in one small town in only a week’s time?
“YOU’VE HAD TWO CALLS FROM the national press, one from the Graham Leader and one from the Wichita Falls paper,” Eileen Breslin told Toni as she entered the municipal building. “They all want an update on Wyatt’s community service. And here’s the report from last week’s zoning commission meeting.”
“Thanks,” Toni said as she accepted the multiple pink message slips and a stapled report from the city government receptionist-secretary-information desk. Eileen could also fill in as the police dispatcher, serve on the volunteer fire department and substitute teach if she had to. In addition, she coached her eleven-year-old daughter’s softball team. Toni always felt like a slacker around Eileen.
Toni walked down the hallway toward the mayor’s office. It wasn’t a very big space, since the day-to-day operations of the city were taken care of by the city manager. The mayor was part of the city council, voted on issues coming out of zoning and other departments, developed ideas for possible projects and performed ceremonial duties, mostly.
Ceremonial duties such as introducing Wyatt McCall at the chili dinner on Saturday at the community center. She’d say some nice things about him, he’d say some nice things about the town, and then he’d ride off into the sunset. Again.
She closed the door to the office, blocking out the soft Christmas music playing throughout the building, and spread the message slips in front of her. Everyone wanted to know what was going on with him. Not much, as far as she could tell. He had managed to assemble five reindeer, despite his earlier frustration. Then he’d taken a two-hour lunch. He was probably accustomed to such leisure pursuits, especially now that he was semiretired.
“Retired,” she mumbled. Who retired at age thirty-three? Someone who could afford to, that’s who. But even as she thought about the idea of unlimited leisure time, she knew she wouldn’t retire even if she could. There was too much to do. Too many buildings to renovate, businesses to encourage, clients to work with. She didn’t want to give that up, even if she could somehow magically afford to do so.
She enjoyed being a catalyst in the renewal of Brody’s Crossing. Someone needed to take a lead role in bringing the town back, if not to railroad-oil-cattle-boom days, at least to a realistic standard. The zoning report was about the removal or renewal of dilapidated buildings, although she’d have to excuse herself from votes relating to her renovation projects.
She’d just finished her phone calls when Wyatt’s press secretary—or perhaps she was a public-relations director—showed up.
“Hello, Louisa,” Toni said, hoping she’d remembered the young woman’s name correctly. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if I needed a permit to take photos on the community center property or on a public street. I wanted to get some to update the foundation Web site and perhaps some video that could be used for downloads by the media.”
“Technically, you need a permit, but since Wyatt is serving an unofficial sentence at the community center, there won’t be any problem taking his photo. I can call the director for you and let her know you’re coming by.”
“Well, if you’re sure. I wouldn’t want to cause more trouble for him that would come back to haunt him later.”
“You won’t.” Toni eyed the efficient-looking and -sounding PR person carefully. “You know, despite what Wyatt thinks, I didn’t intentionally tell that reporter about him leaving town before he finished repainting the tower. It was an honest mistake.”
“I’m sure that’s between you and Mr. McCall.”
“Yes, but you might think I’m looking for a way to make trouble for him, because that’s what he thought at first. Perhaps he still does. I’m not trying to hurt his reputation or bring up the past. Believe me, I’d rather he only visited town to see his folks. His arrival here is causing quite a stir.”
Louisa shrugged. “He’s a draw wherever he goes.”
“I’m sure that’s true. We see photos of him at many high-profile events.” People who felt that Toni might be interested in knowing what her former boyfriend was up to often showed her entertainment and business news stories and photos of him. She always smiled and said, “Isn’t that nice,” or some such remark, and went on with her day. If she ever showed the least bit of interest in him, someone might interpret that as an “attraction,” which she could never acknowledge. Her feelings for Wyatt were absolutely private.
“If you’d be more comfortable, we can rush through a permit. However, I’ll be glad to make that call and you can take your photos whenever the light is right or Wyatt starts working again.”
“Oh, he’s there now. We had lunch—a working lunch, actually—and then he went back to the community center.”
“That’s fine. I’m not keeping track of him that closely. As I said, I just want him to finish his task and then Brody’s Crossing will get on with Christmas.”
“He’s doing his best. He’s serious about this foundation. I’m sure he’s anxious to get back to California.”
I sure hope so. He definitely wouldn’t be leaving before the chili dinner on Saturday evening, though. “Please, let me know if you need anything else,” she told Louisa, hoping the woman would take the hint and leave so they wouldn’t have to keep talking about Wyatt. If there was one thing that could spoil her holiday spirit, it was constant reminders that she’d been dumped by her now-billionaire boyfriend.
AFTER WORKING AT THE COMMUNITY center for another few hours, setting up white spiral Christmas trees and big lighted boxes trimmed with bows, Wyatt decided to call it a day. He needed to go see his parents. They’d wanted him to come out last night, but he’d put them off. He’d needed to get settled, he’d told them, which apparently had sounded reasonable. Tonight, he had no excuse. With a sigh, he plugged in the extension cords and watched the Christmas display light up the cloudy afternoon. Everything seemed to be working properly.
He looked across the street at Toni’s neat cottage-style house. The frame siding and roof looked new, or at least well kept. She’d come out just a little earlier and swept the porch and walkway, looking at him occasionally. He knew because he’d been looking at her. She’d finished in what was probably record time and retreated inside. She hadn’t spoken to him since this morning.
He rattled her. Good. She’d rattled him yesterday, with her calm demeanor and classic beauty. She’d grown into a woman in the years he’d been gone, but she still had a bit of the spunky girl he’d known—and at one time, loved—inside.
Good thing they hadn’t stayed together, he thought as he gathered up the few tools he’d used. Or gotten married, which was where they were headed if he hadn’t left town when he had. Marriage would have ruined their relationship a little more slowly than his abrupt departure, but just as surely.
No, he’d done the right thing in leaving for Stanford as soon as he graduated from B.C.H.S. He knew Toni didn’t understand, but better she thought he was a jerk than begin thinking about “the future.” That place defined by white wedding gowns, giggling bridesmaids, two-point-three adorable children and a three-bedroom house near Mom and Dad. The reality was more like credit card bills, snotty noses, dirty diapers and family feuds.
He’d actually done Toni a favor by running off, he thought as he placed the tool kit inside the community center storage closet. She’d gone to college not so far from home, started her own business and been elected Brody’s Crossing’s first female mayor since the early 1900s. Back then, the widow of a popular but crooked mayor who’d been shot in front of what was now the Burger Barn had taken over her husband’s position. Life was considerably more civilized now.
Wyatt stretched the kinks from his back and walked to the Hummer. He pulled his cell phone from his jacket and called his parents. There had been a time when calling in advance was absolutely essential. Now, it was more of a courtesy.
“Hey, Mom. I’m headed your way. Can I bring anything?” And by that, he meant from the grocery, but he didn’t make any snarky comments like he used to when he was younger and his mother went to Graham or farther to get what she really wanted.
“A half gallon of milk,” he repeated back to her. “Anything else?”
“No, we’re fine,” she answered.
“I’ll be there soon.” With another sigh, Wyatt slid behind the wheel. He shouldn’t have asked. Now he’d have to stop by Casale’s Grocery, unless he wanted to go way out of his way to the minimart at the gas station outside of town. Hopefully, he wouldn’t see Mrs. Casale. He assumed she still didn’t like him much. Good thing she’d never be his mother-in-law. Talk about awkward situations!
As soon as he entered the grocery store, he felt as if everyone was watching him. And they were. He was the only man around. There were mothers with school-age children and grandmothers and pregnant ladies. He recognized a few of the older women as he headed through the produce section toward the dairy case.
“Wyatt McCall! Why, I’d heard you were back. What are you up to this time?”
“Just setting up some Christmas decorations at the community center. How are you, Mrs. Hammer?”
“I’ve got arthritis in my knees and I just got over a nasty sinus infection. Why are you setting up those decorations? You could hire someone to do that.”
Leave it to Bud Hammer’s wife to get straight to the point. He remembered Bud and Myra as being very contentious. “You know, I did a lot of crazy things when I was younger. It’s time that I did something nice for Brody’s Crossing, don’t you think?”
“Well, that might be true, but I don’t think setting up that yard art really cuts it. I heard you had more money than Bill Gates.”
Wyatt laughed. “Hardly. But I do have enough to get by.”
Mrs. Hammer snorted. “That’s why you’re putting up those plastic reindeer from Wal-Mart. Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.” She shook her head and put a bag of bargain-priced bananas into her cart. “Just don’t you mess up the chili supper, Wyatt McCall. That’s a tradition.”
“I’m looking forward to having a nice dinner. I promise I won’t talk too long, either. Now, I need to get some milk for my mother. You take care, Mrs. Hammer.”
“Oh, I will. You tell you parents hello for me and don’t forget—behave yourself, young man.”
Wyatt chuckled as he strode quickly to the dairy case. Young man. He was thirty-three, not eighteen. But some folks wouldn’t acknowledge that, he knew. Some folks wouldn’t forget his past. He’d thought he could quickly make amends by fulfilling the sentence the city had decided upon, but maybe it wasn’t enough. The fact that he really was doing the work himself hadn’t impressed Myra Hammer, so maybe it wouldn’t fly with the rest of the town, either.
When had he become so concerned about what others thought of him? And was he cheap? Were people expecting better decorations? The community center director and city officials had specifically said he had to use the reindeer, trees and boxes they already had.
How could something so simple become so complicated? He’d been back in his hometown for two days and his thinking had already been challenged by a little old lady. A cranky little old lady, at that.
He did manage to get through the checkout line without seeing Mrs. Casale or anyone else who had an opinion of his visit home or advice on behaving himself. The short drive to his parents’ place—it wasn’t really a ranch anymore, since they didn’t raise horses or cattle—didn’t take long. He passed a few of the “nodding donkey” oil pumps that dotted the landscape. His dad loved it when oil went over ninety dollars a barrel.
The sun was setting as he pulled to a stop in the parking area behind his parents’ garage, and he sat for a moment admiring the oranges, pinks and purples of the sky over the low western hills. Texas did have some spectacular sunsets, but nothing rivaled the view from his wraparound deck at home when the sun sank into the Pacific. Sometimes he sat there in a teak deck chair, watching the sunset with his only housemate, Tiger, a ragged-ear yellow tabby who used to be a tomcat. The cat was as rough and ugly as the house was sleek and beautiful, but for some reason he hung around. Probably because Wyatt was the only person stupid enough to feed and care for him in a posh hilltop community that valued pedigree over the ability to catch mice.
Wyatt would be back in Carmel soon. Whatever decorations Mrs. Nakimoto put up were fine with him. He didn’t entertain at home. Usually, he took a few friends—or perhaps a special lady friend—on a vacation at Christmas.
Putting up the “yard art,” as Mrs. Hammer called it, at the community center in Brody’s Crossing had made him think of all the holiday functions he’d attended—and then gotten into trouble over messing with the joy of others as they pursued their own Christmas traditions. The holidays weren’t so much fun anymore, even though his options now were practically limitless and his mischief more expensive and polished.
“Hell, you’re not a kid,” he murmured to himself. It didn’t matter how the older generation treated him. But what did he expect? To return to the days when he’d been bored, rebellious and overindulged? No way. He was an adult. He did what adults did. Well, adults with millions of dollars of discretionary income, he thought as he grabbed the milk and walked toward the home in which he’d grown up. The house had an addition, a new roof to accommodate the raised ceilings his mother had always wanted and a new flagstone entry and circular drive out front.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, closing the back door behind him. He sat the plastic jug on the counter and lowered his cheek for a perfunctory and somewhat awkward dry peck. She was trying to be a good mother, he knew. About fifteen years too late, but maybe better late than never. At least she only smelled of expensive perfume now, not that vodka had much of an odor.
“Thank you for bringing milk. It’s such a hassle to go to town for one item.”
Maybe, but what else did she have to do in a typical day? “Where’s Dad?”
“Watching one of those old television shows in the family room, probably.”
“Do you need any help?” He hoped not. He hated helping his mother in the kitchen. He never knew where anything was, especially after the remodeling, and he set the table wrong every time.
“No, thank you. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready. Lupe fixed us a roasted chicken and vegetables earlier, before she left for the day.”
Oh, good. At least his mother wasn’t trying to cook again. She had an uncanny ability to ruin any type of meat and burn potatoes until the entire house reeked. Lupe had been their housekeeper for several years now, and his mother actually seemed to like her. He remembered a time when his mother had found fault with everyone and everything. Except him. He’d always been her golden boy, even when he didn’t deserve her support.
Wyatt sat next to his dad in a matching recliner and watched a rerun of a rerun of an ancient Western horse opera. His dad turned down the volume so it was barely audible, just enough to be irritating as he talked about the possibility of shrinking crop subsidies and lower oil prices now that the general election was history. Wyatt wished he had a beer as he waited to be called to dinner, but there were no beers in the fridge. Not any more. He felt the urge to do something outrageous, just to relieve the tension. That’s how he’d gotten in so much trouble when he was a kid. Hell, he still got into trouble sometimes when he was bored. Maybe he hadn’t grown up much at all, despite fifteen years and unbelievable success.
Then he remembered Cassie’s request, and asked, “Do you have any horses here?”
“Not these days. They’re too much trouble.”
“My assistant wants to ride. I’ll call the Brodys to see if they have any gentle mounts. I don’t want her thrown or spooked. She’s only ridden once, as a child.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“No, Dad. She’s my assistant. Purely professional.” His dad had a hard time accepting the idea of women in career positions. He assumed women were only looking for boyfriends or husbands.
“Dinner’s ready,” his mother finally announced, and Wyatt practically launched himself from the recliner.
They ate in polite silence interspersed with polite conversation. He even used his best table manners.
“I’m planning a welcome-home dinner party for you on Thursday night,” his mother announced just before dessert. “I was sure you didn’t have anything planned.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t have. That’s too much trouble. I doubt anyone will want to come to a party on a weeknight.” Him, especially.
“No, I checked, and everyone is delighted. And we can’t have it on the weekend. Almost everyone will be busy Friday night with last-minute preparations for the parade on Saturday afternoon.”
“How many people are coming to this party?”
“I believe we have nineteen acceptances and two maybes, so it’s just a small get-together. Just a buffet dinner and dessert to welcome you home.”
“Okay,” he said, trying not to sound petulant as he stacked dishes to carry into the kitchen. “Mostly your friends, right?”
“Actually, I’ve invited some of your friends, also. James Brody and his wife, Sandy. She’s new to town. Cal Crawford and his wife, Christie, who owns the motel as you probably know. Cal received a Purple Heart for his service in Afghanistan. He’s a little older than you, but you remember him from high school, right?”
“Yes.” Wyatt paused at the doorway to the kitchen. “Anyone else?”
“Why, yes. I’ve asked our mayor, of course. Toni Casale.” His mother raised her penciled brows as she lifted the cover from a crystal cake plate. “She’s still single, you know.”
Wyatt forced a completely neutral expression. “You don’t say.” He turned and walked into the kitchen. Having a bunch of his parents’ friends was pretty bad; having some of his own friends would make the night more bearable. Having Toni in his boyhood home…That was something else entirely.
He wondered if his mother had ever found out what he and Toni had done in his old bedroom. In the family room. In the barn. In his truck.
On that highly polished cherry table in the dining room.
As he placed dishes in the sink, he wondered if Toni would remember. If she’d be able to sit there and nibble on finger food at the table where he’d nibbled on her. The thought brought a smile to his face.
“You’re grinning,” his mother said as she entered the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and took out a can of whipped cream.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, other fond memories surfacing before he told himself to behave. “I’m just looking forward to your party.”
“Your party,” his mother corrected.
“One can only hope,” he replied, eyeing the whipped cream and thinking of Thursday night.
Chapter Three
On Wednesday Toni began demolition on the old hotel. She met her crew, her brother and a glowing Christie Crawford at eight o’clock in the morning. Christie brought French vanilla coffee for everyone; Toni brought safety goggles and sledgehammers.
“Always wear your goggles, and if you’re tearing out Sheetrock, ceiling tiles or anything with insulation, you need a mask,” she told her two partners.
“Is there asbestos?” Leo asked.
“Thankfully, no. I got the environmental results back Monday.” Right before Wyatt McCall had breezed back into town. “We’re free to begin.”
She wouldn’t have scheduled everyone to be here if it wasn’t safe, but Leo was new to the remodeling side of the business and he didn’t know that. After he bought the hardware store, he’d become more familiar with fixtures, nuts and bolts, nails, screws and nice, clean tools.
“We’re saving these front doors. I’ve marked everything else that is to be saved with orange tape. Don’t damage anything that’s marked. Other than that, you’re free to tear out the cabinets and fixtures in the kitchen, the half wall, the 1970s paneling and those incredibly ugly aluminum wall sconces.”
“Sounds great!” Christie said, hefting her sledgehammer. The polished, pregnant, blond former socialite marched with determination toward a half-wall addition covered in faux walnut. “May I take out the whole thing?”
“You’re welcome to try,” Toni said.
Leo laughed and headed for the kitchen.
