“First off, there will be no leasing,” Chey said. “You’re a guest.”
Tory looked offended. “I am no such thing. I believe I was offered a job. That makes me an employee of Lavender Blue. Or of someone, at any rate. Now, if you want to trade rent in lieu of a paycheck until I prove to you how invaluable I am, I’m happy to work out a deal. But I insist on talking with Hannah to make arrangements so she can still use the loft to paint, or whatever else she is using it for.” Tory let her faux privileged mantle fall so just the honest joy and gratitude shone through. “I’m thrilled to be here, Chey. More than you can know. It’s far lovelier than I even imagined. If you’ve no work for me now, I’ve planned for that. I meant what I said. I can find a room in town. I do hope I can board my horses here, but—”
“Oh, for the love of Pete, just come here already and get it over with.” Chey opened her arms and Tory wasted no time rushing in and hugging the life out of her dearest friend.
Wyatt grinned, happy to relive this particular part of his childhood, as he watched the two. Chey was not at all big on public displays, much less bear hugs, which was precisely why Tory had given them to her as often as was possible back in the day. She’d called it “humankind therapy,” convinced that what Chey needed was more hugs, not fewer, to make her less irascible. Wyatt wasn’t any more convinced now of this plan’s efficacy than he’d been then, but winked at Chey all the same when she gave Tory a kind pat on the back while staring helplessly at Wyatt over her friend’s shoulder.
“I’ve already spoken to Hannah,” Chey said. “And the place is all yours for as long as you need it. No rent—” She raised a hand, stalling Tory’s reply. “Hannah is the sole owner of said loft, so it costs her nothing to do the kindness. She’s not using it and is happy that you can. However, I’ll give you her number and the two of you can hug it out, or whatever. I’m just the messenger.”
“Thank you,” Tory said. “And I would like to call her, to thank her if nothing else. Once we get things established, I’ll see about finding my own place. Or whatever,” she quickly added. “Thank you. Now I’ll shut up.”
Chey pretended to be shocked; then both women shot Wyatt a look when he laughed. He lifted both hands. “I’ll just go out and help with unloading.”
“I’ve offloaded my mares. They’re tied at the post. I wasn’t sure—”
“The paddock is empty,” Chey said. “They can go in there for now. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the freedom after the road trip. I’ve got stalls picked out for them but haven’t set them up yet.”
“I’ll put them in the paddock,” Wyatt said, and turned to go, then paused and turned back to them. “I’d like to go see Buttercup, if you think he’s up to it. I saw him out in the field. Okay if I whistle him in?”
He’d asked casually enough, but Chey turned to him then and he saw, as few did, straight past the bluster and fierce independence, to the big, mushy heart she worked so hard to keep concealed. Chey had told him once she felt emotion made her look weak, and her rivals would use that against her in competition, both inside and outside the ring. That might have been true enough, but Wyatt had long suspected that the hardness of life on the road, not to mention the cutthroat competition, especially given her young age, had made Chey tamp down that soft heart to help herself remain tough.
She had been plenty tough, maybe too tough at times, but he couldn’t fault her for that. In all the ways that mattered, she was all heart. He knew how conflicted she must have felt about Buttercup; finding him as she had must have stirred up her most protective instincts. Just as he was certain she knew how poignant and powerful the reunion between him and the horse that had been his first true friend would likely be. Despite what she’d said earlier, in the heat of the moment, he had no doubt she’d let him reclaim his horse, especially if she thought, even for a minute, it would be what Buttercup might need most.
Horses lived a long time, and their memories lasted just as long. Wyatt had no doubt his horse would remember him, by scent and sound if not appearance. He just didn’t know what Buttercup would think about him suddenly stepping back into his life, especially given what had transpired since they’d last seen each other.
Chey nodded, her gaze directly on his, her serious expression signaling to him that she was well aware of the momentousness of this particular occasion. For man, and for horse. He appreciated that she trusted him to handle the reunion properly.
“Thank you,” he said, hoping she could read his thoughts as easily as he read her.
He stepped outside the barn and walked over to Tory’s mares. He made sure there was water in the trough and dug a few carrots out of the cooler in the trailer and fed them each a few. Minutes later they were both happily trotting around the paddock, feeling their oats a bit after the long drive. Wyatt leaned his arms on the fence and alternated between watching them and looking to the field in the distance where Buttercup was grazing. Maybe he should leave well enough alone. The old gelding didn’t look so great, and Wyatt didn’t want to imagine how bad off he must have been when Tory first found him, if months later, he was still looking so thin and ragged.
Nonetheless, he looked settled, content. And Chey would see to it that he had the best of everything going forward, of that Wyatt had no doubt. Maybe the best thing he could do for his childhood friend was to leave him be, not stir up past memories, past pain. For the horse, or for you?
He honestly didn’t know the answer to that. Both, probably, though he’d like to think he was putting Buttercup’s best interests first. Why reunite, stir up whatever might be in that big, majestic beast’s heart, only to walk away again? The truth of the matter was Wyatt didn’t know where he’d be a month from now, or a year from then. He couldn’t traipse around the world, doing what he did for a living, with a horse in tow. On the other hand, he had property. He didn’t have to board the horse out. He could make a life for Buttercup, a good one. But the truth was, he’d been home less than thirty days, total, in the past year.
Wyatt ducked his chin. Buttercup was better off here. The gelding knew Chey, too, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
“He doesn’t look so good, I know. But he’ll be happier to see you than you can imagine. He’s up to it.” Chey came to stand beside him at the rail and rested her folded arms next to his.
A glance showed that she was looking beyond the paddock to where Buttercup was cropping grass.
“I was thinking it might be more cruel than kind,” Wyatt said. “To Buttercup, I mean.”
Chey glanced at him. “Because you’re not staying.”
She didn’t make it a question, but he nodded anyway.
“I’m not offering this because I think you can’t do it, but because I think I should do it. I could take him home, support him, his care, whatever medical attention he needs, for as long as he needs,” Wyatt said, then turned to look at Chey directly. This close, the impact of those brown eyes of hers was like a one-two punch to his heart. “The truth is, though, I won’t be there much. I’d have someone I trusted care for him, but—”
“You trust me. And I have the added benefit of knowing him as long as you,” Chey said again, not making it a question or needing a response. “All that is to say that he will be fine here. You know I’ll care for him like he’s my own. Honestly, I already feel he is.”
“He deserves you,” Wyatt said, leaving the “more than he deserves me” part silent, knowing she heard it anyway. “And I’m grateful. Thank you, Cheyenne. For all of it. Truly.”
She swallowed hard at his use of her full name. He’d been pretty much the only one who’d ever called her that. But he’d thought it such a cool name when he was a kid. Later, it had meant something entirely different to him; so he was the only one she let call her that.
“Maybe you’re right, then,” she said quietly, looking back out to the field. “Maybe best to steer clear.” She glanced at him again. “For now.”
Wyatt suspected she wasn’t just talking a
bout him steering clear of the horse. He nodded and left it at that.
They both watched Tory’s mares in shared, if not completely comfortable silence. He spent some time taking in the full scope of the property, the row upon row of budding lavender, the magnificent backdrop of the hazy, deep blue peaks.
He debated remaining silent, simply taking the moment for what it was, and being grateful for that much. He was still reeling at the suddenness of this reunion, after so many years and endless conversations he’d had with himself about how this exact situation would play out, if it were ever to happen. And, frankly, he’d long since given up hope on that even being a possibility.
“I don’t have too many regrets,” he heard himself say, deciding life didn’t hand out moments like this often, if ever. He’d only add to the list of regrets if he let it pass without telling her how he felt. “I used to think I should have run away, should have escaped sooner.” They were both looking straight ahead, but he felt her side-glance at him, even without seeing it. “I told myself that I couldn’t have saved our horses if I’d done that, much less our bulls, and I would never have left any of them with Zachariah. But it was more than that.”
“Wyatt,” she said, so softly he hardly heard it, even though their elbows were almost touching as they continued to lean on the rail.
“Let me finish, Chey,” he said, just as gently.
He looked at her then. Given their difference in height, her face was mostly obscured by the brim of her cowboy hat, but he saw her nod. And keep her focus straight ahead, as if she was bracing for whatever he was about to deliver. He wanted to assure her he’d learned his lesson on that score. She’d gut punched him more than once today, though he didn’t blame her. Beyond her shock at his sudden appearance, which he’d had no control over, he hoped to spare her from even one of the same.
“I used to dream about running, but then I’d think, what in the hell would I do out in the world alone? And how would I take care of myself, much less my animals? So, I stayed, and it was hell. Worse than hell. You and Cody and your aunt and uncle were the only good part of my life. The only thing that felt like a real family. Your friendship meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“I think I do know,” she said, the words clear, but spoken in hardly more than a whisper.
He turned to face her then, still leaning on the railing. “My regret isn’t that I stayed, or that I left when I did. My regret is telling you how I felt about you. I knew you didn’t feel that way, Chey. Any fool could have seen that, and probably did. It was a selfish thing, blurting all that out, like by some miracle my own eyes had deceived me and you felt the same way, too, and somehow we’d be together, and the horror of my life would magically be behind me.”
“There’s no shame in honesty,” Chey told him, sparing him a brief glance, but otherwise keeping her gaze firmly on the horizon.
For once he could honestly say he had no idea what she was thinking. But he hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know. So, he added the part that was new. “Maybe. But it cost me the thing I valued most. Your friendship. If I’d known it was all or nothing, maybe I’d have kept my big mouth closed. Maybe not.” His smile was a brief flash. “You weren’t the only one who was a bundle of hormones who couldn’t get out of your own way.”
He saw her lips twitch at that, and she nodded again. “Fair enough.”
“I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
She did look at him then, back to being the direct Chey he’d always known, back to facing things head on. It was both a relief and had him tensing slightly at the same time. Now it was his turn to brace himself.
“Maybe it’s just as well we had no warning about this meeting,” she said; then she surprised him by smiling. “Less chance of us making matters worse.”
It wasn’t one of those half smiles, or little lip twitches. No, it was that big, broad, beautiful smile that so transformed her. And if it had been stunning at sixteen, and all the years before, all the way back to when she’d been an obnoxiously overconfident eight-year-old, the years since had somehow managed to pack even more of a wallop into it. In fact, he felt it right down somewhere very deep inside his chest. A specific part of his chest that hadn’t been fully engaged since . . . well, since the last time he’d seen that smile.
He knew right then he was still in serious, serious trouble where Cheyenne McCafferty was involved.
“I know it’s not the same as it was then,” he said, aware he should look away, stare at the fields, the mountains, anything but those big brown eyes. “It’s been a very long while. Too long. It’s not like we can just pick up where we left off.”
“Uh, yeah,” she said with a surprised laugh. “Given where we left off.” It was a testament to just how strong their bond once was that she could joke at a time like this.
He smiled, too, even though amusement was all mixed up with sadness over what they’d lost, and the lingering regret and guilt he felt for being the reason it all ended. “The friendship we had once upon a time might be beyond recovery,” he said, as lightly as he was able. “We’re different people now. Or, I am, at any rate.”
“That much is definitely true,” she said candidly.
“Meaning?”
She motioned to him, head to toe. “You’ve seen you, right? I mean, you are not the quiet kid with the big heart and gentle spirit I knew back then. That hidden streak of wicked humor might still be there, though I suspect not so hidden any longer.” She straightened then and rested her arm on the top rail. “You are confident and definitely not shy. I wouldn’t say you have swagger, not the cocky kind at any rate, but I believe you could put on a pretty believable display if asked.”
He laughed at that, but he didn’t deny it. Any of it. “Well, that much hasn’t changed about you,” he said.
“Me being blunt, you mean?”
He flashed a fast grin. “That, and your observational skills were always one of your sharpest traits. One studied look, and you could read a room, a person, a horse, you name it. I always trusted your judgment even when I didn’t see things the same way, because you were so rarely wrong.”
She studied him for a moment, then said, “Am I wrong now?”
“About your assessment of who I am?” He shook his head. “No. I have seen me, yes,” he added with a chuckle. “And no, I don’t much resemble the kid I once was. Thank God. Though I’d like to think the big heart part still applies.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything more, then turned back to the fence. “Where are you headed from here?” she asked. “Back to Nepal?”
He noted she didn’t ask him what he’d been doing there, or anything else of a personal nature. Beyond tying up loose ends from their past, anyway. She sounded sincere enough, but he couldn’t help but think that in her mind, their little reunion had come to an end. Chey was ready to move on. Or ready for him to move on, at any rate. This was polite conversation now.
He could tell her, fill her in on what he’d been doing the past twelve or thirteen years, what his life was about now, but she didn’t really want to know. And he no longer gave away pieces of himself, even the most trivial of facts, to people who didn’t care to know them. Didn’t care to know him. Not even for her.
Whatever he might have said in response to her question went unanswered, because Tory came running out of the stables just then, waving a cell phone in her hand.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt. Your phone has been ringing off the hook. I didn’t answer because . . . not my phone. But when it kept going, I thought you might want to return the call. It’s Vivi, according to the readout. She’s left voice mails.”
Instantly concerned, Chey took the phone from Tory. “Thanks,” she said, then tapped the screen a few times and listened to the voice mail.
“Everything okay?” Tory asked anxiously. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. I just . . . wanted you two to have time to talk.”
Tory looked visibly relieved whe
n Chey’s mouth curved in that dry half smile. She lifted a hand to stall more questions and put a call in. “Hey there,” she said when the person on the other end—presumably Vivi—answered. “Up a creek without a paddle, are you?”
She listened for a few minutes, then said, “Hold tight. Cavalry is coming.”
She hung up and looked at them. “Vivi—she owns part of this farm”—she said to Wyatt—“went paddling on the lake today. Which . . .” Chey just shook her head, looking bemused, then smiled. “Apparently she’s lost her oars and can’t get back to shore.”
“Paddling?” Tory asked, sounding as surprised as Chey looked. “From what you’ve told me about her, she didn’t strike me as the outdoorsy type. Lavender farm notwithstanding.”
Chey laughed. “She’s most definitely not. I don’t know the full story, but I guess I need to go rescue her.” She looked at her phone, as if trying to formulate a plan of action. “Maybe our friend Noah has a canoe or something. His fishing cabin is out that way.”
“They don’t have boats at the lake?” Tory asked.
Chey shook her head. “Only in the summer. Otherwise you just bring your own and use the ramp.”
“I can get her back to shore,” Wyatt said, wondering who Noah was and knowing it was none of his business.
Chey looked at him, surprised. “With?”
“I have some experience with alternative transportation,” he said with a grin. “Trust me. You drive, I’ll rescue.”
Chey looked at Tory, then back to Wyatt, then shrugged. “Okay. Thanks.”
Tory stepped back. “I’ll hang here, start unpacking things into the loft. Call me if you need anything.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Cooler, picnic basket, blanket . . . life raft.”
“Funny,” Chey said, then headed toward the gravel lot and a big red, dual-wheeled pickup truck. It was parked off to the side of the stone and wood house just past the stables. Her house, Wyatt assumed. “Thanks,” she told him again. “I appreciate the assist.”
Under a Firefly Moon Page 4
