Under a Firefly Moon

by Donna Kauffman

  Somehow Nepal had never factored in to her visuals when she tried to picture Wyatt Reed all grown up and on his own. Heck, she wouldn’t have imagined him anywhere he couldn’t have gotten to without a horse trailer in tow. “Possibly you were projecting a little,” she murmured dryly; she’d just accurately described her own future, postrodeo.

  She pulled up the search engine on her phone, then took a deep breath and typed in his name. “What have you been up to for the past dozen years, Wyatt Reed?”

  To say her jaw dropped open when the answer to that question popped up immediately on her tiny phone screen was an understatement. “Reed Planet,” she read aloud, that title coming up repeatedly in the first few pages of hits. Pages. A quick glance at the total number of hits floored her all over again. The count didn’t number in the millions or even the tens of millions. “Holy jumping Sherpas,” she murmured again, almost afraid to click on any of them. “What in the world did you go off and do?”

  The bulk of the first string of hits were connected to YouTube videos, all of which started with the words “Reed Planet,” then included whatever part of the planet he’d been visiting, where, presumably, the video had been shot. There was a clever logo of a planet, with the title emblazoned on a Saturn-like ring around it, with all kinds of beautifully drawn critters and plants and people popping up from spots around the globe. This was no small enterprise. “Clearly,” she said under her breath, still scrolling through the first dozen pages of hits.

  She would have perhaps guessed this was some other Wyatt Reed, but clicking on images showed that logo and his handsome, smiling face staring back at her, with a variety of background settings showing the picture had been taken in any number of the same far-flung spots noted in the titles and captions.

  “Reed Planet: Wyatt Goes Wild in Micronesia!”

  There were dozens of them. More than dozens. She quickly lost count.

  “Well, twelve years seems like long enough to procrastinate,” she said, then scrolled back to the top of the first page. “Guess we might as well start here.” She clicked on the video, turned her phone sideways so she could view it in as large a format as possible, turned up the sound . . . and sat there, utterly slack-jawed and transfixed for the next twenty minutes.

  He was bold, confident, and so charismatic. And don’t forget sexy as all hell. Where was the Wyatt of her childhood? And how had he transformed himself into this? The only connection to the boy she knew, the young man she’d realized she loved far, far, too late, was the reason behind Reed Planet. She was watching a tape of what had originally been livestreamed, as it happened, while he explored the most amazing places, talking to people, going off into jungles, and down rivers, into canyons and up on top of impossible peaks. Revealing little-known issues about certain cultures, animal species who were in danger of losing their home turf, plants, flowers, foliage of all kinds that were threatened with extinction. Entire villages full of people who relied on some of those other things for their survival.

  He drew attention with his broad smile, easygoing nature, palpable excitement as he talked to the camera as easily and charismatically as he did the people he was interacting with. She could see immediately why he’d gained the following he had. He was compelling, almost impossible to look away from. And he staged his streams, set them up, so that something was always happening, and the viewer was seeing it all, live and unedited, right along with him. It careened from thrilling, to funny, to touching, to dramatic and informative, then back to funny, then thrilling. She felt as if she was on the edge of her seat, front row on a roller coaster, right there in a lake parking lot in the middle of nowhere, fully transported to wherever he was, hanging on his every word, following his every action.

  She was breathless when the first clip ended, followed by a string of information on where people could go to learn more, or to donate their help, whether it be in money, supplies, or in person. He was like a one-person Peace Corps for the new millennium. She glanced at the number of times the video had been watched and blinked twice at the nine-digit number. In the content below the video, she saw that millions had watched the streaming event she’d just watched on tape, live when it had happened. Millions.

  “So . . . yeah,” she said faintly. “I guess he does know people.”

  She was halfway through her third video clip when a knock on the window made her squeal and bobble her phone, all but tossing it across the cab of the truck.

  Hand to her pounding chest, she turned to find Wyatt standing on the other side of her window.

  Of course he was.

  She’d never been less prepared to see him. Not even when he’d stepped into the quiet, dust-mote filled air of her stables that morning. Nothing about what she’d just been watching made this easier. Quite the opposite. Because this man, staring at her right now with a knowing smile on his oh-so-handsome face, was, in fact, an utter stranger to her. Whatever they figured out, whatever they decided to do about being in each other’s orbits again, the absolute bottom line truth was that the Wyatt she’d known, the Wyatt she’d considered her closest, dearest, and most deeply trusted friend—and, after he’d gone, the Wyatt she realized she loved—no longer existed.

  The man before her might be a bigger, bolder, better version of the Wyatt she’d known, and that was fine, good— great, even—but this Wyatt wouldn’t be sticking around in Blue Hollow Falls for long.

  So, what did it really matter what happened between them now?

  She looked past him and saw Tory’s truck. It was empty. So, it was just the two of them. She started to motion for him to come around and get in the cab, then decided that was a far too closed-in space. She was still catching her breath and trying to reconcile the person she knew with the man standing a foot away from her. Now when she looked at him, she saw the guy livestreaming from some of the most remote places in the world, with such vibrancy and intent. She could no longer see the boy he’d been. That was a memory associated with someone else now.

  She pulled the door handle and he stepped back while she climbed out and closed the door behind her. Before he could speak, she held her phone up and wiggled it. “So, Reed Planet, huh?” Her smile was as dry as her tone, but inside, she felt anything but casual.

  He lifted his shoulders in a short shrug. “It just sort of happened.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Because people just happen to hop from Tierra del Fuego over to the middle of Antarctica one day, so they can go hang out and livestream with penguins and a handful of scientist folk who live in what looks like something built by Star Wars storm troopers.”

  “I was on the edge of Antarctica. Haven’t made it to the middle yet.”

  “Ah, the Antarctic Riviera then.” She waved a hand. “Sounds positively balmy. Bring a beach towel and umbrella. How are the penguins at catching Frisbees?”

  “A bit flat-footed, actually.”

  She snorted at that. She had a thousand questions for him. In the end, she just shook her head and said, “You’re clearly doing something you love very much.” She held his gaze and smiled. “I’m happy for you, Wyatt.” She laughed. “Utterly and completely gobsmacked, but truly happy for you. You’re making a difference.” That was the one thread that connected the two Wyatts. “I’m really proud of you.”

  “You’re making one, too. Tory told me about the work you’re doing, taking in rescue horses, working with kids who otherwise wouldn’t ever pet a horse, much less ride one. Kids with special needs, too, who open up with your horses in ways they can’t otherwise do.”

  “It’s a few horses,” she said. “And the kids aren’t work; they’re a pleasure and a miracle. I’m just happy I can facilitate. Nothing on the scale of what—”

  “Anything anyone does to help—whatever that might be—is meaningful and potentially life changing to the living thing on the receiving end. We’re not grading on a scale of who did the most. Any good being done is leaving this big rock better than we found it.”


  “Reed Planet,” she said, with a smile and a short shake of her head. “How did it all start?”

  He shrugged, then dug his hands in his back pockets. “Like most things. A complete fluke.” He nodded toward the path to the docks. “Want to walk?”

  She glanced at her phone. It was a few hours to dinner. She still was not looking forward to facing the cabal of her friends and their curiosity about Wyatt, but she didn’t want him to miss dinner. She had no idea what he had in mind in terms of helping, but he surely had a massively huge platform from which to draw attention to their issues. She grabbed her hat and put it on, wanting the screen of privacy the brim would provide. Just in case. “Sure.”

  They started down the path. “Should we bring a blanket?” she asked, and he chuckled.

  “Unless you plan to go for a swim, no. I’m good.” His lips curved in a dry smile. “I got my laps in earlier today.”

  “And I was so worried that you were cold,” she said, shaking her head. “That actually probably did feel balmy compared to some of the things you’ve done.”

  “Well, normally I at least have a wet suit or something, but it was for a good cause.”

  She just laughed, shook her head, and kept on walking.

  “What?” he asked, when she didn’t explain.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I guess I just remember you as the guy who wouldn’t try a rope swing or climb on the back of the bulls you raised.” She waved her hands. “I can’t seem to connect that guy to the person I watched in those videos.”

  He laughed loudly at that. “Oh, trust me, it’s a big mix of adrenaline rush and outright terror most of the time.”

  She sent him a sidelong glance. “Oh yeah, you looked petrified.”

  “That’s the adrenaline talking.” He lifted a hand, still chuckling when she just kept shaking her head. “I’ll admit that the longer I do this, the more confident I feel about certain things, but I have a healthy respect for the risks I take. I’m daring, maybe, but I’m not reckless,” he told her. “There’s a difference.”

  “Daring, most definitely,” she said, “but, yeah, I concede your point.”

  “It takes a team of dedicated souls to pull off what we do. I would never risk their safety unnecessarily.” He smiled. “That’s not to say we don’t risk a lot, but we mitigate the risks in every way we can. The point is to bring that thrilling sense of discovery to the person sitting at home, with both of us seeing it, experiencing it, for the first time together. Truly together, because it’s streaming live. So yes, there are unknowns, but it’s not like we don’t do our research before going in, wherever we’re going.”

  Chey nodded but didn’t say anything more. They walked in silence for a time. It wasn’t awkward, but she wouldn’t say it was comfortable. She was even more hyper aware of him now than she had been before. Now it wasn’t only dealing with her physical reaction to him, her memories of how they’d been when they were younger, how they’d parted ways.

  All of that was still there, but it was largely overshadowed by her visceral reaction to going on that thrill ride with him, sitting alone in the cab of her truck. It had felt . . . intimate, and wild. Like he was talking directly to her, taking her—specifically her—along with him. Which she knew, intellectually, wasn’t the case. He was taking millions of others along with him. But the magic of Wyatt Reed was that he made that reality fall completely away. It was just her. And him. Thrashing through a jungle, leaping off a cliff, navigating a river that was all boulders and thrashing white water. She started off wondering things about how they worked the camera angles, but those questions were soon forgotten. He was right there turning to look at her, talking directly to her, as if she was next to him.

  Her pulse still jumped when she relived the journey in her head. And at the very same moment, in real life, he really was right next to her, walking with her, talking to her. Talk about surreal.

  Add to that all the rest of it. The man who’d just taken her on a thrill ride down the Amazon was also the guy she’d once confided her deepest secrets to. The guy who’d turned to her in an effort to get out from under the bloody fist of his father. The same guy who had laid his heart right at her feet.

  The same guy she’d told that she loved him, too . . . like a brother. Also, the same guy she’d simply never thought of in that way. Until she’d crushed his heart, and he’d walked away, from her, from rodeo life, all of it . . . and then she couldn’t think of him any other way. Her own heart broken, because she’d just let go of the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  “What was the fluke?” she asked, somewhat abruptly, needing to get her mind off thoughts of them, together. “How could you accidentally launch a whole planet of you?”

  They approached the dock and he tilted his head toward it, a questioning look on his face. She nodded, and they walked to the end and sat, each leaning back on one of the pilings, facing one another. She took her cowboy hat off so she could lean her head back, and set it on the dock, tucking the brim under her thigh so the breeze wouldn’t blow it into the water. Then immediately missed the privacy that brim provided, allowing her to look at him without being obvious. He was hard not to look at. He’s just so damn handsome, she thought, and shifted her gaze out to the water while he talked. As privacy went, it wasn’t perfect, but at least this way he couldn’t read every thought that was going through her mind as he had so effortlessly done, once upon a time.

  “The fluke,” he began. “Well, as I told you before, when I first got away from Zachariah, I couldn’t seem to flee far enough to feel safe. It was a mind game he’d played with me, and I knew that, but I couldn’t sleep, or even think clearly. So, the first thing I figured out was how to go about getting a passport. Then I worked odd jobs until I had enough money saved to get on a plane and fly away.”

  “To where?”

  He shrugged. “It didn’t matter. Just not here. I bought the ticket that would take me the farthest away.”

  “Which got you to . . . ?”

  “I actually never made it to that first destination. I flew out of New York, and the layover was in Iceland.” The memory made him smile. “Iceland. I was so awestruck. I wandered out of the Reykjavík airport . . . and never went back to catch the other leg of the flight. I hitched a ride into town. It was summer there, so the sun never went down. It was like nothing I’d ever seen, or even imagined. Honestly, I felt like I was on another planet.”

  “Ah,” she said, nodding as comprehension began to dawn.

  “I started writing down everything I was seeing and what I thought about it. I stayed with a family there and they helped me get a work visa. I worked on a fishing boat, like a trawler, and one of the men who was on the crew with me was from Greenland. Greenland,” he said, his expression marveling, as if he was still hearing it for the first time.

  That was his magic, Chey thought, right there. With everything he’d seen and done since, that memory still captivated him as utterly as it had the first time. His easy, understated confidence contrasted with a real sense of earnestness, as if he wanted you to see what he was seeing, feel what he was feeling, because it was just so thrilling, he couldn’t keep it to himself.

  “It was the first time I felt truly free,” he told her. “I could be whoever I wanted to be. Working that trawler was the hardest, most grueling thing I’ve ever done. It terrified me daily, but I was doing it. Over the course of that summer, it changed me. I was surrounded by people who liked me, championed me, wanted me to succeed. And, I’m not saying I had none of that before in my life,” he was quick to add. “But it was the first time I could revel in it, without having to look over my shoulder, or worry. About anything. About anyone. I know they accepted me partly because I was this kind of freak of nature to them, this skinny kid from the States who’d essentially run away to join the circus. I was a novelty at first, something to look at and point at. They marveled at my stupidity for actually choosing to do what they had no choice but
to do. I had a tough work ethic they respected, though, and eventually, I became stronger, more confident; then their acceptance was earned in all the ways that truly mattered.”

  “You showed them,” Chey said dryly.

  He grinned. “I did.” His expression sobered, but his eyes were still full of light, and his voice had that understated energy that made her want to sit forward when he spoke. “It was amazing to me, what I could accomplish, what I wanted to accomplish, when I didn’t have to spend so much of my emotional energy navigating the minefield that was Zachariah’s temper. I didn’t have to plan my day around trying not to get hit.”

  “Oh, Wyatt—” she said softly, and it didn’t escape her that he didn’t refer to his father as “dad” because Zachariah had never, not ever been that.

  “I’m not saying that for pity or empathy. You were there, you know what that time was like for me. You were my rock, my escape, my place to vent.” He smiled again, and his gaze was filled with affection. “It took an entire fishing village in Iceland to replace you.”

  She smiled with him, even as her heart broke for him all over again.

  “I only bring that up as a way to explain how profound that time felt for me. I could have worked on ten trawlers, doing twice the work. I truly did feel like Superman. It was life altering, in the truest sense of the word.”

  “I’m glad you got away,” she told him. “Far enough away that you could allow yourself to be free. It sounds like a rebirth.”

  He nodded. “That’s the perfect word for it.”