A Light at Winter’s End

by Julia London

  “It wasn’t any trouble,” Wyatt said. “You’ll need it in a few weeks, and anyway, we brought the Russell boys down to fix the fence, so …” He shrugged and tucked his shirt into the waist of his jeans again.

  “You brought the Russell boys here?” Holly asked, and looked past Wyatt as Mason started to squirm in her arms. A whole army had been tramping about outside and she’d been oblivious. Holly could see Jesse down by the windmill, leaning up against the truck. Two younger men were working on the fence. Mason pushed against her shoulder. “Da,” he said, and Holly put him down. “So it really was the Russell boys?” she asked as Mason crawled away.

  “It was them,” Wyatt said, and glanced back over his shoulder where they were working. “Dumb kid stuff,” he said, which she supposed was his explanation for it. “When I’m done with them, they won’t be bothering the fences out here or anything else out here.” His gaze flicked over her body, taking her in. She’d dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and an old bomber jacket she’d found at a thrift shop. She’d pinned some of her mother’s old costume jewelry brooches on it. “Mrs. Russell, she’s a nice lady, but she’s got two of the orneriest boys in Cedar County. They’re going to fix a few fences, and then they’re going to clean up the cow dung from your yard, and then they are going to clean my boots.”

  Holly laughed.

  Wyatt didn’t. “You think I’m kidding.”

  She grinned. “No, actually, I’m quite sure you’re not.”

  His gaze flicked over her again.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” she asked. “Do you ever smile?”

  He looked surprised.

  “You know … just smile,” she said, smiling playfully at him.

  “Not much,” he admitted.

  “Didn’t think so.” She chuckled.

  Wyatt appeared completely disconcerted and looked down at his feet.

  “Thank you for the firewood,” she said. “That was really nice of you.”

  He nodded. “Hey, there, buckaroo,” he said.

  Mason had returned, this time with the washcloth he’d thrown down earlier. He was standing at the door with one hand on the frame, the washcloth in his mouth. Holly smiled sheepishly. “See? I told you it worked. It’s really been a lifesaver, so thank you for that. It’s funny, isn’t it? You’ve been all kinds of help to me this week, and I don’t even remember your last name.”

  “Clark,” he said, and winked at Mason.

  Mason grinned. “Bah.”

  “Do you have any kids, Wyatt?” Holly asked, opening the door a little more, suddenly curious about him.

  “Stay,” Wyatt said, and the dog, quivering with self-restraint, remained seated, his eyes trained on Mason and the washcloth, one long string of drool hanging from his muzzle. “I’ve got one, like you.”

  Like you. Holly didn’t have any kids; she had Mason, who wasn’t even remotely hers, although he was feeling more like hers each day. Like you. Those two words, so innocently spoken, made her feel oddly guilty, as if she were lying to this man. How she would ever tell anyone the truth? How long would this go on before Mason really was hers?

  “How old is Mason?” Wyatt asked, and squatted down beside the dog before Mason.

  “He, uh … he turned one a few days ago.” She felt another pang of guilt. She’d bought a cupcake. There was no cake, no birthday balloons, nothing to mark the first year. Holly didn’t know how to mark it. Balloons for a party of one seemed so sad.

  “Bah bah bah bah bah,” Mason said.

  Wyatt grinned at that, and Holly was startled by how easy his smile was. It creased his face and made his eyes shine; he looked like a different man altogether. He looked like a man who was used to smiling instead of the aloof stranger she’d thought him to be up until this very moment. “Well, now look at that. You do smile.”

  He glanced up at her. “On rare occasions.”

  “And a joke!” Holly laughed. Her muse was suddenly becoming more interesting, and as his smile deepened she saw a very attractive and approachable man. “Hey … you want a cup of coffee?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. Gotta make sure the boys are working.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve got cookies,” she said.

  He looked like he was about to shake his head again, but the word cookies gave him pause. “What kind?”

  She grinned and held open the screen door. “Chocolate chip. My mom’s recipe. Mexican vanilla is the key, you know.”

  “I didn’t know that.” He glanced back at the men, then at her, and shrugged lightly. “Okay. Thanks,” he said, and looked down at his dog. “Stay,” he commanded him, and stepped across the threshold.

  He looked around the living area, cluttered with toys and music. Holly’s guitar case was open on the couch, and various Little People figures were lying like fallen soldiers on the blue velvet. The train set had been dismantled and reconstructed in a way only a one-year-old could. Wyatt doffed his hat and held it in both hands.

  “How old is your child?” she asked, gesturing to the kitchen and moving that way.

  “Grace,” he said, and his smile was automatic and irrepressible. “She’s fourteen months.”

  Holly grabbed two mugs from the cabinet. She poured two cups of coffee and slid one across the breakfast bar to Wyatt, then placed the last of the cookies in front of him. “Toddlers are so … exhausting,” she said.

  Wyatt smiled. “They are certainly that.” He picked up a cookie.

  A question that had been nagging Holly suddenly presented itself in her thoughts. “Are kids supposed to have vaccinations when they are one? Or have they had them all by then?”

  Wyatt said nothing at first, but slowly lifted his gaze to hers and looked at her strangely as he munched the cookie. Upon seeing his expression, Holly realized that she’d revealed too much and laughed self-consciously. She should know the answer to that question. “Yes, that was a dumb question,” she said, and waved a hand. “Sorry.” She picked up a cookie.

  Wyatt put down his coffee mug and regarded her dubiously, and she didn’t blame him. “Mason has a pediatrician, doesn’t he?”

  “He does,” she said, nodding with confidence she did not feel. “The thing is … Mason is my nephew,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “And I don’t know for sure what shots he’s had.”

  Wyatt looked at Mason, then at Holly, but his expression had changed. He looked suspicious.

  “My sister … who is his mother … she had to go away unexpectedly. She left Mason with me.” That sounded even worse. Holly’s mind was whirling, her thoughts a confused mess. She hadn’t exactly worked out how to explain her situation to strangers. But she saw something in Wyatt—something in his gaze—that made him seem oddly approachable. “You want to know the truth?”

  “I would,” he said.

  “Okay.” She drew a breath. “My sister didn’t just leave Mason with me, she actually … sort of abandoned him.” Her voice sounded bitter to her own ears, but at the same time something was opening up inside her. Maybe it was the need for someone, anyone, to understand she’d been dealt a very unfair hand. Maybe it was just the presence of an adult. Whatever it was, words were suddenly tumbling out of her mouth. “It wasn’t ‘sort of.’ She dumped him. She dumped him and didn’t tell me where she was going or how long she’d be gone, much less if he needed vaccinations, or what he ate, or anything else for that matter, and I … I was just wondering.” There was no way to sugarcoat it, no way to make it sound less dysfunctional and repulsive than it was.

  Wyatt looked shocked. His gaze moved searchingly over her, looking for signs, she imagined, that she was a true nut job. I eat my steak with a big fat spoon, wait till dawn and bark at the moon …

  “That sounds … intense,” he said. “Are you … are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Holly said. It was remarkable that this man she hardly knew was asking if she was okay, when her own sister hadn’t bothered to check in. “And thank you for ask
ing. We’re both okay, me and Mason, but my sister obviously has some issues that I didn’t … I didn’t see.” She still didn’t see them. She wasn’t sure she’d ever understand Hannah’s issues. “But I wasn’t sure about the vaccination thing.”

  Wyatt looked at Mason. “Yes. Babies need more vaccinations when they turn one.”

  Holly was afraid of that. “Then I guess I better do something about it,” she said, sounding more chipper about it than she was. “Mind if I ask which doctor your daughter sees?”

  “Martin,” he said. “But surely you can find out who’s been seeing Mason.”

  “Well, that’s the other thing,” she said, frowning a little. “Mason’s father is in Costa Rica, and I don’t have anyone to call to get that information. And besides, I should have a doctor out here. I was living in Austin in a small apartment when this happened, and it wasn’t big enough for me and Mason, so I came out here where we’d have space, and I think I’ll be here a little while because I really need to do something about this old homestead.” That was the first time she’d actually admitted it to herself. She could be out here for a long time.

  “What do you mean?” Wyatt asked. His deep blue gaze was intent on her now, and it gave her a funny little shiver.

  “Just that it’s been sitting here empty since my mom died,” she said. What he must think of her! Mothers dumping babies, aunts living off peanut butter, and wondering when babies got vaccinations, and hoping to sell off the birthright.

  But Wyatt didn’t seem particularly appalled, just curious. “What do you want to do with it?”

  “Sell it,” she said. “I don’t think Hannah has any more desire to live out here or take care of it than I do.” At least she’d thought that. She had no idea what Hannah desired anymore. “Hopefully I can get enough for it to take care of Mason for as long as I need to do that.”

  “You’d get quite a lot for this place,” he said as he polished off his cookie.

  “Really?”

  “I’d guess millions,” he added, and picked up the coffee mug and drank.

  Holly gasped. “Millions? Are you kidding me?”

  He smiled at her surprise. That was two Marlboro Man smiles in one day, which made the day a whole lot sunnier. “Austin is growing in this direction. People want land. You could probably hold out for as much as six or seven million. Or you could avoid putting it on the market and sell it to a willing investor for a little less.”

  Holly gaped at him. She had had no idea the land was worth so much! She’d heard her father complain about what a money sink it had been for so many years that she’d just assumed it was a financial drain. “Wow.” Hannah would be shocked … or maybe Hannah knew. Maybe that’s why she was so angry when their mother had left it all to Holly.

  “Thanks for the cookie and coffee,” Wyatt said. “I’ve got to get back to work.” He picked up his hat from the counter.

  “Bubbadi bubbadi,” Mason said. He’d made his way around to Wyatt’s leg. “Bubbadi bubbadi.”

  Wyatt smiled down at him. “You’re gonna make a good cowboy someday, just like Gracie,” he said, and started back through the living room.

  “That’s a pretty name,” Holly said, following him. “Hey, here’s an idea … Maybe we could have a play date sometime,” she suggested. “I could bring Mason over to play with Grace.”

  Wyatt hesitated at the door. “Gracie doesn’t live with me.”

  “Oh.”

  Wyatt opened the door.

  “Wait,” Holly said. “We could at least exchange numbers. You know, in case your daughter comes to visit. I’ll jot down my number.”

  Wyatt seemed reluctant. He looked out to where the Russell boys were working. “I don’t have Gracie out here much.”

  “Listen, I’m not going to stalk you or anything,” Holly said with a lopsided grin. “But Mason and I are stuck out here, and if there is ever a time we might let them play, that would be great, that’s all. If not, that’s okay, too … I mean, I totally understand, but it would be great if Mason could have some social acquaintances.” She was begging, she realized, but she couldn’t let even a hint of a play date for Mason go without at least trying.

  Wyatt looked down the road again. He looked antsy.

  “I’ll just jot down my number,” she said again, and hurried to the little desk where her mother’s bills were neatly stacked.

  “Dubby dubby dubby day,” Mason said from his place at the couch. “Dubbydubbydubbyday,” he said more earnestly.

  Wyatt looked back at him.

  Mason must have liked Wyatt because he suddenly let go of the couch and waddled three steps toward Wyatt before falling on his bottom.

  “Mason!” Holly cried with delight. “You did it again!”

  “He’ll be everywhere in a few days,” Wyatt said. “Do you have a baby walker?”

  Holly shook her head, but she was adding that to the shopping list. “I need to get some of those gates, too—you know, the kind to block doors.”

  Wyatt smiled a little at that. “I know,” he said, and held her gaze a moment.

  “Here,” Holly said, and handed him a yellow Post-it with her cell phone number written on it. “Just in case,” she said again, and wished she’d stop repeating herself.

  Wyatt slipped the Post-it in his pocket. “You have a good day,” he said, and opened the screen door. He walked outside, whistling for his dog.

  Holly watched him walk down the porch steps. “Thanks for the firewood!” she called after him. He gave her one of his little waves behind his head and sauntered down to where the boys were working, Milo trotting alongside him.

  Holly slowly closed the door, peeking out around the edge of it once more to see him. When she turned around, Mason had her purse. She grabbed it from his hands and looked inside for one of his favorite things: her car keys. As she might have guessed, they were gone.

  The intriguing cowboy was forgotten for the moment.

  Chapter Ten

  Her number burned a hole in Wyatt’s pocket all afternoon. He wished he didn’t have it; he didn’t like even thinking about it. In fact, having it made him so annoyed with himself that he worked the dog out of the Russell boys and turned a deaf ear to their protests at picking up cow patties.

  “You’re in a mood,” Jesse observed casually.

  Wyatt glared at him and moved on to the next task. He kept picturing the Fisher house with the baby stuff and the sheet music scattered about. He’d heard the guitar when he’d walked up to the house and had been mildly captivated by the melody. She was good. She was really good. He had been thinking about how good she was and then she’d opened the door and the smell of cookies had assaulted him. It was definitely an assault—he hadn’t had a good chocolate chip cookie in about a hundred years.

  Jesus, God, and Mary, it annoyed him to no end that he had been lured inside by a chocolate chip cookie.

  At home, after a chattering Jesse had taken his mouth and driven off in his big Ford one-ton and left him the hell alone, Wyatt took Holly’s number out of his pocket and looked at it. She had an artistic hand. The six was a lot bigger than the other numbers, and he wondered idly about the significance of that. He put the number on the kitchen table next to the salt and pepper and his laptop, stared at it for a moment, then decided he’d probably lose it if he left it there. So he moved it to the old white Frigidaire and tacked it up with a magnet.

  It was the only thing on his fridge, a stark square of yellow against faded white: Holly 555-2609.

  Holly.

  He thought about Mason. That fat, happy little boy was about as cute as he could be, and Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder about the mother who had left him. He tried to imagine a circumstance in which Macy would do that, and thought that even if she were drawing her last breath, she wouldn’t let Grace out of her sight.

  The good news for the day was that Wyatt had learned that Holly intended to sell. And she was apparently clueless about property values. He could probably
get that place for a great deal and she’d feel like she’d hit the jackpot. That alone was as good a reason as any to get the kids together. Yeah, he could get them together to play, maybe whip up some of his famous chili. Was his chili famous anymore? Did his friends remember it? Did Macy? Maybe steaks.

  Wyatt looked at Milo. “What do you think?” he asked. Milo sighed and sank down to the floor, his head between his paws.

  He thought of Grace, the most beautiful little girl in the world. She had black hair like him, and light brown eyes that reminded Wyatt of caramel. She said no-no and Dada and kitty. She liked bouncy toys and Thomas the Tank Engine and Minnie Mouse.

  Grace did not like shoes—neither did Mason, Wyatt had noticed—or the ribbons her mother insisted putting in her fine hair. When Wyatt had Gracie, she pulled them out and let them drop from her fingers as she tottered away. She left a trail of flotsam wherever she went, little Gracie droppings of shoes and ribbons and toys.

  Wyatt loved that little girl something fierce.

  He could picture her leading Mason around. He looked at the number on his fridge and saw an attractive woman with strawberry blonde hair and laughing gray-green eyes. Holly.

  Wyatt picked up his phone and punched Macy’s number. She picked up on the second ring and said breathlessly, “Wyatt? How are you?”

  Every time she asked him that, he had to resist the urge to shout, How do you think I am? “Good. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “What? No, no. We’re …” She paused. “Right there, honey,” she said to someone else. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. No, we’re having a little get-together out here with some friends.”

  His jaw clenched tighter. That had been him and Macy once, hosting dinner parties on the boat or on the deck of the house he’d built for her in Arbolago Hills. He’d sold it when she’d chosen Finn. He could hardly stand to step inside of it then.

  “So, what’s up?” she asked cheerfully.