All of Me

by Lori Wilde

  “She never gave him a chance to make amends. She didn’t want him to know about her cancer.”

  “Why?”

  “She didn’t want his pity. Nor did she want him to suddenly start trying to be a father when he hadn’t been around all those years.”

  Ridley was still puzzling it out. “Aimee cheated her father out of precious time with her. Looking at it from her father’s perspective, she was pretty cruel to the guy.”

  “I know.” Tuck looked glum. “But she had her mind set, and I couldn’t change it. Sometimes you’ve just gotta stay out of it.”

  Ridley nodded. “You have no desire to ever go back to architecture? No more Magic Man of Manhattan?”

  Tuck snorted a harsh laugh. “I was so full of shit back then. It took something like losing Aimee to make me see what matters most in life. The people you love. Like you and Evie. Aimee’s ashes are scattered on this lake. I’m not going anywhere. Salvation’s home.”

  “Aw, dude, tell me you’re not getting mushy. Here, have another beer.”

  “I’m thinking I should hold off.”

  “Probably wise.” Ridley nodded and noticed that fresh snowflakes had started drifting from the sky.

  After another long moment, Tuck spoke. “I saw a woman.”

  “Huh? Are you dating someone?”

  “No, no. I saw a woman. In the sweat lodge. In my vision. At least I hope it was a vision.”

  Ridley tensed. His stomach knotted. A woman could be a good omen or a bad one. It depended on the circumstances. He prayed it wasn’t a bad omen. Evie would skin him alive if Tuck had had a vision with a bad omen. He didn’t want to push. He was afraid his brother-in-law would pull back in like a truculent turtle.

  “It probably wasn’t even a vision,” Tuck continued. “Probably just some weird Johnny Walker dream.”

  “Yeah, you gotta stay away from that stuff.”

  “I know. Usually I do … it’s just that … anniversaries hit me hard.” Tuck exhaled audibly.

  Ridley’s butt was getting cold, but he knew Tuck was on the verge of opening up, and he didn’t want to break the tenuous thread. “So this woman you saw. She wasn’t Aimee?”

  Tuck shook his head.

  “That bothered you? Seeing a woman and it not being Aimee?” He rubbed his palms together to warm them. It was cold on the dock, yes, but that wasn’t the only place the chill was coming from.

  “Yeah.”

  “This woman, what’d she look like?”

  “Dark hair, pale skin, tall. I mean, really tall. Close to six foot. Beautiful in a smart, high-class kind of way. Like Cleopatra.”

  Ridley grunted. Uh-oh, that didn’t sound good. Not good at all. He took a swig of his beer, afraid to ask what needed to be asked next.

  “And,” Tuck added, “she was naked.”

  Ridley choked on his beer. He sputtered, coughed. His braid fell forward across his shoulder.

  “You okay?”

  Ridley couldn’t stop coughing, and tears of strain misted his eyes.

  Tuck pounded him on the back. “Rid? You need the Heimlich?”

  He shook his head. Oh shit. Evie was gonna kill him dead. “I’m okay.”

  “You sure?”

  “This woman you saw,” Ridley croaked. “Was she an … um … a temptress?”

  Tuck’s head jerked up. “How did you know?”

  “The temptress is quite common in folklore and mythology,” he said, not wanting to tell Tuck what seeing a temptress in a vision quest really meant. His brother-in-law simply wasn’t ready to hear about that. “Did she … um … did she tempt you?”

  “It was a sex dream, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Were feathers involved?” Ridley asked hopefully. Feathers were a good omen. Maybe feathers could temper the ominous naked-temptress-sex-dream thing.

  Tuck frowned. “No, not feathers.”

  “But something?” Ridley fisted his hands. This was getting worse by the minute. He should stop asking questions, but he couldn’t. He had to know exactly how bad it was.

  “Veils.”

  Uneasiness took hold of him. Ridley’s blood thickened in his veins, and his breath went thin. Hurriedly, he took another swallow of beer. “What kind of veils?”

  “Wedding veils. Lots and lots of white lace wedding veils.” Tuck slapped a hand on Ridley’s thigh. “So, Red Deer, you’re the Native American here. What does the vision mean?”

  “Mean?” Ridley asked, hearing the nervousness in his voice. “Who says it means anything?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything?” Tuck sounded oddly disappointed. “I thought by the way you were choking on your beer that it probably meant something.”

  “Naw, not really,” he lied. “I just swallowed wrong.”

  “You’re a lousy liar, Rid.”

  “Who says I’m lying?”

  “Me. When you lie, your nose twitches. Word to the wise—stay away from poker.”

  “It does not.” Ridley put a hand to his nose.

  “Then why are you touching your nose?”

  “Bastard.”

  “So what’s the big woo-woo sweat lodge secret?”

  “No secret.”

  “Then why’d you come sit out here with me in the cold if you weren’t trying to get me to tell you about the vision?”

  “Because I’m worried about you.”

  “Ease my troubled mind. Tell me what the damned vision means.”

  “I’m no expert,” Ridley hedged. He was in over his head.

  “What does being visited by this wedding-veil-wielding temptress portend for the Magic Man of Manhattan?”

  “It probably doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “But if it did mean something …”

  Ridley rolled off a shaky laugh. No point in alarming Tuck when he didn’t have any strong evidence that something untoward was going to happen. “Hang loose, dude.You’re blowing this all out of proportion. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

  “WE STILL CAN’T BELIEVE you’re moving to Colorado lock, stock, and barrel,” Delaney Cartwright Vinetti told Jillian as they shut the door closed on the rented U-Haul trailer and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And in October. Autumn doesn’t seem like the prime time for a move to a mountainous state.”

  “It’s the perfect time,” Jillian assured her. “I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

  Delaney was a pretty brunette with a people-pleasing personality. She’d been the one to find the three-hundred-year-old wedding veil in a consignment shop, and she’d immediately fallen under its spell. She’d believed in the fantastical story that went with the veil. She’d wished on it just before she was about to marry the wrong man and ended up finding her true love. Nick Vinetti was a detective for the Houston PD. They had a daughter, Audra, three and a half, and one-year-old twin sons, Adam and Aidan.

  “But Blake’s will hasn’t even been probated yet.”

  “I’m the executor; I have to go check out the property.”

  “But you’re moving. Visiting I could understand, but you’re moving to the place sight unseen.”

  Jillian shrugged. “The lease was up on my condo. I couldn’t justify signing up for a second year.”

  “It seems so sudden,” Tish Gallagher Tremont added. “You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

  “Now, come on, Tish, you’re supposed to be the adventurous one of the group. Don’t tell me motherhood has changed you that much,” Jillian said.

  Tish was an auburn-haired beauty who was almost as tall as Jillian. Delaney had passed the wedding veil on to her, and Tish had reconnected with the love of her life, former secret service agent Shane Tremont. They had a son, Max, who just turned two, and a three-month-old daughter, Samantha.

  “And you’re not eligible to practice law in Colorado,” Tish said.

  Her friends might not realize it, but she’d thought this thing through. “Not yet. But I have some money saved, and I’ll sit for the
Colorado bar as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’ll take a job as a law clerk. It won’t hurt to brush up on the basics.”

  “Jilly, are you really sure this is what you want?” Rachael Henderson Carlton asked. “We’re all going to miss you something terrible.”

  When Tish had remarried Shane, she gave the wedding veil to blond-haired, blue-eyed Rachael, who—after she’d started Romanceaholics Anonymous—ended up falling madly in love with Brody Carlton, the sheriff of her hometown of Valentine, Texas. Rachael was roundly and radiantly seven months pregnant with their first child due sometime around Christmas.

  “I’m going to miss you guys, too, but come on, let’s be honest. You’ve all got your own lives now. It’s time I found my place in the world.”

  They’d been friends since they were suitemates at Rice University, and Jillian loved them all dearly, but they’d moved on with their lives, and she’d been the one left standing still. But the minute she’d told them she was going to Colorado, they’d organized a moving party and shown up, even pregnant Rachael, who lived four hundred miles away. They truly were special friends.

  “You’re going to be so far away from us,” Tish bemoaned.

  “We’ll call each other every week. Plus, you can come visit me during the summer or during ski season. There’s a ski resort on the other side of the mountain from Salvation.”

  Rachael’s eyes misted with tears. She was the most emotional of the four and Jillian’s polar opposite. “Oh, Jilly.”

  Jillian pointed at her. “Now, now, no waterworks, missy.”

  “B-but … you’re going to be up there all alone. No friends, no family.”

  “Except for you guys, I haven’t had a real family since I was five,” Jillian said. “And besides, I’ve got Mutt now.”

  At the sound of his name, the dog trotted up, wagging his tail. He’d just come back from the vet after having his little snip-snip operation, and he wasn’t his normal peppy self.

  “And isn’t he adorable,” Tish cooed, and scratched Mutt under the chin. The dog ate up the attention.

  “Where’d you get him?” Rachael asked.

  “He just showed up the day after Blake’s funeral,” Jillian said.

  “No kidding?” Tish looked uneasy.

  “Oh my.” Rachael sucked in her breath.

  “Oh my, what?”

  “The dog, it’s Blake’s way of sending you a message that he’s okay,” Rachael said as if she completely believed what she was saying and it made perfect sense.

  “What?” Jillian frowned.

  “You’ve never heard that?” Tish asked. “I’ve heard it.”

  “Heard what?”

  “That if a dog shows up right after a loved one dies, it’s the loved one communicating to you from beyond the grave. It’s a sign telling you everything is okay,” Delaney added.

  “You too?”

  “It’s a common folklore,” Rachael said. “Google it when you get a chance.”

  “You said the operative word. Folklore. As in fable, old wives’ tale, blarney.”

  “She has such little faith.” Rachael sighed to Tish. “What’s it going to take to make a believer of her?”

  Jillian looked at Delaney. “Speaking of folklore, I’ve got something for you.”

  “Oh?”

  She stepped to her car, picked up the sealed garment bag, and handed it to Delaney.

  “What’s this?”

  “The wedding veil. Please take it.”

  “No, no, Jilly. It’s yours.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “How do you know? You’re starting a new life. It might be exactly what you need.”

  “The bride thing?” Jillian splayed a hand over her chest. “So not me.”

  “Jillian …” Delaney made a you’re-being-difficult sound in the back of her throat.

  “Delaney …” She mimicked her friend’s tone.

  Delaney gave her the sweetly tolerant look a mother gives a willful child. “It’s going to hit you one day; you do know that.”

  “What? A bus? A train? A milk truck? Should I up my life insurance?”

  Delaney ignored her sarcasm. “Love. You can’t outrun it.”

  “Not even in Nikes?”

  Delaney smiled and shook her head. “Salvation’s not going to know what hit them.”

  “Seriously, take the veil.” Jillian thrust the bag toward her. “You bought it; it’s yours.”

  “I don’t need it anymore.”

  “I don’t need it either.”

  “On the contrary. You’ve never needed anything more. You’re at a crossroads in your life. Make the wish, Jilly.”

  “Too late, I already did and nothing happened.”

  Delaney exhaled and her eyes widened. “You? You wished on the veil?”

  “Yep, and like I said, nada, zip, zero.”

  “I can’t believe you wished on the veil. You swore you’d never wish on it.”

  “Like you said—crossroads, desperation. I had a moment of weakness. Lost my head.”

  “And …”

  “And nothing.”

  Delaney’s smile grew sly. “I get it. Something did happen, and it scared the underpants off you.”

  “Hey, hey.” Jillian spread her arms. “Check it out. I’m completely clothed here, people.”

  But her underpants sure as hell hadn’t been on in that dream. She wanted to fan herself just thinking about it, and she hoped the expression on her face didn’t give her away.

  Delaney giggled and clapped her hands. “It happened. You saw him.”

  “Did not.” She heard the defensiveness in her voice.

  “You saw your soul mate.”

  “Pfttt.”

  Rachael came around the side of the moving van to where Jillian and Delaney were standing. “What happened to you?”

  “Jilly made a wish on the veil,” Delaney said gleefully. “And she saw her guy.”

  Oh great, tell the romanceaholic.

  “There was no guy. I saw no guy,” Jillian lied.

  Rachael rubbed her palms together. “So what did he look like? Handsome? Hot?”

  “There’s no guy.”

  “You put on the veil,” Tish joined in. “Made the wish and absolutely nothing happened?”

  Dammit. She knew she should have just thrown the stupid veil in the trash. “That’s right. I just fell asleep.”

  “With the veil on?” Tish quizzed.

  “Um … yeah. So what?”

  Tish and Delaney and Rachael all exchanged meaningful glances as if they were party to something significant that Jillian could never understand.

  “What?” Jillian demanded.

  “Did you have some kind of dream?” Delaney raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t remember,” Jillian lied.

  “She dreamed about him.” Tish nodded her head knowingly. “She dreamed about him, and it scared the underpants off her.”

  “Why does everyone keep accusing me of losing my underpants?” Jillian sighed in exasperation. “I’m not Britney Spears.”

  “I bet it was a sex dream. Was it a sex dream, Jilly?” Rachael leaned in closer. “Tell us all about your sex dream.”

  “Geez, you people …”

  “It was a sex dream,” Tish said.

  Jillian rolled her eyes. “And you wonder why I’m moving a thousand miles away from you lunatics.”

  “Fourteen hundred away from me.” Rachael made a sad face.

  “We’re just teasing you, Jilly.” Delaney touched her forearm. “If you really don’t want the veil, I’ll take it.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Jillian sighed again, this time with relief as Delaney accepted the bag. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

  “That and the hot guy from your sexy dream.” Rachael giggled, her eyes crinkling merrily.

  Despite their good-natured ribbing about the veil, Jillian knew her friends truly cared about her. She was closing a chapter in her life. She could see the sig
nificance of it reflected in their faces, and she knew they could see it on hers. These three women were the closest thing she had to a family.

  “I’m gonna miss you guys,” she said earnestly.

  “Group hug.” Rachael held her arms open wide.

  Normally, Rachael’s insistence on group hugs got on Jillian’s nerves, but this time, she let it happen and didn’t even blink away the mist of tears.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, at five forty-five in the morning, Jillian drove into Salvation.

  She’d made poor time, what with the drag of the U-Haul on her Sebring’s bumper hitch and having to make frequent pit stops for Mutt. But since no one was expecting her, the time of her arrival wasn’t much of an issue. The weariness of two days on the road clouded her brain. Yellow asphalt stripes disappearing beneath strumming tires. Eighteen-wheelers jockeying for position. The dry flat taste of too-strong coffee. The sitting-too-long ache in her knees and tailbone.

  Jillian rounded the last curve in the road, and there it lay dead ahead. Through the damp windshield, she watched the streetlamps wink off as the orange wash of morning scrubbed the horizon a hazy blue.

  Salvation.

  Small, sleepy, and so adorably cute she almost turned the car around and headed straight back to Houston. Jillian didn’t do adorable or cute, but Rachael would have loved the place.

  The first thing that came into view was the picturesque town square. Decorated quaintly with festive pumpkins and hay bales and scarecrows. There was a faint dusting of snow on the ground mingling with the fallen autumn leaves—orange, yellow, red.

  The architecture was a mix of Swiss Chalet, French farmhouse, and Queen Victoria. There were carved window boxes and wrought-iron streetlamps and quirkily painted wooden park benches positioned outside the shops—bookstore, green grocer, novelties and souvenirs, yarn and fabrics, drugstore and sundries.

  On the corner was a diner dubbed the Bluebird Café. A clot of SUVs and pickup trucks were parked outside. Ninety percent of them American made. Smoke swirled from the chimney, filling the air with the scent of mesquite. She’d had breakfast on the interstate an hour earlier or she might have stopped, eaten some eggs, met a few of the residents.