Love Will Find a Way

by Barbara Freethy

  He'd thought a couple of days would be enough to banish the memory of their last kiss, but seeing her now, her lips softly parted, her gorgeous blue eyes focused on him, he was taken right back to where they had been. And he wanted her -- again.

  "What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

  "Oh." He had to think for a moment. "I came to see if something was wrong because Wesley didn't show up at the house, and I was worried about him."

  "He's fine. He's going on a camp-out."

  "Yeah, I saw him on the porch."

  She licked her lips. "Was there something else?"

  He hesitated. "Is your grandfather excited about this camp-out?"

  "Hardly, but he doesn't want Wesley to miss out. Why do you ask?"

  "I was thinking that maybe I could go in his place." He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth, but there they were.

  Rachel looked shocked by the suggestion. "I don't think so. You're not Wesley's father."

  "I'm not trying to be," he said slowly. "But Wesley is concerned that your grandfather won't be able to keep up. He asked me if I could go instead."

  "He doesn't want to go with his grandfather?"

  "His great-grandfather," Dylan reminded her. "Wesley is eight years old, Rachel. John seems like a million years old to him."

  "I didn't realize. Why didn't Wesley say something to me?"

  "He probably doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings."

  "But he can talk to you?" She shook her head in confusion. "I guess that's good."

  "We've become friends, bonded over hammer and nails," he said. "It's a guy thing." He wanted to take the pressure off her. She tried to be all things to Wesley, but she couldn't. It was too much to ask anyone to be a perfect mother and a perfect father at the same time.

  His words drew a smile from her. "A guy thing, huh? And this camp-out is a guy thing, too?"

  "Oh, yeah, we'll pound our chests, howl at the moon, and make a fire. We'll be in hog heaven."

  "Sounds like a fabulous time," she said with a short laugh. "I guess you can go if you're sure you want to. I better call Wesley. Wes—"

  Dylan laughed as Wesley came bursting through the kitchen door. He'd obviously been eavesdropping.

  "Can Dylan go?" Wesley asked eagerly.

  "Yes, he can go."

  "Yea!" Wesley cried, launching himself into Dylan's arms.

  Dylan laughed and swung the boy up off the floor. "I need some stuff, though."

  "What kind of stuff?" Wesley asked.

  "A sleeping bag and a pillow."

  "We have a couple extra," Rachel said as Dylan lowered Wesley to his feet. "Why don't you go get them, Wesley? And tell your great-grandfather he's off the hook."

  Rachel stared at Dylan after Wesley left the room, an expression on her face he couldn't quite interpret.

  "What?" he finally asked.

  "Wesley really likes you."

  "I'm a likable guy. Don't sound so amazed."

  "Sorry." She cleared her throat. "Last year's Cub Scout camp-out was the last thing Gary and Wesley did together. Gary tried to get out of it, but he just couldn't come up with the right excuse, so he went along, but he pretty grumpy about it."

  "Gary hated to camp. He was like a girl when it came to sleeping on the ground with bugs crawling around him."

  "Hey, I think I resent that girl comment," she said with a small smile. "I am a very good camper."

  "Well, your husband wasn't."

  "No, he wasn't." The smile slipped off her face. "So … I should probably call that number again, try to get that woman to speak to me. I've been putting it off, but I can't keep doing that."

  He frowned. "I called the number yesterday. It was disconnected. I'm sorry, Rachel. It was our only lead and I shouldn't have waited as long as I did to call back."

  Rachel's face paled. "It's disconnected. Why would she do that?"

  "I'm guessing she doesn't want you to find her."

  "I can't believe the only lead we have is gone."

  "Not completely. I called a friend of mine who's a private investigator. He's going to see if he can put a name to that number."

  "Oh, well, that's good, I guess. What now?"

  "Well, I'm going camping. I think you should look through every drawer and box in this house that belonged to Gary. It's time, Rachel. What do you say? Deal?" He stuck out his hand.

  She stared at his hand for a long minute, then finally slipped her hand into his. "Deal."

  Her fingers were warm and curled around his. He wanted to pull her closer. It took everything he had to let go. He moved to the door. "Do I have time to run into town and change my clothes?"

  "Yes. In fact, they're meeting in town at the steps to City Hall. The mayor is one of the dads. You can take Wesley with you and stop at your hotel on the way, if you want. Unless you think I should come along."

  "No, I can take him."

  "People are going to wonder about you ... and about me."

  "We're friends, Rachel. That's all they need to know."

  "But not all we are," she murmured. "You can lie to them, Dylan, but don't lie to me, okay?"

  He nodded. "Okay."

  * * *

  Rachel spent the evening as she'd promised Dylan, going through the drawers and closets of her life. She'd done a halfhearted job a few weeks after the funeral, but nothing since. At the time she hadn't wanted to throw anything away or to make changes. Now she didn't know why she'd resisted the chore. Gary was gone. Keeping his clothes in her closet wouldn't bring him back. But as she'd told Dylan once before, she was a pack rat by nature. And throwing things away did not come easily.

  More than once she found her eyes tearing as she picked up something of Gary's, a pair of cuff links she'd given him on an anniversary, his favorite bottle of cologne, the gold watch he'd inherited from his grandfather that would one day go to Wesley. They were just things, she told herself. Without them she would still remember the way Gary smiled, the way he hugged, the way he snored, the way he laughed, the way he loved.

  The tears in her eyes finally spilled over, and she sat down on the bed and cried for everything she'd lost and everything she would miss. For the first time in six months, she let herself think and feel and remember. Each memory hurt more than the last, each thought made her heart break and the tears stream down her face, but she stopped fighting and let them come. When she was finally spent, she felt like a wrung-out sponge. There were no more tears left. She was empty. Completely empty. It felt good.

  The weight was lifted from her shoulders. The queasiness was gone from her stomach; the sense of having to stay in control had disappeared. She went into her bathroom, blew her nose, washed her face and got on with the task at hand.

  * * *

  When Carly came home around ten, Rachel had filled two large plastic bags with Gary's clothes, as well as a couple of boxes. She was just about to go through Gary's jewelry box when Carly paused in the doorway.

  Rachel smiled at the wary expression on her sister's face. "Hi."

  "What's going on?"

  "Just doing some cleaning."

  "Looks like more than a little cleaning."

  "Once I got started, I just kept going. It needed to be done."

  Carly walked farther into the room. "What are you going to do with all this stuff?"

  "Give it away to charity. A lot of Gary's suits are in excellent condition. I think they'll come in handy for someone looking for a job or trying to hold one down." She opened the small wooden box that Gary had kept on top of the dresser. Inside was the silver chain she'd bought him as a birthday gift a few years earlier. "Maybe Wesley would like this," she murmured.

  "I'm sure he would." Carly sent her a thoughtful look. "Did something happen tonight to trigger all this?"

  "It just felt like the right time."

  "Can I help?"

  "You can help me take these bags downstairs."

  "Oh, sure, now you let me help when there is manual
labor involved. I should have figured."

  Rachel gave a little laugh at the disgruntled expression on Carly's face. "You did ask. Thanks, by the way."

  "No problem."

  "Not for taking the bags out, but for not judging me, for not saying it's about time or the alternative -- how can you just throw Gary's life away in two plastic bags and a couple of boxes?"

  "You're not throwing his life away, just his things, things that don't mean anything to anyone."

  "Right. So I just realized that I'm starving. Want to share a banana split like we used to?"

  "With whipped cream and nuts on top?"

  "As big as we can make it."

  "Absolutely." Carly picked up a bag. "By the way, I saw Grandpa in the yard. He said Dylan went on the camp-out with Wesley. How did that happen?"

  "Wesley talked him into it. He thought Grandpa would be a little too old for some of the activities."

  "And Dylan agreed? Did you by any chance warn him about what actually goes on during the annual father-son camp-out?"

  Rachel laughed. "Are you kidding? He was acting like the original bear hunter."

  "He's going to kill you when he gets back."

  "Hey, he wanted to go."

  "Quite the volunteer, isn't he? First your house, now your son's camp-out. He's certainly going beyond the call of duty." Carly paused, her eyes narrowing on Rachel's face. "But this isn't about duty anymore, is it?"

  "I don't know what you mean," Rachel said, looking away.

  "He cares about you."

  "What do you think about some new curtains in here? Maybe even a new carpet. I feel like a change."

  "What you're changing is the subject."

  "I know. Let me, okay?"

  Carly hesitated, then shrugged. "All right. But I hope you know what you're doing, Rachel. I don't want to see you get hurt."

  "Dylan won't hurt me. He's a good friend." As Carly left the room, Rachel realized that she'd done just what she'd asked Dylan not to do -- she'd lied about their relationship.

  Their relationship -- whatever the hell that was. Maybe they were friends. She didn't really know anymore.

  * * *

  "Got more than you bargained for, didn't you?" Lance Daniels said to Dylan, giving him a friendly punch on the arm.

  Dylan wiped the face paint off his cheeks with a paper towel and a big scowl. "Wesley did not tell me we were going to act like warriors."

  "An old tradition," Lance said with a laugh. "Started back a gazillion years ago when they used to play cowboys and Indians. With the politically correct movement, the game transformed into warriors and adventurers. You did great capturing the flag, by the way. I haven't seen Wesley smile so big in a long time."

  "I'm glad I could help," Dylan mumbled, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. The boys were supposed to be getting ready for bed, but the flashlight beams were bouncing off the walls of the tent, followed by laughter, giggling and squealing. Dylan smiled to himself at the sound of such unrestrained joy.

  "Want a beer?" Lance asked as they sat down in side-by-side camp chairs by the dwindling campfire.

  "Beer? You've got beer?"

  "Private stash. What do you say?"

  "I say yes," he replied with a grin. He watched Lance pour the beer into two plastic cups and hide away the offending bottle. Some of the other fathers had gone to bed, a couple had taken a walk down by the lake and another two were playing cards on the other side of the fire.

  "Hell of a thing that happened to Gary," Lance said. "He was a good guy." He raised his cup in a silent toast and Dylan did the same. "Heard you were friends from way back. Gary used to tell me some of the things you did when you were kids. He was quite the storyteller."

  "And good at exaggeration. I hope you didn't believe everything you heard."

  "Nah. I figured his tales got taller with the amount of liquor he drank. How's Rachel doing? I don't see her much. My wife, Kristie, says Rachel is usually too busy to talk."

  "She's all right." Dylan realized the third degree he'd been avoiding had finally arrived. Most of the dads had just accepted him without question, but Lance obviously wanted information.

  "Tough being a widow at her age, not even thirty yet. Damn shame." Lance took a long drink. "You know, Gary and I shared a beer at last year's camp-out. I think that might have been the last time I spoke to him. Hard to believe he's dead now. Makes you think about your own mortality, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know," Dylan said heavily.

  Silence fell between them for a few moments, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

  "Wesley likes you," Lance observed. "He's a good kid."

  "So is your boy, Palmer. Is that a family name?"

  "My wife's father. Had to get the old man off my back somehow."

  Dylan smiled at that. "Good decision."

  "You ever been married?"

  "Nope."

  "Smart man. You get married and have kids and this is how you'll spend a lot of Friday nights."

  "This isn't so bad," Dylan said, leaning back in his chair. Actually, it wasn't bad at all. He'd enjoyed himself more than he cared to admit.

  "It's not bad, but it's not exactly exciting. Gary brought his cell phone on the last trip. Spent half the night making phone calls to people on the other side of the world. I don't know anybody who doesn't live within a fifty-mile radius of my house. He was talking to Japan, I think. Amazed the hell out of me."

  "Gary's firm designed buildings all over the world."

  "And you built them, right?"

  "Some of them."

  "Impressive stuff."

  "Thanks."

  "Me, I'm a small-town guy. I run the pharmacy in Miller's Drugstore. If you need any aspirin, I'm your man."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "I wonder if Gary ever got that ticker of his checked out. I told him he better slow down if he was having chest pains."

  "Gary was having chest pains?"

  Lance shrugged. "I think it was just stress. He told me he was going through some heavy-duty stuff and wanted to know if I could recommend a tranquilizer or an energy booster. I told him to get himself to a doctor. He said he would. I don't know if he ever did."

  "He was awfully young to have chest pains," Dylan said. Another new wrinkle unfolded itself in front of his eyes. If Gary had been having chest pains, why hadn't he mentioned it to him? Had they talked at all in the last year? Until a couple of weeks ago, he'd been sure their friendship had never wavered. Now he realized that there had been plenty left unsaid. He wondered why. Had he withdrawn from Gary in some subtle way? Had it been the other way around? Or just the business of their lives that had intruded?

  "Life in the fast lane," Lance murmured. "Not my style." He crumpled the empty cup in his hand. "I'm going to turn in. What about you?"

  "In a few minutes. Thanks for the beer."

  "No problem. Don't stay up too late. There's a lot more fun to be had tomorrow."

  When Lance had left, Dylan stared into the last lingering flames of the fire and let his mind roll around what Lance had just told him. Chest pains? Stress? He had thought Gary looked tired. Had he been sick?

  Maybe the accident hadn't been suicide. It was possible that the eyewitness who saw Gary driving erratically had, in fact, seen something else. Maybe Gary hadn't killed himself. Maybe he'd had a heart attack.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "You scared me," Rachel said as her pulse leapt with Dylan's appearance in the apple farm gift shop Saturday evening. She'd seen him drop Wesley off earlier that afternoon but had been too busy with a group of tourists to ask how the camping trip went.

  "Sorry." Dylan flashed her an apologetic smile. "I saw the Closed sign, but the door was open, so I let myself in. What are you concentrating so hard on?"

  "My sales receipts." She shut the cash register. "Wesley said he had a good time. I understand the two of you won three blue ribbons."

  "We were certainly the best at Trivial P
ursuit. Not because of me, because of your son. He knew answers that blew the rest of us away."

  There was that genius thing again. She would have to deal with that soon. She couldn't believe five days had gone by since she'd spoken to Mrs. Harrington, and she hadn't even opened the private-school folders. She had to be the queen of procrastination. After the Harvest Festival, she promised herself; she'd deal with it then.

  "But I did hold my own with the arm wrestling," Dylan added, drawing her attention back to the conversation at hand.

  She smiled at the male pride on his face. "Congratulations. What did you think of the warrior games?"

  "I particularly enjoyed painting my face," he said dryly. "No one bothered to mention that little tradition to me."

  She laughed. "I figured it was something you had to live through. But you seem to be in one piece."

  "One tired and hungry piece. What do you say to treating me to dinner?"

  "Treating you?"

  "Hey, you owe me. I just spent a night on the very hard, rocky ground by Sullivan's Lake with your kid."

  "Okay. You're right, I owe you. But -- I hate to admit this. I'm not a very good cook. Grandma usually does the honors, and she went to visit a friend. When I called up to the house a minute ago, Carly said she and Wesley were eating macaroni and cheese out of a box."

  "Good. You can take me out, then. The kids are already fed."

  "Don't let Carly hear you call her a kid. She'll have your head."

  Dylan grinned. "I'll be careful. So what about dinner?"

  She hesitated, knowing there were a lot of reasons why they should not have a meal together. The only problem was, she couldn't think of what they were at this very second.

  "I don't think it's a good idea," she got out.

  "Since when has anything we've come up with been a good idea?"

  She felt herself weaken at his mischievous wink. He looked so damn good. His hair was damp from a recent shower, his skin glowing from a fresh scrubbing. He looked delicious, he smelled even better. She was hungry, she realized. Unfortunately, it wasn't for food. But food was what Dylan had in mind. At least, she thought it was. There was a little gleam in his eye that she didn't quite trust, but what the hell. "All right. I'll take you to dinner. What kind of food are you in the mood for?"