If Wishes Were Horses

by Jm Cartwright

  Secretive Brandon.

  Bullheaded Brandon.

  Hardworking architect Brandon.

  And hadn’t that been a surprise? The major league baseball player turned landscape and building designer.

  And then there was honest, patient, generous, sexy Brandon.

  “Damn it. I should be able to list way more faults before I get to the good stuff.” Hissing when he felt the first drops of rain, Angel dashed the rest of the way to the barn. He took the exterior stairs two at a time, then skidded to a halt on the landing at the top. “Whoa.” He grabbed the railing to steady himself. That was all he needed: pitching headfirst over the rail into Brandon’s precious wiggle bush or weigel bush or whatever the heck it was called.

  A picture of himself going ass-over-teakettle into the shrubbery brought back his sense of humor. Snorting, he banged on his mother’s door.

  Deep-throated barks answered his knock, and the two large German shepherds rushed outside when his mother opened the door. They circled around him, rubbing and whining for attention.

  “Mi’jo! You’re supposed to be going to dinner right about now.” Maria Vargas had a questioning look on her face. “It’s starting to rain. You’d better come inside.” She shushed the dogs, waving them back indoors.

  Grateful to feel the heat, Angel moved into the large great room that comprised the south half of his mom’s apartment. He gave scratches to both of his baby girls as he did so. “Thanks, Mamá. Brandon got tied up with whatever the heck he’s working on. I just—” He stuttered to a stop when he caught sight of Danny Accardo comfortably ensconced on Maria’s cushy sofa, sock feet propped on the coffee table. “Oh. Hey, Danny.” He stared hard at the curly brown hair peeking over the leather back.

  And he could hear what sounded like Call of Duty playing from the bedroom.

  Great. The kids were playing first-person-shooter games again. Brandon had a lot to answer for tonight.

  “Angel, mi’jo, you could sound a little more sincere, you know.” Maria tsk-tsked at him as she shut the heavy paneled door.

  Angel grunted. “Sorry, Mamá.” He forced his lips into a smile. “Hi, Danny. How’s it hanging?” Dodging the swat Maria aimed at his head, he toed off his shoes on the boot tray along the wall. Why couldn’t he have avoided seeing Maria and Danny together? He really disliked being reminded that his mother was seeing Danny.

  “Funny, kid.” Danny got to his feet and moved close.

  For all that Danny stood about five-eight and weighted maybe a hundred and forty-five pounds, Maria’s boyfriend—God, Angel hated having to even think that word—had a voice like a tuba. It was a deep bass sound, and every time Angel heard it, he wanted to laugh. To be safe, he covered his mouth with his hand, wiping at the smirk that was starting. He just knew his mother would not appreciate the humor.

  “You know your mom wants us to get along. Besides”—Danny’s brown eyes held a distinct twinkle as he held out a hand in greeting—“aren’t you supposed to be providing a good example for the kids?”

  Danny was well aware of Angel’s discomfort at the idea of anyone dating Maria. Angel knew that without a doubt, since Danny liked to poke at him and sneak in little comments.

  Grudgingly shaking hands, Angel squinted at the little winemaker. Just then he was pretty happy for the extra inches he had on the guy. “You know, I remember when you were too scared to even talk to my mother. You’ve certainly gotten cocky since you’ve been hanging around here.” Shit. That was the wrong damned word to use, because it immediately gave Angel a mental picture of Maria and Danny… Ew. He hurried to change the subject. “Um. I thought you’d be in Eugene for that class. Aren’t you teaching something about winemaking to someone?”

  “Finished the session on Tuesday. And aren’t you supposed to be meeting with the new distributors? Thought you cooked up some big new deal to get us into the East Coast markets?” Danny threw the challenge right back at him, sporting a knowing look.

  “Boys, boys.” Maria tsk-tsked again as she walked around the peninsula counter of the kitchen. Something smelled really good, and when Maria pulled a casserole dish out of the oven, Angel spotted enchiladas verdes.

  Sweet. Comfort food. Being forgotten by his lover wasn’t high on Angel’s list of things to repeat. He was ready for a little consolation. At least his mother hadn’t forgotten his favorite meal. He cheered up slightly. “Mind if I stay for dinner?” He looked sideways at the vintner for the Ridgecrest winery. “I am, I am,” he assured Danny. Figuring Danny was actually interested in talking about work, Angel decided to forego any more hits. For the moment. “We’re signing on with a new social media consultant, and I think it’s gonna open up some doors for us.”

  “Why don’t you both help me get dinner finished? You two can work together.” Maria had a smile in her voice, though when Angel glanced at her, he saw the pointed look she aimed his way.

  Sighing, he nodded. “Sí, Mamá.” Why was it that a mother could make a grown man feel like a disobedient child on occasion? “Come on, Danny. You can get the silverware. I’ll get the plates.” He walked around the counter and opened the cabinet.

  His mother’s apartment was the entire attic of the barn. The U-shaped kitchen was on the other side of the entry door, giving the unit a wide-open feel. Two large en suite bedrooms were beyond the kitchen, and in the smaller room, Angel had set up bunk beds and dressers for the kids, along with a small sofa and a flat-screen TV. On the great-room side of the kitchen, Brandon had installed a fireplace on the south wall, and Maria had set up her large couch and a couple of club chairs around it.

  In the space between kitchen and living room, Maria had created a dining room of sorts. Angel ran a hand along the heavy dark wood of the carved table, one finger following a knot in the grain. His abuelo had made the heirloom back in Mexico thirty-five years before as a wedding gift to a beloved daughter. Every time Angel saw it here, he remembered his childhood in East LA and how far he’d come from the barrio.

  Maria stepped up behind Angel and set a hand on his shoulder. “I miss Abuelo.”

  With a crooked smile, he set one of Maria’s china plates onto a metal charger. She always insisted on using her good stuff rather than letting it gather dust in a cabinet. “I miss seeing him in his workshop in the garage behind his little house. He used to let me help him stain the wood.” Angel had spent many a summer afternoon there as a child, learning about woodworking.

  “I like to think he’d be proud of you, you know. Making a family, building a life for yourself.”

  Setting the last plate down, Angel stared at his mother. “Proud of me.” He scoffed in disbelief. “You know what he said to me. You know how he felt about me.”

  Sighing, Maria glanced a little uncomfortably at Danny before turning to face Angel. “Mi’jo, he died not long after you…you came out. You know he didn’t have time to really understand—”

  Not caring that they were airing dirty laundry in front of Maria’s boyfriend, Angel made a disgusted sound. “He had plenty of time to call me maricón and to tell me to stay the hell out of his house. In fact, I distinctly remember him telling you that you were no longer welcome in his home unless you planned to disown me.” The pain of those days when he was seventeen came back as if it had all happened yesterday.

  “But if he’d had the chance to get to know you as the man you are today, he’d have to admire you. I just know he would.” Maria brushed her thumb along his cheekbone. “At least I hope he would.” She whispered the last bit.

  He sighed, suddenly tired. “Mamá.” He met her gaze.

  Maria was frowning, her expression anxious. He suddenly noticed tiny wrinkles at the corners of the dark-brown eyes that matched his own, although his mother’s face was still beautiful with its winging brows and creamy brown skin. She had her hair pulled into its customary silver barrette, the long near-black strands still showing no sign of gray. He slid one hand along the silky tail, the feel of it soothing him. He’d
liked to do that as a child when he’d been frightened, and the gesture was almost instinctive now.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore what Abuelo thought back then or what he’d think of me now.” Pausing a moment, Angel realized it was true. “It really doesn’t.” He felt a sense of wonder at the recognition. “I like who I am, and aside from a certain bullheaded ballplayer”—his lips twisted for a second—“I’m doing okay.” Angel looked over at Danny, who’d been watching silently from the other end of the long table. “Better than okay, as a matter of fact.” He nodded once, then sent a reluctant grin to the boyfriend. “We’re doing just fine.”

  Chapter Three

  Angel talked shop with Danny as they finished getting ready for dinner, and he actually didn’t find it too annoying. In fact, the conversation was fairly good.

  Probably even enjoyable if Angel was being honest. Reluctant as he was to admit that his mother’s boyfriend was a nice guy, nonetheless, it was true.

  When they were both at work at the winery, he and Danny were on familiar and somewhat equal footing. Angel was in the marketing department. It was a small group, just Angel and his admin, along with an intern from the U of O. Danny was the winemaker, the vintner who mastered the grapes and crafted them into the varietals that had put Oregon—particularly the Rogue River region—on the map.

  When Angel had first come to Oregon, he hadn’t anticipated finding a delightful mini version of the wine industry in the midst of what he’d originally thought of rather scathingly as “Nowheresville.” Then he’d met the owners of the winery, Cliff and Lizzie Danielson. The couple ran a small vineyard of about four thousand acres that was producing some really good stock.

  The Ridgecrest pinot blanc and pinot noir had surprised Angel. Like many Angelenos, he’d considered himself a bit of a connoisseur of wine. When he’d signed on at Ridgecrest, he’d learned how much he didn’t know. Although working for one of the top talent agencies on the West Coast had given him an excellent frame of reference. He’d babysat celebrities, networked with movie studio management, stood in for his agent boss on many a contract negotiation, and spent lots of time learning the wants and needs of some of the uber-wealthy, including what they liked to drink.

  Still, living in Oregon had brought lots of firsts to Angel’s life, not just those in the wine business. Chief among them was becoming an instant father and pseudo-husband.

  His mother’s voice pulled him from his daydreaming.

  “You know, mi’jo, I was thinking of going up to Eugene for shopping on Saturday. I can’t believe it’s already the fifth. I wanted to pick up some stuff I saw on sale.” Maria pulled a trivet from a drawer in the weighty china hutch that matched Abuelo’s table.

  Angel knew just how hefty that sucker was, since he’d twice moved it around the apartment for his mother.

  “And I was thinking…” Maria eyed him as she slid a spatula into the enchiladas.

  Uh-oh. Angel busied himself grabbing napkins for the table. He kept his head down as he folded them and placed them under the flatware Danny had haphazardly set around.

  “You could come with me and help me pick out something for Trey. He’s got a school dance coming up in a few weeks. He’ll need a blazer or suit.” Depositing the casserole dish onto the dining table, Maria looked at Angel expectantly.

  Groaning, he shook his head. “No, Mamá, please, no. I hate going up to those malls. They have lame-ass stores.” He manfully ignored Danny’s snort. “And they’re crowded.” When his mother arched a brow, he meekly apologized. “Sorry, Mamá. They have lame stores.” He moved around the chairs, straightening napkins and flatware, just to keep busy. “Besides. You know how the Mercedes got scratched at that stupid mall last summer. I’m not taking a chance on that happening again.”

  Maria chuckled. “I sort of figured you’d say that, so I planned to drive. And,” she stretched out the word, “just so you know, Señor Smarty, I was not planning to go to the mall. I was thinking of trying the 5th Street Market. But, if you don’t want to go to that hotspot with all the great boutique stores and a spa, well then, maybe Danny will go with me.”

  Angel’s ears perked up at the word “spa.” And the word “boutique.” He ignored Danny’s pained groan. “But Mamá, you know I’ve wanted to go to that place ever since we heard about it. I didn’t know you wanted to go there. Of course I’ll go with you.” Rolling his eyes when Danny sighed in relief, he had a thought. “Brandon can watch the kids, and we can even stay overnight. That way, we can relax, get massages… I want to get a real haircut; you know—the works.” Cheerful at the thought that Brandon would get stuck with two days of babysitting duty, Angel smiled happily. That would fix the ballplayer’s wagon. Whatever the hell was going on, Brandon would just have to take a break and actually pay attention to both children…wards. Whatever.

  “Speaking of Brandon, where is he? And I thought you two were going out tonight.” Maria gestured to Danny. “Amado, will you please let the kids know we’re ready? Tell them to wash up.”

  As soon as Danny had gone to the kids’ room, Maria sidled up next to Angel. “What’s going on? You didn’t look so happy when you got here.”

  Angel plopped down onto a dining chair. He ran his fingers over his face, then thumped the table with his elbows as he caught his chin in his hands. “God only knows, Mamá. We were supposed to go to that new place over in Grants Pass, the one Brandon has been talking about. I-I wanted to talk to him about something. Something special.” His mother had no idea what he’d planned, and now he sure as hell wasn’t going to spill the beans. Not when Brandon couldn’t be bothered to pay enough attention.

  Getting irritated again, he sat up, fists clenching. “And the idiota forgot all about our date!”

  Whatever his mother would have answered was lost when Danny and the kids came trooping out of the bedroom.

  Despite his ire, Angel had to grin as both Trey and Marisa griped about having to wash their hands. Nine-year-old Marisa and twelve-year-old Trey were basically good kids, though they’d certainly had their share of trauma for children so young. Losing their parents and being foisted onto a total stranger hadn’t been the easiest of transitions. Not in the least.

  He could tell the kids liked Danny, though, not giving the older man too much trouble as they stopped at the kitchen sink.

  When Trey and Marisa became Brandon’s wards, the world had turned upside down for the former pitcher. But it in turn opened the door for Angel to a life he’d never imagined. When the sexy baseball player had shanghaied Angel into assisting with Marisa and Trey, Angel had felt all manner of emotional ups and downs and hadn’t known which end was up for quite a while. But he’d also found a job that challenged and intrigued him, a quasi-rural lifestyle that he had come to enjoy—though he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it—and a family to love.

  A family. Something he’d never envisioned in his wildest dreams. Living in LA with a great job, occasionally great dates, and lots of exciting men to ogle, it hadn’t once been on his radar.

  “It must not be too bad. You’re smiling now.” His mother whispered the words as everybody sat down. “Just give him a chance to explain whatever it is, mi’jo. Promise me.” Angel imagined that Maria wanted to wag her finger at him as she spoke.

  He rolled his eyes, determined not to obsess about Brandon and whatever was going on with his aggravating lover. “So, niños, who won?”

  * * * *

  After dinner, he and the kids walked back to the house. The dogs took a detour after hearing something in the shrubbery on the other side of the barn, and Angel couldn’t help but smile briefly at their exuberant howls. Angel listened to the kids chatter about school and friends, chiming in occasionally with questions and comments.

  “Where’s your coat, Angel?” Marisa’s soft little soprano was easy to hear in the quiet of the Oregon night. “Aren’t you cold?”

  Ruffling the long reddish-brown curls, Angel slid his arm around the little gir
l. She’d had a growth spurt in the last six months and was now up to his chest. “Ay, niña, I ran out of the house and forgot it.” He shivered automatically in response. At least the wind had died down and it was no longer raining. “But you’ll help keep me warm.”

  “You’re forgetting a lot of stuff lately,” Trey commented. The almost-teenage boy was shuffling along in the dark, scuffing his Nikes through the gravel of the path.

  “Don’t scratch that leather,” Angel warned. “Those shoes cost—”

  “I know, I know,” Trey interrupted. “Those shoes cost a hundred and fifty dollars.” The words were issued in a snarky whine.

  “Dude. I so do not sound like that.”

  The seventh grader gave Angel a look, his mouth turned down on one side. “Yes, you do! You’re always bitching at me about something.” The security light from the house allowed Angel to see the glare in Trey’s green eyes. The boy gave a deliberate kick to a larger piece of gravel, sending it spinning toward the house.

  “Trey’s just worried because Brandon’s been acting funny and you’ve been a little more cranky than usual.” Marisa looked up at him as they reached the back of the house. She’d been precocious when he’d met her and had grown even more so.

  Trey jumped up the three low steps of the stoop and yanked open the wooden storm door. It hit the porch rail with a smack, the sound loud in the evening quiet. “You don’t have to tell him everything, ’Risa. And I’m not worried anyway.” The boy’s defiance was spoiled when he couldn’t get the door open, no matter how he tugged on the cast-iron knob. “Shit!”

  “Hey! Watch your mouth, young man.” Good God, I sound like my mother. Angel stood stock-still as that thought occurred to him. “When did you start talking like that?”

  Trey refused to answer, banging on the door instead.

  “You’re not going to make us leave, are you?”

  Mouth open, Angel turned to Marisa, looking down into soft brown eyes. “What? No, niña, no. Why would you think that?” Forgetting the cold, he knelt in front of the little girl.