Emma reached across the coffee table to cover Tracy’s skeletal fist with her palm. “You can do anything you want. That hasn’t changed. And neither has Will’s overprotectiveness.”
Tracy’s smile was so powerful it punctured the thick layer of guilt Emma had been wrapped in for months. She could feel it deflate, draining out of her until her limbs felt featherlight and her heartbeat calmed.
“What do you want to do?” Tracy wasn’t ready to face the fast-paced world yet. Emma softened her tone, gentled her voice and tried to lessen the blow for Tracy. “We can go back to the city. But Will is right about one thing. We should wait until you finish more therapy.”
“No!” Tracy and Will protested in unison. They exchanged frustrated scowls.
Tracy yanked her hand from beneath Emma’s.
“But...” Emma looked from Will to Tracy, trying to interpret their moods. And failing. “Will said you had more therapy to complete.”
Will loomed over Emma. “She’s not going back to the city. Not with you. Not ever.”
“No. Therapy.” Tracy’s face scrunched in horror. “No.” She ran to the back of the house, slamming the door to her bedroom so hard it rattled the walls, rattling Emma’s hopes for reconciliation, leaving her in a numb, ear-ringing state of paralysis.
Things had been going so well. Why had they fallen apart?
Emma stared at her hands, replaying the conversation in her head.
“Do you see what you’ve done?” Will held the door open. She hadn’t noticed him move.
“What I’ve done?” Emma’s lungs labored in quick, ragged spurts, fueling her outrage. “I see what you’ve done. Tracy doesn’t have to say a word when you’re around. You complete every sentence for her. You said she needed more therapy. Oh, I fell right into that one, didn’t I? What therapy is going to help when you’re acting as her crutch?”
“Leave. Now.”
Emma stood with a swish of her long skirt and walked toward the doorway. “This isn’t over.”
She barely made it out before he slammed the door at her back. “None of it is over.”
CHAPTER NINE
WILL WAS DROWNING in cats.
A big orange tomcat with scarred ears curled on his lap. A delicate gray tabby perched on his shoulder. A spindly, purring Siamese with one eye rubbed against his arm. A black cat leaped onto his knees. Kittens of all sizes and colors tumbled around his ankles.
After kicking Emma out of the house, Will had tried to talk to Tracy, but she’d locked her bedroom door and wouldn’t come out or speak to him. Hadn’t he warned her letting Emma in was a bad idea? He couldn’t let it matter that Emma’s sincerity and mysterious injuries had touched him and also nudged his curiosity. But Emma didn’t have to deal with the fallout of her actions. He did.
If only Tracy could hear the Morse code message pounding at his temples: Emma was trouble. Emma was trouble. And he was afraid they hadn’t seen the last of her. Emma was too stubborn to go away.
A fluffy white kitten bit into Will’s shoelace, tumbled onto its back and kicked at the lace with ferocious pink-padded hind feet.
Will chuckled.
There looked to be at least twenty cats in the living room, sleeping, scuffling and stalking. It was simultaneously heartwarming and claustrophobic.
The bundle of fluff that had captured his shoelace pulled with such determination his shoe came untied.
Will chuckled again.
“I can’t live in a big city.” Felix stared at Will through platter-thick glasses. He was a retired fire chief from Healdsburg, formerly the chief of Harmony Valley’s volunteer fire department. Now the big, burly man with a heart of gold rescued cats. “Big cities won’t let you have more than a couple cats. This winery of yours won’t hurt my rescues, will it?”
“No.” At least Will hoped not. If it came to that, he’d fight for Felix’s right to rescue as many cats as he could.
As if sensing Will had fudged an answer, the Siamese nipped Will’s biceps. It was only a love bite, but Will picked the cat up to prevent more chomping.
The Siamese snuggled against his chest, ivory fur as soft as mink. It purred as loud as a small motorboat.
“I try to find homes for my rescues, but that’s not always possible.” With hands the size of footballs, Felix picked up the ball of fur at Will’s feet, disengaged its claws from Will’s shoelace and cuddled it in the crook of his thick neck.
“I’d love to see you at the next town council meeting.” Will checked his watch. It was after one-thirty. He started divesting himself of cats, revealing a coat of cat hair on his jeans and polo shirt. “Bringing the city back to life will mean more services. Maybe even a vet, seeing as how Dr. Wentworth wants to retire.” He tied his shoe before traversing the feline labyrinth to the door, the Siamese close at his heels.
“A new vet would be a dream come true.” Felix followed him out, shutting the Siamese in. “Oh, there’s Emma. She used to play with my granddaughter, Frances, in the summer. Hullo, Emma! Can I interest you in a kitten?”
Will turned to see Emma walking up the driveway, flashing a smooth smile that kicked his heart into a new gear and promised trouble. The body-hugging dark blue T-shirt and ankle-length, blue Indian-print skirt she wore swayed in tandem with her long, dark hair. There was something about Emma that demanded his attention and he couldn’t figure out what it was, no matter how long he looked at her.
Emma greeted Felix with a hug, careful not to dislodge the old man’s kitten. “No pets allowed in my building. So no type of animal, be it dog or cat or louse—” she narrowed her eyes at Will “—would be a good fit for me.”
A less perceptive man wouldn’t notice the hungry glint of payback in her eyes. A man with more common sense might have worried about the coincidence of her appearance. Will just wanted to move on to his next appointment.
“I was hoping you’d finally changed your mind and decided to settle down in Harmony Valley with Rose,” Felix said.
“Nope. I’m still living in the city.”
The Siamese cat yowled behind Felix’s screen door, as if wanting in on whatever Emma had planned.
“Good news, Emma.” Felix glowed. “Will says there’s a chance we’ll get a new vet if the town council rezones the Henderson property.”
“Have you heard the details of Will’s plans?” Emma smirked at Will. Then her gaze slid casually to Felix’s immaculately kept white arts-and-craft house with a wraparound porch. “They’re tearing down the Henderson house and barn. Oh, and they presented plans for a subdivision. One hundred houses, right, Will?”
Will clamped his mouth closed. He’d forgotten Felix was involved in the Preservation Society. Edwin had mentioned it in his dossier.
“Really?” Felix’s expression hardened. “A cat chewed my phone cable. I’ll have to get a new one so I can stay up to date on the news.”
Will attempted a smile. “Thanks to Rose, we’ve realized we need to preserve and revitalize existing structures. But the important things are the return of services, not necessarily how we get them.”
“Bring your architectural plans by and let me be the judge,” Felix said coolly.
In less than a minute Emma had undermined Will’s efforts. He wanted to strangle her. Instead, he extended his hand toward Felix. “Hope to see you at the meeting on Monday.”
As Felix returned to his cats, Emma walked with Will down the driveway. Not surprisingly, clouds gathered overhead. Emma most likely brought rain clouds wherever she went.
“Weren’t you going to visit Felix?” he asked with forceful cheer.
“I did. Now I’m going to visit someone else.” Emma purred as innocently as the one-eyed Siamese had, right before it bit him.
The suspicion he’d ignored when she’d first shown up resurfaced. Her appe
arance at Felix’s house wasn’t a coincidence. Will brushed cat hair off his clothing, creating a whirlwind of flying fur. “You’re not coming with me.”
“I’m not with you. But I’m going to go...this way.” She turned left, heading south on Madison Avenue. “Have you talked to Mr. Mionetti lately?”
“No.” It was his next destination. How had she known?
“I’d love to catch up with Mr. Mionetti.” Emma’s chin was in the air, her gaze fixed firmly ahead. The bandage on her forehead peeked beneath her bangs, as if proclaiming she needed looking after just as much as Tracy did.
He was reminded of the time Emma had talked Tracy into floating down the Harmony River the spring after his mother died. It had been too early in the season, and the river had been running too fast. They’d hit a patch of rapids and Tracy had broken her ankle on a jutting rock. His dad had driven Tracy to the hospital. Will had been tasked with walking Emma home. He’d told her exactly what he thought of her irresponsible influence on his sister. Emma hadn’t even defended herself. She’d simply walked with her nose in the air.
And here was Emma causing trouble again. She’d undermined him with Felix and she clearly planned to do the same with Mr. Mionetti.
Will didn’t believe in pussyfooting around. “You can forget whatever scheme you’ve cooked up and head on home.”
Her chin inched higher and she opened her mouth to speak, but Will wasn’t finished.
“I’d like to apologize to Rose. I hadn’t realized how much our plans would upset her.”
Emma blew out a puff of air. “Conspicuously absent in your little speech was an apology to me for banning me from Tracy’s bedside.”
“I’m not going to apologize for that. You proved this morning that I was justified in keeping you away. You upset Tracy.”
“You were as much to blame for upsetting her as I was.” She pinned him with a direct gaze that wouldn’t let him deny it. “For years, you’ve been trying to control Tracy’s life and, for now, you’ve succeeded. Which is probably why you’ve moved on to controlling Harmony Valley. You think you can change things here any way you like, regardless of the wishes of our friends and neighbors. Is that what becoming a millionaire does to people like you? Does money give you the right to be in control of everything?”
“My fortune has nothing to do with this. I’m trying to improve the standard of living here and save a dying town.” With effort, he kept his cool. He could reason with Emma all day, until she fell silent, until she fell prey to his logic or to his kiss. A kiss would be quicker.
Where had that crazy thought come from?
Will stumbled. Just because he was losing his mind didn’t mean he had to lose command of his limbs or his lips.
Emma marched on, oblivious to his torment. “Like cementing over the town’s heritage is so honorable we should all bow down before you. I think not.”
For one moment, Will considered bypassing Mr. Mionetti’s house and heading back to town. He’d always known Emma and Tracy had a special bond, but he’d only seen the unpredictable, unreliable Emma, the one who made him feel justified in keeping her away. But this Emma, this grown-up Emma, made him see her as a beautiful, compassionate woman—whose stubbornness wore at his patience.
They turned at the street’s only weeping willow, walking down a long, straight lane bound by rusty barbed wire, gnarled, tilted fence posts and olive trees. The lane bordered a pasture and ended at a beige ranch home surrounded by a white picket fence. The sheep in the pasture retreated, bleating nervously as he and Emma passed.
“I can take it from here,” Will said. “It’s Tuesday. Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I cleared off my calendar so I could help you today.”
“Help me?” He’d sooner accept help from a rattlesnake. At least they gave warning before a strike. “How do you propose to help me?”
“You’ll see.” She grinned.
A shaggy sheepdog behind the picket fence began barking at their approach. His deep, warning bark was strained, perhaps by his collar, which was connected to a taut chain.
Will slowed. He had a deep respect for the territoriality of farm dogs, having been treed by a German shepherd in his youth.
Emma didn’t seem at all worried. She opened the gate and walked in, crossing the lawn to the dog.
Will followed, closing the gate behind them.
“Hey, Shep.” Emma knelt near the beast, who still halfheartedly barked in Will’s direction. There was a metallic click. Then Emma stood, holding the free end of Shep’s chain. “Oops.”
Shep shook himself off, taking two drunken steps sideways. Will knew in one heart-stuttering moment when the large dog realized he was free. Shep’s eyes locked on to Will like he was hungry and Will was a meaty soup bone. With a bellowing bark, Shep leaped forward.
Will opened the gate, stepped through and closed it again.
Shep loped along in slow motion, plopping to the ground in an exhausted heap on the other side of the gate. His eyes were rheumy and his muzzle a peppery gray. He panted as if he’d run uphill for miles, not twenty feet of flat ground.
“Good boy, Shep.” Emma had trailed after the dog and bent to scratch him behind his ears. “Lucky you. Shep doesn’t move like he used to.”
Will desperately wanted to wipe that superior expression off Emma’s face. He was torn between the best way to do so—wrap his hands around her slender neck or claim domination of her mouth with his.
His hands fisted. His lips pressed together.
“What’s all this racket?” Mr. Mionetti walked out. The old man was beanpole-thin and looked as if a strong wind could blow him over. “Who’s there? And why is Shep loose?”
The sheepdog shuffled over to his reedy master.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mionetti. It’s me, Emma Willoughby, Rose Cascia’s granddaughter.” Emma slid a sly glance Will’s way. “Do you remember Will Jackson? Ben Jackson’s son? He has an appointment with you today. He wants to build a winery on the Henderson property.”
The urge to strangle became more urgent.
“Heard about that. Don’t like wineries.” Mr. Mionetti’s lips rippled into a thin, wrinkly frown. “Every year or so another winery comes around here wanting to plant their vines on my land. As if I don’t make a good living with my sheep. Some people are just plain dumb.”
Like Will, who hadn’t paid as much attention as Emma had to Harmony Valley residents when he lived here. He’d been too busy honing his computer skills.
Emma’s grin stretched to annoying proportions.
“Don’t need to speak to another winery flunky.” Mr. Mionetti barked his dismissal louder than Shep.
Leaving Will to wonder how badly his winery chances with Mr. Mionetti could possibly be hurt if he duct taped Emma to the weeping willow at the end of the lane.
* * *
“I LIKE THE color yellow,” Emma said as she and Will walked up Mr. Mionetti’s lane past sheep and olive trees under an increasingly cloudy sky. Even a rain cloud couldn’t dim the thrill of thwarting Will at two houses. Victory put a bounce in her step. Taunting him about those yellow Post-it flags she’d seen back at Mr. B.’s house was sweet icing on her delicious lemon cake. “Some people think yellow is indecisive and middle ground. But I think yellow is a sunny, decisive color that’s averse to change.”
“Did you break into Edwin’s house? Or did he let you in?” Will’s anger filled every syllable. His hand darted toward Emma’s arm.
She danced out of reach. “I’ll never tell, and the great thing about Harmony Valley is your cell phone doesn’t work here. So you can’t call Mr. B. or your friends until you find a landline. You’re going to Snarky Sam’s next, right?” She laughed. For the first time in a long time, her laughter reached deep into the recesses of her guilt-ridden soul.
/> And then fat raindrops started to fall, as if even Mother Nature was against her.
They ran for the broad weeping willow at the end of the drive.
“I’d forgotten how fickle the weather is here.” Will parted the curtain of branches beneath the willow just as it started to pour, holding them open for Emma, then turning away once she was inside. He crossed his arms over his chest in the male version of a pout.
“It’ll pass in a few minutes.” She hoped that was true. It was a long walk home without an umbrella.
“I can wait. I’ve got a few minutes before going to Sam’s and time after that before I have drinks with Mayor Larry.”
“While you’re having cocktails maybe I’ll swing by and check on Tracy.”
He surprised her by remaining silent.
A frisson of apprehension skittered over her skin. She stared out across the wet landscape, trying to recall the details of Mr. B.’s map, letting the patter of rain fill the silence.
Gradually, she noticed the breathtaking 360-degree perspective from beneath the weeping willow. Sheep dotted the green grass of Mr. Mionetti’s farm. Plump, green grapevines grew across the road, advancing up the hillside. The valanced branches of the willow shifted with sinuous grace. And the rain softened every view, deepened the multiple shades of green with a gemlike polish.
She’d start the painting with the sky, brushing in layers of gray. Then she’d paint the rich umber of the earth and the iron gray of the puddles. She’d paint the grapevines next. Neatly. A regimented order with tendrils reaching like a mother’s hand to sweep up a wandering child into a loving embrace. Then she’d paint the willow’s branches, some of which dragged on the ground like fashionable drapes. And far off in the distance a sliver of—
“What? You’re not talking to me now?” Will’s voice carried more than a hint of annoyance.
The rest of what he said or didn’t say was drowned out by the memory of protesting brakes and the whine of a large, powerful engine. The landscape she’d been composing faded away as her vision fogged over.
Dandelion Wishes Page 9
