Summer of Two Wishes

by Julia London

  Macy awoke from a dead sleep and looked straight into the eyes of Milo, who had laid his head on the edge of the bed and was making little whimpering noises. When she opened her eyes, the dog began to writhe with excitement.

  She pushed herself up on her elbows, shoved the hair from her eyes, and looked at the clock next to the bed. It was almost eight o’clock. “Ohmigod,” she said, and fell back onto the pillow, covering her face with her hands. Last night, when she was sitting cross-legged on her bed and drinking wine from the bottle, she knew that she was going to pay for it, but she hardly cared. She’d needed desperately to dull her senses, to numb her thoughts.

  This morning, her head was killing her.

  Milo’s eager tail thrashed the drapes behind him with such ferocity that Macy had to roll over, grab his collar, and tell him to sit. “Are you hungry?” she asked, and Milo gave her a high-pitched wail as he leapt over her and onto the bed, hovering over her and trying to lick her face.

  “All right, all right,” Macy said, and pushed his snout away from her face as she worked to untangle herself from the sheets. She wondered where Wyatt was. It was unlike him to sleep late. But he’d spent the night on the boat and maybe he’d had a few last night, too.

  Macy stumbled into the bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror.

  Pathetic.

  Her eyes were bloodshot. Her hair looked like turkey buzzards had nested in it. There were dark circles under her eyes, the result of a lack of sleep and water for what felt like days. “You look like hell, Macy Lynn,” she announced to herself.

  She felt like hell, too.

  She looked down and saw that she was wearing one of Wyatt’s old T-shirts. She’d always loved this T-shirt—¥it was one he’d worn when he’d played baseball at the University of Texas. Many washings had softened it and his scent was embedded in the weave.

  Milo barked at her.

  “All right, all right, already,” Macy said, patting his head, and staggered along to the kitchen with Milo on her heels. There was a note on the counter from Wyatt: Went to get some coffee. Back in a few. Wyatt had never learned how to operate the coffeemaker. He was funny that way, so capable, so smart, but couldn’t operate a coffeemaker. And he never remembered to take his blood pressure medicine. Or refill it, for that matter.

  Macy took three aspirin, filled the dog’s food bowl, refreshed his water, and left him in the utility room, munching contentedly.

  The thought of getting dressed filtered into her brain, but she was feeling too sluggish to attempt it. So she dragged herself through the house, wandering aimlessly. Her gaze landed on a delicate handblown glass cow on a shelf in the den.

  That blasted cow. Her mom had brought it back from Italy after she’d traveled there to celebrate a birthday with friends. At the time, Macy had been annoyed that with all the shoes and handbags and clothes in Italy, her mother had brought her a Venetian glass cow. But her mother was so pleased with it. She said it reminded her of Macy’s new life as a cowgirl with Finn.

  Jillian Harper had never really warmed to Finn. She didn’t like his background. He hadn’t been to college like Macy. Hadn’t traveled like Macy. And being a rancher’s wife was not what she’d envisioned for Macy, oh no.

  Then again, her mother had never had any reservations about Wyatt—she’d loved him from the moment she met him.

  When Macy told her mother she was going to marry Finn, her mother had shaken her head. “Ranching is such a hard life.”

  “How do you know, Mom?” Macy had asked, wondering when, between college and law school and raising a family right in the middle of suburbia, her mother had lived on a ranch. “It can’t be harder than my job as a social worker,” she’d added. In Macy’s job, she’d seen some of the worst of humanity. How could Finn’s good, honest labor be harder than seeing a kid passed from foster home to relative and back again, unloved and unwanted?

  “Cows smell, they bellow when they are hungry, and they require a lot of work. Your husband will never be home, you know. He’ll always be out working cattle or training horses.”

  “You make it sound like one of those huge cattle ranches, Mom,” Macy had chided her. “It’s not that at all. It’s small, and he only keeps cows to train cutting horses.”

  “It’s not you, Macy,” her mother had insisted.

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” Macy had said, ending that conversation.

  But in a way, her mother was right. Macy was hardly a cowgirl. She had had pizza delivered out to Two Wishes, and had lounged in a bikini by the stock tank when she should have been doing something useful, like planting a kitchen garden or canning preserves. And Finn’s parents were right, too. When she and Finn had married, they’d warned Finn that Macy wasn’t cut out for that kind of work.

  It wasn’t that Macy didn’t want to work. She did work. She kept her job as a social worker until she and Finn had agreed that all the driving and the hard, emotionally exhausting work was wearing her down. Plus, she and Finn wanted children, as soon as they could have them. So Macy had quit her job and had tried to help around the ranch.

  She was good at cleaning out the horse stalls, but José didn’t like her doing that. She was great at keeping the books. But she wasn’t very good at doing the ranch-wife things, as defined by Karen Lockhart. Once, when one of the calves got sick, Karen showed up and told Macy, “He’s got sick cows. You need to get out there and help him.”

  “Help him do what?” Macy had asked.

  “Feed the calf!” she’d cried, and had marched Macy out there to show her how to stick a huge syringe down a calf’s throat and get some milk and medicine down her. It was awful—the calf struggled, spewing medicine and milk all over her.

  When Finn—dirty and wearing stained chaps, and generally looking so hot he could melt a girl’s heart—found her trying to medicate the calf again later that afternoon, he grinned. “What are you doing, baby?”

  “Trying to doctor this damn cow.”

  Finn squatted down next to her, grabbed the calf’s head in a bear hug, opened the calf’s mouth with one hand and squirted the stuff in, then let the calf go. It jumped to its feet and, bleating, loped away.

  Wide-eyed, Macy stared at the calf, then at Finn. “That’s it?” she cried. “That’s all you have to do?”

  He smiled and opened his arms. “C’mere,” he said, and wrapped his arms around her. Macy remembered his incredibly arousing scent—who knew leather and sweat could be so sexy?

  “Let’s agree,” Finn had said. “I’ll do the doctoring.”

  “I want to help you,” she’d said earnestly, and she did, more than anything.

  “Just you being here helps me,” he said, and pushed her hair from her eyes.

  “Finn—”

  “Hey, you do help. You drive the truck when I’m putting down hay. You keep the house and the books, and you keep me warm at night. I couldn’t ask for more.”

  Macy could. She longed to be more useful, but couldn’t even ride a horse very well.

  Yet in spite of her inability to assume the role of cowgirl very effectively, Macy had been happy on the ranch. Very happy. Happier than she’d ever thought she could be.

  Macy picked up the glass cow and continued on to the master bedroom. It occurred to her that it wasn’t fair to take something that had a sentimental value associated with Finn and not something associated with Wyatt. Wyatt was her husband now, and she loved him in spite of this sea change in her life. So she turned around and walked to Wyatt’s home office. There was a picture of the two of them at a black-tie gala. Wyatt was looking adoringly at her, and Macy was smiling at whoever had taken the picture. Macy remembered that night. Wyatt was on the board of a children’s hospital foundation, and the event was a big Christmas ball the foundation held each year.

  They’d gone with David and Aurora Bernard, a couple who had been friends with Wyatt before Macy had met him. She’d
never really befriended them quite like Wyatt wanted. She never felt like she belonged among the country club set, and David and Aurora did not go out of their way to make her feel welcome. Wyatt dismissed her concerns as insecurity on her part.

  The night of that event, Macy had worn a designer gown she’d found at Davenport Village in Austin. It was outrageously expensive, but Wyatt had insisted she buy it. “I want you to shine,” he’d said, and in that dress, Macy had felt like she was shining. It had been a lovely evening, with dancing and haute cuisine. Then Wyatt had surprised her with a stay at the Driskill, an elegant old hotel in Austin. They’d had breakfast in bed after they’d made love. And then Wyatt had handed her a Tiffany box.

  “What’s this?” Macy had asked, surprised.

  “It’s for you,” he’d said, beaming.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” he’d asked. “Open it.”

  Inside was a diamond tennis bracelet. He’d given it to her just because he loved her.

  There was another picture of Macy, the day she’d competed in the Danskin Triathlon. She’d come in the bottom third of her age group. Wyatt had taken the picture of her just after she crossed the finish line, when she was still wondering what she was doing out there in hundred-degree heat. With her hair in two ponytails, she’d stood with her hands on the small of her back and her legs planted wide apart, gasping for air while Wyatt snapped his pictures.

  Why he’d framed it, she’d never know.

  Macy picked up the picture. And a paperweight that looked like a miniature golf bag. And a few other things.

  In fact, Macy wandered from room to room in something of a fog, picking up things that reminded her of Finn or Wyatt, filling her arms until she was forced to dig a gym bag out of the hall closet to hold all the mementos she wanted to take with her. When Finn had supposedly been killed, people had told her to get rid of his stuff if she wanted to move on from her grief. It had taken her a long time to do it, but she’d finally given in, only to discover that even though the things were gone, the memories were still there.

  She should never have gotten rid of so much.

  Wyatt came in, carrying two coffees, and found her wandering about like a madwoman. “What’s the matter, kid?” he asked gently.

  “Just picking up a few things before I go,” she said with an insouciant shrug. She gave the gym bag a yank; it slid across the polished wood floor and the threshold of the master bedroom behind her.

  “You’re still determined to leave?” he asked, his gaze flicking over her bare legs.

  “Yep.”

  “Are you certain?” He lifted his gaze and took a tentative step toward her, putting the coffees down in an art nook built into the wall. “I’ve been thinking…you don’t really need to go, sweetheart. We can work through this. If you want space, I’ll give you space, but you don’t need to go to find it.”

  “No,” Macy said, shaking her head.

  “We’ve always been able to work through things,” Wyatt said, and abruptly reached up to stroke her cheek with his knuckle. That small touch of his finger sent a shiver through her, and Macy closed her eyes.

  “You know that whatever you need, I will give you. Everything will be all right, Macy, because I will walk to the ends of the earth for you if I have to.”

  Wyatt was her savior. Everything will be all right. He’d told her that on their first date, when she’d felt so awkward and uncertain about dating. He’d said it the first time they’d made love. She hadn’t been with anyone for so long. Everything will be all right. He’d said it on the anniversary of Finn’s death, and other occasions when she hadn’t been able to face the world. He had saved her, had lifted her up from the depths of despair.

  Macy opened her eyes and looked up into the face of the man she’d married. With his blue eyes, his thick black hair, and his easy smile, Wyatt was a handsome man. Everyone in town thought so—she’d heard it a million times. And he was a good provider, a hard worker, a good lover. Macy knew how much he loved her, and he…he was the sort of man any woman would want as a husband.

  But he wasn’t Finn. She could not seem to rid herself of that traitorous thought. He wasn’t Finn.

  “Everything will be all right,” he said again.

  She was married to this man, and he looked so earnest, so hurt. She didn’t want to hurt him; that was the very last thing she wanted. Tears began to blur her vision. She nodded and glanced at the floor.

  His hand moved from her face to her shoulder. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

  Macy didn’t know what to say. Confusion paralyzed her.

  Wyatt stepped closer, bent his head, and touched his lips to hers. His kiss was so soft, so full of devotion, that Macy felt a familiar longing in her groin. “Don’t go,” he whispered, his lips now against her temple. “Don’t go.”

  Macy tried to breathe; she tried to make her body move, but instead she just stood there, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her body wanting his touch, her mind wanting distance from the intimacy. It seemed strangely wrong, as if she were being unfaithful to Finn. Wyatt cradled her face; his finger stroked her brow, her temple, and fluttered to her neck. The reverence with which he touched her made her feel even weaker, and Macy gripped his wrist, holding herself upright as his hands and mouth moved over her skin.

  “Wyatt,” she said, but it was all she could manage. There was a familiar comfort in his touch, and it was something she desperately needed after the week she’d had.

  She didn’t know how they came to be inside the master bedroom, and she didn’t protest when he put her on the unmade bed and came over her to kiss her, his hand on her bare knee, then her bare thigh, then sliding up beneath the T-shirt and brushing against her panties.

  Warmth spread through Macy’s body, making her feel sluggish. Her hands floated up around Wyatt’s neck and her lips moved on his, her tongue against his, but she felt as if she were an observer. When his finger slipped inside her panties and dipped into her cleft, Macy was surprised by how damp she was. Her body was responding to her husband’s touch, but her mind was somewhere else. She slid her hands over his muscular arms, digging her fingers into them as she pressed against him and his erection.

  “I don’t want you to go, sweetheart. I don’t want to be without you. I love you too much to lose you.” He was sliding his body down hers in one excruciatingly slow movement.

  The fog that clouded Macy’s brain seemed to thicken. One of Wyatt’s hands tangled in her hair while he stroked the wet heat between her legs with the other. Purely sexual instincts took hold—she didn’t need to think, she only had to react.

  Wyatt paused to remove his pants, then rolled onto his back, pulling Macy on top to straddle him. Macy pulled the T-shirt over her head and watched Wyatt’s eyes rake over her body. He sighed with longing as he sat up and took her hand in his and kissed her throat. “I love you.”

  Macy could hear him through her fog, could see the sincerity in his gaze. She pressed her hand to his cheek and smiled, and felt the single tear that drifted down her cheek.

  “No, no, no,” he murmured, and kissed her cheek. “Don’t cry.” He enveloped her in a tight embrace and pressed his mouth against her shoulder, and then lower, to her breasts.

  Macy dropped her head back and allowed herself to be swept away. Wyatt rolled her onto her back and explored her body with his hands, his fingers trailing over hot skin, his eyes devouring her. He cupped her breasts, squeezed her nipples, then took her breast in his mouth as his hand drifted down the plane of her belly, slipping between her legs and into her body, sliding in and out.

  “God, but you drive me crazy—you always have,” he said breathlessly, and settled in between her legs.

  “Mmm,” she said, and brushed her fingers through his hair.

  With his gaze on hers, Wyatt slowly pushed inside her, catching his breath as he did.

  Macy closed her eyes and allowed him to push her farther out into that ocean of sensation. S
he heard her sigh of pleasure as he moved inside her. She laced her fingers with his, caressed his back and his buttocks, moved with him. He was so hard, so hot, so thick inside her; she drifted along.

  It had never been like this.

  Wyatt knew her well—he sensed her climax and thrust powerfully and quickly into her as she fell away from him and the world.

  It had never been like this, because Finn had never been in bed with them before today. But he was here now, on the edges of her consciousness, trying to make his way in.

  Wyatt shuddered into her and collapsed to her side, his heart beating hard and his breathing labored. “God,” he said with breathless appreciation. “That was…unreal.”

  Macy blinked up at the ceiling. He was still inside her.

  He lifted up on his elbow and kissed her. “I have to say, you really had me worried.” He gently dislodged himself, then rolled over on his back and closed his eyes, a contented smile on his face.

  Macy inched toward the edge of the bed.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked, and put a hand on her belly.

  “I have to go,” Macy said, scooting out from beneath his hand.

  Wyatt opened his eyes. “Where?”

  “Laru’s. I told you.”

  A frown darkened his face and Wyatt abruptly sat up. “What the hell, Macy?” he asked angrily. “You’re still going after what just happened here?” he asked, gesturing to the bed.

  She had to go, especially after what had happened. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glanced back over her shoulder at Wyatt. “I don’t know how to make it easier. If I could, I would, believe me.” She stood up.

  “Macy, dammit! Don’t go!”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and padded into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

  11

  Finn dreamed he was under heavy enemy fire. He was running through the confusing maze of streets in Kabul, ducking into doorways when he could. The fire was drawing closer; he ran again, finding himself in a blind alley, a dead end.

  There was a woman in a blue chadari standing at the end of the alley. No one could be trusted; Finn cautiously approached her, his rifle raised, the woman in his sights. He heard the rap rap rap of gunshots nearby. He drew closer, but as he did, he noticed the woman’s wide blue eyes, the only part of her he could see. He blinked, quickly rubbed his eyes, and looked again. “Macy?” he whispered.