by Julia London
“No,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to do anything that underhanded. It’s not right, Randy.” He meant it. He would do whatever it took to save his marriage, short of stealing the land right out from under Lockhart as Randy was suggesting.
“Suit yourself,” Randy said, and started walking again.
25
Finn’s nightmares kept getting longer and more vivid instead of fading away as he’d hoped, terrifying him in the middle of the night and waking him with a pounding heart and sweat-drenched body.
He’d gotten into the habit of drinking a couple of beers to get back to sleep.
That particular morning, he couldn’t get back to sleep because his mind was on Macy, on his ranch, on where he went from here. He should never have let her out of the truck two days ago without something more than a vague promise to call it off with Wyatt. He’d expected to hear from her by now.
Why hadn’t she called him? After that explosive night at Two Wishes, he’d thought that was it; situation resolved, nothing left to do but tell Wyatt and tidy it up with whatever legal action was required.
The anxiety was making him crazy. He could call her, but Finn felt like he’d laid it out there more than once. He needed Macy to make the next move.
He tried to keep his mind from blowing up by working around the folks’ place. He repaired a fence and hauled out some salt licks, dropping them around for the cattle. He helped his dad work on an old tractor. When he finished that, he drove down to Two Wishes and took down the FOR SALE sign. But then he wandered aimlessly about. There was so much work to be done, work that required money. Finn couldn’t ask his folks for it. The only other option he had was to get a job and work on the ranch in his spare time. That idea only added to his anxiety, which felt like it could pick him up and carry him off at any moment.
Finn returned to his folks’ house and helped himself to a beer. He guzzled it and was contemplating another one when he felt someone else in the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder.
His mother was standing there, staring disapprovingly at the beer in his hand.
“What?” he snapped.
“I worry about you.”
God, he didn’t want to have this conversation again. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine, huh? Is that why you don’t sleep? Why you won’t talk with the man from New York? Why you won’t let anyone help you?”
“The only help I need is getting my life back on track,” he said irritably, and decided to have another beer after all. He grabbed it out of the fridge and opened it.
“Finneus, you drink around the clock! Don’t you see that is not normal?”
“I’m not exactly normal anymore, Mom. It’s not like I’m home from college.” He opened the cabinet and pulled down a bag of tortilla chips.
“Oh Finn,” his mother said with disgust. “At least let me make you some lunch.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said.
His mother snatched the bag of chips from his hand. “You’re not good. Now listen to me,” she said sternly as she put the chips back in the cabinet. “You have got to get some help. I was talking to Reverend Duffy and he said—”
“Mom, don’t,” Finn warned her. “Don’t start preaching at me. I can’t take that.”
“I am not preaching at you! I am trying to get you to see that you need help! Finn, please, for my sake, talk to someone!”
“I don’t need to talk to anyone!” he exploded. “Why is that so hard for you to understand? I need my life back! I need to get out of this house, to buy a couple of horses and get Macy, and I need to start living! I haven’t lived in three years, Mom! I haven’t—”
He suddenly couldn’t speak. There was a pain in his chest—a stifling sort of pain—and he winced, clutching his chest.
“Finn!” his mother cried, and put her hand over his, the other on his forehead. “Oh dear God! I’m calling 911—”
“No, no,” he said, and gripped her hand. The pain passed. “It’s nothing. Indigestion. Too many beers.” He had to get out of his parents’ house. He patted his mother’s hand. “Really, I’m fine.”
He put the beer down, squeezed his mother’s shoulder, and moved past her. He didn’t look at her—he wasn’t so far gone that he liked seeing the fear in her eyes.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to grab a shower,” he said.
“What about lunch?”
“No, thanks, Mom!” he said over his shoulder, and walked down the hallway, past the new shrine she had put up on the wall—all the various clippings about his survival, framed and arranged around his Purple Heart.
Either he got out of here, or he would lose his freaking mind.
Macy never ate her cereal—she’d gotten sick again. As she was preparing to leave for an afternoon meeting about the gala, Jesse handed her a cheese sandwich and some crackers. “Try to eat the sandwich and put these crackers in your purse. Eat them if you get nauseated.”
Macy gave him a quick, appraising look. “How do you know this stuff?”
“I’m a multitalented kind of guy,” Jesse said with a wink. “And I was the oldest. My mom had four more after me, so I learned a couple of things.”
“Thanks, Jesse.”
“Thank you for what?” Laru called, padding out into the entry in bare feet and the extremely short bathrobe she favored. She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed Jesse. “Thank you for what?” she asked.
“For cleaning up the kitchen. She’s running late,” Jesse said. He ruffled Laru’s hair and started toward the kitchen.
“God, Macy, you are so pale,” Laru said, folding her arms and studying Macy’s face. Behind her, Jesse whirled around and made a slashing motion across his throat. He pointed to her Jeep, indicating Macy should go. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Just tired,” Macy said. “I better run—”
“This is craziness,” Laru said. “You’ve got to come to some conclusion, Macy—for your sake. You’re going to ruin your health if you don’t. Look at you, you’re so bloated!”
“Bloated!” Macy cried, her hand going to her belly.
“You devour carbs—what do you expect?”
“Okay,” Macy said, working hard to remain even, “I really have to run.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?” Laru asked, her brow furrowing with suspicion. “I know that frantic look. What’s going on?”
“I’m late.” In more ways than one. “I’ve really got to go.” She waved her fingers as she hurried out the front door and down the flagstone walk to her Jeep. As she got into the driver’s seat, she glanced back and saw Laru standing there, still frowning.
“Lord,” she muttered, and started her car. But she’d barely reached the end of the drive when her cell phone rang.
“Macy, I’ve been hoping you’d call,” Finn said when she answered. His low voice was like a salve to an open wound, and tears welled in Macy. She was on a hormonal roller coaster and felt like she was about to plummet again. “I need to see you, too,” she said tearfully.
“Are you crying?”
“No! Yes,” she said, pulling over to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“What’s wrong—has something happened?” he demanded.
“Nothing’s happened. It’s…it’s everything,” she said. “Everything! It should be so simple, Finn, but it just gets harder—”
“I’m coming to get you—”
“No, no,” Macy said, and shook her head, clearing it. “No, really, I’m all right. I’m just tired. I’m on my way to a meeting about the fund-raiser. I missed the last one, so I can’t miss this one, and there is so much work to do, and honestly, I’ve been useless—I can’t let them down.”
“When can I see you?”
“I’ll call you—”
“I’m not waiting for you to call me—”
“Finn, please. I’ll call you, just as soon as I get out of this meeting. I have to th
ink of a place we can meet—”
“What do you mean?”
“Austin,” Macy said, her mind rushing ahead. “People won’t recognize us in Austin.”
There was silence on the other end. “Am I understanding you? You want to meet in Austin like…like we’re having an affair?”
That was precisely what she meant, but when he said it like that, it sounded so base, so strange. “No, I don’t mean that,” Macy said. “I just don’t…” She didn’t know what she was doing.
“When are you going to tell him?” Finn asked quietly.
Her head was throbbing now. “I…I’m going to, but it’s very hard. I mean—” She had no idea what to say. She could scarcely think.
“Okay, Macy,” Finn said. “Okay. But I need to see you.”
“All right, yes. I’ll call you just as soon as I can.”
He didn’t answer right away. “Listen…I’m sorry, baby,” he said softly. “I’m sorry this is so hard on you.”
“I’m sorry for us all,” she said.
The “Life Under the Texas Stars” fund-raiser meeting was in full swing when Macy entered. She was at least fifteen minutes late, maybe more, and she waved as she hurried to her seat. But as she took her seat, she detected uneasiness in the room. Macy looked around the table; there were Mr. and Mrs. Francis, who had lost a son in Iraq and had donated quite a lot of energy and money to Project Lifeline. And Misty Fitzgerald, whose sister had served three tours in Iraq before she was discharged. Misty’s sister had committed suicide about three weeks after that, a victim of PTSD. There was Jasper Adams, whose son was at Brook Army Medical Center in San Antonio, his legs gone, his torso and arms badly burned. And Brian Cahill, whose father had been killed by friendly fire.
And last but not least, Samantha Delaney, who was sitting at the head of the table, staring at the paper in front of her.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Macy said, feeling conspicuous. “I know I’ve been a slacker, but I finished stuffing the mailers. They’re in my car, ready to go.”
No one said anything.
“Please don’t stop on my account,” she said. “I’ll catch up.”
“Macy, we’ve been talking,” Sam said, still looking at her notes. “And we’ve come to a difficult decision.” She glanced up then, her eyes dark and surprisingly cold.
“We have?” Macy asked, looking around the room.
“We think we need to substitute someone else to host the event. Brian knows Rick Barnes from the local NBC station and thinks he can get him to be the emcee.”
Macy blinked. She was supposed to be the emcee, to run the silent auction. They’d been over it already and everyone had agreed she’d be the best person for the job. But there was something in Sam’s expression that caused Macy’s heart to slide. “But why?”
“We…” Sam glanced around the table. “We don’t think it’s a good idea because your husband came home, and…and you haven’t decided what to do with him.”
“I haven’t decided what to do with him?” Macy echoed incredulously. “What has that got to do with being the emcee of a silent auction? I’ve worked as hard as anyone sitting at this table,” she reminded them.
“Macy,” Mrs. Francis said kindly, “this isn’t a knock against your hard work, or abilities, and Lord knows you’ve poured your heart and soul into this. But Sam’s right—your situation has changed and we don’t want this important event to be overshadowed by your circumstances. I’m sure you don’t want that either. Everyone in this town is talking about it.”
“Talking about what?” she asked uneasily.
Mrs. Francis looked uncomfortably at the others. “Who…who you’re going to choose.”
Shocked, Macy gaped at them. “It’s not a lottery,” she said quietly.
“Of course not,” Mrs. Francis said. “But the local media wants to know if you’re going to be at the fund-raiser and the mayor thought it would be a great opportunity to give Mr. Lockhart the key to the city, but we thought, what about Mr. Clark? He’s a generous donor and has been a great supporter. Do you see our dilemma?”
Macy couldn’t believe it. She looked around the room. “Is this a joke?” she asked hopefully.
“We wouldn’t joke about something like this,” Sam said quietly. “We know how much it means to you.”
Sam knew better than anyone else. They’d sat up like schoolgirls the night they’d conceived the idea, talking about the possibility, excitedly planning it. “You’re right, it does mean quite a lot to me,” Macy said. “We came up with the idea together, Sam. We’ve worked a long time to organize it. I’ve booked some of the best music acts in the area and convinced people to donate services and activities they wouldn’t have otherwise donated. And now, because my husband is alive, you are going to remove me from the event?”
“We’re not removing you,” Jasper said uneasily. “There’s plenty of work to be done besides standing out front.”
“Right. Stuffing envelopes,” Macy said. “I’ve done that. I am ready to raise quite a bit of money in the auction.”
“But the thing is, Macy, you’ve got two husbands,” Sam said, as if she were explaining this to a child. “We don’t want your two husbands getting all the press for this fund-raiser. Surely you can understand that we want to keep all the attention on the work we are doing, can’t you?”
Macy felt ill. “Samantha, come on. Don’t do this.”
The color drained from Sam’s face and she looked down. Macy looked around the room. Everyone was staring at her, unable to answer.
“Okay,” she said, getting to her feet. “I understand. I’ve got all the mailers in my car. I’ll leave them on the hood of yours, Sam.” She picked up her purse.
“Macy! Don’t leave!” Mrs. Francis pleaded with her. “There’s a lot we need to talk about!”
“You guys seem to doing fine without me.” She glanced at Sam on the way out, but Sam was looking at her notes again, her jaw clenched resolutely.
26
Macy sat in her car, staring blindly at the gray VFW hall. She had no idea where to go from here. Her life was almost completely unraveled now.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was half past two. She could go back to Laru’s and cry some more. Or, she could go home and grab the mail and a few clothes while Wyatt was at work. “Right,” she muttered under her breath. “Choose the path of least resistance. That’s helpful.”
Or she could face Wyatt and tell him the truth.
Macy called his office. “Hi, Linda Gail,” she said. “Is Wyatt in?”
“Macy, how nice to hear your voice. No, Wyatt’s not here. He went out to see some land and was going to work from home after that instead of driving all the way back into town. How are you getting on?”
Macy chatted with Linda Gail for a moment, then put her Jeep in drive and headed for Arbolago Hills.
She hadn’t been home since the day she’d left after returning from D.C. She looked up at the house from the drive. It was a beautiful home, and there were plenty of people out in the world who would think she was insane to give this up. Like her mother. She’d called again last night to grill Macy about what she was doing with her life and then had told her what to do. “I’m so worried about you, Macy,” she’d said. “I haven’t heard from you, and that’s not like you. Laru says you’re sleeping too much, too.”
“Are you kidding?” Macy had said, disgruntled.
“I think you should take up running again. Emma runs in those five- and ten-K races to keep herself fit.”
“Mom!”
“All right, honey,” her mother had said. “But I just want to say one more thing, and then I’ll stop. You need to be careful. You don’t want to lose Wyatt.”
That was the last thing Macy had been able to tolerate, and she’d abruptly ended the conversation. As if she could possibly alienate her current husband any more than she’d already done.
Wyatt’s truck was not in the drive of the house. He h
adn’t made it home yet, she supposed, and decided to grab a few things while she waited. Macy walked into the house through the garage door and dropped her purse on the kitchen counter. Out of habit, she picked up a dirty glass from the countertop and put it in the dishwasher before she even realized what she was doing. She paused and looked around her. Mail was haphazardly stacked at the end of the bar, unopened. The sink was full of dirty glasses and bowls, and from all outward appearances, it looked as if Wyatt was existing on chips and hot sauce. The trash was overflowing with empty jars of salsa, beer cans, and a couple of fast food bags. And his blood pressure medicine was by the sink, the bottle empty.
Macy dried her hands and walked into the great room. It felt odd being in here now—almost like she was intruding on Wyatt’s private space. She looked out the picture windows, across the deck and to the lake. On summer evenings, they would sit out there to catch a breeze while they watched the boats go by. Or, if Wyatt got home from work early enough, they’d take the boat out for a sunset cruise. He’d bought the boat for her. She could take it or leave it, but of course, she’d never told Wyatt that.
Macy turned away from the windows and walked on, to the master bedroom. She paused in the doorway and looked at the unmade bed. She remembered very clearly the last time she was in this bed, the earnest way Wyatt had made love to her. The memory made her ashamed and she sagged against the doorjamb. Her husband had tried to love her, and all the while she was thinking of Finn.
Poor Wyatt. Try as he might with the house and the trips and the gifts and the love—Macy knew how much he loved her—he couldn’t make her love him the way she loved Finn. She couldn’t really say why that was. It wasn’t anything about Wyatt—he was a wonderful, caring man. There was just something about Finn that touched her like no other.
Macy walked into the room and picked up two shirts that Wyatt had tossed on the floor. He was incapable of finding and using a clothes hamper. She sat down on the end of the bed, looking at the shirt, trying to remember the moment she fell in love with Wyatt.
