Summer of Two Wishes

by Julia London

  Twenty-two months had passed since Finn’s death when her dad introduced her to Wyatt. Macy once told Emma that might have been the best thing their father had ever done for her. Macy had been taken by Wyatt—he was handsome and kind, a true gentleman. He was a land broker, her dad said, and had a track record of turning large ranches over for huge profits.

  “He’s trying to put together a big resort deal,” her dad had said. “You know, a family vacation destination, complete with water sports, a horse track, shopping, fine dining, and luxury condo rentals.” Macy had been mildly intrigued.

  Apparently, Wyatt had seen something in her, too, because he began to call her. She didn’t want to date, but Wyatt wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d cheerfully worn her down until she went out with him a time or two. Macy was impressed that he seemed to understand her loss as well as anyone could who had not been through something similar.

  On their fourth date, Wyatt had kissed her. It was nothing to write home about—just a small kiss good night—but after that, he began to pursue her like she was a land deal. And Macy…well, she supposed she needed the attention, because she didn’t try to dissuade him.

  But when did love walk in? At what moment, what event, what day did she know she loved Wyatt? She could remember the precise moment she knew she loved Finn. It was a blustery winter day, when they’d gone horseback riding and he’d made her a picnic of sandwiches. When they reached their destination, they discovered the water he’d packed had leaked, ruining the sandwiches.

  Finn was not the least daunted. He built a fire out of dead mesquite, picked some cactus, peeled it, then roasted it over the fire. It was perhaps the most delicious food Macy had ever eaten. They’d sat huddled together, eating cactus, admitting their dreams and hopes, and Macy had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

  As for Wyatt, she guessed she knew on the anniversary of the night Finn had proposed to her. She was at a movie with Wyatt, thinking about that night at the Rooster with Finn. The theater was dark, and Macy tried to hide her silent tears. Honestly, she never really understood how Wyatt knew, but he put his arm around her and held her, and whispered, “I promise you, Macy, everything will be all right.”

  She had believed him. She had fallen in love with him.

  “Macy?”

  Wyatt’s voice startled her; she gasped like a guilty cookie thief. “Wyatt! You scared me!” She tried to smile. She thought she was ready to talk to him, but she suddenly didn’t feel so ready. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  He looked at her strangely, as if she didn’t fit into this setting. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and Macy could hear the hope in his voice, that brief moment of belief that perhaps she had come home for him.

  Seeing his hope made her feel queasy. “Linda Gail said you’d be here.” She shifted her gaze to the bedroom floor.

  “I’m going to straighten this up,” he said quickly.

  Macy couldn’t help a small smile. “We both know you’re not.”

  He relaxed then and squatted down to pick up a pair of discarded jeans. He stayed there a moment, looking at the jeans, then lifted his gaze to hers. “Am I a fool to think you being here is a sign that life is going to get back to normal sometime soon?”

  When she hesitated, he clenched his jaw and rose up, still holding the jeans.

  “Hey,” she said softly, “do you remember the moment you fell in love?”

  “Wow,” he said, and glanced at the jeans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Sorry,” she said instantly, regretting the question.

  He carelessly tossed the jeans onto a chair with other jeans. “Yeah, I know,” he said, and looked at her. “I know it was the night I first met you.”

  Macy laughed. “You did not think you loved me when we first met!”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”

  “Well, yeah. But not when one of us was a basket case when we first met—and it wasn’t you.”

  “I didn’t think you were a basket case. I saw a pretty woman with a self-deprecating sense of humor, a bright smile, and the warmest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  “I hardly said a word!” she exclaimed laughingly.

  “You said enough,” he said, his demeanor quite sober. “I remember you were wearing black slacks and heels and that silky pink thing,” he said, gesturing to his torso. “It was perfect. I’d always been a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy, and I remember thinking whoa, someone just knocked me off my feet.”

  “Wow,” Macy said incredulously. “I never knew that.”

  “You did,” he said. “But I think you’ve forgotten it in the last few weeks. So…do you remember when you knew?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “It wasn’t anything in particular, but one night when we were at the movies, sitting together in the dark, you had your arm around me, and I just knew.”

  Wyatt smiled, then suddenly caught her hand. “Come on. There is something I want to show you.” He pulled her off the edge of the bed and hurried her down the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  He led her outside, onto the deck, then down the steps to the boat dock. They walked all the way to the end of the dock and stood beneath the little arbor Wyatt had built there last fall. He’d strung outdoor lights through the slats and had brought in some massive clay pots, into which he’d planted bougainvillea and hydrangeas. The crowning touch was the two chaise lounges with cushioned seats and built-in cup holders. They’d both been absurdly pleased with the cup holders. They’d spent many evenings down here, just hanging out on the water’s edge, nibbling on cold suppers, drinking wine or beer, and watching boats go by.

  Wyatt pointed down the lake. “See that radio tower?” he asked.

  Macy looked at the far end of the lake. The radio tower was several miles away; she could see the top of it. “Yes.”

  “I made a deal to sell some land this morning,” he said, and turned around to Macy. “It was the last piece of the puzzle. Do you know what that means?”

  She shook her head.

  “It means that radio tower is on what will be the eastern tip of the Hill Country Resort and Spa. It means that in spite of Lockhart, I’ve put together the funding I need to build and develop it. And that means I can give you whatever you want, Macy. It means we can send our kids to any college they want. It means you’ll never have to worry about a thing. Everything I ever promised you is about to come true, sweetheart. This is all for you, for us, for our future together. I’ve never been shy about letting you know that I would do anything for you.”

  “I am so proud of you,” Macy said.

  “I don’t want you to be proud. I want you to love me. I want you to be with me, to have our kids, to do everything we set out to do.”

  Her pulse began to climb uncomfortably. What if she was carrying his baby? Wyatt had a right to that life, didn’t he? He had as much right to his dream as she had to hers. But she couldn’t tell him—what if she wasn’t pregnant? What if Jesse was right and stress had resulted in a false positive? “I am proud of you and I love you…but it’s not that simple anymore,” she said.

  Wyatt suddenly turned away and stood with his back to her a moment, staring at the water, his hands on his waist. And then he abruptly faced her. “Why is this so damn hard for you, Macy?” he bit out. “What am I missing? What is so lacking about our relationship that it’s even a question to you?”

  Resentment was coming off him in waves. Macy took a step back. “It’s a whole lot more than just a question. There is one other person—”

  “Can he offer you this?” Wyatt exploded, gesturing wildly to the house. “Can he offer you a life of security?”

  She felt a wave of nausea.

  “I know what happened Monday,” Wyatt snapped. “I know you rescued the poor, broken G.I. Joe from the bar and left with him. I know he’s gotten a hell of a lot more of your at
tention than I have. If you’re going to declare this marriage void, then just do it and stop stringing me along!”

  She was going to be sick. Macy put a hand to her stomach. She opened her mouth to speak, but whirled around, leaned over the railing, and vomited into the lake.

  “Jesus!” Wyatt cried. He was instantly at her side, his hand on her back. “God, Macy, are you all right?” he asked fearfully.

  “I know you are unhappy with the situation,” she said hoarsely, and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. Wyatt dabbed at her perspiring forehead with his shirtsleeve, but Macy pushed his arm away. “You have to trust that I will do the right thing, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt blinked.

  “Please trust that I will do the right thing for all of us!”

  “Ohmigod,” he muttered, his gaze raking over her, the color draining out of his face. “Ohmigod, you’ve been with him—”

  The nausea was swelling in her again. She pushed past him and ran up the dock and the steps to the house. She could not stand there in the summer sun and tell Wyatt that she loved Finn more, or better, or differently, but that she was carrying the child Wyatt had wanted. Or that a baby didn’t figure into it all somehow, because it did. She would have to tell him soon—but not today, not like this. Not when she was about to be sick again.

  27

  Karen Lockhart watched Finn get in the old farm truck and drive away much too fast up the gravel road. She looked at her husband, who was hunkered down over a late lunch, and demanded, “Did you see how he left out of here?”

  “Aw, leave him alone, Karen. He’s got a lot on his mind.”

  “I don’t intend to go to his funeral a second time, Rick,” she said sharply.

  Rick rolled his eyes and reached for another slice of white bread. “You’re being overly dramatic,” he said. “The boy just escaped Afghanistan a few weeks ago. Give him some time—he’ll work things out.”

  Karen looked out the window again. Dear Jesus, please help my miracle son, she prayed. I can’t lose him again. I won’t lose him again.

  Reverend Duffy said she should give this one to God to handle, but Karen couldn’t do that. How could she? Finn was her son. “He could get on his feet and get on with his life if he’d quit pining over Macy Harper,” she remarked bitterly.

  “Her name is Macy Clark and you don’t need to go meddling in his business,” Rick warned her.

  “I never cared for that one.”

  “For God’s sake, Karen! You were the first one on the Macy Harper bandwagon when he met her!”

  “I was blinded by his devotion to her, that’s all. I’ve never liked the Harpers. They don’t have the same morals we do.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Rick demanded.

  “Bobby Harper cheated on Jillian for three years before they split up.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard,” Rick said, his brow furrowing. “Jillian Harper is a fine-looking woman.”

  “Oh!” Karen exclaimed angrily.

  “I’m just saying,” Rick said with a shrug. “Now you lay off Macy and Finn and let them find their own way in this, do you hear me?”

  Karen frowned and pressed her lips tightly together.

  “Why can’t you just let it be, Karen?”

  “I’ll say it once more, Rick—I’m not losing him again.” She picked up the phone and punched in Brodie’s number.

  Finn drove mindlessly into town, his mind foggy from the beer he’d drunk, his thoughts as scattered as the trash lodged against the barbed-wire fence on that lonely stretch of road. Finn had never been the sort of guy to give in to feelings of despair. He was generally pretty positive and upbeat. But he could not seem to rid his head of the thought that seemed to beat like a drum—he had nothing. No place to call home, a house that needed to be gutted, a ranch that had no stock. He had no one to turn to who understood the dark thoughts that would pop up out of the blue, or his need to drink. He had nothing substantial to occupy his hands, much less his thoughts.

  Things were beginning to feel a little out of control.

  I can’t live this way. I can’t live like this, like a madman, like a crazy vet.

  In town, he drove around the town square twice, wincing at the billboard outside the courthouse that read WELCOME HOME FINN LOCKHART. AN AMERICAN HERO. He didn’t like the attention, the notion that he was somehow a hero for having survived. He didn’t do anything heroic. Heroic would have been figuring out a way to kill those bastards and himself with them. Not sit around chained to a wall feeding a stray.

  Finn had no particular destination, but he’d seen all he wanted to see of Cedar Springs. He had the urge to drive out to Laru’s, but something told him that was a bad idea. He decided instead to drive out to Arbolago Hills and see where Macy lived.

  He would wish for a long time to come that he hadn’t done that.

  It was a gated community, but Finn slid in behind another car, waving at the gateman like he knew him. If the gateman thought he shouldn’t be in the community, he sure was slow picking up the phone to call the cops.

  Finn had a general idea where the house was, based on what Brodie had told him, and drove down to the end of Arbolago Boulevard. He found the house easy enough—there were only a half dozen built out over the cliff. It was a big house, one of those that looked like it belonged in a magazine. But it wasn’t the size of the house or the spectacular view that caught Finn’s attention. It was the fact that Macy’s Jeep was parked in the drive, right next to a white pickup truck that had CLARK RANCH PROPERTIES emblazoned on the sides.

  His head began to hurt. He supposed he could assume the best, but something about it didn’t sit right with him, and as Finn drove on, intense anger began to build in him. He decided to head to Brodie’s little house on Holly Street before he did something wrong, like bash in the windows of Wyatt’s truck. Finn gripped the steering wheel until his fingers ached in a struggle to keep himself from turning around and doing just that.

  He was going to have to face up to it—life had changed since he’d gone off to war. Maybe Macy had changed, and maybe what he thought he knew of her didn’t fit anymore. He wouldn’t be the first soldier to believe there was something so strong between them that even time and distance couldn’t touch it and be proven wrong.

  Brodie lived in a neat little tract house with rosebushes planted along the front porch. Lucas put himself through veterinary school and Finn started the horse ranch, but Brodie had never had such entrepreneurial aspirations—he liked sports and the outdoors and work at a lumberyard was just fine for him.

  Finn pulled into the drive and got out of the truck. Brodie had bought this house with the money Finn had paid him for his share of the land their grandfather had left them. It was perfect for a bachelor, an old-fashioned house with a detached garage, a kitchen entrance, and sun awnings on the windows. As Finn walked up the drive to the kitchen entrance, he heard a dog bark. He leaned over a chain-link fence and smiled at the mutt that came bounding toward him. He scratched the dog’s neck before looking for the key that Brodie used to leave under a pot by the door. The key was still there—it was nice to know that at least some things never changed.

  Inside, the house was surprisingly neat. “Tidy boy,” Finn said to himself, nodding with approval as he looked around. He let the dog in the house and watched as he raced to the front door, then down the hall to one of three bedrooms. While the dog searched for Brodie, Finn opened the fridge. “Dude…where’s the beer?” Finn said out loud and squatted down to have a better look. There wasn’t a single bottle of beer, but in the freezer, Finn found a bottle of Schnapps. That had never been his thing, but in the absence of anything else, and with his head pounding mercilessly, he poured some into a glass and downed it.

  A few minutes later, he was on the couch in Brodie’s living room, a bag of Fritos by his side, the bottle of Schnapps on the table, and the dog lying next to him. Finn absently petted the dog as he stared at an episode of Spon
geBob SquarePants.

  The last thing he remembered was Squidward doing an interpretive dance. The next thing he knew, someone was kicking him. Finn reacted as if he were still in Afghanistan—he surged up, caught the offending foot in one hand, and jerked backward. He heard a cry of pain as he and the enemy went down, crashing onto and breaking the cheap coffee table.

  “Goddammit, Finn!” Brodie roared, and shoved him off his body. He hopped to his feet and looked at the coffee table. “That’s just great,” he said, and kicked at a broken leg.

  Reality came cascading back, and Finn rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. The dog licked his face.

  “Scout!” Brodie barked. “Come on!”

  Finn heard the sliding glass door open and the dog trot out. The door slid closed again. Finn pushed himself up and draped his arms on his knees as he watched Brodie picking up Fritos and the spilled bottle of Schnapps. “Sorry, bro.”

  “Sorry?” Brodie said irritably. “You come into my house uninvited, drink my Schnapps, sleep on my couch, and then attack me?”

  “I’m really sorry about that—it’s a habit I need to break.” He looked at Brodie. “Why are you drinking Schnapps, anyway? That stuff is nasty.”

  Brodie gave him a withering look and walked into the kitchen with the debris. Finn sheepishly followed him. “Let me do it,” he said when Brodie got a broom out of the pantry.

  Brodie obligingly shoved the broom at him. “What’s going on with you, man?” he demanded.

  “What do you mean?” Finn asked thickly as he swept up crumbs from the saltillo tile in Brodie’s living room.

  “Dude, you’ve been home a couple of weeks, give or take, right? And in that time you’ve upset Mom, you’re drinking like a damn fish, you sleep all day and stay up all night. Everyone is talking about the scene at Ruthie’s like you’re a psycho, man.”

  Finn didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell his brother he was up all night because he couldn’t stand to dream of Afghanistan, of bombs falling, of being chained to a goddam wall unable to fend for himself, of people being blown to bits. He didn’t tell him he drank because that was the only thing that seemed to numb him sufficiently not to think of his life and of Macy.