Wishes at First Light

by Joanne Rock

  “I heard about the break-ins,” Clay said, ready to move on despite the offer. “But you’ve got the most kick-ass security system in town, I hear.”

  Zach chuckled. “I’d better, right? It’ll put me out of business if my house gets robbed with a company name like Fortress. Even if my business is more digital security than anything.” He straightened a rumpled throw rug in the hallway with his toe. “But what about you? Are you going to stay at your foster mother’s house?”

  “No. There’s a lot of activity over there and I don’t want to be underfoot.” He remembered what it had been like at Lorelei Hasting’s foster home. Fun and noisy with kids coming and going, the house had been a refuge for people like him for almost fifteen years. He didn’t want to crowd the place this week with one more body. “I’m thinking I’ll grab a nice little motel on the outskirts of town so I can play my guitar where no one will hear me.”

  “That good?” Zach grinned.

  “I only play for the love of it.” And to keep his stress level down. Strumming a tune—even if it wasn’t pitch-perfect—helped dial back his agitation faster than any of the meds they’d tried putting him on as a kid. With his biological dad in and out of the hospital and asking to see him, Clayton was going to need all the self-help he could wrangle this week to face the old deadbeat who’d shit all over Clayton’s life. “I think there are some places out on the interstate that should fill the bill.”

  “For sure. If you don’t want to do the Heartache B & B, the motels on the highway are your only options. That is, if you’re really sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

  “I’ve heard your fiancée play a guitar.” Clayton grabbed his own instrument, which he’d never even taken out of the soft-sided case since arriving in town. “No way am I going to start banging out tunes in front of the local music teacher.”

  Zach backed out of the doorway, leaving Clayton a clear path.

  “She’s a talent. There’s no denying that.” Zach followed him into the kitchen toward the back door where Clayton’s bike was parked.

  Clayton waved off offers of coffee and breakfast, ready to move on. The domestic bliss of the Chance household with new lovebirds Heather and Zach might have been charming if Clayton hadn’t been so decidedly single and in a dark place right now. He looked forward to the Hasting fosters’ reunion, but he dreaded seeing his biological father as much as pulling out a sliver embedded under a fingernail. He wouldn’t do it if not for the fact that his dad had another daughter—Clayton’s half sister—still living with him. Clay hated that he hadn’t known about this sibling, Mia Benson, until two weeks ago when his father called with a request that Clay pay him a visit. Clay had about blown a gasket—with his dad for failing to mention yet another kid he hadn’t taken care of. But also with himself for not keeping better track of the old man’s offspring. Then again, like most of Pete Yancy’s kids, the girl didn’t bear his name and hadn’t spent much time in his household.

  Still, if Clay had known about the girl before his dad’s bid to win custody, he would have lobbied against the move. His father was just trying to soak up an extra assistance check for housing a kid, and the girl would be better off out from under the Yancy influence. Clayton credited any success he’d had in life to his foster family and their encouragement in settling him down.

  Hunting for his missing half siblings had been the start of his PI career. To this day, reuniting families was his specialty. But he’d failed Mia Benson when he’d stopped looking for his own brothers and sisters, assuming his father was done sowing his seed. Apparently failing eight times over at parenthood—with five different women—hadn’t been enough for the old man.

  After shaking hands with his host, Clayton walked out of the huge Craftsman-style house and fired up his motorcycle in the damp November fog. With his duffel strapped to the seat and his guitar on his back, he wasn’t the most aerodynamic of riders, but his old Harley wasn’t that kind of ride anyhow. Roaring out of the driveway and heading toward the interstate, he planned to play his six-string for as many hours as it took to unkink the knot in his gut.

  He didn’t want to see his father. But he damn well wanted to know his half sister, if only to see with his own eyes that she was okay. The firstborn of Clayton’s parents had died of crib death while the two so-called adults drank themselves into a stupor. Their next kid was Clayton, and it had taken him half his childhood to get into the foster system, a golden ticket out that he’d only learned about after his drunken, jobless, abusive parents had birthed kid number three, a boy Clayton loved with all his heart. When Eddy was four years old, child protective services took him away after a neighbor called to complain about seeing him unattended on the playground.

  Of course, Eddy hadn’t been unattended for any moment of the day when Clayton was around. But the neighbor probably hadn’t considered a seven-year-old brother to be adequate supervision. Why CPS claimed Eddy at that time and not Clayton remained the biggest injustice of Clayton’s life. It had separated them for the next twelve years until Clayton figured out how to find people. By the time he’d gotten himself taken out of his home—not that difficult to do, but still, there was a process—he’d bounced to a different foster home every year, finally winding up at the Hasting house, where he’d graduated school and aged out of the system.

  His life had ended up better than Eddy’s. And on that sobering note, he ground his teeth together.

  Now, with the wind plastering his jacket to his chest, he tried not to think about his brother’s fate, his long-dead older sister and the smattering of other kids his parents had brought into the world—some as a couple, others with equally crappy partners as parents. It bothered Clayton to think he’d missed Mia, but she’d lived with her mother until a two-year stint in foster care, during which she’d lobbied her birth father to spring her from the system. Somehow Pete had gotten clean and sober enough to fool the social worker into giving him one last chance to be a dad.

  Mia was sixteen now, he’d heard, and had been living with their father for the last eight months, helping to care for the old man as he grew weak from cirrhosis and heart disease.

  Clayton planned to make sure she knew she had a way out of her father’s house. That alone was worth going to see Pete Yancy—aka the negligent jackass—one last time. Clayton would have gone as soon as he’d arrived in Heartache, but he’d been tapped for bodyguard duty by his friend. He would put in an appearance at his dad’s place after school that day and cross his fingers she’d show up, too, so he could fulfill his obligations in Heartache and head back to Memphis once the reunion was done.

  Steering his vintage low rider along the road that ran parallel to the interstate, Clayton slowed down as the Owl’s Roost came into view, a diner he remembered from when he’d lived in town. Nostalgia and hunger lured him off the road and into a parking spot to grab some breakfast since it was early to book a motel room anyhow.

  The figure of a woman walking across the Roost’s front porch flagged his attention as he locked up the bike and his bag. Keeping the guitar strapped to his back, he turned to watch the slender form half covered by a big, black hoodie that hid her profile. He wasn’t sure what it was that caught his attention. The quick, sharp walk. Long, elegant legs that a pair of loose pants couldn’t fully conceal in the late-autumn wind.

  Something about her made him pay attention.

  So it happened that he was staring right at her when she stopped and turned to look out into the parking lot, her pale blue eyes landing on him.

  The delicate features hadn’t changed. A wisp of dark blond hair fluttered across her cheek in the breeze.

  “Clay.” She said his name softly.

  Or he imagined she did. Her mouth moved with some comment before she raised her hand to cover her lips. As if she could retrieve whatever she had murmured.

  “Gabriella Chance.” His f
eet were already heading toward her, his gaze not able to let her go. “I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  CLAYTON TRAVERS STOOD in front of her, like a vision conjured out of a dream.

  Seeing him hit her, whoomp, a thump to her chest, robbing her of air for a split second. Over the years his long, lanky body had filled out into a man’s lean frame, his shoulders wider than she remembered. Brown hair tinged with gold grazed the collar of his dark leather motorcycle jacket. Worn-in jeans suited him well, as did the scuffed boots. But it was his face that intrigued her most, his deep brown gaze roaming over her with interest that warmed her even in the crisp bite of a November wind.

  With his high cheekbones and a cleft chin, he had become an extremely attractive man. The furtive look in his eyes that she remembered from his teens had been replaced with an easy confidence. A half smile curved his full, sensual lips.

  And just like that, the attractiveness worked on her with a strange alchemy that drew her even as it chilled her again. Her feelings for him had grown oddly complicated over time.

  “Clay,” she said semi-awkwardly. She might have hugged him if there hadn’t been a wooden porch rail between them. And, on second thought, that probably wasn’t the appropriate greeting for an old high school friend who’d been the recipient of her earliest flirting attempts. She wasn’t some starry-eyed teen anymore. “It’s great to see you again after all these years.”

  Actually, it was sort of terrifying given the role he’d played in her past. A role he was completely oblivious to.

  But she’d wanted to face him and here he stood.

  “Good to see you, too. Time has been...really nice to you, Gabriella.”

  Before she could recover from that latest whoomp to her lungs, he continued, “Are you meeting anyone for breakfast?” He nodded toward the Owl’s Roost. A couple of guys in bright orange vests lumbered past, to-go cups in their hands as they emerged from the diner.

  “No. I’m staying at the motel next door and was lured by the scent of coffee and bacon. The in-room coffeepot left something to be desired.” She stuffed her fists deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, trying to separate the past from the present and focus on the moment. “Are you, uh, free to join me?”

  No time like the present to get over the butterflies with him. She’d be leaving Heartache as soon as Jeremy Covington was in jail and she had the chance to check on Mia Benson.

  “Sounds like my lucky day.” His grin was completely disarming. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

  Half an hour later they sat across from one another at a big wooden booth in one of Heartache’s best-known eating establishments. The owner, Rodney, was on the town council, and he and his wife had been running the place for as long as she could remember. There was a comfort in that, a place with some happy memories for her since her parents had taken her here a few times to celebrate birthdays in the good years before her father went to prison.

  Still, it felt incredibly strange to sit across from Clayton. His guitar occupied the seat beside him in the booth, the instrument easily identifiable in the black nylon case.

  She ordered a vegetable scramble and coffee while he got the “Big Buck” platter with some of everything on it. His appetite hadn’t changed. He’d always been a bottomless pit at mealtime. Familiarity felt good in the middle of so much change in him.

  “I thought you were lured here by the scent of bacon?” he said when the red-headed waitress departed with their menus.

  “I’m actually a vegetarian. Just because I don’t eat bacon doesn’t mean I can’t love the smell. I think it’s universally the most missed food of the vegetarian world.”

  The waitress returned with two mugs and a coffee carafe, pouring them each a cup before hustling off to the next table. The place was busy with most of the tables filled and a half dozen uniformed wait staff serving the crowd. With a backwoods theme heavy on pine logs and willow branches in the decor, the restaurant hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here, right down to Rodney and his wife holding court at a table near the kitchen with some other local old-timers including Mrs. Spencer and Harlan Brady. The two looked to be an item now, judging by the way he kissed her ringed fingers and whispered in her ear.

  So sweet. Mrs. Spencer had been a widow for a long time even when Gabriella left town.

  “In that case—” Clayton raised his coffee mug and clinked it to hers on the table “—cheers to your restraint.”

  “Cheers.” Picking up her own cup, she saluted him briefly before taking a sip. The strong java soothed her nerves for a moment and gave her an excuse to plot a course of action with him. How much should she say over breakfast? She sure as heck couldn’t blurt out her past in the middle of Heartache’s most popular breakfast joint.

  First, she’d do some fact-gathering. Get to know what he’d been up to these last years. Then maybe she could ask to see him another time. Privately.

  Even thinking about it made her jittery all over again. Hot and cold. She swallowed hard and took another long swig of her coffee.

  “So I just left your brother’s house.” He eased back from the table to sprawl one arm along the back of the booth. “I was staying with him to keep an eye on his fiancée after she was threatened, but it seems like Sam has nailed down where the threats were coming from.”

  The mention of the threats made her struggle not to wince from the old guilt about not coming forward. But she needed to repeat the mantra from the counselor she’d seen. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t responsible for the actions of others.

  Easier chanted than believed.

  At least she wasn’t caught flat-footed by what Clay had said. Gabriella had spoken to her friend Amy Finley, who’d given her the heads-up that Clayton was in town, sparking last night’s bad dream. She hadn’t spoken to her brother much since his fiancée’s frightening ordeal with Covington, but it didn’t surprise her that Zach had hired someone to help protect the woman he loved.

  “That was good of you. I haven’t called Zach yet to let him know I’m back in town. I just got in yesterday.” She had been on a speaking tour these last two weeks and had taken a last-minute engagement in Nashville prior to her trip to Heartache, putting her in town a bit earlier than she’d anticipated since she’d decided it wasn’t worth flying back home first.

  And while she should have known, at least in a peripheral way, that Clayton might end up in Heartache for the Hastings’ family foster reunion, she hadn’t really expected he would show up until Amy had told her the news. For one thing, he had always looked forward to putting distance between himself and his birth father, who lived just outside Heartache. He’d made it clear he was never setting foot in this town after graduation. Besides, she’d probably only added to his reasons to dislike Heartache when she’d left without saying goodbye. Then again, maybe it was silly of her to think that her leaving town abruptly might have affected him one way or another.

  “Did you come for the Covington trial?” he asked, his jacket drifting open to show off the gray tee underneath it and more muscles she didn’t remember.

  The trial? Tough to chant the mantra with so many dark shadows lurking around every corner here. Her counselor had also told her if the mantra didn’t work, find a positive distraction. Lucky for her, she had one right across the booth.

  If she’d just met him today for the first time, she would have never gotten up the nerve to flirt with him. He’d turned out far too handsome. She’d been a lot braver as a teen before her world fell apart.

  “Yes,” she answered tightly, uncertain how much he knew about what happened to her. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard about that night I left town. But if you’ve been staying with Zach...” She let the words hang, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

  It would be strange having the w
hole town know her long-kept secrets. Once her testimony against Jeremy Covington was made public during the trial, the truth about her past would be common knowledge.

  “Your brother told me you’d been cyber stalked and ran into trouble at the quarry with a masked man.” His jaw flexed. “Sam roughed up the guy he now knows must have been Covington and you left Heartache with Sam and your brother to prevent Sam from being brought up on charges since he’d had run-ins with the law in his past.” He summarized it neatly, his eyes steady on hers and giving her no reason to believe he knew more than he was telling.

  Or that he thought badly of her for running away without telling anyone. Later in life, she’d learned some of her mother’s family thought she and Zach were highly ungrateful children for leaving their mother in “her time of need” after their father went to jail. What her mother wanted had been the last thing on her mind at the time. Gabriella had done all she could do to keep herself together. Two weeks after that attack, she’d overdosed and was lucky to be alive.

  “Right.” Gabriella leaned back from the table as their food arrived, the plates still steaming as the waitress set them down on the plank table. “My brother came back to town a couple of years ago to find some closure. Since we didn’t report the guy to the cops at the time, we’d always worried what if it wasn’t an isolated incident. Turns out, it wasn’t. And now they’ve finally caught Jeremy Covington.”

  “A former town council member and a prominent local business owner.” Clayton shook his head as he tossed some pepper on his eggs. “I couldn’t believe the story when I read it in the Memphis newspaper. I didn’t find out until I spoke to Zach that you’d been a victim, too.” He set the shaker down and reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “I’m so damn sorry, Gabby.”

  The contact was brief, but the sympathy in his gaze lingered. And even after all this time, she welcomed that. Appreciated his words.

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat and willed away the sudden emotion. “I’ve done a lot of healing since then with the help of a good counselor, but I’ve been back here a few times and it is always a mixed blessing for me.”