In spite of my own sad confusion, his comment made me smile.
"I don't know why you guys have such an aversion to vegetables and salad."
"We're Neanderthals I guess."
I gave him a tired smile. "I think I'm going to go up to bed."
"The guys said you seemed kind of upset about James riding in the rodeo this weekend."
I looked away, surprised he brought it up. My brothers weren't big on disclosure and post-conversation discussion.
"I did go to talk to James about it," was all I could say. "Ask if he would change his mind."
"What did he say?"
"To make a long conversation short, no. He said no.”
To my surprise, Neil put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. Then he sighed. "Are you still thinking about Wyatt?"
Hearing my brother actually say Wyatt's name aloud sent a shock wave through me. My head jerked up and I just stared. Neil gave me a faint smile.
"I know I do," he said, shocking me even further.
"You do?" I pulled in a shaky breath, pulling myself together again.
He nodded, pulling his hand back and shoving both in the pockets of his blue jeans. "I try not to."
"Why?"
"I dunno. Just don't like to."
I folded my arms across my midsection, still surprised at my brother's openness. Of all three, he was the quietest. The one who said the least. But he was also the one who was the closest to Wyatt.
"Does it make you sad to think about him?" I asked.
"It does. It bugs me a lot."
"I never knew that."
"Well, it was kinda hard."
"Did you ever think I was hurting too? Did you ever think I might want help? Maybe a hug to get me through things?"
Neil looked directly at me and to my surprise I saw pain in his eyes. "You never asked. We all thought you were so tough."
I pulled in a long, slow breath hoping I could keep the sorrow that thickened my throat at bay. Tears would be unacceptable.
"I didn't ask because I was stuck in my own valley of pain."
Neil moved closer and put his hand on my shoulder then, to my surprise, pulled me close in a quick hug. "We all were."
I could feel him ready to pull away but I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his chest. Right now I needed an older brother and whether he liked it or not, he was the one here.
"We could have helped each other," I murmured, blinking back tears. "We could have talked about it."
I felt Neil's chest lift in a sigh. "I suppose." He was quiet a moment, then I felt his hand on my head, stroking it awkwardly. "But every time we even came close to what happened you would cry."
A thrum of annoyance sifted up through my sorrow. "And you boys don't like to see me cry. It makes you uncomfortable." The annoyance edged my voice, made my words come out more harshly than I wanted them to. I kept my head down.
Another beat of silence as Neil tightened his hug. "You're right."
"In case you didn't know, I am a girl," I said, sniffing as my tears filled my eyes. One slid down, but I let it go. Hopefully not too many more would follow. I kept my head down so he couldn't see, but another one followed and then another one.
Neil sighed again. "We know. And that's why it's so hard to see you cry. Yeah, it makes us uncomfortable because we don't know how to fix it. I mean, give me a broken tranny, a timing belt that needs to be changed, or a shelf to put up and we're your guys. But when you're sad...we don't know how to fix it. We feel helpless and we don't like feeling like that."
His words seeped into my soul and I let them rest there. Contemplated them. In one corner of my soul I knew that about my brothers. But I never thought to apply that feeling of needing to fix things to my emotional state.
"All I ever needed was a hug," I said, my voice breaking.
"You could have asked."
"You could have noticed. It shouldn't always be up to me to tell you guys what to do." I reached up and palmed my tears away. Neil shifted then, and pulled a hanky out of his pocket. Instead of handing it to me he gently wiped my tears away, giving me a crooked and sad smile.
"You're right. We could have." Then, to my shock I saw a glimmer of tears in his own eyes. I frowned and he ducked his head.
"Didn't what happened ever make you afraid to ride?" The question burst out of me. I'd always wanted to ask, but we never talked about Wyatt.
"Sometimes." He eyes held a shadow of sorrow.
"Then why do you keep doing it?"
He shrugged. "It's kind of a thrill. And I keep telling myself that if I do things right, if I'm careful, I'll be okay."
"Do you think Wyatt wasn't careful? He always told me he was."
"Not that night--“ Neil's voice broke a moment and this time I drew closer and tucked my arm through his, connected for this moment in a shared sorrow. "That night he wasn't himself."
And the old guilt rose and tightened my throat. "What you mean he wasn't himself?"
"I dunno, he seemed out of sorts."
I swallowed and swallowed, fighting the guilt and the old pain. Should I tell him? Did I dare?
"Did he say anything about me?" I whispered, hardly daring to bring it up.
Neil bit his lip, then looked over at me. "Kinda did."
"What you mean kinda did?" I edged my way toward the painful truth I'd kept suppressed so long.
"He said something about you guys having a fight."
I closed my eyes and pulled in a shuddering breath.
"Was it true?" Neil asked.
I nodded, even after all these years the guilt was piling on my shoulders again.
"I got angry with him, because he didn't want to go out with me that night," I said, cautiously moving back to that horrible evening. "He said he had other plans. I yelled at him and stormed off. And then he did his ride. And I never had a chance to tell him I was sorry." My voice broke again but I maintained control. However, I couldn't look at Neil. Couldn't see the condemnation in his face.
In the heavy silence that followed I told myself, this was why. This was the biggest reason I never spoke to my brothers about Wyatt. Because I couldn't get rid of the idea that his death was my fault.
Neil rubbed his forehead with his forefingers, looking troubled.
"I'm so sorry," I said, knowing I needed to deal with this. "I know he was your friend too. I can't help but feel responsible for the fact that he wasn't concentrating. If we hadn't had that fight, I don’t know if he would've been tossed, I think he might've done better. I think he might've been okay."
Neil sucked in a deep breath. Then he looked up at me, his eyes full of sorrow. "We never wanted to tell you."
This sudden shift puzzled me. "Never wanted to tell me what?"
"Well...You see..." He sighed again, obviously not sure how to proceed. "I wish Carter were here to help me."
"Well he's not. What's going on Neil? What aren't you telling me?"
"There were other things going on that night, other things that were happening..." He let his voice trail off, looking away. I knew Neil wasn't much for showing his emotions, but he looked disturbed.
"Are you blaming me for what happened?" It was the only conclusion I could come to in the face of Neil's obvious struggle.
He held up his hands waving them at me, as if wiping away my words. "No, no, no. No it wasn't your fault. Just before Wyatt got on that horse he told me something...something that..." He paused, rubbing his hands over his thighs.
I wanted to shake the words out of him, but I knew I had to let him take his own time.
"What did he tell you?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle.
"I don't know if I should say. You know that whole talking ill of the dead stuff."
Now he really had my attention. "What you mean talking ill of the dead?"
"Please don't push me Dani. I just...I don't want to tell you because it doesn't matter. It's over and he's gone."
"You have to. Tell me rig
ht now. I've been carrying this burden of guilt over what happened to him for all these years, and I want to know everything." I was getting angry. "You're making it sound like it wasn't just a fight that Wyatt and I had that made him so distracted."
Neil shook his head. "You're right." He bit his lip again, then looked over at me. "Wyatt was a good guy. He just had a lot of things going on in his life. And...he was seeing someone else."
"Someone else? Who?"
"You'll just get all ticked off, and it doesn't matter anymore."
"Who was it?" This time my tone told him I wasn't taking any more weaving and dodging.
"Misty Bredo."
I could only stare at him. This would be comical if it wasn't heartbreaking. "Misty Bredo? As in the same Misty Bredo that dated Art, Tracy's old boyfriend?"
He nodded.
At that moment two things ran through my head. One of them was, I hope Tracy never finds out. The other was, I really wanted to tell Tracy. The situation was tragically ludicrous. Misty Bredo had been a busy girl.
"So Wyatt was going to break up with me. Is that what you're trying to say?"
"Yeah. He told me that just before he rode. And, I got mad. And, well, I punched him. I told him he was an idiot, and that I didn't want to have anything more to do with him." Neil gave me a pained look. "So it wasn't your fight that made him so distracted. It was mine."
I looked at Neil, and saw the sorrow in his eyes. The way his shoulders slumped, and I realize he'd been carrying the same burden of guilt I had.
I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. "Oh, Neil The things we do to ourselves."
He clung to me, his head pressed against mine. "I felt like I could never be forgiven for that. That's why I never wanted to talk about him. Because I thought it was my fault."
"From the sounds of things, Wyatt had caused his own problems," I said. "So it wasn't my fight or your fight that caused the accident. Like you said he had a bunch of other things going on." I didn't know what else to say at that moment. Right now, my brother and I were connected by a shared grief and a shared guilt neither of us had to carry.
It was a relief to finally shed that.
I pulled back and rested my hands on Neil's broad shoulders. "It's not our fault," I said to him. "It's not yours and it's not mine. Wyatt made his own choices, and it was those choices that put him in the frame of mind he was in."
He looked at me, and once again I saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes. And I realized that as tough as my brothers came across, they each had their own insecurities, weaknesses, and self-doubts. Even if they didn't show it.
"I think we have to forgive ourselves, because I believe God has."
Neil nodded, then slipped his arm around me. "You're pretty awesome sister. I never thought Wyatt was good enough for you. But I really think James is."
Another tremor of grief overtook me. This one was larger than the one before.
"I don't think James and I will work out."
"Don't say that, sis. He's not like us."
I laughed a bitter laugh as I pulled away. "You're a good guy, Neil. And so are Chip and Carter in their own way. I'm sorry I never realized that before."
"And James?"
He really didn't quit.
"That's not happening, Neil. We're too different. He's not giving in."
And neither are you.
But I didn't want to face that truth right now.
15
The knock on the door shot my heart rate up.
I retied my hair into a ponytail and brushed my hands over my pants to whisk away the flour from the pizza crust I was making, surprised at their trembling. Carter had taken my father to a horse sale in Freeman and wouldn't be home until suppertime. Neil and Chip were gone--moving James out.
Two days ago, the same night as our fight, James told my brothers he would move back to his old house. Chip and Neil passed this information on with a hurt look, like it was all my fault and, maybe, in a way it was. The last time James and I had talked he had made it clear how he felt.
I wished I was as clear as I used to be about what I wanted. I didn't think it was fair that as soon as I had made up my mind and figured that the Lord had sent me a clear indication of support by sending Rita Woytowich and a chance at an amazing job, that I should now renege on plans I'd had for months.
Because the guys were gone, I guessed the only person who could now be at my door, was the man who had sent my well-ordered plans into a tailspin. James/Jigs Ashby.
Please, Lord, don't let me make a fool of myself, I prayed as I wiped my hands on a cloth, swallowed down my nervousness and walked to the door.
But the man standing on the porch wasn't James.
It was Les Steglund.
Today he didn't wear a suit. But his blazer, polo shirt and khaki pants gave him an air of subdued sophistication that was a direct contrast to the truck engine sitting on blocks he stood beside. Chip had put the engine by the deck and had rested the tires from the same truck against it. He and Carter had plans to rebuild it, but for now there was no room in the shop. So, for some reason that only made sense to my brothers, it ended up as a lawn ornament giving the house that whole redneck look that all the best landscapers were showcasing this year.
"Hello," I said to Les, my voice breathless from the emotional roller coaster ride I'd just had. "Would you like to come in?" I was glad to see him, yet puzzled. Why had he come all the way out here? For a date?
Les smiled at me and nodded. "Thank you. I'd like that."
As I stepped aside, I caught a flash of light.
James stood by his truck, holding a box with a mirror sticking out of the top. He stopped, as if he sensed me watching him. My heart started up again as he looked directly at me, then Les. He nodded slowly, as if to say "Okay then" or something like that, then he chucked his chin at me in a mocking gesture. He shoved the box into the cab of the truck, then got in and slammed the door. As the sound ricocheted across the yard he turned on the truck, and spun it backward in a half circle, then peeled out of the yard, spitting gravel.
"Neighbour," I said succinctly. "He has anger management issues."
"I see." But his puzzled frown told me otherwise.
I opened the door, then kicked aside Neil's cowboy boots so Les wouldn't trip over them. The porch had seemed, to my eyes, passably clean a few moments ago, but when Les entered it with his immaculate clothing and his barbered hair, it looked messy and dirty.
The kitchen passed muster though, but only because Rita had spent the morning cleaning it up for me.
"Would you like coffee?" I asked, banking my burning questions about his presence.
"That would be nice." He settled onto a kitchen chair and glanced around the room. "This is a cozy house."
"Thanks. My parents built it a number of years ago." I felt a catch in my throat when I thought of my mother's joy in planning the house and how she had only a few months to enjoy it before she died.
"Wow. That's impressive. They did a great job. I like the little breakfast nook."
I glanced over my shoulder at the half-round nook with its low windows overlooking what used to be the garden. There was no table or chair in there and for the first time since the house was built, I wondered why not. It was one of those things that grew on you until you didn't even stop to think it could be different.
"So you're probably wondering why I'm here," Les said, folding his hands on the table in front of him.
"I'll bite," I said, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.
"I wanted to tell you in person you got the job." He waited a beat to let this sink in.
And sink it did. Right to the bottom of my stomach.
It had really happened. I repeated the words to myself to make them real. "Well, that's great," I stammered, trying to absorb this. "But I thought we were supposed to do a FaceTime interview. For my second interview.
"I pulled a few strings. Had a c
hat with Dan." Les gave me a knowing look. "I figured we could bypass some of the usual follow-up because I know you'll be a great asset to our company.”
I nodded as I ground the coffee beans, then when I had poured the coffee in the French press and put out some of Rita's cookies, I was ready to give him some attention.
"I'm curious why you drove out here to tell me," I said, deciding to head directly to "Go."
Les toyed with the napkin I had placed in front of him. "I guess I was wondering why you didn't call me." He looked up at me as he leaned back in his chair, stroking his clean-shaven chin with one hand. "I have to confess I was disappointed."
I frowned, trying to catch his drift. "I haven't been in the city," I said, groping my way around this unusual conversation.
"Did you need an excuse?" His smile deepened his dimples.
"Well, call me old-fashioned, but I always thought it was the man that did the calling and the women who did the washing of hair and filing of nails while waiting for the call," I joked, wishing I could muster up more savoir faire. Which, of course, was a little hard to pull off wearing an apron that hung past my knees and hair drifting out of a ponytail. He'd caught me off guard, not a comfortable position for me.
"I wish I'd known," Les said, tilting his head to one side, examining me. "I would have."
The timing of his visit really, really sucked. A few months ago I would have been ecstatic to have a good-looking man making hints about dating me. Now, his presence made me ill at ease. And, perversely, I was annoyed with James for creating that dichotomy.
"About this job," I said, pouring him a cup of coffee. "When did you want me to start?"
"Dan and I were hoping you could begin in a week."
A week? My eyes flew to the calendar. My days were packed with obligations and appointments. My day timer looked the same.
"That's a bit soon," I stammered, sitting down and pulling my own cup of coffee closer. "I don't know if I can leave my current job that quickly." I had promised Laurel I would go with her to the health nurse, who--according to Laurel--was over-bearing and rude. I wanted to see Kent's story get the rare happy ending I saw in this business. I still hadn't found a home-care worker for Stan Bowick and I had a couple of home-studies to finish up.
Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5) Page 20
