awfully sorry, sir. It—this, won’t happen again.”
“Good. It better not,” Steve said. “Get out of this rain and sober up. You smell like a damned brewery.”
“Yessir.” In the packed restaurant and bar, the increasingly drunken crowd turned rowdy, but Wiley’s brief interaction with Macy’s angry father turned him sober.
Wiley tried finding Macy, but her whole family was gone.
Hours later his parents were, too—only forever.
Having had too much to drink, his father had taken a curve too fast on the slick, winding mountain road leading to their home. The car careened off a steep embankment, and according to the sheriff, his folks had died instantly.
By all rights, Wiley should have been with them, but he’d been back at the bar, shooting pool and drinking beer with his friends.
A week later, Wiley joined the Navy and didn’t return to Eagle Ridge for ten long years until his grandfather’s funeral—which, considering what a great man his grandfather had been, pretty much made Wiley scum. Now, four years later, the only thing that had brought him back was his bum leg. Otherwise, he would still be doing the job he loved, with the friends he loved. He sure as hell wouldn’t be back on this mountain where everything he saw and touched reminded him of all he’d lost.
Not just his health and way of life, but his entire family.
It was too much loss for him to cope with, let alone understand, so he finished in the garden, then retired to the front porch with a bottle of Jim Beam. And he drank and drank until the whiskey’s warmth dulled the physical and emotional pain, and Macy was no longer an attractive, vibrant woman from whom he still craved that long ago stolen kiss.
“Ever going to spill the real reason why you dragged me out here? I doubt you needed help finding just the right cucumbers for your new pickle recipe.”
“Busted.” Macy cringed, hating that her mother knew her so well. It was Saturday, and while her dad had stayed home with Henry, Macy and her mom strolled Eagle Ridge’s farmer’s market, winding their way past vegetable and fresh-cut flower and artisans’ stalls. A local bluegrass band played in a cordoned-off section of the parking lot. A trio of bare-bellied, long-hair hippy-types from a local commune danced with tambourines and streaming ribbons. Sunshine and cool mountain air laced with pine and incense reminded Macy why she’d come home from Billings after Rex had gone.
It had been two days since she’d last seen Wiley, yet their simple hug—and the electric jolt she’d received from that most basic touch—had been branded into her short-term memory. As for her long-term memories? Those were a tad more complex.
Macy said, “I have a question for you that Dad’s not going to like. So please don’t tell him, okay?”
“Promise, my lips are sealed.” Adrianne pretended to lock her lips.
“Thank you, but the last time you used that gesture, your lock turned out to be made of Silly Putty. I still have nightmares about what Dad said he’d do when or if he ever sees Rex again. You didn’t need to tell Dad he cheated.”
“Of course I did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have understood the divorce. But that’s ancient history. This time, I really won’t tell.”
“Hope not.” Macy was skeptical, but all of her high school friends save for Wendy had moved on to the big city, meaning at the moment, her mom and Henry were all Macy had to use for sounding boards, and one of the two didn’t say much beyond goo and gah. “What if maybe I was attracted to Wiley?”
“I don’t understand the question.” Adrianne plucked tomatoes from a bushel basket and dropped them in her paper bag.
Macy forced a deep breath. “Well, it’s no secret Dad doesn’t approve of him, and he’s got issues, but part of me wants to kiss him so bad I can’t hardly stand it.” Shocked by the extent of her own confession, she covered her mouth. Cheeks warm, she said, “That came out wrong. What I meant was that he looks awfully good in his Wranglers and cowboy hat. That’s all.”
“Honey...” After paying for her produce, Adrianne led her to a bench tucked alongside the stream bubbling its way through the park. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fooling around.” She winked. “After all Rex put you through, you’re entitled to some good old-fashioned noogie with a tall, dark cowboy. Which is a long way of saying, I guess I’m still confused by your question, since it’s okay—even perfectly natural—if you’re still crushing on Wiley.”
“I know, but it’s complicated,” Macy said. “He’s not the same person anymore. Sure, he was always cocky and had a sarcastic edge to his humor, but now something about him is so dark, and that scares me. But at the same time, I’m more attracted to him than ever. I’d about given up on him when he confessed he didn’t want me to see him with his bad leg, and...” Pain for him—for what he must have gone through—radiated through her. “Mom, I was lost. At that moment, I wanted to do whatever I could to help him. But then I noticed how dead he looked in his eyes—it was as if he hadn’t just lost full use of his leg, but his humanity. Maybe this time Dad was right, and I should stay away?”
“Is that what you want?” Her mom had a way of cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “Because the way I see it, aside from those few rocky years with Rex, you’ve pretty much pined for Wiley since you were a little girl. Now, he’s back, and yes, he might be broken, but when have you ever turned away from anyone or anything in need of extra comfort? You were always bringing in strays, and you treat Clem’s nasty old llamas like family.”
“They are family.”
Her mom grinned, but also shuddered. “Last time that big one spit at me, I wasn’t exactly thinking of giving him a nice hug. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is this is Wiley we’re talking about. Up until he left for the Navy, you thought he hung the moon, stars and every rainbow in between. Clearly, he’s in need of a friend, so why would you even think of turning your back on him?”
“Because I’m scared.” Macy crossed her arms. “Mom, Wiley’s not just a little sad, but fundamentally changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but I think something happened to him on that last mission of his that he’s not talking about—and honestly, maybe I’m not strong enough to hear.”
* * *
“AGAIN?”
Monday morning, after an endless weekend spent either drunk or sleeping or working his way to each respective state, Wiley stared down Macy’s llama who contentedly munched his newly planted green beans.
The animal spit at him. What was his name? Charlie?
Wiley spit back. “You might act all badass, but that sissy bell Macy’s got you wearing doesn’t do much for your manhood.”
The llama ignored Wiley’s speech in favor of taking another big bite. This time, the beast tugged hard enough that the whole plant—roots and all—came flying out of the ground. The shock of the dirt and dust in his face spooked the llama, and he took off running—only not toward his pasture, but Wiley’s cabin.
Upon discovering that was a dead end, the
