Читать книгу The Baby And The Cowboy Seal - Laura Altom Marie - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“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 llama bolted into the side yard. This portion of land was close to the property line, and mostly consisted of a weed-choked, forgotten rust pile where his grandfather had dumped busted fridges, cars and washing machines for decades. Also in the mix was barbed wire, and when Charlie reached it before Wiley could stop him, the animal let out a sound signaling he was in pain.

“Damn it,” Wiley said under his breath, limping to the rescue as fast as his bum leg allowed. Seeing any creature hurting was awful, but knowing this big lug was a favorite of Macy’s made the situation all the worse.

“Calm down...” The rusty wire had looped around the right fetlock and knee. The more Charlie struggled, the more his heartbreaking moans dragged Wiley back to another time, another attempt to avert injury that had ultimately failed.

But not this time.

Wiley clenched his jaw, working the wire loose while somehow not getting his head stomped by one of Charlie’s angry kicks.

“Hang tight, Crow, I’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“I’m already gone,” his SEAL teammate said from between gritted teeth. “Get out of here—save yourself.”

“No way, man. Let me—” BOOM!

The final bomb’s concussive force killed his buddy, Michael Young—called Crow by his friends—and threw Wiley backward a good fifteen feet. The blast rendered him deaf for days—although he still had some ringing in his ears that sometimes kept him up nights. His protective gear saved him from extensive burns—at least everywhere except his leg. He had a few faint scars on his chin and left cheek, but that was nothing a few day’s beard growth didn’t cover.

The internal wounds hurt most. The mental images of the countless other lives taken. In the dark of night, those were the souls haunting him, clawing at his heart and mind until he damn near felt dead himself.

“There you go,” Wiley said to Charlie, stroking the animal’s back while taking gentle hold of his bell collar to lead him from danger. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ll get the vet up here to clean you and give you a couple shots and you’ll be right as rain.”

Wiley’s soothing words earned him a grunt.

When it came to horses, Wiley would have understood this noise, but llama-speak might as well have been Martian.

Wiley led Charlie to the barn, then found a lead rope to loop around his neck, only Charlie wasn’t having it. Even with his leg scratched, he dug in to the barn’s dirt floor, refusing to budge.

“Looks like we’ll play this your way.”

He slipped the rope off the creature’s stubborn head, then limped back into the sun, closing the barn door behind him. He’d long since given up on his cell having a reliable signal, so he made it to the cabin and dialed the vet’s number on his grandfather’s old-fashioned black rotary-dial phone. Affixed to the wall with yellowed tape was a sheet filled with numbers written in Buster’s familiar scrawl. The vet’s office was just one of the numbers his grandfather had jotted down for eight-year-old Wiley to use in case of emergency. The next number happened to be for Clem and Dot’s—only the voice on the other end of the line was the last he wanted to hear.

“Macy...” Wiley said. “Don’t get upset, but Charlie’s been hurt.”

* * *

WILEY COULD TELL MACY all he wanted not to be upset about Charlie, but that didn’t mean she’d listen. After hanging up the phone, she bundled Henry into his car seat, then drove Clem’s more-rust-than-red pickup the short way to Wiley’s grandfather’s cabin.

The dust from her fishtailed parking job hadn’t yet settled when she leapt from the truck to pluck Henry from his seat and into her arms, then met Wiley where he stood glowering in front of the barn.

“I told you this wasn’t an emergency.” He tugged the brim of his straw cowboy hat. “There was no need to drive over—let alone, drive all crazy.”

“Where is he?”

“In the barn, but—”

“Thanks. That’s all I need to know.” She wasn’t in the mood to decipher what Wiley may or may not deem a serious injury. When it came to her grandfather’s llamas, Macy considered them family, just like she’d told her mom.

She tugged open the heavy barn door, then paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the shadowy light.

Thankfully, the first thing she saw was Charlie, contentedly munching feed from a tin bucket. His leg was scratched from his tussle with the barbed wire, but as long as it was treated to ward off possible infection, he’d no doubt live to escape another day.

“You scared me,” she said to the infuriating, yet lovable creature. She tried hugging his furry neck, but he wrestled free before returning to his meal.

“Told you he’ll be fine,” Wiley said from behind her. “The vet’s on his way.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m just sorry it happened. Charlie got into Gramp’s old junk pile. I’ll get someone over here to haul all of it off. In the meantime, guess we should look over your fences to see how your escape artist keeps getting out.”

“Sure.” We? Wiley was the last person she’d expect to propose a group project. But now that he had, she wasn’t sure how that made her feel—especially when she once again detected alcohol on his breath. Part of her wanted to be near him—no matter what they were doing. Another part felt wary. Since her breakup with Rex, she hated the way loneliness sometimes compelled her to strike up longer-than-necessary conversations with everyone from grocery store clerks to Henry’s pediatrician. The last thing she wanted in regard to Wiley was to confuse neediness for attraction. “I’m free most any day, but Saturday.”

“What happens then?” he asked.

“Henry and I visit Dot. You should come with us some time—I mean, if you want.” The moment the suggestion left her mouth, Macy mentally kicked herself. Backpedaling, she said, “But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to. Grandma probably wouldn’t even remember you.”

“Actually, it’d be nice seeing a familiar face. Hard to believe we’re the last ones standing on this old mountain.”

“I know, right?” The fact made her terribly sad, so she changed the subject. “How long ago did you call Doc Carthage?”

“Just before I got ahold of you. He was looking in on a sick calf over in Blue Valley. It’ll probably be at least thirty to forty minutes before he gets out here. Want to head home, and I’ll give you a holler when he shows?”

“I suppose that would work.” Craving company, she’d like nothing more than to stay—maybe play cards or simply reminisce about happier times, but since Wiley had suggested she leave, did that mean that’s what he preferred?

“Great,” he said. “I’m sure you’re busy, so—”

“Not particularly.” Henry’s weight made her arm muscles burn.

“Oh, well...” They left the barn to stand in the yard’s warm sun.

“This is the part when you’re supposed to say ‘in that case, how about joining me on the front porch for a nice, cool glass of tea or lemonade?’”

He winced. “That would be the civilized thing to do, only I’m fresh out of any beverages besides water, beer and Jim Beam.”

“Right about now, any of those would do.” She’d meant her statement to be funny, but considering he made her feel like a nervous teenager, she realized she meant what she said. And so she figured why not venture a step further into their land of social awkwardness. “Remember the night of your high school graduation?”

“How could I forget the night my folks died?”

“Right. Sorry.” She’d been angling to see if he remembered their almost-kiss, so ashamed didn’t begin to describe how low her spirits dipped upon realizing that of course he wouldn’t remember something so inconsequential in light of what happened only a few hours later.

“It’s okay.” He kicked a pebble near the toe of his boot. “I mean, it’s not, but you know what I mean. What part of the night were you talking about?”

Her cheeks blazed.

“Because there’s an awful lot I recall besides what happened to Mom and Dad.”

Was it possible he’d thought about their dance in the rain as many times as she had?

“Your daddy still hate me?”

His direct question made her laugh. “Hate’s a strong word, but...”

Wiley laughed, too. “Can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t have been much good for you then, and I’m a whole lot worse now.”

“Says who?” Her pulse roared in her ears like a jet engine.

“Common sense.”

“I never had much.”

“True,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I recall daring you to jump off Myer’s Bluff—never for a second thinking you’d do it, but you did. The water in that swimming hole had to be barely above freezing. Took me damn near an hour’s worth of holding you to get your teeth to stop chattering.”

She grinned. “Ever think maybe I just liked being held?”

“Talk like that—” he bowed his head, but couldn’t hide his smile “—is liable to lead to trouble.”

“Maybe I like that, too.”

“Macy Shelton, Dot was always threatening to wash your sassy mouth out with soap, and now I remember why. You can’t run around saying things like that.”

“True. But I’m not running—just standing here in the sun with an old friend. What’s the harm in that?” He was so handsome, looking at him might as well have been a dream. Macy didn’t have a clue what had all of a sudden turned her so brazen, nor did she care. All that really mattered was that she was tired of being alone, and no matter what her father said, the fact that fortune had chosen now to bring Wiley back into her life had to be a sign.

“Lord...” He took off his hat, wiping his sweaty brow with his forearm. “That always was your problem. You liked playing with fire, but at least had Clem and Dot around to make sure you didn’t get burned. Only now, you’re a single mom, charged with this little guy’s care.” He jiggled Henry’s left sneaker-clad foot. “Make no mistake, Macy, I’ll always be your friend, but I’m also the worst kind of guy—guaranteed to bring you nothing but pain.”