Summer of Two Wishes (16 page)

“God, I’ve missed this place,” Finn said, letting her go and walking away from the truck. He put his hands on his waist and looked around. “I have so many plans for it. I want to build a bigger barn,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the current barn. “Maybe bring in more cattle than I had before. It’s going to take some major scratch and a lot of rebuilding.” He looked at Macy, his expression hopeful. “But we could really make this work, baby.”

Macy drew a breath.

“We were good together,” he said, moving toward her.

“The best,” she agreed.

“Remember that afternoon in the barn?”

Macy smiled. They’d made love on the hay one blustery January day under a horse blanket. There hadn’t been anyone around for miles, but it had felt decadent and oh, it had been fabulous. “You know I do.” She closed her eyes, recalling other familiar scenes from their life together. Riding horses at sunset in the fall. Planting a garden one spring. Lazy Sundays spent entwined in each other’s arms, watching the Cowboys play football.

The best days of her life were here at Two Wishes Ranch.

“Hold on,” Finn said, and walked around to the driver’s side of the truck, opened the door, and rolled down the window. He turned on the radio, cranking it up. The music of a country station wafted through the open window as he walked back around to the front of the truck, pushed back the swath of hair that had fallen in his eyes, and planted his hands on his hips. “Remember dancing down at the pond?”

She laughed. “I would hardly call it dancing. Dodging cow pies was more like it.” One summer evening, she’d planned an evening picnic at the stock pond. Finn had rigged a boom box. But the cows, thinking that where there were humans there must also be food, had gathered around, crowding them onto a little grassy strip. Finn and Macy had danced on the grassy spot at the edge of the pond, surrounded by cows standing on the bank or chest-deep in water.

Finn dipped his head a little and held out his hand, palm up. “Mrs. Lockhart?”

Macy didn’t hesitate—she put her hand into his. She laughed with delight when he yanked her into his chest, dramatically bent her backward like a ballroom dancer, then straightened her up and locked his arm around her waist while holding her hand aloft. “I don’t guess you found any rhythm while I was gone, did you?”

“Just because I didn’t grow up in a dance hall like you is no reason to disparage my dancing skill.”

“I’m not disparaging your dancing skill, Macy. You don’t
have
any dancing skill,” he said, and as she laughed he twirled her around, leading her into a country waltz while Carrie Underwood serenaded them from inside the truck. “Lucky was the day a beautiful woman came into my life, perfect in every way save her two left feet,” he said.

“Charmer.”

“Gorgeous.” He twirled her again.

Finn was a natural, smooth dancer. He could make her feel light as air when he moved her around a dance floor—or an uneven gravel drive. With Finn guiding her, Macy could dance very well. Under that starry sky, he pressed her into his body and held her close like he was afraid of losing her, and she danced like a ballerina.

Finn playfully moved her around the drive, dipping her and spinning her while he hummed along with Carrie Underwood. Macy pressed her cheek to his shoulder. How many times had she cried herself into a stupor listening to a song like this, remembering a moment like this? How many times had she dreamed of being in his arms one last time, her heart hoping such a miracle could be true while her mind was telling her that she’d never feel this way again?

Just the memory of those awful, black days brought tears to Macy’s eyes, and she turned her face to Finn’s shoulder. He dropped her hand, wrapping both his arms around her, holding her tight. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured in her ear. “It’s over. I’m home.”

He knew her so well, knew what was bothering her. His effort to soothe her made the tears well faster. After what he’d endured, she should be comforting him, but he was holding her and she could hear the steady, solid, reassuring rhythm of his heart.

It was several moments before she realized they weren’t dancing, but swaying softly in the night breeze. Carrie’s song had ended; Patty Griffith was now sending a soft folk ballad out the window to them. Macy kept her eyes closed, reliving the life she’d thought lost to her forever. All those lonely nights she’d lain in bed, her hand on his pillow, wishing him back, willing him back.

And here he was, walking out of a dream and into her arms.

When Finn bent his head and kissed her temple, she knew she’d never divorce him. She’d really known it all along—she could not be on this earth and not be with Finn. When he moved lower, kissing her neck, she was lost.

The effect was electrifying, sending a thousand little jolts of longing through her. If only she could peel back the years, return to the moment she’d met this man, to the days and weeks that had followed, those glorious moments of falling in love with him, of
being
in love. If only she could relive what they’d had together, could stand at the crossroads when Mike had died and Finn had decided to go to war and convince him to make a different decision, to turn down a different path, to still be
here
, together, just like they were now.

She didn’t realize Finn was moving her slowly backward until she bumped up against the tail of the truck. Finn stopped moving then and cupped her head in his hands. “This is where we belong, Macy,” he said. “We’ve had some stuff happen, but we can fill a few holes and patch a few cracks and get back to where we were. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. This is where we belong. My heart never left you, Finn. My life did, but not my heart, not ever.” It was the only truth Macy was entirely certain of.

Finn kissed her possessively. His hands slid up her ribs and under her arms, and he lifted her up, setting her on the tailgate. “I’m going to do what I should have done the moment I got home and show you just how much I missed you, how much you mean to me.”

Her blood raced the moment he uttered those words, making her weak with longing for him. How could she have questioned this?

Finn grabbed her hands, pushed them around behind her back, and held them in his grip. “Look at me,” he quietly commanded her. “I don’t have much that means anything to me anymore. Only you, baby, and you mean the world to me. I know it’s not easy, but the fact is, you were mine when I left here and you’re still mine, and I am going to prove it to you. So I am going to unbutton your blouse,” he said, his dark eyes sweeping over her. “And then I am going to take it off of you.” He let go of her hands and slowly, deliberately, unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it off her shoulders.

He made a sound of longing when he cupped her breasts, drew another hard breath, and slowly released it. “You are as sexy as I remembered,” he said, and leaned down, nibbling her through the fabric of her bra as he unhooked it with his hand. He slipped his hand beneath the loose bra and filled it with her breast, filling his mouth with the other.

Macy leaned back and braced her hands against the truck. She closed her eyes, letting the night and the pleasure wash over her.

Finn lifted his head and kissed her hard and possessively, his tongue tangling deeply with hers. When he broke the kiss, he roughly caressed the side of her head. “The day we married I told you it would be forever. Do you remember that?”

“Every word,” she said breathlessly.

He stepped between her legs, pushing her short skirt up her thigh, then sliding his hand between her legs. “It’s still forever.” She was wet, her body aching in a way she hadn’t experienced in years, aching for his touch. He stroked her through her panties, and Macy gasped with pleasure. “Lie down and close your eyes,” he ordered her.

Macy didn’t hesitate. She lowered herself into the bed of the truck. Finn came over her, kissing her, then moving further down her neck to her breasts, lavishing his attention on each one, then moving further down her body. Her eyes closed, her body submerged in the sensations he was giving her, she relished every touch.

Finn slid one palm down her leg to her ankle and lifted her leg up, draping it over his shoulder as he sank between her legs. His tongue lashed across her clitoris and Macy groaned.

“You want to know what I imagined every single day?” he asked roughly as he slipped two fingers into her body, causing Macy’s back to arch. He dipped down between her legs and touched his tongue to her again. “This. Tasting you. Making you come.”

Pleasure exploded within her as he began to lick her.

Macy slowly slid her arms out wide, opened her eyes, and looked at the stars above her head. There was nothing in the world right now but those stars, and her and Finn. There was nothing but the familiar and deep abiding love she’d always felt for him, the incredible shifting sand of pleasure running through her.

The urgency with which his mouth and tongue moved on her began to increase; she could feel the staggering moment of release pressing down on her as he slid his tongue inside her, matching a rhythm the two of them had known before. It was more pleasure than Macy could bear. She gasped for air, clawed at the truck, and just when she thought she was lost to the sensation, Finn surged up, ripped her panties with his hands, and slid into her at the same moment she found her release.

Wave after staggering wave of pleasure shook through her as he moved inside her. She cried out, groping for him, clinging to his body. The muscles of his arms and shoulders were taut as he held himself above her and moved furiously, his eyes closed and only one word on his lips:
Macy.

This wasn’t just wild sex; this was something deeper, and Macy understood that this was, unequivocally, where she belonged: to Finn, with Finn. It had always been so and always would be so.

Finn thrust into her with a strangled cry of release, then collapsed onto her, his hands tangling in her hair, stroking her skin. His cheek was pressed against her shoulder, his face turned away, but Macy felt the damp warmth of his tear on her skin. He’d felt this moment just as deeply as she had.

A moment later he shifted and braced himself on his arms on either side of her, stroking her hair. “How soon can you come home?”

Tears filled her eyes, and Macy lifted herself up, wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. “Just as soon as I tell him.”

She had no idea how long it was before she finally pulled away from Finn. She sat up, tilted her head back to look at the stars once more. “I have to go,” she said softly, and groped for her bra. Finn had one arm behind his head, stretched out long and naked beside her. She saw the scars on his body and winced. “Laru will be wondering where I am and I don’t want her calling around and alarming everyone,” she said, touching her fingers to his scars.

With a sigh, Finn reluctantly sat up. “I’ll drive you.” He slid off the back of the truck, found his jeans, and pulled them up over his hips. He offered his hand to help her down. With his arm around her shoulders, he walked her to the passenger side of the truck and helped her in, but before he shut the door, he asked, “When will you tell him?”

“As soon as I can,” she promised, but even as the words fell from her mouth, Macy could not silence a nagging question in her head.

Linda Gail had had to work late again. Wyatt had been throwing work at her like the apocalypse was coming and he had to sell every last ranch in Texas before that happened. Davis said he would fix dinner for the family and Linda Gail was expecting to come home to a nice hot meal, a relatively tidy house, and a wine cooler.

She walked into the kitchen, saw the mess, and dropped her purse on the floor out of sheer exhaustion and frustration.

“Hey, hon,” Davis said, appearing from the living room, still munching on something.

“I thought you said you’d make dinner,” Linda Gail said peevishly.

Davis looked surprised. “I did!”

“Ramen noodles and Cheetos, Davis?” she said, marching to the kitchen island and swiping up the empty Cheetos bag.

“That’s what the kids wanted!”

“Just because they
want
junk doesn’t mean you
give
them junk.”

Fortunately for Davis, the phone rang just as Linda Gail was gearing up. She grabbed the phone as she stuffed the Cheetos bag into the trash. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Reena,” her friend chirped. “What are you doing?”

“I just got home from work and now I am picking up after Davis and the kids.” Bowls and empty ramen packages littered the counter, and spilled packets of flavoring trailed all the way to the sink. Harvey, a pound mutt, heard Linda Gail’s voice and bounded into the kitchen to shadow her, his tail banging against the cabinets and kitchen barstools as she moved around. “And then I am going to decide the best way to kill Davis. Hanging is too kind,” Linda Gail added, and tossed a biscuit to Harvey.

“So get a load of this,” Reena said, glossing over Davis’s demise. “My daughter was at Ruthie’s tonight—you know that place?”

“That old bar at the end of town?”

“Right, but they completely renovated it, and now it’s real popular among the twenty-somethings, including, unfortunately, my daughter Taylor, who is down there every night. I told her, if you put as much effort into finding a job as you do partying, you’d be mayor of Cedar Springs.”

“Reena, no offense, but I’ve got a hungry dog and a mess in the kitchen and laundry that’s been piling up for a week.”

“Oh, I know, I know! I just wanted to tell you that The Hero was there tonight and so was your boss’s wife.”

And
why
did Reena think she cared? Linda Gail wondered. “Oh-kay,” she said.

“Well, Hero had a little too much to drink and got into a fight, and guess who left with him?”

“I can’t guess.”

“Macy Clark. From what Taylor said, he got drunk as a cedar chopper at a rooster fight, then got mad about something and was going to take on the whole bar. But they have those guys from Lonnie’s Gym that work there and even Finn Lockhart couldn’t take them on—well, anyway, the only one who could get through to him was Macy. Taylor said it was quite the show.”

“So what happened?”

“Macy actually inserted herself in the middle of the fight and got him to look at her. Taylor said it was like magic; he suddenly calmed down and focused on her, and she was focused on him, and, well, you know…it looked like there was a connection there. And then they left.”

“Where’d they go?” Linda Gail asked as she swatted at the dog when he started nosing around for another biscuit.

“Who knows? But they didn’t come back, and everyone who saw it is buzzing. I just thought you ought to know, because I know how Wyatt can get when he’s in a bad mood.”

“Yeah, thanks for letting me know,” Linda Gail said, knowing better than anyone how Wyatt could get when he was in a bad mood.

Wyatt heard about the incident at Ruthie’s on his way into work Wednesday morning. After his spectacularly awful date with his wife, and then an even worse outing with Caroline Spalding for a drink—what was he thinking?—Wyatt had made the decision to go out of town for a couple of days, leaving right after his golf date with David Bernard. At the empty hunting cabin of a friend, he’d gone through some paperwork and made some phone calls. Lots of them, really. The more he worked, the less he thought about the chaos that was suddenly his life. And he needed some time to think about how he was going to get Macy off the idea that she was going back to Lockhart.

She wasn’t thinking clearly. She was being emotional, feeling bad for Finn. That was Macy, always caught up with the downtrodden. When Wyatt had calmed down, he’d realized that she wasn’t thinking past her nose. He would have to help her make a decision. So he called her. He got her voice mail and left a message that they needed to talk.

By Tuesday evening, his fear of losing Macy was about to bring him out of his skin. He’d left three separate messages for her and hadn’t heard a word in return.

Wyatt had a very bad feeling. Again.

He drove back to town that night, arriving a little after eleven. It wasn’t easy, but he resisted the urge to drive out to Laru’s again. On the one hand, he felt like he was owed an explanation, something other than
sorry, Wyatt.
On the other hand, he had his pride, and he wasn’t going to sniff around Macy like a whipped dog.

Wednesday morning, he was up before dawn, wandering around the house, noticing that some of Macy’s things were missing—her shoes, which she left everywhere, and the stack of books she intended to read that stayed on the desk in the kitchen. It felt as if she were already gone.

Already gone.

Wyatt couldn’t believe he was thinking that.

She wasn’t leaving him, she was confused! Who wouldn’t be? He had to be patient, be the logical, reasonable one in this.

On his way to work, Wyatt stopped in at the Saddle-brew for a cup of joe and ran into Bob Franklin.

“Hey!” Bob said. “You’re up early.”

“Yep,” Wyatt said. “Got a lot of work.” He turned to Sam, who looked a little bleary-eyed. “Hi, Sam.”

She smiled. “Hi, Wyatt. Predictable black coffee?”

“Please,” he said.

“Yessir, it’s good to be working,” Bob said. “The way this economy keeps sliding, it’s nice to know people still have that opportunity.”

“Yep,” Wyatt said. He wasn’t much of a morning person, and even less so in his current frame of mind. He was moving to pass Bob and say his farewells when Bob said, “It’s none of my business, Wyatt, but I just wanted you to know that Debbie and I are real sorry about what you and Macy are going through.”

Wyatt paused. “Thanks,” he said uncertainly. “But I think everything will be fine once her…once Lockhart gets his bearings.”

“Once Lockhart gets his bearings?” Bob asked, seemingly confused.

“Yes. Why?” Wyatt asked, peering curiously at him. “What’s the matter?”

Bob shook his head. “That’s what I get for listening to Debbie. She heard about the thing that happened at Ruthie’s, and I—”

“
What
thing?” Wyatt interrupted.

Bob reared back a little. “Nothing worth repeating. I don’t know what I’m talking about, and you know Debbie, she can talk until she’s blue. I just misunderstood whatever it is she thinks she heard. Never mind me—you have a good day now,” he said, and turned away, walking briskly out of the store before Wyatt could question him.

“What thing?” Wyatt asked Sam.

“I have no idea,” Sam said as she handed him his coffee. “Don’t worry about it. You know how this town is—they love to feed on gossip.”

“You’re right,” he said, but he had a funny feeling.

Wyatt was mildly surprised to find Linda Gail already in the office when he arrived. She usually eased in around nine or so.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully as Wyatt walked through the door.

“You’re here early,” he said gruffly.

“Why, I’m fine, Wyatt. Thank you for asking.”

Wyatt sighed. “Sorry. Good morning, Linda Gail. You’re here early.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, beaming a smile. “I have a lot of work to do. You worked hard these last two days, which means I’ve got even more to do than usual, so I came in early to get caught up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” Wyatt started toward his office, but he paused at the door and looked back at Linda Gail, who was standing at the copy machine. “Hey,” he said.

Linda Gail turned partially toward him, a stack of papers in her hand.

“Did you…did you hear anything about, ah…” Wyatt choked. Was he insane, or was he about to ask Linda Gail if she knew anything about his wife?

“Yes,” Linda Gail said, sparing him the agony of finishing his sentence. “Do you want to know what I heard?”

He was relieved by her no-nonsense response. “I’d be grateful if you’d tell me so I don’t look like an idiot when the next person mentions it.”

Something flickered over Linda Gail’s brown eyes, something like pity, which made him want to turn and walk away. But he just stood there, because he had to know what was going on.

“You know Ruthie’s Bar?” Linda Gail asked. Wyatt nodded.

She told him what had happened there Monday night. He was so angry and alarmed that he couldn’t move, couldn’t do much of anything but stand there and grip the door handle. He was so stupid, thinking he could just be patient and Macy would come around.

“Wyatt?” Linda Gail said, now looking alarmed.

“Thanks,” Wyatt said, and dropped his hand from the office door and started back to the entrance.

“Wait—where are you going?” Linda Gail asked, turning a full circle in order to follow his path.

“There’s something I need to do,” he said brusquely. Like get his wife back.

“No, wait, wait,” Linda Gail said, hurrying to the door and putting herself between Wyatt and the exit. “Don’t go doing something rash, Wyatt Clark, because you’ll regret it. And besides, Randy Hawkins is on his way here!”

“Randy?” he asked, trying to shake off his anger.

“Randy Hawkins is meeting you at nine, remember? To drive out and look at that piece you’ve got? You’ve been chomping at the bit like a racehorse to show Randy that land so you can sell it.”

That was true. Wyatt needed a deal—he had a Hill Country Resort and Spa investors meeting next week and he needed to show them he had a plan. Wyatt glanced at his watch—it was ten until nine, and if there was one thing you could count on, it was that Randy was always on time.

“Right,” he said to his watch. “I’ll wait for him outside. Call Caroline and set up a meeting.”

“Caroline Spalding?”

He didn’t have time to coax Linda Gail along. If Caroline was going to list with him, she needed to
do
it. “Just do it, Linda Gail,” he said, and started to walk out.

“What may or may not have happened at Ruthie’s doesn’t mean anything,” Linda Gail tried. But Wyatt gave her a cold expression that relayed his opinion of that theory, and walked out the door.