Wish 01 - A Secret Wish (15 page)

“Candles are for special occasions, honey,” he said more gently as he headed for the door. “I'll get some drinks.”

* * *

Sam walked into the hallway and leaned against the wall, stopping to catch his breath, to steady his pulse. Candles are for special occasions. What a stupid thing to say. But the thought of a candlelight dinner with Alli... No, he couldn't do it.

Alli put his stomach in a knot every time she walked through the door, every time she opened her mouth. She'd destroyed his life not once but twice, for when he'd finally come to terms with being a father and a husband – after he'd struggled so hard to make it all work, she'd bailed on him.

A twinge of guilt poked at his conscience. Okay, so maybe he'd kept up with Tessa's life, stored a few photographs. They were harmless pictures. Half the world owned magazines with Tessa's face on the cover. And how could he tell Alli that her grandmother had given him most of the clippings? It would only destroy their relationship, because she'd think her grandmother was favoring her sister.

And what did it all matter anyway? He'd married Alli as soon as he'd found out she was pregnant. He'd been twenty years old, Alli only eighteen. But they'd had to grow up overnight. He'd thrown aside all of his plans of traveling and seeing the world and gone to work for his father, eventually taking over the business and working his ass off to provide for his family.

Damn it all. He felt as unsettled as the weather outside. He didn't know whether to be furious or relieved it was all over. He didn't know why he couldn't look at Alli anymore, why her voice made him so nervous, why he was so afraid that the merest touch of her hands would be the death of him. They'd lived together for a long time, but he'd never been as aware of her as he was right now.

Alli walked out of the family room and bumped into him, not expecting to find him still standing there. He automatically reached out to steady her, his hands coming to rest on her waist, his fingers burning as the warmth of her body seeped through the thin material of her dress.

She sucked in a short breath, and his pulse quickened. He didn't want to look into her eyes. It was bad enough that he could smell her favorite perfume – that he could feel her body under his hands, that he could hear her breathing.

He couldn't look into her eyes. He couldn't take that risk. He didn't know what he would see there.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. She'd confused him since the day she'd moved in next door as a bossy little girl, changing personalities as often as a chameleon changed color. Just when he thought he knew who she was, she turned into someone else.

“Sam?” she questioned, her voice turning husky.

It almost undid him. He'd loved her voice in the dark of the night, whispering, promising... He drew in a breath and dropped his hands from her waist. “I'll get those drinks.”

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Look at me.”

He sent her a brief glance that barely grazed her face, then turned away. “I'm thirsty.”

“Sam–” The ringing phone cut off her words, and Sam felt a great relief. He brushed past her, returning to the family room to find Megan on the phone.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Beckett,” Megan said. “Yes, he's here.”

Sam took the phone from her hand. “William? How are you?”

“Not too good, Sam.” William's usually brisk seventy-six-year-old voice trembled. “It's Phoebe. I don't know how to tell you this, but she's – she's had a stroke.”

“No!” Sam couldn't stop the word from bursting out of his mouth. He sat down on the edge of the desk, grateful for the support. Not Phoebe. Alli's grandmother was strong, vital and energetic, and he couldn't imagine the world without her. “How bad is she?”

“I don't know yet. We were walking along the pier and all of a sudden she stopped making sense and she couldn't walk. I got help as soon as I could,” he said helplessly. “We're at the hospital now. They said to call the family. I couldn't find Allison. She's not home.”

“She's here.”

“Then you'll tell her?”

“Yes. I'll tell her.” Sam looked at Alli standing in the doorway and saw the fear draw sharp lines in her face.

“And Sam...” William hesitated. “I know there's bad blood and all, but I've called Tessa and asked her to come home. She agreed. She'll be here tomorrow.”

Sam's entire body tightened, a knee-jerk reaction impossible to stop. He hadn't seen Tessa since the night he'd told her he was marrying her sister. And now she was coming home.

Because Phoebe was sick, he told himself. It had nothing to do with him.

“Sam?” Alli asked after he'd said good-bye to William and hung up the phone. She'd wrapped her arms around her waist, as if she could protect herself from whatever was coming.

“Your grandmother has had a stroke. She's in the hospital.”

Alli's eyes searched his. “Is she–”

“No one knows anything yet,” he said quickly.

“I don't understand. Grams never gets sick. She's strong. I just spoke to her a few hours ago. I have to go. I have to see her.” Alli looked wildly around the room, searching for something. Sam reached out and closed her fingers over the keys she still held in her hand.

“Easy,” he said. “I'll take you.”

She looked into his eyes with desperation. “She has to be all right. She has to be.”

“She's a fighter, All.”

“But she's seventy-six years old.”

“Mommy, is Grams going to die?” Megan asked.

Alli turned and opened her arms as Megan ran into a tight hug. “I hope not, honey. I really hope not.”

They clung together for a long minute, and Sam itched to join them, but he couldn't. Alli had made it clear that she didn't want him in her life.

Finally, Alli set Megan aside. “Go get your things, honey. We need to leave.”

Megan ran out of the room, and Alli slowly straightened. Sam dug his hands into his pockets to stop himself from doing anything foolish, like hugging her.

“I can't lose Grams,” Alli whispered, her eyes filled with fear. “She's all I have left of my family.”

Sam didn't say a word. It wasn't true, because Alli wasn't alone. She had a sister – a sister who was coming home. He couldn't stop the sudden quickening of his pulse.

Alli's eyes suddenly changed, and he wondered if she could read his mind.

“Oh, my God! William called Tessa, didn't he?” she asked.

Apparently she could read his mind, or she'd simply added up the equation. Despite the animosity between the two sisters, Phoebe MacGuire adored both of her granddaughters.

“Yes, he called Tessa.” It felt strange to say her name out loud. And stranger still to think of seeing Tessa again, her blond hair, her blue eyes, her generous smile. Not that she'd be smiling at him.

“Is she coming back?” Alli asked, her face so tense she could barely get out the words.

“Yes.”

“Then those divorce papers can't come a minute too soon.”

Sam touched her arm, but she shrugged him away.

“Don't touch me, Sam. You don't have to pretend you care about me anymore. We both know it isn't true.”

“I married you, didn't I?”

“There it is again, your favorite refrain – you married me. That was your gift to me. And I'm divorcing you. That's my gift to you. Now I guess it's Tessa's turn.”

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Just The Way You Are

GOLDEN LIES

Excerpt @ Copyright 2011 Barbara Freethy

All Rights Reserved

San Francisco-1952

The fire started easily, a small spark, a whisper of breath, and the tiny flame leaped and crackled. It slid quickly down the length of rope, growing in size and beauty with each inch it consumed. It wasn't too late to stop it, to have second thoughts. A fire extinguisher was nearby. It would take just a second to grab it and douse the small flames. But the fire was so beautiful, mesmerizing – gold, red, orange, black – the colors of the dragons that had promised so much: prosperity, love, good health, a second chance, a new start.

The fire began to pop, the small sounds lost in the constant boom of firecrackers going off in the streets of San Francisco in celebration of the Chinese New Year. No one would notice another noise, another spark of light, until it was too late. In the confusion of the smoke and the crowds, the dragons and the box they guarded would disappear. No one would ever know what had really happened.

The flame reached the end of the gasoline-soaked rope and suddenly burst forth in a flash of intense, deadly heat. More explosions followed as the fire caught the cardboard boxes holding precious inventory and jumped toward the basement ceiling. A questioning cry came from somewhere, followed by the sound of footsteps running down the halls of the building that had once been their sanctuary, their dream for the future, where the treasures of the past were turned into cold, hard cash.

The cost of betrayal would be high. They would be brothers no more. But then, their ties had never been of blood, only of friendship – a friendship that some would think had died this night of fire, but in truth had died much earlier.

There was only one thing left to do, grab the dragons and their box of secrets. The back door offered an escape route. The wall of fire would prevent anyone from seeing the truth. No one would ever know who was responsible.

The crate where the dragons were stored beckoned like the welcoming wave of an old friend. It took but a moment to pry off the lid. Eye-watering smoke and intense heat made it difficult to see what was inside, but it was impossible not to realize that something was missing.

Only one dragon was inside!
The other dragon was gone, as was the box. How could it be? Where were they? The three pieces were never to be separated. They all knew the importance of keeping them together.

There was no time to search further. A door on the opposite side of the basement was flung open. A man holding a red fire extinguisher shot a small, helpless stream of chemicals at what was now a raging inferno.

The fire could not be stopped, nor the future. It was done. For better or worse, the dragons would never dance together again.

San Francisco – Today

“They say that dragons bring good luck to their owners,” Nan Delaney said.

Riley McAllister studied the dark bronze statue in his grandmother's hands. Ten inches tall, it appeared to be a dragon, although the figure looked more like a monster with its serpent body and dirty scales. Its brilliant green eyes blazed like real stones, but those eyes couldn't possibly be jade. Nor could the golden stripe that ran around its neck really be gold. As for luck, Riley had never believed in it before, and he didn't intend to start now. “If that dragon were lucky, we'd be at the front of this line,” he grumbled.

He cast a frustrated look at the people around them, at least a hundred he estimated. When he'd agreed to help his grandmother clear out her attic, he'd never imagined he'd be standing in the parking lot at the Cow Palace Arena in San Francisco early Monday morning with a bunch of people who wanted to have their trash appraised by a traveling antiques show.

“Patience, Riley.” Nan's voice still held a touch of her native Irish brogue even though she'd lived in California for sixty years.

He frowned at his grandmother's perky smile, wondering where she got her energy. She was seventy-three years old, for God's sake. But then, she'd always been a pint-sized dynamo. Pretty, too, with her stark white hair that had been the same shade for as long as he could remember, and her pale blue eyes that always seemed to see straight into his soul.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she reminded him.

Not in his experience. Good things came to those who sweated blood, pulled out all the stops, sacrificed everything, and never let sentiment cloud reason. “Why don't you let me sell this stuff on the Internet?” he suggested for the twentieth time.

“And let someone take advantage of me? I don't think so.”

“What makes you think these people won't take advantage of you?”

“Because
Antiques on the Road
is on television,” she said with simple logic. “They can't lie in front of millions of people. Besides, this will be fun, a new experience. And you're a peach to come with me. The perfect grandson.”

“Yeah, I'm a peach, and you can stop the buttering up, because I'm already here.”

His grandmother smiled and set the dragon gently on top of the other treasures in the red Radio Flyer wagon she'd also found in the attic. She was convinced that somewhere in her pile of pottery, dolls, baseball cards and old books was a rare find. He thought she'd be lucky to get five dollars for everything in the wagon.

A loud clattering noise drew his head around. “What the hell is that?” he asked in amazement as a tall man dressed in full armor lumbered toward the front of the line.

“He looks like a knight in shining armor.”

“More like the tin man in need of a brain.”

“He probably thinks he has a better chance of getting on the show if he wears the armor. I wonder if we have anything interesting we could wear.” She squatted next to the wagon and began digging through the pile.

“Forget about it. I'm not wearing anything but what I have on.” Riley pulled up the zipper on his black leather jacket, feeling like the only sane person in the middle of a freak show.

“What about this?” she asked, handing him a baseball cap.

“Why did you bring that? It's not an antique.”

“It was signed by Willie Mays. It says so right there.”

Riley checked out the signature scrawled across the bill of the cap. He hadn't seen the cap in a very long time, but he distinctly remembered writing on it. “Uh, Grandma, I hate to tell you this, but I'm Willie Mays. I was planning to sell that hat to Jimmy O'Hurley, but somebody tipped him off.”

She frowned. “You were a very bad boy, Riley.”

“I tried.”

The busty redhead standing in front of them turned her head at his comment, giving him a long, sexy look. “I like bad boys,” she said with a purr that matched her cat's eyes.

The old man standing next to her tapped his cane impatiently on the ground. “What did you say, Lucy?” he asked, adjusting his hearing aid.

The redhead cast Riley a wistful look, then turned back to the stooped, old buzzard who had probably put the two-carat ring on her third finger. “I said, I love you, honey.”

“That's just sick,” Nan whispered to Riley. “She's young enough to be his granddaughter. It goes to show that men can always get younger women.”

“If they have enough money,” Riley agreed.

“I hate that you're so cynical.”

“Realistic, Grandma. And I don't think you'd be happy if I was walking around San Francisco in armor, pretending to be a knight. So be glad I have a job. The line is moving,” he added with relief, as the crowd began to shift toward the front doors of the arena.

The Cow Palace, once known for its livestock shows, had been divided into several sections, the first an initial screening area where experts scoured the items brought in. When it was their turn, the first screener riffled quickly through Nan's stash, pausing when she came to the statue. She told them to continue to the next screening area with the dragon only. The second screener had the same reaction and called over another appraiser to confer.

“I think we might get on the show,” his grandmother whispered. “Now I wish I'd had my hair done.” Nan patted her head self-consciously. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.”

“And you're lying, but I love you for it.” Nan stiffened as the two experts broke apart. “Here they come.”

“This is a very interesting piece,” one of the men said. “We'd like to put it on the show.”

“You mean it's worth something?” Nan asked.

“Definitely,” the man replied with a gleam in his eyes. “Our Asian art expert will be able to tell you much more, but we feel this piece may date back to an ancient dynasty.”

“A dynasty?” Nan murmured in wonder. “Imagine that. Riley, did you hear him? Our dragon came from a dynasty.”

“Yeah, I heard him, but I don't believe it. Where did you get that statue, anyway?”

“I have no idea. Your grandpa must have picked it up somewhere,” she said as they made their way across the arena. “This is exciting. I'm so glad you came with me.”

“Just don't get your heart broken,” he cautioned in the face of her growing enthusiasm. “It could still be worth nothing.”

“Or maybe it's worth a million dollars. Maybe they'll want to put it in a museum.”

“Well, it is ugly enough for a museum.”

“We're ready for you, Mrs. Delaney,” a smiling young woman said as she ushered them onto the set, which was cluttered with lights and cameras.

An older man of Asian descent greeted them. After inspecting the dragon, he told them the statue had probably been crafted during the Zhou dynasty. “A rare find,” he added, launching into a detailed explanation of the materials used, including the jade that made up the eyes, and the twenty-four karat gold strip that encircled the dragon's neck.

Riley wondered if he could possibly be hearing the man correctly. It appeared that this very odd-looking dragon had some important place in Chinese history and quite possibly had belonged in the private collection of an emperor. The expert estimated that the dragon might be worth thousands of dollars, maybe hundreds of thousands.

When their segment ended and they were escorted off the set, they were immediately swamped by appraisers and other experts, who handed them business cards and shook their hands. Riley kept a tight grip on the dragon as well as his grandmother's arm. The dragon was like a prime steak tossed into a pack of hungry wolves. He'd never seen such covetous looks, such outright greed and hunger.

His grandmother wanted to stop and chat, but he forcibly propelled her through the crowd, not relaxing until they were in his car with the doors locked. He let out a breath. “That was insane. Those people are crazy.”

“Just excited, I think,” Nan said, looking at the statue in his hands. “Can you believe this thing is thousands of years old?”

For a brief second he almost could. There seemed to be an intense heat radiating from the dragon, burning his hands. Oh, hell, it was probably just his imagination. Whether it was a year old or several thousand years old, it was still just a piece of bronze, nothing to get worked up over. He set the statue on the console between them, more relieved than he cared to admit to have it out of his hands.

“And it was in our attic,” Nan continued, a dreamy note in her voice. “Imagine that. It's like a fairy tale.”

“Or a nightmare.”

Nan ignored him as she flipped through the pile of business cards she'd received. “Oh, my goodness. The House of Hathaway. Look.” She held up the simple, engraved card naming San Francisco's most famous and elegant store. “They want me to call as soon as possible. I have a very good feeling about this.”

“Do you? Because I have a very bad feeling.”

“You worry too much. Don't think about the problems – think about the possibilities. This could be the beginning of something amazing.”