“I don’t want you to go, sweetheart. I don’t want to be without you. I love you too much to lose you.” He was sliding his body down hers in one excruciatingly slow movement.
The fog that clouded Macy’s brain seemed to thicken. One of Wyatt’s hands tangled in her hair while he stroked the wet heat between her legs with the other. Purely sexual instincts took hold—she didn’t need to think, she only had to react.
Wyatt paused to remove his pants, then rolled onto his back, pulling Macy on top to straddle him. Macy pulled the T-shirt over her head and watched Wyatt’s eyes rake over her body. He sighed with longing as he sat up and took her hand in his and kissed her throat. “I love you.”
Macy could hear him through her fog, could see the sincerity in his gaze. She pressed her hand to his cheek and smiled, and felt the single tear that drifted down her cheek.
“No, no, no,” he murmured, and kissed her cheek. “Don’t cry.” He enveloped her in a tight embrace and pressed his mouth against her shoulder, and then lower, to her breasts.
Macy dropped her head back and allowed herself to be swept away. Wyatt rolled her onto her back and explored her body with his hands, his fingers trailing over hot skin, his eyes devouring her. He cupped her breasts, squeezed her nipples, then took her breast in his mouth as his hand drifted down the plane of her belly, slipping between her legs and into her body, sliding in and out.
“God, but you drive me crazy—you always have,” he said breathlessly, and settled in between her legs.
“Mmm,” she said, and brushed her fingers through his hair.
With his gaze on hers, Wyatt slowly pushed inside her, catching his breath as he did.
Macy closed her eyes and allowed him to push her farther out into that ocean of sensation. She heard her sigh of pleasure as he moved inside her. She laced her fingers with his, caressed his back and his buttocks, moved with him. He was so hard, so hot, so thick inside her; she drifted along.
It had never been like this.
Wyatt knew her well—he sensed her climax and thrust powerfully and quickly into her as she fell away from him and the world.
It had never been like this, because Finn had never been in bed with them before today. But he was here now, on the edges of her consciousness, trying to make his way in.
Wyatt shuddered into her and collapsed to her side, his heart beating hard and his breathing labored.
“God,”
he said with breathless appreciation. “That was…unreal.”
Macy blinked up at the ceiling. He was still inside her.
He lifted up on his elbow and kissed her. “I have to say, you really had me worried.” He gently dislodged himself, then rolled over on his back and closed his eyes, a contented smile on his face.
Macy inched toward the edge of the bed.
“What’s the rush?” he asked, and put a hand on her belly.
“I have to go,” Macy said, scooting out from beneath his hand.
Wyatt opened his eyes. “Where?”
“Laru’s. I told you.”
A frown darkened his face and Wyatt abruptly sat up. “What the hell, Macy?” he asked angrily. “You’re still going after what just happened here?” he asked, gesturing to the bed.
She had to go,
especially
after what had happened. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glanced back over her shoulder at Wyatt. “I don’t know how to make it easier. If I could, I would, believe me.” She stood up.
“Macy, dammit! Don’t go!”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and padded into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Finn dreamed he was under heavy enemy fire. He was running through the confusing maze of streets in Kabul, ducking into doorways when he could. The fire was drawing closer; he ran again, finding himself in a blind alley, a dead end.
There was a woman in a blue
chadari
standing at the end of the alley. No one could be trusted; Finn cautiously approached her, his rifle raised, the woman in his sights. He heard the
rap rap rap
of gunshots nearby. He drew closer, but as he did, he noticed the woman’s wide blue eyes, the only part of her he could see. He blinked, quickly rubbed his eyes, and looked again. “
Macy?”
he whispered.
The woman quickly raised a rifle she’d been hiding in the voluminous folds of her
chadari. Rap rap rap.
Finn woke with a start, groping for a gun, frantic to find it until he remembered where he was. He sucked a calming breath into his lungs and sat up.
He heard the
rap rap rap
again—someone was at the door of his room. Finn stumbled to his feet and opened it. “Dad,” Finn said roughly, rubbing one eye. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking on you, son.” His father looked strange standing there. Finn was still expecting to see turbans and
chadaris
. “You’re sleeping. I’ll leave you be,” he said.
“No, no,” Finn said. “What time is it?”
“Ten.”
Ten. He’d been awakened at seven every morning for the last three years by the slide of a tray of food across the dirt floor, or the heel of a boot in his back. For a long time, the first real human contact he would have each day was with the boy, Nasir, who had big green eyes, almost too big for his face. He would stare at Finn through a gate as Finn tried to rouse himself, day after day.
Once he was awake, he’d begin his day of alternately sitting and pacing, save the one hour at midday they allowed him into the courtyard to walk around. Nasir would follow him then, watching Finn feed scraps of food from his bowl to the stray dog in the compound, and then, as Nasir grew older, helping Finn feed the stray.
“Your mom made pancakes,” his father said.
“It’s good to be home,” Finn replied. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
With his father gone, Finn sat on the edge of the bed in his parents’ house and stared at the wall. Ten
o’clock.
He hardly knew what to do with himself. The army handouts suggested that he engage in routine behaviors, but hell if Finn knew what was routine anymore. There were a few things he wanted to do, like see his land. His dogs. Maybe catch up with a couple of friends, if he could find them. But beyond that, he had no idea what he would do.
He got cleaned up and dressed. The smell of pancakes lured Finn down the hall. As he passed the utility room, something in a box on top of the dryer caught his eye. He backed up a step.
Sticking up out of the box was a folded corner of an American flag. Finn stepped into the utility room and looked at the box, but instantly recoiled, his gut taking a nauseating dip. He took a tentative step forward, peered into the box again, and removed a tri-folded flag. And a Purple Heart.
His breathing grew shallow as he put those two things aside and removed a large frame. It was a collage—a picture of him in full dress uniform in the center, to the right of his head the image of an American flag flying at half-mast. Below that was a gold star, the symbol of the U.S. Army. To the left was a print of his rank insignia and a copy of the bulletin from his funeral.
Finneus Theodore Lockhart,
it said.
Sunrise: March 10, 1979. Sunset: August 18, 2006.
On the front was a picture of a green forest with purple flowers—nothing like anything he’d ever seen and damn sure no place you’d find in Texas.
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever
was written in script across the page.
Inside the bulletin, the date of his birth and death were printed again, above words that blurred as Finn stared at the date of his death.
August 18.
He felt a bit of perspiration on his scalp, and put the bulletin down.
There were more things in the box, little mementos from his life. A scratched and faded toy car he did not recall or recognize. A picture of him wearing a cowboy hat, boots, and chaps, grinning like a fool as he stood beside the first cutter he’d sold for top dollar as part of the local 4-H program. There were some medals from high school track—Brodie had been the jock, but Finn had done okay in track. A baby picture of him when he’d had a mess of long, blond curls, and more pictures from Little League, cub scouts, a prom. At the bottom of the box, turned upside down, was one of his wedding pictures—Macy and him with his parents.
She’d looked beautiful that day. Finn remembered how he’d felt when she’d put her hand in his for the first time as his wife.
He felt clammy and hot as he put the items back in the box. The last thing he picked up was the tri-folded flag. They usually gave that to the wife, he thought, and wondered if Macy had given it to his mother and father.
“Hey.”
Luke’s voice startled Finn. Having determined, at three in the morning when they’d finally drunk all the whiskey, that they shouldn’t be behind a wheel, Luke and Brodie had crashed at the house. Luke frowned at the box. “Come on, man, don’t look at that stuff. You want some pancakes?”
“So what’s up with this?” Finn asked. “Did she have…a shrine?”
“What?”
His mother popped her short-bobbed head around Luke. She’d put on a little weight since Finn had left, and the curls on her head were grayer, but she was still Mom. She was wearing a pair of beige pants that hit her about mid-calf, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt that had a little bouquet of flowers painted on it. She also wore some new rectangle-shaped glasses instead of the big circular frames she used to wear. “What are you boys talking about?” she asked cheerfully.
“Mom, I told you to put that stuff in the attic,” Luke said, clearly irritated.
She looked at the box. “Oh!” She looked at Finn. “People said such nice things. We had the memorial at the high school, and all the seats were filled.”
“Mom!”
Luke exclaimed. “Finn, come on,” he said impatiently. “Let’s eat some pancakes.”
“I made them just for you, Finneus,” his mother said, beaming. “Are they still your favorite?”
Were pancakes still his favorite?
Finn didn’t know. He only knew there was a gulf beginning to widen within him, between the man he’d been when he’d left Texas and the man he was now. His pulse was racing again, and he felt irrationally angry with his mother for even asking.
“Dude…are you all right?” Luke asked.
Besides feeling that the walls were closing in and about to crush him? “Just hungry, I guess.” He stepped past Luke and his mother and headed for the kitchen.
In the kitchen, his mother buzzed happily around the stove, sent Luke to wake Brodie, and flipped pancakes and eggs and sausages as she rattled on about cousins Finn could scarcely remember.
Finn looked around the kitchen as she talked. They still had the blue wallpaper with the tiny pink roses and matching curtains over the sink. There were pots and pans stacked on top of the cabinets and the countertops were covered with small appliances and a black-and-white TV that was on, tuned to some talk show. Nothing had changed while he’d lived four or five lifetimes.
His mother scraped sausage from an iron skillet onto a platter and put it on the breakfast bar. “How’d you sleep, hon?” she asked Finn.
“Good,” he lied.
“It must be a real relief to sleep in an honest bed, huh? Brenda Todd asked if you were going to be here later because her son Greg wanted to stop by.”
Greg Todd? Finn had gone to high school with him, but they’d never been friends. “Why?”
“Why?” She laughed as Luke returned from his mission. “Honey, you are a local hero. Greg works for the
Cedar Standard
. He wants an interview. Oh, that reminds me. A nice young woman from the
Austin American-Statesman
called, too. Major Sanderson said he would be in touch about television and radio interviews—oh, I almost forgot! The
mayor
would like you to be in the Fourth of July parade,” she said proudly.
Finn wasn’t planning on doing any interviews anywhere and he damn sure wasn’t going to be in a parade.
His mother put a short stack, scrambled eggs, and a glass of milk in front of him. The sight of all that food made him a little queasy. His stomach hadn’t been the same since the bomb, and the crap he’d had to eat the last three years had done a number on his system. But his mother was watching him, so he took a healthy bite.
She stood with her arms crossed, her smile full of satisfaction. “Well?” she asked.
“Fantastic,” Finn said through a second mouthful.
“Oh my Lord,” she cried happily to the ceiling. “I am so blessed to have all my boys home!” Her eyes were tearing up again. “My heart just nearly bursts every time I look at you, Finn.”
“Mom—”
“So what would you like to do today?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Not sure,” Finn said, putting his fork down. “Thought I’d see Macy. Where does she live?” He had no idea where that had come from—he hadn’t planned to see her.
His mother’s smile instantly faded. “Why?”
“Why?”
She suddenly turned away from Finn to the stove. “Well, I don’t think you need to see her right off,” she said a little testily. “Seems like you’d want to settle in and get reacquainted with your family before you tackle that mess. There are a
lot
of people wanting to welcome you home.”
“Mom,” Luke sighed.
“I want to see my dogs, Mom,” Finn said. “She’s got my dogs, right?”
“Dog. She has one. She gave the rest away.” She said it with a look that suggested Macy should be tried and hanged for it.
“Luke, where does she live?” Finn asked evenly.
“Arbolago Hills.”
Surprised, Finn looked at his brother. Arbolago Hills was a gated community with million-dollar homes. It was built up on the banks of the Pedernales River and Lake Del Lago. “Wow,” he said. “Nice.”
“What’s nice?” Brodie strolled into the kitchen bare-chested, scratching his belly. His hair—brown like Luke’s—was sticking straight up.
“Arbolago Hills,” Luke said.
“She did well for herself,” Finn said, for lack of anything better to say.
“Sure she did,” his mom said. “She’s a pretty girl. She knew what she was doing.”
“Oh Jesus.” Brodie sighed and sat down at the bar next to his brothers. When they were kids, they’d called Brodie the runt. He was three years younger than Finn, four years younger than Luke, and he’d been small with a bad stutter. He’d outgrown both afflictions and was now a big guy and a real charmer. He winked at Finn. “Mom has some definite opinions.”
“I think we all do, but I am the only one willing to say what I think,” their mother snapped, and shoveled pancakes onto a plate, which she placed in front of Brodie. “And I don’t think he oughta go around there, that’s all.”
“I just want to get out,” Finn said, pushing his plate away. “Just get out and breathe a little.” His belly was roiling; he couldn’t eat another bite. “I want to see my place. I probably won’t even go by Macy’s.” Like hell he wouldn’t—Arbolago Hills? Something about that made him crazy. “Just out of curiosity, when did she leave Two Wishes?” he asked.
“Ah…” Brodie looked at Finn. “A couple of years ago?”
“So who looks after it?”
Brodie shrugged. “Not much to look after.” He took a bite of pancake.
Finn looked from Brodie to Luke, who was likewise focused on his breakfast. “She said it was more than she could handle.”
“It was a big job,” Luke agreed. “She needed help.”
“She could have gotten help,” his mother said with a sharp tone.
“Lord,” Luke muttered.
His mother shrugged and turned back to her skillet.
There was something they weren’t telling him, Finn could feel it. “Well, she’s got help now. And I’d like to have a look at it.” He looked at Brodie. “Borrow your truck?”
“You bet,” Brodie said. “Just drop me in town.”