Wendell knew enough about females to keep his gaze fixed on the hay bales he was busy stacking. He did not look up when she huffed into the barn and slammed the door. “Need a hand?” he asked finally.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Julia swipe at the mud stains on her britches. “No.” Then, her eyes filling with tears, “Maybe.”
Wordlessly, he went to the tack room and scooped some sweet grain into a bucket. In the doorway, he glanced back at Julia, who seemed poised to retreat to the house for a bubble bath. “What’re you waiting for? He’s your horse.”
After a sharp look, she followed. It had taken half an hour between the two of them, but eventually, the little beast had been caught. Since then, Wendell seemed to have risen in Julia’s estimation as more than a curiosity who worked on her father’s property. And though Wendell preferred to be left alone, he was surprised to find he did not entirely mind her occasional presence.
But there was no time for distraction today. The Lancasters were hosting the annual gala that evening, and there was much to be done. Alan’s Jeep rumbled toward him, and he rolled down the window as he pulled up alongside Wendell. “Good morning,” he said. “What a day, what a day.”
Wendell was used to Alan’s vocal affection for his property. It extended beyond the ownership of the estate; Alan was in love with the land.
“It is, Mr. Lancaster. What’s first on the schedule this morning?”
Alan rested his elbow on the window. “Wendell, I admire your work ethic. But a morning like this is to be admired. Look at that sky! Not a cloud.”
Wendell cleared his throat and glanced up obligingly. The truth was, he saw in this property exactly what Alan Lancaster did: the lush greenery, the watery shadows around the pond, the thrilling flash of white-tailed deer or wing of osprey. Having grown up in this town, Wendell didn’t just see all of what Alan saw, he felt it. And ever since his tour of duty, he needed it.
The sky overhead was sharp and cloudless, and with some hesitation, Wendell allowed his eyes to wader across its expanse. It was a luxury he did not often allow himself. Wendell knew it was better to stay busy—to keep moving, his hands working, his brain planning. He did not allow himself to soak things in, as Alan suggested. Because then his mind wandered, and when that happened, the ability to control what filtered through it might slip. Wendell held his breath as his gaze traveled: There were the treetops, branches reaching like a woman’s slender arm. The light was gauzy and soft at this hour, and Wendell began to relax, to let his breath out. Suddenly, in the distance, an egret launched itself gracefully off a weeping willow, and Wendell followed its slow sweep across the lake. Alan was right: the morning was nothing short of spectacular.
But as he watched the egret glide across the water, the sky began to blur at the edges. Wendell blinked. He tried to focus on the egret’s silhouette, but it, too, began to flicker. And before he could stop it, the scene before him flashed away, replaced suddenly by Wesley’s profile. There he was, against the sky. All twenty-five years of him, staring off in the distance as if he, too, were watching the egret’s descent. Wendell recognized the strong set of his jaw, the determined gaze. Exactly as he’d looked the last time Wendell saw him in Afghanistan. Wesley turned his way and, seeing his big brother, grinned like an eight-year-old. Then disappeared. Wendell braced himself, shook his head against the memory.
Alan misunderstood his expression. “Stops you in your tracks, this view. Doesn’t it?”
Wendell blinked, forced his tongue to work around the sandy confines of his mouth. “Yes, sir.” He met Alan’s gaze and prayed his own was steady, but inside, the wave of nausea crested violently in his gut.
Alan looked at him curiously. “Feeling okay, Wendell?”
Wendell ran a hand across his brow. “Yes, sir. Just a little warm.” He peeled off his sweatshirt, willing the nausea to subside, to climb down the burning walls of his insides once more. The first waves were always the worst. Thankfully, Alan did not press him.
“I have to run in to town,” Alan said, passing him a piece of paper. “Here’s what Anne has set out for us today.” He looked apologetic. “The damn gala is upon us.”
But even as he said it, Alan Lancaster’s eyes twinkled. Wendell knew how it went: Alan in his black tie. The man loved nothing more than hosting people he cared about or who also cared about the land, the town, his mission to preserve it. He did not shy away from crowds but entered them with a glass raised and a clever remark on the tip of his tongue. His laugh was rich and infectious, his intentions honorable enough, as Wendell saw it. Though his friends often gave him crap for thinking so, accusing him of going soft. Going to theother side.Wendell didn’t care.
All Wendell cared about was doing his job. Doing it well enough to be left alone, to be welcomed back here where he could try to do something good, however small or simple, and contain the dark well within him.
TwoJulia
Julia crouched on a mossy rock and dipped her bare foot into the stream while she waited for him. The water was ice-cold, a welcome respite from the muggy June day, and it was one of the many things she loved about this hidden spot among the wetlands behind her family’s field. In the distance a tree branch cracked, and she looked up sharply. Was it him? She waited, holding her breath, as she scanned the dense grove of trees for movement. Sam was late, and they didn’t have much time. The annual gala was starting in a few hours, and she was supposed to be home helping her mother arrange flowers.
A moment later, there was another snap of branch underfoot, and Julia stood. When a lone doe emerged from the shadows, she let her breath out in a wave of disappointment. He’d said he would come.
Sam Ryder lived a mile up the road, but their properties abutted in the rear, and just recently, they’d taken to meeting up in the woods. He was supposed to be here. Not because he’d said he would be or because she’d lain awake for many of the last summer evenings, thinking about him and wondering if the time was right. But because from the moment she’d woken up this morning, she’d known: today would be the day she kissed him.
Between the dense greenery came a sudden shadow of movement, and Julia’s chest pitter-pattered as a small fawn trotted out of the thicket. The mother deer paused, gazing over her shoulder at it, then sharply about for predators. She stiffened when she locked eyes with Julia, not twenty feet away. Julia had grown up in these woods, and she knew better than to make a sound. She let the doe study her, slowly sinking back down onto the rock, where she remained while the animal sized her up.It’s all right, mama,she thought.
The fawn, impulsive and unaware, bounded up beside its mother, all gangly legs and elbows. It had not noticed her, nor the warning flare of its mother’s nostrils, and in a fit of play, it began to buck about in an ever-widening circle until it had unwittingly closed the distance between itself and Julia and halted smack dab in front of her. Julia held her breath.
For a frozen moment, the two stared at each other. The fawn’s eyes were bright pools of surprise, its inky nose so close that Julia could hear its intake of breath. The mother snorted a sharp warning, breaking the spell, and bounded off with a flick of her white tail. Startled, the fawn leaped after its mother. In that fleeting moment Julia closed her eyes and thrust out her hand, and just when she feared she’d missed it, the tips of her fingers brushed against the fawn’s sleek pelt. Julia’s eyes flew open. There was a swift crash of branches and shaking of undergrowth. And then the streambed went still, the only sound the gurgle of water swirling its distant way to some unseen estuary. Overcome, Julia tipped her head back and laughed out loud. Sam had not come after all, but it no longer mattered. Here, the magic was everywhere.
The ding of her phone broke the silence. Julia reached into the back pocket of her cutoffs and retrieved it. Her mother wanted her home to get ready for the gala. She cursed and sprinted for the trail home.
Back at the house, Julia sneaked around to the rear of the house, slipped through the mudroom and into the grand farmhouse kitchen.
“Better watch out. Mama’s gonna get you!”
Her little sister, Pippa, was seated at the kitchen island, all gussied up in a pink tutu-skirted ensemble, swinging her legs back and forth off the barstool as she licked whipped cream from a large silver spoon. She smiled wickedly through a white mustache.
As if on cue, Eliza, their mother’s right hand stepped out of the pantry with a mixing bowl. Julia halted. “Miss Pippa, your mother’s going to getyouif you spill one drop of that on your party dress,” Eliza warned. Pippa scowled.
