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“It’s about to get real,” Georgia drawled, sliding open the glass door and stepping out into the mild-for-December night. Stars winked overhead, providing plenty of light for the girls’ pilgrimage to their wishing spot located on the neighboring spread, which just happened to be owned by the one and only sexy Jax Tipton.
“Seriously?” Claire said, her cheeks still rosy, eyes still dreamy. “I don’t want to get trashed tonight.”
“Why, ’cause my brother’s waiting for you?”
“Maybe,” Claire said with a secret smile.
“Well, at least someone’s getting lucky tonight,” Georgia said, as they started schlepping down the path they’d walked a million times before. Might have been over a decade since Georgia had been to their spot beside the sleepy river, but her feet knew the way.
“Oh, stop being such a spoilsport over not getting to ride Reed tonight,” Mary Catherine said, poking her in the back.
Something jagged and painful slashed through Georgia, but she didn’t respond. She wasn’t riding Reed tonight... or ever again. She’d taken his honest question, balled it up, and threw it back in his face. She hated herself for being such a bitch but couldn’t figure out a way to undo what she’d said to him. She’d believed what she said.
Didn’t she?
The moon hung over them, round and luminous, making the bluffy Texas countryside look magical. The tall grass of the pasture rustled in the faint wind as they crossed from Double H land into the land held by the man who everyone in town said stole the land from its rightful heirs. Though she didn’t know Jax all that well, she knew he was like her—cut from the same cloth. An outcast. But at least Jax had had the courage to plant his boots and refuse to let others define him. At least he hadn’t run away.
So maybe Georgia was a coward after all.
They came to the small river that wound through the pastures, moving uphill. Here the land rose, soft mounds, wrinkles of the Ozark Mountains far to the north. Over one ridge they came to their spot nestled below a bluff near the river. It was flat and sandy with large rocks to sun on, and when the water was high enough, they would jump in to cool off. In the glow of the moon, the place looked like a fairy hollow. Bullfrogs croaked, and the wind funneled through with a soft whoosh.
Mary Catherine scurried down the path, sinking onto her favorite wide rock with a deep sigh. Wrenching the lid off the tequila, she took a healthy gulp. “Good for what ails.”
Georgia took the same journey, plopping gracelessly on the rock beside her friend. She snatched the bottle and took a belt. The fiery liquid went down rough but warmed her tummy so it was all good. “And what ails you, MC? You’re living your dream tomorrow, aren’t you? Fairy-tale bride and all that shit?”
Mary Catherine sighed again as Claire inched down the trail carefully. Typical Claire, looking before she leaped. But maybe her friend’s more cautious philosophy worked. After all, Claire had just spent most of the rehearsal dinner cutting blissful looks at the rodeo star who’d swept her off her feet. Love looked good on Claire.
“Sure looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mary Catherine said, her eyes on the sluggish dark river moving just beyond them.
“Remember the first time we made a wish here?” Claire asked, wrapping her arms around her knees, a small smile on her lips.
“The Lady Javs had just won the state title. I had two kills that last game,” Georgia said, plucking a piece of grass and twisting it around her finger. “I tossed in that coin and wished I could play college volleyball.”
Claire punched her arm. “Your wish came true.”
“Yeah, but I also wished I could be somebody important, that I could shake off my past and do something great.”
“You played professional volleyball in Spain, became the spokesperson for Agora water and modeled Gucci’s new spring line. That’s pretty great,” Claire said, tossing a rock into the water.
Yeah. It was something. But not great, especially since Georgia presently had no job, no guy, and a dwindling bank account. The stink of failure hovered, ready to drop and latch onto her.
Of course there was the job Coach Bowman had called her about. Rose Bowman hadn’t offered Georgia the East Texas Methodist University director of women’s athletics position—no, her old coach had been looking for some contacts. But Georgia knew she could likely get the gig. ETMU was a small college, but the pay was decent. Too bad it was in Texas. Thirty-five miles down the road from Holly Hills to be exact.
Staying in Texas was not what she wanted.
Not what she’d wished that night long ago when she’d tossed her coin into the wishing pool.
“I remember my wish,” Mary Catherine said, her voice full of regret. “I wanted a love that would—”
“—burn brighter than the stars,” Claire finished for her.
“Yeah,” Mary Catherine sighed, sounding so resigned. So unhappy.
Georgia wanted to tell her friend she didn’t have to go through with the wedding, that she didn’t have to stick to the plan. Mary Catherine thought marrying Brad would bring her happiness tied up with a pretty bow. On paper Brad was the perfect guy—the one she’d always held up as ideal husband material. Brad was the man her stepmother had shoved her toward, and for some reason Mary Catherine had bought this vision hook, line, and sinker.
But who was Georgia, a woman who stubbornly clung to her own plan of being an independent East Coaster, to tell Mary Catherine to abandon her plans and follow her heart.
Pot calling kettle black.
