Love Will Find a Way (3 page)

"I can't be here right now," Rachel said. "Nothing makes sense here. I don't know this place. I don't understand it."

"Then go home, Rachel. Go back to your apple farm and your son and your family. I'll box everything up and ship it to you."

"Not the bottle. Don't send me that bottle." She wrapped her arms around her body as if she could somehow protect herself from it.

"I won't.'

"No, you should. It could be a clue. No, don't. Oh, God, I don't know. Tell me what to do. Please, just tell me what to do, Dylan."

The painful plea in her eyes made him want to pull her into his arms and protect her. But he forced his hands deeper into his pockets. The very last thing he needed to do was touch her. "I think you should let it go," he said. "Gary is gone. None of the rest of it matters."

"But it does matter."

"If you need money -- "

"It's not just the money, although God knows I'm not sure how I'll manage without it. But that's not it. I can't stand these doubts I have. Gary deserves my loyalty, yet there's this little voice inside my head telling me something is wrong with the way he died. I think I felt it even before I talked to the insurance company, but when their report said suicide, I couldn't run from the feeling anymore. I want to know what Gary was thinking when he drove down that mountain road six months ago. I want to know why he took cash from our bank account. I want to know why he bought the life insurance policy without telling me. I want to know if I somehow missed something. Maybe if I'd paid more attention, been a better wife, I could have stopped him -- "

"Stopped him from what?" Dylan interrupted. "From dying? How could you have done that? How could you have possibly done that?"

"I don't know, but I was his wife -- "

"And I was his best friend," he said harshly "I could have stopped him, too. If you want to blame someone, blame me."
Because if Gary had driven himself off that road, then Dylan should have seen it coming.
He'd always been able to gauge Gary's moods, but not this last time. This last time he hadn't asked any questions, hadn't inquired why Gary was heading up to Tahoe on his own, hadn't pressed him about why he looked so tired or seemed so distant. In retrospect, Dylan knew that things hadn't been right, but he'd hesitated to ask, because... well, because he'd been afraid Gary was cheating on Rachel, and he hadn't wanted to hear it. Dammit, there it was. But he couldn't tell Rachel that. God, he couldn't tell her that.

"I can't blame you," Rachel said, catching his gaze and holding on to it. "Gary loved you, Dylan. You were his best friend in the world."

Her words pierced his heart like a knife to the chest. "Yeah, I was a hell of a best friend." He drew in a much-needed breath. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. None of this was your fault. In fact, I don't think it was anyone's fault. It was an accident. Gary took a curve too fast and lost control of his car." Maybe if he said it forcefully enough, he'd believe it, too.

She stared at him for a long minute, searching his face for something, but he wasn't quite sure what. "I have to know, Dylan, and not just for me, but for Wesley. I have an eight-year-old son to protect, a little boy who loved his father and still can't accept the fact that he's gone. I can't allow any doubts, any secrets, to jump out and hurt him even more."

"That won't happen."

"I won't let it happen. I can't. I wish I'd never filed that insurance claim."

"So do I," he said heavily.

"Will you help me, Dylan? I hate to admit it, but I don't think I can do this alone."

Such a simple sentence, yet such a difficult request, for so many reasons.

"Gary would want us to do this together," she added.

Rachel was probably right. Gary had always wanted them to get along better, never understood why neither one of them had shown any interest in the other; but then, Gary had never known that once, just once, the distance between them had been covered by a kiss -- a kiss they said they would never remember, but one that Dylan had never forgotten.

He owed Gary for that lapse in loyalty. And he'd been trying to pay off that debt for the past nine years. This might be his last chance to make things right. He needed to restore Rachel's faith in Gary. He needed to protect Wesley's love for his father. It was the least Dylan could do for his best friend.

"I'll help you," he said.

She looked him straight in the eye. "And you'll tell me the truth, no matter what?"

"I can't promise that. Gary was my best friend."

Her lips tightened. "Well. I guess I know where we stand."

"Where we've always stood," he agreed.
With Gary in between us.

And just like that, they were back to the beginning.

* * *

His blond hair glowed in the afternoon sunlight, like an angel's halo, Rachel thought whimsically as a handsome young man walked up to the apple stand, where she'd been selling fruit for the better part of the day, and asked for directions. She couldn't answer right away, caught up in the blue of his eyes, the dimple in his cheek, the mischief in his smile. Then she realized he was laughing, and she was staring. She blushed with embarrassment.

"Gary Tanner," he said, extending his hand. "And you are?"

"Rachel Wood," she stuttered. She put her hand in his, expecting a brief handshake, but he curled his fingers around hers and a shiver ran down her spine. "Where -- where did you want to go?" she asked, finally pulling her hand away from his and surreptitiously wiping her sweaty palm on the side of her shorts.

"I'm not sure anymore," he replied with a thoughtful tip of his head. "I think I just found what I was looking for."

Rachel's heart took a tumble. All the coldness that had gripped her in the past month in the wake of her daddy's illness was suddenly wiped away by this man's warm smile.

"But my friend, Dylan, will probably kill me if I come back to the car without directions. This is about the hundredth time I've gotten us lost," he confided with a mischievous grin. "Dylan doesn't understand that sometimes the most interesting and prettiest sights are found on the side roads."

Rachel felt the heat creep back up her neck and across her cheeks. She wondered when she'd outgrow the terrible habit. She wasn't a child anymore; she was nineteen years old. She needed to stop acting like a foolish girl. But this sophisticated man was so different from the boys she was used to seeing around the farm.

"At least you're willing to ask for directions. Some men would rather die first," she said, trying to sound casual and worldly at the same time, as if she knew all kinds of men.

"Well, we have been driving around in circles for about an hour," he admitted. "Can you tell me if I'm anywhere close to the Redwood Highway?"

"Oh, sure, you're not far at all.
Just a mile farther down this road.
Make a left past the railroad tracks, go two blocks, and you'll see the highway."

"Sounds easy enough. Thanks. Now how about..."

He paused for so long, she thought he was about to ask for a kiss. A kiss! Her heart thudded against her chest in anticipation as they both seemed to be leaning forward.

"Hey, what's the holdup?" a man asked, coming up behind Gary. "Did you get directions, or are we destined to drive past the same cow for another hour?"

A flood of disappointment swept through Rachel at the interruption. She fixed an annoyed glance on the impatient dark-haired man who was nowhere near as warm and friendly as Gary.

"I got the directions. I'm just picking up a few apples while we're here," Gary said, giving Rachel a wink. "Which of these are the sweetest?"

She made a sudden and impulsive decision. She reached behind her into a canvas bag and pulled out an apple that was a rainbow of pinks and reds. "Take this one. It's special."

"Special, huh?"

She shrugged her shoulders, feeling a bit silly. "Well, there's a legend, but it doesn't matter. It's still the best apple you'll ever eat. It's on the house," she said when he reached into his pocket.

He turned the apple in his hand. "A legend? As in magic?"

"Gary, we don't have time for this," Dylan said impatiently.

"Maybe I'll have to come back, and you can tell me the story," Gary said with an appealing grin.

"I'm counting on it," she whispered as he walked away, taking the other man with him. She hoped there really was some magic in that apple. Because she had a feeling about this man, a really good feeling.

A little magic, Rachel thought with a sigh as she drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and headed north to the small town of Sebastopol; she could sure use a little magic now, too. Not even magic really, just answers, truth, light -- something to take the queasiness out of her stomach and the heaviness off her shoulders. She felt lonely, scared and completely overwhelmed, so different from the time her heart had been filled with hope, excitement and anticipation when she'd met Gary. All of that was gone.

One day she was a wife, the next day she was a widow. Somewhere in between she'd lost her heart, her soul and her spirit. She had to find a way to get them back. She had a child to
raise
. And there wasn't just Wesley, but her sister, Carly, her grandmother Marge, her grandfather John, her aunt Dee and everyone else who depended on the orchards, on her, to keep things going. How would she manage that if she couldn't keep herself going?

The same way she'd managed before, she told herself firmly. When her father had died, she'd felt the same crushing grief, but she'd pulled it together. She had made good on her promise to keep the orchards alive, hold the family together, and she'd continue to do that. She just needed to get home, to put on her old, faded blue jeans with the rip at the knee and her comfortable sweatshirt. Then she'd heat up last night's lasagna and listen to Wesley talk about his day. It would be familiar and safe. And she wanted safe. She wanted sameness, habits.

But she also wanted comfort, love, a man's arms around her shoulders, a reassuring voice in her ear, a shared smile, a hope for the future ... oh, how she wanted. The ache seemed to grow with each passing day instead of fading as it was supposed to.

Desperate for a distraction, she turned on the radio, but everyone was singing about love and heartache. She turned it off just as quickly, the gesture reminding her of another time, another trip from San Francisco to Sebastopol.

She'd been ten years old when her father had taken her and her sister Carly, who was only three, away from the only home they had ever known.
 
She could still remember sitting in the front seat of his Mustang convertible, the breeze drying the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
 
After five years of fighting, her parents had finally divorced. Her mother had taken a job in Chicago and her father had brought them home to the farm he loved, back to the place where nothing ever changed except the seasons. A place where a person could count on apple blossoms in the spring and long, hot days in the summer, a bounty of fruit in the fall and cold quiet in the winter. He had told her she would love it, that while she wouldn't have her mother, she would have him and the farm, and it would be enough.
 

And he'd been right. She'd loved the farm, and she had never wanted to live any place else, especially not the city where she had been so unhappy. That's why she'd resisted moving to the city with Gary. He'd never really asked her why she didn't like San Francisco, at least not in a way that made her feel like he really wanted to know. But then they'd been busy with their work and their son and talking hadn't seemed all that important. Now, she wished she'd asked more questions of him and wished he'd asked more questions of her.
 
Now, she saw a distance in their marriage that disturbed her. She'd thought she'd known her husband, but had she really?
 

Shaking her head, she wished she'd never gone to San Francisco.
 
It had been a mistake to go to his apartment, to let the doubts creep in.
 
So what if he had a perfume bottle? It didn't have to mean anything. And it wasn't fair to Gary to doubt him now. She needed to be loyal.

But she couldn't stop seeing the flicker of doubt in Dylan's eyes.
 
He hadn't wanted to take her to the apartment. He hadn't wanted her to go into the bedroom.

Damn him.
 

Anger and some other emotion she didn't want to define ran through her. Dylan had always rubbed her the wrong way.
 
He had a presence, a dark, brooding intensity to go with his dark hair and penetrating eyes, his stubbornly proud jaw. At nineteen she'd found him both attractive and frightening. At twenty-nine, she felt pretty much the same way. Every time she saw him, she felt uneasy, unsettled, and a little bit guilty. They'd shared a kiss the night before her wedding – one shameful kiss. Dylan had immediately apologized and told her it would never happen again, that he would regret forever that one reckless moment when he betrayed his friend. The words had poured from his mouth, building a wall between them that would last forever. But then, that's the way Dylan built things -- so they would never fall down.

With a sigh, she turned off the highway, veering away from the town center and heading down the country roads that led toward home. She opened her window, eager to breathe in the cool night air, which was laden with the sweet fragrance of apples. The trees were heavy with fruit and ready to be harvested. It was her favorite time of the year, and with each breath she felt calmer. This was her place in the world -- where vineyards and orchards lined the hillsides and fields of wildflowers adorned the highway. This was home.

She turned under the arched sign that proclaimed
AppleWood
Farms and drove the half mile up to the main house, a large two-story building that had sheltered six generations of her family.

After her father's death, she and Gary had moved into the master bedroom. Wesley and Carly had taken over the other bedrooms on the second floor. Her grandparents, Marge and John lived in a separate, small cottage a hundred yards away that had been built by her great-great-grandfather Joseph Wood at the turn of the century.