Wishes and Dreams (2 page)

Jon glared at the man, who raised his mug and laughed.

Outside, the night air felt bracing and helped clear Jon’s head. It might have been August, but at this altitude, the nights were always cool. He walked to the nearby fairgrounds first, to the stables to check on his horse. The animal poked its head over the gate of the stall and whinnied in recognition. Jon rubbed the black forelock and threw a cup of oats into the feed pail. “See you in the morning.”

He returned to the motel, where he heard the sounds of partying coming from several of the rooms. His room was dark, and once inside, he left it dark because he didn’t want any drunken riders from the circuit asking him to join them. Jon stretched out on the bed, feeling every aching muscle from his day of staying upright on a couple of mean mustangs. He needed to sleep, because tomorrow he would get up and do it all over again.

Rodeo life—the danger, the roar of the crowds, the struggle to dominate a wild horse, staying on the animal’s back until the buzzer sounded, knowing he’d won the battle, and earning money for doing what he liked doing—that had been his dream. But he had begun to find the life less and less satisfying. He’d been raised on a Texas ranch, was good with horses, and had sometimes thought it would be nice to have his own spread where he could stable and train horses for ranch work. He had always shelved the idea under
someday
as a pipe dream. He had years ahead of him before leaving the road and the circuit.

But the summer before and with no warning, he’d run up against wanting something else. Someone else—Dec had been right about that. Ciana’s image drifted into his mind’s eye. Beautiful Ciana, with hair and eyes the color of cinnamon. He remembered the times he’d held her, the way she’d moved in his arms, and her hot-blooded responses to him. But no more. Not after what had happened. All his fault too. He had hurt her deeply. And no matter how clear-cut
his reasons had been at the time, no matter how noble the cause he and Ciana had both recognized and accepted, there was no undoing what he’d done.
He
knew he had betrayed her, and why would she ever forgive him?

Eden sat on the porch of the grand Victorian house sipping a glass of wine and waiting for Ciana to join her. Another day gone. September’s Indian summer would soon retreat to let October have its moment on the stage of this tumultuous year. Time, like a river, flowed around Bellmeade and Eden’s life. She felt adrift. She sighed, not with discontent, but with ennui. Where was she going? Her whole world was centered on this place, a place that wasn’t even hers. She glanced across the slope of the freshly cut lawn, felt some pride knowing she’d clipped the grass today on the riding mower. No big deal for farm women, but Eden wasn’t like Ciana and her mother. She had no stake in the farm, just Ciana’s friendship, which gave her a room upstairs in the old house.

Eden took another sip of the wine, savoring the complex flavors of the Chianti. She closed her eyes and saw the landscape change from Tennessee to the rolling hills of Tuscany. She envisioned once more the lovely villa Ciana had rented. She remembered the sparkling pool water rippling in the summer breeze, rows of olive trees lining the driveway with leaves fluttering to show silvery undersides. In the distance she heard an engine from the road that fronted Bellmeade and thought of Garret’s green scooter and the rides they’d taken together.

Eden tasted the wine along with the memory of the way her arms fit around him, the way he’d smiled whenever he saw her coming toward him as he stood waiting by the fountain in Cortona. His face lit up and his eyes glowed. No one had ever looked at her that way before. She heard him say “G’day, mate!” to greet her. And she recalled the last night they’d been together, and the way he’d kissed her when she had promised to meet him at that fountain and join him on his walkabout. A meeting that had never happened.

“I miss you, Garret,”
she whispered into the evening air. Ciana missed Jon the same way, Eden knew, but Jon was stateside, while she and Garret were an ocean apart. And while Ciana had ways of reaching Jon, Eden had none for reaching Garret Locklin. She swallowed another gulp of wine to force down the lump in her throat.

Inside the house, in what had always been her grandmother’s study, Ciana studied the computer screen and swore at the software bookkeeping program that wasn’t cooperating. After buying seed and feed and other supplies, the numbers of “income vs. expenses” were still stubbornly stuck in the red zone. She slumped back in the chair and rubbed her temples.

“Eden’s waiting for you outside,” Alice Faye said from the doorway.

Ciana looked at her mother, forced a smile, and killed the image on the screen. “I’m just about ready to go join her.”

Alice Faye studied her daughter. “You’re just like her, you know.”

“Eden?”

“No, your grandmother. She wouldn’t give up on this place either.”

“Oh, Mom, not again.” Ciana quickly backed out of the software program, preparing to shut down the computer. After a hard day of work she needed a glass of wine, not another lecture from her mother about selling off Bellmeade.

“Calm down,” Alice Faye said. “I don’t want to start a fight. I just hate to see you worry so much.”

“Part of being a farmer, isn’t it?”

Alice Faye walked to the desk, searched Ciana’s face with a soft kind gaze. “You need help around here, what with fall coming on and all.”

“Help costs money.”

“Do you ever—” She paused. “Have you heard from that nice young man Jon? He was wonderful help.”

Ciana stiffened in the chair, tried to make her expression impassive. Jon. He was the only other subject outside of selling the farm she didn’t want to talk about with her mother. “He has no reason to keep in touch,” she said crisply, preparing to stand.

“When he was here, it seemed to me he had every reason to keep in touch.”

Her words sounded wistful, but they cut through Ciana like a knife. “You sent him his final check for the work he did, didn’t you?”

“You know I did. I sent it in care of his mother in Texas, like he asked me to.”

The check had never been cashed. “Then why bring him up? He’s been paid in full. He’s gone. End of story.” Ciana stood, walked around the desk to the doorway.

Alice Faye stopped Ciana cold, saying, “I have his address any time you want it.”

“And I have his cell number, so getting hold of him is never a problem.”

Alice Faye waved her hand in dismissal. “You are like Olivia in every way. Stubborn to the end. A word, Ciana: don’t let your pride stand in the way of a chance at happiness.”

Ciana tossed her hair and hustled out of the room, which was suddenly too small for them.

“Did you save some wine for me?” Ciana asked, breezing out onto the porch and taking over the rocker next to Eden.

“Always.” Eden poured wine into the glass she’d set aside for Ciana and handed it to her. “How goes the number crunching?”

“Never ending.”

“If you need some money …”

“I’m not desperate.” Ciana hated taking money from her friend, although a few loans from Eden had really helped her through the spring and summer. She took a long sip from the wineglass, trying to calm herself after her mother’s words.
A chance of happiness
. As if Ciana didn’t want that. “So tell me, what have you been out here thinking about?”

Eden didn’t want to confess that her mind had been on Italy and Garret. Ciana needed distractions, not memories. “I was thinking that I’m one lucky homeless girl to be living here with you instead of under a bridge along the interstate.” She raised her glass in a toast.

Ciana burst out laughing. “Too funny! You’ll never be homeless as long as I can hang on to Bellmeade.”

Eden tipped her head and her glass toward Ciana. “Well, then teach me how to run that tractor of yours. If I can ride the lawn mower, why can’t I help you harvest?”

Ciana giggled. “You’re a good friend. And because you are, stay off my tractor.”

Eden harrumphed, but knew she was better off in the garden with Alice Faye. “Okay … no tractors. Here’s to another day in paradise.”

Ciana clinked glasses with Eden, their laughter spilled like music into the September night.

“Remind me why I let you talk me into coming here.” Ciana had to shout to be heard above the roar of the country music and shouts of the mostly drunk crowd inside one of the hottest nightclubs in Nashville.

“Because you’re my friend. Because we’re both going stir-crazy at Bellmeade every night. Because we need to dance and drink and have some fun!” Eden shouted, ticking off the reasons.

“Are we having fun yet?”

“After one more beer.”

Ciana poked Eden’s side, making her say “Ouch.”

The place was packed, and it reeked of booze, spicy chicken wings, and flowery perfume. Photos of famous country entertainers covered the walls, which were also awash in dollar bills stapled to every vertical surface not covered by photos. These places were never at the top of Ciana’s fun-things-to-do list, but she’d come because Eden liked coming. And Eden was right. They needed to blow off steam. They needed to find the balance that had been lost in both their lives since their return from Italy and since April, that sad and terrible month when so much had changed.

Two men sidled up to Ciana and Eden. One asked Eden, “Want to dance?” She smacked her half-empty beer bottle onto the bar and said, “You bet!”

The other guy eyed Ciana hopefully. “How about you?”

She set her barely tasted beer beside Eden’s and with a lot less enthusiasm said, “Sure.”

“Name’s Kyle.”

“Pam,” Ciana lied. She never gave out her real name in these places. For starters, she and Eden used fake IDs because they weren’t yet twenty-one. For another reason, she was a Beauchamp, and her family’s name and standing had been drilled into her since birth, especially by her grandmother Olivia. Rule one: Beauchamp women always watched their backs, never compromised or besmirched the family name. A heavy mantle she’d carried all her life.

“You look like a Pam,” Kyle said. “The reddish hair and all. You’re very pretty.”