The Son & His Hope Page 14

  Should I ask or not?

  Was it my business, or should I leave it alone?

  When I couldn’t figure out my decision, Dad tilted his head in frustration. “Not like you to be tongue-tied.”

  I sighed. “You don’t like me talking about it.”

  He stilled. “Doesn’t matter. If you need to discuss whatever is bugging you, then spit it out. I know I was hard on you when you were little, but you’re a young woman now. Anything you want to know…I’ll do my best to tell you.” He gulped dramatically, the comedian-actor taking over from the serious. “Unless it’s about sex, then it’s a totally different story. That topic doesn’t exist. As far as I’m concerned, you live in a world where you don’t know what boys are.”

  “Ha ha.” I gave him a quick smile. He’d already sucked up his nerves and given me the sex talk when I was younger. He’d done it himself, rather than enlist Keeko. He was a good father. A great father.

  I was so lucky.

  Plucking lint from my jeans, I muttered, “Okay then, um…well, you know how when we lost Mom, it changed us. We…I don’t know exactly. We just changed.”

  He nodded, leaning back in the chair. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “Well…do you think losing his dad changed Jacob?”

  Dad mulled over my question. He genuinely gave me time instead of brushing it aside like he did when I was a child. “Undoubtedly.”

  “Do you think it’s broken him as a person?”

  He sighed. “Who can say what each person can tolerate? You and me, we decided that we wanted to keep going, regardless if your mother left us. We had each other to lean on.”

  “Jacob has his mom. Why isn’t that enough?”

  Dad rubbed his nose. “Who’s to say it’s not?”

  I gave him an exasperated look. “I know it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, but he was hurting back when I stayed with them. He hurt a lot, Dad. I don’t think you grow out of that.”

  He stroked the thick weave of his trousers, taking his time to reply. “Each person suffers in their own way. His loss was different than ours. His dad was sick. Just playing that role drained me to the point of depression. Knowing you’re going to die, all while fighting it until that very last moment…it couldn’t have been easy living in that environment as a kid.”

  “Mom was sick too. Mentally.” I dropped my gaze. “But she chose to leave. Maybe that’s the difference.”

  Dad looked away, clearing his throat as if his own pain still punctured his heart. I hadn’t been the only one Mom chose death over. She’d left Dad, too.

  How could she be so cruel?

  We sat in tense silence for a few seconds.

  “Anyway,” I said a bit too loudly. “Watching this movie just made me think of the Wilds, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why are you so concerned about him? You haven’t seen him in years. He’s twenty-one now. He’s not the kid you knew when you rode there.”

  “I know.”

  “How he’s dealing with the death of his father isn’t your concern.”

  I slouched, pulling a turquoise cushion onto my lap. “I can still worry about him.”

  Dad narrowed his eyes. “Look, all I’m saying is don’t worry about things you can’t change. He’s living his life. You’re living yours. That’s all you need to focus on.”

  But that was the thing…I didn’t want that separation.

  I wanted friendship.

  I wanted him to answer a stupid letter once in a while and prove that he saw me as someone valuable and not a nuisance.

  That would never happen, but at least dreams were free. “Okay.”

  That response was pathetic. It made me look pathetic, sound pathetic, overall pathetic.

  He stared at me for a second too long, perhaps reading my secrets that, despite practically being a stranger to Jacob, I was intrinsically tied to Cherry River in ways I couldn’t explain.

  Thanks to Dad, I was set for life. I had an income of my own. Contacts and offers and a career any young actress would kill for. But it couldn’t change who I was at heart. And I was a girl insanely envious of a farm boy who woke with the dawn and worked with earth and sky all day.

  It made no sense that the land called to me so strongly. Even though I was born a city girl, raised a city girl, and would most likely end up marrying a city boy, a piece of me didn’t feel entirely safe unless it was on a sprawling estate with forests guarding every direction.

  Dad somehow saw all that because I forgot to hide the truth.

  He saw me.

  The real me.

  Not the rehearsed or scripted me.

  And his face fell, understanding for the first time that I hadn’t taken after him or Mom. I was a stranger pretending to be family.

  I let him down. As an actress. As his daughter.

  Slowly, he nodded as if we’d had an entirely different conversation. “You don’t just miss the Wilds, do you? You miss their way of life.”

  I hugged the cushion to my chest, trying to ward off his uncanny revelation. “I’m sure it’s just a case of the grass is greener on the other side.”

  His eyes tightened. “Yet…I don’t think it is.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, inching toward the edge of his chair. “All this time, I believed you enjoyed travelling with me. When your mom was happy, she adored living in exotic places, going to the best restaurants, and shopping in the priciest shops.” He chuckled sadly. “I love to travel too. I’m good at my job because I enjoy slipping into the skin of another person, but only because it shows me how great my own life is when I come home…to you.”

  For some reason, tears prickled. I didn’t know what to say or where I fit in thanks to Dad’s strange epiphany.

  “Who do you take after, Hope Jacinta Murphy? Who are you when horses and farms flow in your blood rather than Hollywood and make-believe?”

  I shivered as his stare became too intense.

  “You care more about things you’ve never experienced than the world you’ve been brought up in.” He shook his head. “I thought, to begin with, it was just the novelty of horses that all little girls go through. But I’m too late. Too late to see that you’re happier on the moor in mud than you are on the red carpet in a pretty dress.” His chin fell, his gaze locked on the white rug on the hardwood floor. “How did I become so blind?”

  The catch in his voice shot me off the couch so fast, the cushion and remote control slammed to the ground. Falling to my knees in front of him, I pressed my face against his trousers. “It’s okay, Dad. You’re overtired. You need to sleep—”

  “What I need is to pay attention to my daughter who isn’t ten anymore.” His fingers pried under my chin, pulling my face upward. “You’re seventeen. You’re incredible. And you’re lonely. That’s what all this death stuff is about, isn’t it? You’re lonely. God, how long, Little Lace? How long have you been pretending to be happy for my sake?”

  A tear rolled down my cheek, trickling over his knuckles at the wretched look in his gaze.

  This was why I’d hid who I was. This was why I accepted minor parts he said I’d be good at and why I did my best to socialise with kids from the local school.

  Because Dad had already lost so much.

  And he couldn’t afford to lose me too.

  Why had he suddenly seen now? What had I shown to hurt him so badly?

  “I’m not lonely, Dad.” Even to my ears, the words were devoid of honesty.

  He smiled sadly. “If that’s the best you can do, you need better acting lessons.”

  I laughed at his joke, pulling my face from his touch. “Horse riding helps.”

  “But it’s not just the horses, is it?” Dad cocked his head. “You’re just as happy mucking out a stall with hay in your hair and manure on your boots as you are riding the damn creatures. What is it about being grubby and earning blisters that appeals to
you so much?”

  I looked away shyly. “I don’t know.”

  When he huffed under his breath, slouching into the chair as if he didn’t believe me, I rushed, “Honestly. I don’t know. I have this…craving inside. A need to be dirty because I feel like I’ve done something to deserve something if that makes sense? I want to be outside. I want to take a seed and turn it into a plant. I want to watch something grow rather than remember someone die.”

  “Said like a true farmer’s daughter.” He smirked, making light of a heavy situation. “Perhaps the hospital gave me the wrong baby, huh? Maybe you’re not mine, after all.”

  “I’m yours, Dad.” I pointed at my green gaze, the identical colour of his. “I’m just…going through a phase, that’s all.”

  “A phase?” He chuckled. “A phase doesn’t last your whole life, Hope.”

  I shrugged, grinning back stupid tears and doing my best to assure my beloved father I was happy, content, and all his. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t want you to be just fine. I want you to be happy.”

  I nodded, calling on all the acting lessons I’d tolerated for his sake to give the best performance I could. “I am happy. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

  With our eyes locked, he shook his head and stood. “I love you, Hope. But you truly are a terrible actress.”

  With a tight smile, he left me sitting on the couch with a boy holding an urn of ashes and a movie I should never have watched again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jacob

  * * * * * *

  Twenty-One Years Old

  “YES, OF COURSE, Graham. She’s welcome anytime.”

  I froze with my arms full of firewood, one boot planted on the doormat, and the other over the threshold to my mom’s house.

  I’d left for all of ten minutes to grab more fuel, and she gets on the phone to Graham goddamn Murphy.

  “Mm-hm. I know,” Mom murmured. “It’s understandable she’s lonely.” Another pause. “Yes, it must be so hard. She’s the odd one out. Privileged, so she’s bullied. Free-spirited, so she’s misunderstood.”

  What the hell was she talking about?

  Obviously, I knew.

  Even though I hoped I was wrong. There was only one person Mom and Graham would be talking about. Two, perhaps, if they had a death wish and discussed me.

  However, I wasn’t the subject today…Hope was.

  Goddammit.

  It’d been years since I’d had to stay on guard around her. Years since a letter. Years since she’d come to stay.

  I thought I’d been in the clear.

  “Next week? Yes, no problem. We don’t have a horse camp on, but she’s welcome to visit. Between Cassie and me, we’ll make sure she rides a lot.”

  Oh, hell no.

  The wood prickled my biceps as I squeezed the bark tight. I didn’t want a trespasser on my farm. I had enough to do without babysitting.

  Because that was what would happen.

  I’d end up babysitting because Mom and Aunt Cassie would say they were too busy with their rescues and charity work to play pony chaperone to a kid.

  “Yep. I’ll get Jacob to pick her up from the airport.” A pause. “No. No problem at all. I know how busy you are over there. The TV show is great, by the way.” Another pause. “We’ll look after her, don’t you worry. Okay then, uh-huh. Sure. Yep, will do. Talk soon.”

  She hung up and I had a good mind to turn around, drop the firewood, and go home. Screw making her the mushroom pesto pasta I’d planned. She’d just invited an enemy into our home.

  Invited, yes. But Hope isn’t here yet.

  There was still time to prevent it from happening.

  I glared at Mom as I stomped to the fireplace and the rattan basket for holding wood. Dumping the armful into it, I stood, brushed off bark pieces and small splinters, and crossed my arms. “No.”

  She mimicked me, crossing her arms and readying for battle. “Don’t you ‘no’ me, Jacob Wild. Four p.m. on Wednesday. She’s flying in from Edinburgh. She’ll be jet-lagged, hungry, and expecting a friendly face. You will be that friendly face. You will drive her here. Help her settle and get over whatever grudge you have against her, got it?”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but she hadn’t finished.

  “Oh, one other thing. You might as well know because I’d rather you get over your indignation before she arrives. I’m going to let her stay in your old room instead of the bunk beds for camp students. Graham said he’s worried about her and wants her to have lots of company. She doesn’t know he’s set this up, and I expect it to be a good surprise for however long she stays.”

  Slowly, I unwound my arms, fisting my hands. “And how long will that be?”

  Mom shrugged. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.” She bustled into the kitchen, deliberately busying herself with pulling ingredients from the fridge, including a bunch of fresh vegetables I’d grown in my garden.

  My entire body boycotted the idea of visitors. My heart smoked with possession over my mother. I didn’t want to share her with some kid who didn’t deserve to be here. Let alone allow a girl to sleep in my room—a room I’d barely set foot in for four years.

  But I knew when I was beaten, and after one too many early starts this week, I didn’t have the energy to fight. “Why now?”

  Mom pulled a cutting knife from the block, giving me a sad smile. “Because she’s lost.”

  Kicking off my boots, I walked toward her. “That isn’t our problem.”

  “I know.” She stopped what she was doing. “But I was lost once. Ren was lost. Cassie was lost. Everyone is lost at some point in their lives.” Her blue gaze seared into me. “Even you were lost until you started working the farm. It’s not our problem if Hope is lost, but it is our obligation to help her find her true path—even if it’s just by being her friend.”

  My temper faded.

  I was older now, and rational arguments always took the sting out of my anger, leaving me low and lacking and very aware of how much I still had to learn. I pretended to be a good person, but in reality, I wasn’t.

  “Okay, Mom.” I nodded. “I’ll be nice.”

  “Thank you, Jacob.”

  I padded into the kitchen, nudging her out with a smile. “I’ll cook dinner. Go sit down and relax.”

  “Okay.” Standing on tiptoes, she dared kiss my cheek, and I schooled my need to rock backward out of her reach. Her soft lips stung rather than filled me with comfort, and my eyes shot to the blown-up photograph of Dad, Mom, and me when I was five.

  The ghost I lived with shook its head.

  The fear I carried clutched me closer.

  Tearing my gaze from the perfect family moment, I sliced into a mushroom and shoved aside what I truly wanted to say, to admit, to confess.

  Hope might be lost, but…so was I.

  Still.

  I’d always been lost.

  I’d most likely always be lost.

  And one lost person definitely wasn’t qualified to help another.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hope

  * * * * * *

  MY EYESIGHT HADN’T changed.

  My body was no different.

  My heart exactly the same.

  Yet as I stepped from security clearance, scanned the small crowd collecting loved ones, and noticed Jacob Ren Wild dressed in scruffy jeans, a black long-sleeve shirt, and a tanned, sweat-stained cowboy hat, I no longer felt like me.

  My eyes saw differently.

  My body reacted strangely.

  My heart shed off its chrysalis and grew wings.

  Wings that fluttered and tickled as I studied the man who’d replaced the boy I used to know.

  Funny how I remembered what he looked like. Funny that I remembered his stubborn stares, surly sulks, and wary distress. But I hadn’t truly remembered.

  I hadn’t truly seen.

  Before, I’d seen him with a child’s eyes. Eyes wide with wonderment for a bo
y older than me. A boy I believed had the answers to death and dying. A boy who had the lifestyle I wanted but could never hope to earn.

  Today, as I pulled to a stop in front of him and our gazes locked and the world fell away, I didn’t see him through the eyes of that little girl anymore. I saw him as a woman. I might still be young, and still hold romantic ideals with a soul full of loneliness, but I was awake, I was aware, I was knowing.

  “Hello, Hope.”

  His voice held a deeper, more jaded quality to it.

  His skin was slightly weathered from working outdoors.

  His body stronger, eyes darker, his face a landscape of roughness, judgment, and warning.

  But in his cool, unnerving stare, I found something I didn’t know I’d lost. I earned something I’d misplaced. Retrieved something I’d walked away from.

  He was the penny on the street you picked up for good luck. The four-leaf clover you tucked into the pages of a book for good fortune. The wish you made to the starry sky, believing there had to be more than this.

  My suitcase was suddenly as heavy as the world. My fingers opened, releasing it.

  And I did something.

  Something unpermitted and uninvited but something I should’ve done many years ago.

  Opening my arms, I crashed into him. My cheek pressed against his heart. My body to his body. I shivered at the scent of leather and horse and hay, nuzzling him, hugging his warm strength, digging nails into rigid muscles that flexed and flinched beneath my invasion.

  For a second, time stopped.

  The noisy airport faded. The anxious need to find something bigger than myself no longer hissed like static.

  All that existed was us.

  There.

  Linked and joined and bound.

  But then, it was over.

  His fingers pried my elbows away, unwinding my arms and pushing me out of reach. His eyes blackened with torment. His jaw clenched with pain. And I understood that touch between us was something I needed, but something he would never tolerate.

  All the boys in Scotland paled in comparison. Other kisses. Other dates. Other flirts. Nothing mattered; nothing was more real, more desirable, more unattainable than standing in front of Jacob Wild, begging him to notice me, all the while knowing he never would.