The Son & His Hope Read online

  Letting me go, he gave me a harsh look, then ducked to collect my abandoned suitcase. His gaze travelled over me, from the top of my head to the toes of my new riding boots, and he swallowed.

  Just once.

  A swallow that spoke volumes to a girl who’d already made up her mind that pain was better than loneliness and she would do whatever it took to heal him.

  * * * * *

  I stared at the ceiling Jacob had no doubt stared at as a child. I stroked blue sheets he’d most likely slept in and listened to crickets and night silence that had serenaded him to sleep.

  The drive to Cherry River had been a fairly silent one. Apart from the occasional question from me and the short answer from Jacob, we’d sat motionless as he drove us to the small town where he lived.

  There, my welcome was much more heart-warming. Della intercepted us as Jacob pulled to a stop outside a lovely one-story house drenched in dusky pinks and the last threads of orange from sunset.

  She gathered me in a motherly hug, kissed my cheek, made a fuss of my arrival.

  Jacob had taken my suitcase inside, leaving me alone with his mother. Two seconds later, he reappeared, smiled at Della, tipped his hat at me, then hopped into the dinged-up truck and drove away.

  My eyes tracked him, following the plume of dust as he made his way over a meadow, toward the treeline where a rustic cabin could barely be distinguished amongst the woods.

  I worried that the moment he left me, I’d second-guess everything. I feared I’d become embarrassed by how I reacted seeing him again. That the urge to call my dad and request a rescue mission from his crazy surprise would swamp me.

  But nothing happened.

  I stayed present and focused and happy.

  I still couldn’t believe how I’d gone from being in school in Scotland to sleeping in Jacob Wild’s bed. The day after Dad and I had our chat, I’d found an envelope with flight tickets on my dresser and a note that read, ‘Be a farm girl for a few weeks. Try a new character on for size.’

  I’d tried to argue. I didn’t want to leave him because I didn’t want him to worry about me. But he’d been adamant.

  So here I was.

  Sleeping under the same roof as Della Wild. Replacing her son who no longer lived at home with a girl she would never have known if it wasn’t for a book secretly published by her husband.

  I didn’t expect to sleep.

  I fully expected to stay awake with racing thoughts.

  But slowly, surely, my eyes closed, my heart quietened, and for the first time since I’d slept on my own in the stable at Cherry River, I found the place where safety and adventure collided. Where hard work promised great rewards. Where dirt triumphed over clean.

  And I slept.

  * * * * *

  “I was perfectly fine with toast, Mom. Stop your damn fussing.”

  I paused in the corridor, tugging on a grey sweater and yanking my ponytail from the neckline. No one had come to wake me, and the sun shone through the skylights and windows as if angry with me for wasting one moment of its brightness.

  “I can fuss all I want. You’ve been working since five a.m. Toast isn’t enough when you’re pulling the hours you do. Now shut up, sit down, eat your eggs, and be grateful.”

  Once again, my skill at eavesdropping came in handy as I inched toward the end of the corridor and leaned against the wall. I couldn’t see Jacob or Della, but thanks to the open plan space, they sounded so close.

  A noise I’d never heard before and one that set fire to all my nerve endings rippled through the living room.

  A laugh.

  A carefree, indulgent, loving laugh.

  Masculine and deep and pure.

  I never knew Jacob could sound so…at ease. So content. So…normal.

  “Always so bossy.” He chuckled, his mouth full of whatever Della had cooked for him.

  “Always a mom,” she replied, pots and pans clanked loudly in the sink as she cleaned up. “If you’re not careful, you’ll starve.”

  “Believe me, I won’t starve.”

  “You’re right. Not while I’m around to feed you.”

  Another chuckle from Jacob, but this one was strained with the thread of pain I was familiar with. Did anyone else hear it? Did his family see how difficult he found being loved? Or was it just me and my fascination with death?

  Because it was death that vibrated in Jacob.

  Or at least…fear of death.

  When I was going through my obsession after Mom passed, I couldn’t stop watching YouTube and the strange and wonderful content people uploaded there. Extremely personal stuff like eulogies at family funerals, burials of beloved pets, and goodbye letters from loved ones.

  I’d watched them to see if I could understand where a soul went once it left its mortal shell. I studied each as if they held the answer on how to contact the afterlife and bring my mom back from the grave.

  No such answers were revealed.

  But an underlying theme existed.

  Each video, every tear and hug and goodbye, resonated with the same mistrust of life, the same disillusionment of living—the same fear of loss because that loss would come again and again because we humans didn’t just love one thing. We loved countless things, which meant countless ways of being hurt.

  When Mom first killed herself, I felt that way too. I’d shy away when Dad tried to hug me. I’d pull back from a kiss, and close my heart to affection. I was terrified of loving Dad so much that he’d leave me like Mom did.

  But that just added emptiness to my loneliness, and I threw myself into loving even harder. I fell in love with Keeko and Dad all over again and promised myself that no matter the pain, I would be strong enough to give them my heart, knowing they’d take a piece when they died.

  Accepting that pain was the price of love.

  I’d accepted it.

  Jacob had not.

  And standing in the corridor of the Wild’s household, a firework of understanding crashed over my head, cascading me in compassion.

  That was why he was so closed off. That was why he was so cold and short-tempered and prickly.

  He had everything anyone could ever want. A loving family. A happy home. A successful business.

  And it petrified him.

  “Oh, Hope!” Della clutched her chest, blonde hair sailing over her shoulder as she slammed to a stop. “God, don’t lurk like that, you’ll give me a heart attack!” A dirty tea-towel dangled in her hands, ready for the laundry where she’d no doubt been heading.

  “Sorry!” I ducked around her into the living room, moving out of her way. “I just had a shower. Didn’t, um…want to interrupt.”

  “You’re not interrupting.” Della smiled, rubbing her chest a little before dropping the tea-towel onto a side table and turning toward the kitchen. She waved at me to follow. “Come and have breakfast, then we’ll go for a ride. Sound good?” Before I could agree, she tugged me toward the breakfast bar where Jacob sat perched on a stool, his mostly empty plate showing remnants of mushrooms, an omelette, and spinach.

  He tipped his chin in my direction. “Afternoon.”

  Della swatted him around the head. “It’s nine a.m. Don’t make her feel bad.”

  He’d already succeeded as I sat on the remaining stool and dangled my feet like a child. “I guess it was jetlag that made me sleep so late.”

  “Nine a.m. is not late, Hope.” Della placed a plate of delicious looking goodness in front of me, then grabbed the salt and pepper grinders from the pantry. “Jacob just doesn’t sleep, that’s all.”

  Jacob smirked as if it was a super-power. “Being in bed annoys me.”

  I swallowed at the thought of him in bed. Did he sleep naked or in shorts? Did he lie spread-eagled on his back or curled into a ball on his side?

  Why am I even thinking about this?

  His mom was right there.

  Tearing my gaze from his, I speared a mushroom and bit into it. The flavour exploded, earthy and
salty and yum. “Wow, these are super good, Mrs Wild.”

  “Please.” Della waved a clean tea-towel in my direction as she dried a frying pan. “Call me Della. And they’re good, aren’t they? Jacob grew them.”

  My eyes widened as I looked at her son. “You grew these? How do you even grow mushrooms?”

  “Depends on the species.” He finished his final mouthful, drained the rest of his orange juice, then stood. His height meant his eye level rose, looking down at me with cool assessment. “Google it.”

  Glancing at his mother, he gave her a rare smile. “Thanks for the second breakfast. I’ll make dinner tonight to repay you.”

  “You don’t have to repay me for every meal I make you, Wild One.”

  “I know.” Grabbing his well-used cowboy hat from the end of the countertop, he positioned it just so over his dirty blond mess and bowed in my direction.

  I couldn’t tell if it was condescending or some strange goodbye, but his voice was deep and kind rather than chilly and mocking. “Have a good ride, Hope Jacinta Murphy. My mother will take great care of you.”

  And once again, like all my interactions with Jacob, he left well before I wanted him to.

  * * * * *

  “So…”

  I squinted into the sun where Della sat framed by its golden glow atop a grey mare called Stardust.

  “So?” I fisted both reins in one hand, shielding my eyes so I could see her better. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No.” Della laughed softly. “Not at all. I was just going to ask how you’re enjoying being home from Scotland.”

  “Oh.” I nodded, dropping my hand and doing my best not to look down the hill to where the growl of a tractor occasionally found us on the breeze.

  Jacob was down there.

  He’d waved at us as we’d ridden from the stables and followed a well-used track around the perimeter of Cherry River.

  I’d been given a bay gelding called Cody, and so far, he’d been grouchy about being woken from his midmorning nap and had strong opinions on traipsing up a hill with me on his back.

  “Yeah, the weather is nicer for sure.” I smiled. “The horses are fierier too. The highland ponies are pretty bombproof and unfazed by much.”

  Della nodded. “Yet you fell off and broke your arm, right? Was that pilot error or horse spook?”

  I laughed before I could stop myself. How did she pick the one question I didn’t have a straightforward answer to?

  “What’s so funny?”

  Shaking my head, I stroked Cody’s neck. “Nothing really. Or at least, nothing that will make sense.”

  “Try me.” She pulled Stardust to a halt and turned to look down the gentle hill we’d climbed. Below us, Jacob was a miniature version of himself, sitting in the cab of a rusty red tractor as he dragged some contraption behind him, leaving a white residue on the grass.

  “What’s he doing?” I truly did want to know even though it was also an attempt to change the subject.

  Della peered at her son, sighing with affection. “Staying busy and not learning how to relax.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gave me a strange look, her blue gaze almost as bright as the sky. “Nothing. It’s lime. The earth is a little acidic and growing too many weeds. He’s making it alkaline again.” She ran her fingers through Stardust’s mane. “The joys of having horses. Their manure isn’t good for healthy grass.”

  “I had no idea.”

  She shrugged. “Why would you? Ground management and crop rotation aren’t exactly a required degree when you’re travelling the world acting.”

  I winced.

  Yet another subject I didn’t want to discuss. Somehow, Della had an uncanny way of cutting through the unimportant stuff and focusing on topics that made me cringe.

  “Okay, that’s two now.” Della grinned, blonde hair curling around her shoulders. “Which one do you want to tell me first? Why you fell off and broke your arm, or the part where you flinched when I mentioned acting?”

  Cody pawed the ground, jostling me in the saddle. I used the excuse of settling him to keep my eyes far away from Della’s knowing ones.

  Strange that I was brave enough to consider telling her about my lack of interest in acting when I’d yet to tell my own father. Then again, I wouldn’t hurt her by admitting that his dreams weren’t my own.

  Sucking in a big breath, I rushed, “I don’t want to act. I have no interest in saying lines or dressing up or making stories come alive on screen. I’m almost finished with my studies. I could quit now if I wanted, and Keeko is supplementing my education with university grade lessons, but I’m too afraid to stop because if I do, I don’t know what that will mean. Will Dad expect me to get into acting full time? How will I say no to bigger parts when schoolwork is no longer my excuse?”

  I inhaled again, plucking the soft material of my riding leggings and already regretting my honesty. “Please, keep that between us.”

  Dad and Della weren’t close, but there was no telling if my being here was a ruse for me to tell her stuff so she could spy on his behalf.

  She stayed quiet, the only sound the distant growl of Jacob’s tractor and the soft inhale, exhale of our horses. Finally, she nodded. “Anything you tell me is strictly between us, Hope.”

  I flashed her a quick look. “Thanks.”

  “If you don’t want to act, do you have something else in mind?”

  I bit my lip, once again avoiding eye contact. “Yes.”

  “Want to tell me?”

  For a second, I shook my head. Then I remembered that, out of anyone, she would understand the most. She was a writer, after all. She’d penned her personal tale—shared her world with strangers—allowing her love to be read and watched a thousand times over.

  That was the sort of magic I wanted to create. The power to touch people through conjuring the story rather than delivering someone else’s.

  Sitting tall in my saddle, I admitted, “I want to be a scriptwriter.”

  Her eyes widened just a little. “That’s interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  It was her turn to look away. “When we first met at the movie premiere, I had a hunch you’d be a good storyteller.”

  “Oh, really?” A flash of heat and pride warmed me. To be acknowledged as something other than a child of Hollywood was wonderfully liberating.

  “Yes.” Della smiled. “You were very eloquent even as a ten-year-old. From the first moment you introduced yourself, you had a tale about the origins of your name. That’s a skill.”

  “No, that’s just talking too much.”

  “Wrong. That’s fate already deciding who you’ll be.”

  We fell quiet as the tractor turned off and Jacob leapt from the cab to fiddle with the contraption on the back. He was sure-footed and confident working with such heavy machinery.

  Della turned Stardust away, nudging her into a walk. “And the reason you fell off?”

  Damn, I thought I’d gotten off the hook.

  Staring at her back, I encouraged Cody to follow, murmuring self-consciously, “It was because of Jacob.”

  Della tensed. “Oh? How come?”

  “I remembered how he looked sailing over the fence with no bridle or saddle on Forrest that day he made me ride him. He made it look effortless. Like magic.” My shoulders rolled, recalling my attempt at such skill on a creature I had no bond with. “When my instructor left the arena to grab her phone, I took off Polka’s tack, scrambled on bareback, and kicked her toward a jump. She had no idea what I wanted, and I had no clue what I was doing. It ended in disaster.”

  Della looked over her shoulder, assessing me in that calm, all-seeing way. “My son is many things, and reckless is one of them.”

  “It wasn’t reckless. It was awe-inspiring.”

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed. “Jacob is kind, gentle, caring, and generous. But with good attributes comes bad, and one of his flaws is searching for freedom fro
m things he doesn’t want to face. He believes he’s immortal. One day, he’ll realise he’s not.”

  I froze in my saddle, but Della wasn’t finished. “Promise me you won’t be reckless like him.”

  Our eyes locked, held, and sent messages I didn’t fully comprehend.

  Before I could reply, Della’s gaze fell to the glint of silver around my throat. “Jacob might be reckless, but he also has good taste in jewellery.” She smiled knowingly. “The locket suits you, Hope.”

  Leaning forward, she urged her mare into a gallop, leaving only wind for conversation and the pound of hooves as I chased her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jacob

  * * * * * *

  STANDING ON THE deck of my cabin at one a.m. usually meant I was alone in the world. The owls in the trees, crickets in the grass, and the vast, incomprehensible emptiness of the galaxies above my only company.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, my sanctuary had once again been intruded upon.

  I stiffened as my gaze trailed Cherry River from one end of its boundary far, far in the distance to the other. As I skimmed over my mom’s house, Grandpa John’s house, Aunt Cassie’s, and the equestrian business, my attention landed on the candy pink and white stripes of a pyjama-clad girl with brown hair so dark it looked black and feet so bare they looked like white slippers.

  What the hell is she doing out of bed?

  Mom had kept her occupied all day with a long hack around the farm, saddle and bridle cleaning for the riding school after lunch, and then a visit to Aunt Cassie’s to do God knew what.

  When I’d finished work, I’d found them sharing freshly squeezed lemonade in the setting sun on Mom’s porch, giggling over something I wasn’t privy to. Despite my discomfort with how well Mom and Hope got along, I kept my promise and cooked dinner—bowing to the pointed glares to ensure there were three helpings, not two.

  I’d stayed mostly quiet while we ate a simple meal of honey roasted ham, crisp green salad, and fresh buttery rolls, and made excuses to return to my own space the moment I’d helped with the dishes.