“I’m looking forward to having a nice dinner. I promise I won’t talk too long, either. Now, I need to get some milk for my mother. You take care, Mrs. Hammer.”
“Oh, I will. You tell you parents hello for me and don’t forget—behave yourself, young man.”
Wyatt chuckled as he strode quickly to the dairy case. Young man. He was thirty-three, not eighteen. But some folks wouldn’t acknowledge that, he knew. Some folks wouldn’t forget his past. He’d thought he could quickly make amends by fulfilling the sentence the city had decided upon, but maybe it wasn’t enough. The fact that he really was doing the work himself hadn’t impressed Myra Hammer, so maybe it wouldn’t fly with the rest of the town, either.
When had he become so concerned about what others thought of him? And was he cheap? Were people expecting better decorations? The community center director and city officials had specifically said he had to use the reindeer, trees and boxes they already had.
How could something so simple become so complicated? He’d been back in his hometown for two days and his thinking had already been challenged by a little old lady. A cranky little old lady, at that.
He did manage to get through the checkout line without seeing Mrs. Casale or anyone else who had an opinion of his visit home or advice on behaving himself. The short drive to his parents’ place—it wasn’t really a ranch anymore, since they didn’t raise horses or cattle—didn’t take long. He passed a few of the “nodding donkey” oil pumps that dotted the landscape. His dad loved it when oil went over ninety dollars a barrel.
The sun was setting as he pulled to a stop in the parking area behind his parents’ garage, and he sat for a moment admiring the oranges, pinks and purples of the sky over the low western hills. Texas did have some spectacular sunsets, but nothing rivaled the view from his wraparound deck at home when the sun sank into the Pacific. Sometimes he sat there in a teak deck chair, watching the sunset with his only housemate, Tiger, a ragged-ear yellow tabby who used to be a tomcat. The cat was as rough and ugly as the house was sleek and beautiful, but for some reason he hung around. Probably because Wyatt was the only person stupid enough to feed and care for him in a posh hilltop community that valued pedigree over the ability to catch mice.
Wyatt would be back in Carmel soon. Whatever decorations Mrs. Nakimoto put up were fine with him. He didn’t entertain at home. Usually, he took a few friends—or perhaps a special lady friend—on a vacation at Christmas.
Putting up the “yard art,” as Mrs. Hammer called it, at the community center in Brody’s Crossing had made him think of all the holiday functions he’d attended—and then gotten into trouble over messing with the joy of others as they pursued their own Christmas traditions. The holidays weren’t so much fun anymore, even though his options now were practically limitless and his mischief more expensive and polished.
“Hell, you’re not a kid,” he murmured to himself. It didn’t matter how the older generation treated him. But what did he expect? To return to the days when he’d been bored, rebellious and overindulged? No way. He was an adult. He did what adults did. Well, adults with millions of dollars of discretionary income, he thought as he grabbed the milk and walked toward the home in which he’d grown up. The house had an addition, a new roof to accommodate the raised ceilings his mother had always wanted and a new flagstone entry and circular drive out front.
“Hey, Mom,” he said, closing the back door behind him. He sat the plastic jug on the counter and lowered his cheek for a perfunctory and somewhat awkward dry peck. She was trying to be a good mother, he knew. About fifteen years too late, but maybe better late than never. At least she only smelled of expensive perfume now, not that vodka had much of an odor.
“Thank you for bringing milk. It’s such a hassle to go to town for one item.”
Maybe, but what else did she have to do in a typical day? “Where’s Dad?”
“Watching one of those old television shows in the family room, probably.”
“Do you need any help?” He hoped not. He hated helping his mother in the kitchen. He never knew where anything was, especially after the remodeling, and he set the table wrong every time.
“No, thank you. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready. Lupe fixed us a roasted chicken and vegetables earlier, before she left for the day.”
Oh, good. At least his mother wasn’t trying to cook again. She had an uncanny ability to ruin any type of meat and burn potatoes until the entire house reeked. Lupe had been their housekeeper for several years now, and his mother actually seemed to like her. He remembered a time when his mother had found fault with everyone and everything. Except him. He’d always been her golden boy, even when he didn’t deserve her support.
Wyatt sat next to his dad in a matching recliner and watched a rerun of a rerun of an ancient Western horse opera. His dad turned down the volume so it was barely audible, just enough to be irritating as he talked about the possibility of shrinking crop subsidies and lower oil prices now that the general election was history. Wyatt wished he had a beer as he waited to be called to dinner, but there were no beers in the fridge. Not any more. He felt the urge to do something outrageous, just to relieve the tension. That’s how he’d gotten in so much trouble when he was a kid. Hell, he still got into trouble sometimes when he was bored. Maybe he hadn’t grown up much at all, despite fifteen years and unbelievable success.
Then he remembered Cassie’s request, and asked, “Do you have any horses here?”
“Not these days. They’re too much trouble.”
“My assistant wants to ride. I’ll call the Brodys to see if they have any gentle mounts. I don’t want her thrown or spooked. She’s only ridden once, as a child.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“No, Dad. She’s my assistant. Purely professional.” His dad had a hard time accepting the idea of women in career positions. He assumed women were only looking for boyfriends or husbands.
“Dinner’s ready,” his mother finally announced, and Wyatt practically launched himself from the recliner.
They ate in polite silence interspersed with polite conversation. He even used his best table manners.
“I’m planning a welcome-home dinner party for you on Thursday night,” his mother announced just before dessert. “I was sure you didn’t have anything planned.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t have. That’s too much trouble. I doubt anyone will want to come to a party on a weeknight.” Him, especially.
“No, I checked, and everyone is delighted. And we can’t have it on the weekend. Almost everyone will be busy Friday night with last-minute preparations for the parade on Saturday afternoon.”
“How many people are coming to this party?”
“I believe we have nineteen acceptances and two maybes, so it’s just a small get-together. Just a buffet dinner and dessert to welcome you home.”
“Okay,” he said, trying not to sound petulant as he stacked dishes to carry into the kitchen. “Mostly your friends, right?”
“Actually, I’ve invited some of your friends, also. James Brody and his wife, Sandy. She’s new to town. Cal Crawford and his wife, Christie, who owns the motel as you probably know. Cal received a Purple Heart for his service in Afghanistan. He’s a little older than you, but you remember him from high school, right?”
“Yes.” Wyatt paused at the doorway to the kitchen. “Anyone else?”
“Why, yes. I’ve asked our mayor, of course. Toni Casale.” His mother raised her penciled brows as she lifted the cover from a crystal cake plate. “She’s still single, you know.”
Wyatt forced a completely neutral expression. “You don’t say.” He turned and walked into the kitchen. Having a bunch of his parents’ friends was pretty bad;