“You don’t mind, Jake,” Em said, “do you?”
“No,” he said, “of course not.”
His brothers saw right through the polite response. They exchanged a look.
“You ladies can have him later,” Caleb said. “What he needs right now is a cold brew. Right, my man?”
What he needed was to get the hell out of here, especially because he knew what would happen once he stepped fully inside the room, where the lights were brighter and the crowd could get its first good look at him, but why add cowardice to his other sins?
“Unless,” Travis said quickly, “baby brother wants champagne. Or wine.”
Jake looked at his brothers. They were throwing him a lifeline, a way to grab hold of the past by segueing into an old routine.
“Champagne’s for chicks,” he said, the line coming to him as readily as his next breath. “Wine’s for wusses.”
“But beer—” Travis said solemnly.
Caleb finished the silly poem. “—is for real men.”
Jake could almost feel his tension easing.
They’d come up with the doggerel years ago. It had been valid when they were in their teens. Not anymore. They’d all grown up; they’d traveled the world and, in the process, their tastes had become more sophisticated.
Travis even had a wine cellar, something they teased him about unmercifully.
Still, a cold beer sounded good, almost as good as the memories dredged up by the silly bit of shtick.
“A cold beer,” Jake said wistfully. “A longneck?”
“Does real beer come in any other kind of bottle?”
The three Wildes smiled. And moved from the porch into the room.
“Hell,” Jake muttered.
He’d forgotten the crowd. The lights.
The reaction.
People gasped. Slapped their hands to their mouths. Whispered to the person beside them.
Jake could have sworn that all the air in the big room had been siphoned away on one deep, communal inhalation.
“Crap,” Caleb muttered. Travis echoed the sentiment, though with a far more basic Anglo-Saxonism.
“It’s okay,” Jake said, because if ever there’d been a time when a lie was a good thing, it was now.
A surge of partygoers surrounded him.
He recognized the faces. Ranchers. Their wives. The couple who owned the hardware store, the town’s pharmacist. The owner of the local supermarket. The dentist. Teachers who’d known him in high school, coaches, guys he’d played football with.
Most of them had recovered their equilibrium. The men stuck out their hands. The women offered their cheeks for kisses.
All offered variations on the same theme.
Jake, it’s wonderful to have you home.
“It’s wonderful to be home,” he answered.
Another lie, but what was he going to say? No, it’s not wonderful? I can’t wait to get the hell out of here? I don’t belong here anymore, I don’t belong anywhere?
“Just keep moving,” Travis muttered.
Jake nodded. One foot in front of the other …
Who was that?
A woman. Standing all the way in the rear of the big room, near Em’s piano.
He’d never seen her before.
If he had, he surely would have remembered her.
Tall. Slender. Dark hair pulled away from her face. An oval face that held a faint look of amusement.
In a sea of blue denim and pastel cotton, she wore black silk. Sexy black silk …
The crowd swelled, shifted, and he lost sight of her.
“You ready for this?”
“Ready for…?”
“The next bunch,” Travis said, jerking his chin toward the larger crowd ahead.
“The cheers of your million fans,” Caleb added, working hard for a light tone.
Jake forced a laugh, as he knew he was meant to do.
“Sure.”
Two lies in two minutes. Had to be a record, even for him.
“Then, let’s do it,” Caleb said. “’Cause the sooner we make it to the end zone, the sooner we can get those beers.”
A second laugh was more than he could manage. He smiled instead, took a deep breath and let his brothers lead him forward.
The crowd swallowed him up.
He shook more hands, returned more smiles, did his best to ignore the glitter of tears in the eyes of some of the women, said, Yeah, it was good to be back and Absolutely, it had been a long time and finally, mercifully, he, Travis and Caleb reached the long trestle table that held platters of barbecued ribs and chicken wings alongside tiny sandwiches and bowls of tiny grilled vegetables.
“Real food and girl food,” Caleb said, and this time, Jake’s laughter was genuine.
“And the holy grail,” Travis said, pulling three long-necked bottles from an ice-filled copper tub.
Jake took one, nodded his thanks and raised the bottle to his lips.
“Wait!” Caleb touched his bottle first to Travis’s, then to Jake’s. “Here’s to having you home, brother,” he said softly.
Was it time to point out that the toast was a little premature? No, Jake thought, and they clinked bottles, then drank.
The beer was cold and bitter, maybe what he needed to head off the still-throbbing ache behind his eye. Tension, the docs had said, and told him, earnestly, he had to learn to avoid stress.
Right, Jake thought, and took another long swallow.
“We’ve missed you.”
He looked at Travis. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Hell,” Caleb said, his voice gruff, “it just wasn’t the same with you gone. This is where you belong, Jacob.”
Okay. Jake could see where this was going.
“About that,” he began, but Travis shook his head.
“We know. You’re not staying. But you’re here tonight. Let’s just celebrate that, okay?”
The suggestion was harmless; it changed nothing. And the truth was, right now, it felt good to be with his family.
“Okay,” he said, and then he smiled and touched his bottle to theirs again. “A toast to The Wilde Ones.”
The old nickname made the brothers grin. And when Bill Sullivan from the feed store came up, clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Jake, great to see you,” Jake shook hands, said whatever he was supposed to say….
Until, in a sudden break in the crowd, he saw the woman again.
He had a clearer look at her now, and more time to savor it.
Her hair was the color of rich coffee, thick and shiny; she’d pulled it back with something he couldn’t quite make out, pins or maybe combs.
The style, if you could call it that, was simple …
So was