Wishes at First Light Read online

  “I’m Mia.” Briefly she debated lying, but what was the point? Erin Finley didn’t seem like the type to call the school to rat out a kid for skipping class. “And I’m a sophomore at Crestwood.”

  “A sophomore?” Erin set down her coffee with a thud, sloshing a little over the rim and not even noticing. Her eyebrows arched, eyes wide. “No wonder you’re trying to deflect attention. You must have to beat the boys away with a stick.”

  If only she knew how right she was. Visions of Mia’s manipulative bastard of a foster brother came to mind from two years ago. It had taken more than a stick to make him stay out of her bedroom. He had been intimidated by the kitchen knife she started keeping under her pillow, but after that, he began threatening to touch other girls when Mia wasn’t around to protect them.

  Like her younger foster sister, Nicole.

  “It’s not that bad, but—”

  “Honey.” Erin must have felt the coffee that she’d spilled on her hand because she reached for a napkin and mopped off the counter and her fingers. “I went to high school once upon a time. So say no more. I consider it my civic duty to dress you in a way that makes you feel most comfortable.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she rushed to explain, panicking at the idea of paying for a whole outfit. “Really. I mostly just need a comfortable tee that doesn’t cling, if you have anything like that on sale.”

  But Erin was already shaking her head and moving toward the back door. “I literally have ten times as much inventory as any store at the mall because I run a ‘Dress for Success’ program and collect donations in addition to my regular business.” She hit a few buttons on an alarm system, waited for a chime and then shoved open the heavy steel door. “See that RV out there? I drive it all around the state to do events that help get clothes into the hands of people who need them. I’m telling you, you walked into the place you were meant to be today.”

  Her kindness made Mia’s eyes burn. The offer was so generous and seemed so heartfelt. Would it be wrong to take that kind of help?

  “I’m not—” her words hitched on a lump in her throat “—like, needy, or anything.”

  Erin stood motionless for a long moment, still holding the door open while cold air blew into Last Chance Vintage and rock music drifted out. Slowly she let the heavy door close as she straightened.

  “I understand. But we are all ‘in need’ of something sometimes. Right now you’re in need of my awesome fashion advice and design guidance.” She used her hands to gesture back and forth between them. “I’m in need of exercising my weird skill set for something more worthwhile than painting another birdhouse to add to the twelve I’ve made this month.” She shrugged so hard her shoulders hit her hoop earrings. “Why not have a fun day and we’ll both play hooky from our regular work?”

  “You think it would be fun to find clothes for me?” Mia had never had fun in a clothing store. First, because she was too poor to afford much of anything. And then, in the last two years, because she could never find anything that fit well.

  “I’ve already got a half dozen things in mind that will downplay your wealth of feminine assets without making you look like an old lady. I’d be sad if I didn’t get to at least test my theories and see if I can find you some cool things.”

  Mia wanted to say yes. She liked Erin Finley. For that matter, she wished she could dress half as well as this woman.

  “I can’t take a handout.” She needed to be able to look herself in the mirror after all. And she knew that whatever “Dress for Success” program Erin ran, it wasn’t geared toward teenagers. “I could go on a payment plan, maybe?”

  Pete insisted she take some of the money from his social security every month, putting it in a bank account with her name on it when she’d refused. It wasn’t a lot, but if she could put a little of that toward the clothes, over time, she’d be able to get some things.

  “You could pick up some weekend hours here, if you want. I need help sorting the clothes all the time. My sister likes to do it, but she won’t let me pay her—”

  “You don’t like a handout, either,” Mia observed, hoping she hadn’t come across like a smart-ass.

  “I guess I don’t.” Erin grinned, the smile lighting up her eyes and making them a paler shade of blue. “Have we got a deal, then? You go home with a wardrobe to keep the boys’ eyes in their heads, and I get free labor for a few weekends until we can call it even.”

  Mia set down the coffee mug and held out her hand. “Deal.”

  Erin shook it, her silver bracelets jingling softly while the Rolling Stones played. “Deal.”

  Following her new friend around the store, Mia felt hopeful, excited and really glad she’d skipped school today. This was so much better than listening to the girls make up stories about what had happened in Davis’s truck last night, or hearing the boys trade ugly tales of sex acts she hadn’t committed.

  She just hoped she’d be able to stick around Heartache long enough to work off the payment to Erin for the clothes. As soon as something happened to Pete, she’d be back in the foster system and they could ship her halfway across Tennessee with no warning. At least for now she had something useful to occupy her thoughts so she didn’t spend her free time listening to her father’s monitors tick down his final days.

  * * *

  KEEP HOLDING MY HAND.

  Clayton remembered Gabriella’s request as they’d sat in the parking lot of the courthouse that morning, and he’d done his best to honor it in the hours since then. Now, after the morning’s opening arguments and a brief lunch break, they sat side by side on a bench crammed with other Heartache residents, listening while the prosecuting attorney presented his case.

  “Are you okay?” Clayton leaned close to Gabriella to speak softly in her ear while a nonessential witness who had worked for Jeremy Covington gave information about his employment at the local quarry Covington operated.

  Gabby had barely moved once they’d taken their seats, her attention completely focused on the trial proceedings. She gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod. They had chosen a spot in the back after the lunch break, knowing they would need to excuse themselves early. Yet even in the last row, the bench was crowded with people growing sweaty from the proximity and forced air heat. Outside the courtroom, the media waited just beyond the doors, eager for updates.

  He could hear them shuffling restlessly in the hallway whenever the door opened to admit witnesses.

  “We should leave when this guy steps down,” he reminded her quietly, checking his watch.

  He’d worried about her throughout the day, beginning with how pale she’d gone in the car before they entered and continuing through the opening arguments when a few small gasps alerted him that she was distressed. Still, none of the counselors’ opening arguments had mentioned her specifically, each focusing on the digital evidence found in Covington’s computer, and the kidnapping attempt that he’d made with his son six weeks ago. The son would be tried in a juvenile court at a date to be determined, his crimes minor compared to the long timeline of evidence against the older man.

  Clayton breathed a sigh of relief at Gabriella’s nod of agreement, and moments later he guided her through the waiting journalists and out into the cold November afternoon. The scent of dry leaves and maybe a coming storm hung in the air, the sky gray and heavy.

  “Would you mind driving?” she asked, pulling the single key from the pocket of the trench coat she’d worn all during the proceedings. “I didn’t realize this day would take so much out of me.”

  “Of course.” He took the key as he opened the passenger-side door for her in a parking lot full to capacity.

  Gabriella slid into her seat and he shut the door behind her then jogged around to his side before settling behind the wheel.

  “Are you sure you want to keep that appointment wi
th Mia today?” He backed out of the parking spot and headed the way they’d come, south and east, toward Heartache. The sky grew even darker in that direction. “I can take you straight back to the motel—”

  “No.” She sat up in her seat. “I’m anxious to meet her in person. Besides, she needs an advocate. Someone looking over her shoulder to make sure she’s safe.”

  He felt the rebuke in her words as the rental’s navigation system rattled off directions he didn’t need. Clayton turned the volume down.

  “I can speak to her as soon as I get this reunion with my father out of the way.” His gut tightened at the thought of facing the old man.

  A memory of Pete screaming at him for forgetting to stop at the liquor store blasted across his brain in vivid detail. The spittle flying from his lips. The unreasonable fury and the stink of his breath. Clayton had been ten at the time.

  Not exactly in the best position to purchase a bottle of Wild Turkey at the liquor store.

  “I know.” She huffed a sigh. “I didn’t mean to imply you should rush into meeting her today. I’m just all the more concerned about her after our talk last night. She’s dating with a vengeance, and I worry she’s seeking a relationship—any relationship—to fill the void in her life. She’s had so little affection and so much upheaval.”

  “If she’s not sticking with any one guy, maybe that’s a sign she won’t lower her standards just for the sake of having someone in her life.” To his way of thinking, that was a damn good thing.

  He was anxious to meet Mia Benson for himself and see what his half sister was like.

  “It would be easier to gauge if someone was keeping track of her.” Gabriella turned toward him with worried eyes. “Holding her accountable. Meeting the boys before she went out.”

  A low rumble of thunder sounded as the sky darkened even more.

  “Agreed.” He had benefitted from rules and order in Lorelei Hasting’s home, finally understanding how family operated. “I think you’re going to be impressed when you meet my foster mother at the reunion this weekend. She was always good about keeping track of our friends and making sure she knew who we were with.”

  “I’m sure I met her long ago.” Gabriella frowned as big, fat raindrops splatted across the windshield. “I have a memory of dark curly hair and lots of energy. But I guess I could just be remembering her from the pizza shop.”

  The Hasting family still ran the local pizza parlor. Clayton had put in a lot of hours making pies as a teen.

  “Lorelei’s a dynamo. She has a lot to offer kids like Mia.” Which was why Clay still strongly believed his half sister would be better off in a more family-oriented environment like that where she would get the skills needed to survive on her own.

  At sixteen, Mia would be on her own soon enough.

  “But you lived the kind of life Mia has been through,” Gabriella retorted, shifting on the vinyl seat of the rental car to face him. “You have a lot to offer her, too.”

  He could feel the pressure of her expectations—her disappointment in him—in the center of his chest.

  “I don’t have that same need to save people that you do. I admire what you do through the website, Gabby. You survived traumatic experiences and use your understanding to help others. I think that’s great.” He was glad to know that old fighter spirit he’d seen in her as a teen was still alive and well, if channeled a bit differently. “But my track record for saving anyone besides myself?” He shook his head while he turned up the windshield wipers. “It sucks.”

  “Why do you say that?” She switched on the defogger for him, a button in an odd spot in the middle of the rental car’s dashboard. “I mean, you found all your other siblings except for Mia, so I know you went to a lot of trouble to try and heal your family.”

  “Long after it was too late to do much more than introduce them all to each other and let them see what a vastly screwed-up bunch we are.” His hands tightened on the wheel as he slowed the car down. Visibility was crap.

  “You turned out well,” she persisted.

  Of course, she didn’t have all the facts.

  “I turned out okay.” He’d survived it all, sure. “But the brother who needed my protection most didn’t fare so well. Eddy, the one I was closest to—” The old grief could still bring him to his knees, surprising him with its fierce grip. Clay breathed deep. “He went to prison for stealing a car and drug possession.”

  Stupid kid stuff. Clay had been so furious with him when he found out he’d been arrested.

  “But he’s still young. I’m sure—”

  “He was knifed in an inmate uprising four years ago.” He needed to say it that way. Flatly. Factually. It helped keep his heart in his chest. “He’s dead.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  REVEALING HIS YOUNGER brother’s death to Gabriella stirred up old resentments about his family, which was probably not a good way to spend his time right before seeing his father again. Old memories crowded his head, reminding Clayton of all the ways Pete Yancy had neglected his kids.

  The guy must have really made a convincing argument to child protective services to talk them into custody of Mia.

  Now, half an hour later, Clayton took a deep breath as he stood on the sagging front porch of the dilapidated cabin just outside Heartache. What the hell was he doing at his dad’s place given the way they’d parted the last time? Clayton had sworn he’d never see him again after the bender that had landed his dad in jail for public indecency and put an end to a year’s sobriety. He hadn’t posted bail for his father. Had been unmoved later when Pete came to see him and told him he’d gone off the wagon because of Eddy’s death. That had ripped it for Clay—that his father would go back to booze because of Ed’s death when having alcoholic parents was half the reason Ed had a messed-up life.

  When Clay told Gabriella that his brother was gone, she’d said all the right things. Reminding him what a warmhearted, compassionate person she remained in spite of the hardships of her own early years. Despite the hellish day she’d had sitting behind her attacker in the cold and impersonal courtroom. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the trial on the way to Pete’s even though he had tried to ask her about it. Once he’d pulled into Pete’s driveway in the rain, he and Gabriella both got out of the car and she took his spot in the driver’s seat. She’d offered to pick him up afterward, but he assured her he would find his own way back to the motel. She’d left him there for his reunion with his father while she sped off to see Mia. But not even Gabriella’s kindness could erase the resentment he felt toward Pete—all the more so because his father had hurt Eddy in the brief years that Clayton’s brother had been with them.

  Bastard.

  He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, while the rain splatted against the aluminum porch roof. He willed the thudding ache to go away before he knocked on the front door. To no avail.

  His temples throbbed harder.

  By the time he raised his knuckles to the thin plank of wood that served as a front entrance, Clayton itched with the old restlessness that had plagued his youth. He’d spent a lot of years being ready to run at any given moment.

  When no one answered the door, he tried the lock, the rain spitting sideways against his back even though the porch had a small roof. There was no car in the narrow gravel driveway out front, but that didn’t mean much. If money got tight for Pete, the repo men took whatever he had, starting with his car.

  “Anyone home?” Clayton called into the dimly lit interior, his back chilled from the rain and wind.

  A whiff of bleach and burnt toast greeted him from inside the house, the former surprising him since Pete never cleaned. Clay’s voice echoed back to him after rolling around the vacant walls of a drafty living room furnished with a threadbare love seat and a wooden dining room chair across from an old-fashioned t
ube television on a milk crate. Behind that a hospital bed sat surrounded by equipment. An oxygen tank and mask hung on a hook over the metal headboard. A blood pressure cuff and heart monitor were slung over a side rail, a small bedside machine blinking with the latest reading of each.

  Pete had only bought this house a few years ago, after Eddy’s death, so Clayton had never seen it. When he’d been growing up, they lived closer to Franklin, making the Hasting home in Heartache a real refuge for him. Vaguely, he wondered what had brought Pete to this area.

  “Back here,” a thin voice called from deeper in the house.

  The sound of his father’s voice tightened the knot of tension bunching up his shoulders. Clayton stepped onto the welcome mat and wiped his feet before stalking down the short hall. He flipped a light switch on as he arrived at the kitchen and dining area in the far end of the house.

  The scent of something burning was stronger here. A white slot toaster still smoked on the warped laminate countertop in the L-shaped kitchen. Pete Yancy, monster of his youth, sat on the linoleum floor in a well-worn flannel bathrobe, one house slipper on his right foot and the other nowhere in sight. Shrunken and thin, his father had a yellow cast to his pale skin. And even though it had only been three years since Clayton had seen him, it felt like thirty given how much Pete had aged.

  “It’s my long-lost son. Just in time to have a good laugh at my expense.” He spread his emaciated arms wide and the movement opened his robe enough to reveal a concave chest and prominent clavicles through a stained T-shirt. “See what old age does to a body?”

  “Makes you forget how to toast a slice of bread?” Clayton asked drily, not in the mood for a sentimental reunion with a man he hadn’t wanted to see in the first place.

  Still, he strode to the center of the kitchen and offered a hand up.

  “It only burned because I fell on my ass and couldn’t get up.” Frustrated anger threaded the words and he didn’t bother taking Clayton’s hand. Instead he flipped to all fours to try and get to his feet another way.