Twenty-seven

A gentle breeze drifted across the patio. Anna tipped her face toward it. Maybe the scent of roses and the relaxing vibe would put Martha at ease. Wyatt brewed a fresh pot of coffee, set out some frozen coffee cake, and adjusted the outdoor chairs around the table. Now they just needed Martha.

Anna sipped her coffee, thinking about the cabin. "I can't remember my father, but the memory of the tree house made me wonder."

Wyatt settled his cup on the glass tabletop, then folded his arms against its edge, leaning in as if her words mattered.

So she shrugged, not sure she wanted to reveal more. "Mother never spoke of him."

Was that him in the memory under the tree? Was he dead or alive?

"Didn't you ask?"

"Not really." She traced a finger over the rim of her coffee mug. "For some reason, I always assumed he'd died when I was a young child."

If not, why didn't her mother want her to know anything about her father? It was yet another secret hidden in the past.

A sorrowing smile tugged at her lips. "In my mind, I always created some type of imaginary father. I even dreamed of finding out he was a wonderful man of great character and he'd been looking for me and my mother."

He reached over and touched her hand, stilling her finger's endless rounds over the coffee mug. "I guess it's a universal feeling. A child wanting to know their parents, to be loved and feel safe."

Yes, that's what she'd always wanted. To feel valued and unconditionally loved. Her mother loved her unconditionally, but she maintained a small barrier to be strong. There wasn't true honesty. Did Anna now hold back from Wyatt because she only knew how to be strong, not how to be vulnerable, like her mother's example? She shook off that thought and laced her fingers through Wyatt's. "I'd imagine that, due to some unfortunate event, he hadn't been able to locate us. In my childish creativity, there was always some type of obstacle. He'd be wealthy or wonderful in some other magical way, and he'd arrive and rescue us from our struggles."

She squeezed his hand. "Maybe that's the reason I can't ignore the letter. I initially resisted responding because it was so similar and familiar to what I always hoped for."

Now the reality of having no one left weighed on her. Atticus was not loving, and he wasn't going to be her family.

How surprising, this renewed longing for a family. Maybe it was all the recent events—reconnecting with Wyatt. Sandy was genuinely kind. Anna's mother had always been wonderful, but she had barriers. "I've never felt a strong connection with anyone else before I returned to Boise and reconnected with you."

There. She'd said it. He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed a knuckle.

And she allowed herself to dream and hope a little. How she wanted him to be all that he seemed!

But his recent behavior alarmed her. Her heart pleaded that there was no big reveal coming or some type of mystery surrounding him. Did she dare to hope for all that? Yes, she dared!

He sank back in his chair and released her hand. "I've been meaning to search the internet for what happened to the man shot at the airport."

"I did try a couple times after the incident, but I never saw anything. Maybe it was too soon. I never looked again."

He opened his search engine and typed in a few keywords. Frowned, erased them, and typed again. "What day was it?"

She twisted her mouth and said the date.

"I found something." He sat up straighter. "One of the news stations has a small article." He brought his chair around beside hers and held his phone so she could also read.

Police are investigating an apparent murder at Bush Intercontinental Airport. The incident happened near a boarding gate inside the terminal. The victim, a man in his thirties, appeared to have a single stab wound and died before emergency personnel arrived. The victim's name won't be released until relatives have been notified.

Airport security and police are working together to review camera footage to identify a suspect and determine how the weapon breached security. The investigation is currently ongoing.

Update: Police have released the name of the victim. Frank Trent of Roseburg, Oregon. More details will follow as they become available.

"The man was stabbed. And he died." Anna shivered. "I knew something unfortunate had happened to him, but seeing this in print somehow makes it real."

He was sitting right next to her. Just like Clyde was standing right next to her. And now, Wyatt was sitting right next to her. She hugged her arms around herself. "You're right. We shouldn't be out in public."

She'd never get used to all this. Could Martha provide some answers? The letter and Martha played roles.

"That's two men, Wyatt. Both right next to me—both dead. I don't understand all this."

Wyatt slipped closer and put his arm around her. She felt his strength, felt as though she wasn't alone. And shivered harder. Would he be next? How many men who'd been right next to her would die?

She looked up at him, almost overwhelmed by his presence. She wanted to trust him, yet she was now cautious.

He pulled back enough to pat her shoulder. "Do you have any missed calls or messages?"

"Oh! My phone's still in my purse." She went inside and wiggled the phone out of the side pocket and hurried back. "One missed call. Martha, of course. She left a voicemail about ten minutes ago."

Anna dropped into a chair and put the message on speaker.

"Anna, I'm on my way but running a little late. A great deal's going on at the house. But I gave my word, so I'll be there soon."

They both let out a pent-up breath. This gave them a rare laugh. Something they needed.

Then there was a knock on the door.

"She's here."

Wyatt opened the door and escorted her out to the patio, Martha's steps slogged. Her lips pressed tight beneath eyes smudged with sleeplessness, her black blouse rumpled, and her pearls missing.

Anna sat up straighter. Not daring to provoke the woman, she took a deep breath to maintain her calm so her questions would be answered. This might be her only chance left.

"Well, I made it." That wasn't the sweet, concerned Martha's voice. This was something entirely different.

"Thank you for meeting us. Would you like something to drink?"

Martha shook her head, then frowned. "Yes, I'll have coffee, two sugars, no creamer."

"You look like you could use a cup of coffee." Wyatt jumped up before Anna could move. He returned with the pot, sugar, and a cup before Martha was fully settled.

"Well?" Martha drummed her fingers on the glass tabletop. "You asked me to come, and I'm here. I was surprised you asked me to come to your house, I'll admit."

Great. That foul attitude wasn't helping things. Anna exchanged a look with Wyatt and then looked directly at her. "Have you learned anything more about who wrote the letter?"

Martha rolled her eyes. "We already had this conversation. I've told you all I know."

Wyatt topped off his coffee and filled Anna's cup.

Hmm. Caffeine probably wasn't such a good idea. Those drumming fingers picked up their intensity, and Martha's whole body seemed to vibrate. Maybe it was yesterday's news or something else. Maybe she was ready to have some peace. She stirred her drink and took a generous swallow, then clattered it back to the table. "Clyde helped get you upstairs that day. He's been around the house more than usual this month. Now he's dead."

Clyde was there that day? Anna's gut twisted. "The man at the airport, Frank Trent, and Clyde Beason, Bessie's son, sat next to me during my travels. Now they're both dead. Was the man at the airport the man you hired to deliver the letter at the diner? How did Clyde know where to go? What about Devlin? How did he know I was at the hotel?" Anna slowed down. Another deep breath helped her keep a calming voice. "We hope Atticus will have answers, but we want to be prepared."

"Frank Trent is dead? Is that what you're saying? I didn't know that." Martha scowled at her drink like she'd tasted something sour. Maybe she thought it was poisoned.

No one spoke.

"Frank Trent was the man you hired?" Anna asked.

Martha nodded.

Anna wasn't finished. "Why would Atticus harm the man you hired? Do you think Devlin's involved?"

"I don't know Devlin well. Atticus never cared for him, so Devlin kinda avoided the house. Honestly, that's why Devlin being named in the will is so odd."

"How do you know he's in the will?" Wyatt asked.

"I don't know for sure. Who else?"

Anna fought the urge to pound her head on the table. She wanted this for her mother, who would never know, of course, but Anna could rest easy knowing she stood tall. That whoever was behind all this was made accountable. It was something—maybe everything.

"Are we still scheduled to meet tomorrow?"

"Atticus seems eager now." Martha shoved her drink away and leaned over the table, her coffee breath fogging Anna as she came in close. "He's in rare form, and some serious things have happened. Are you sure you want to meet with him? I believed I was helping, but I was wrong. I'll let you know if I find out anything about Clyde, Devlin, Frank, or the letter. But this is over for me. It's all over."

Martha stood up, shaking her head, and started for the door. Midway there, she stopped and eyed Anna over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Anna. I was wrong."

And she was gone.

At dinner that night, Wyatt suggested a gated private restaurant not far from his home. It was owned by a friend who'd promised the secure location would provide a table in a quiet corner with floor-to-ceiling windows for a view of the mountains and the river. Sean, a former Navy SEAL, personally promised to keep a close eye on things.

Now, Anna watched the attentive hostess's reaction when Garrett walked in. All smiles and hair flips, the hostess laughed and chatted her way to their table. What girl couldn't relate to the woman's reaction to Garrett?

"I'm hungry." Garrett rubbed his hands together, taking the stress level down. "Any recommendations from the local?"

"Indeed." Wyatt opened his menu and pointed.

Anna ordered grilled fillet kebabs, fresh asparagus, and Idaho potatoes.

"Let's each choose one item to share from the dessert or appetizer section," Wyatt suggested.

"I'll choose lemon meringue pie. It's a nod to my mother and her legendary pie."

"Cheesecake for me." Garrett closed his menu.

Wyatt chose cherry pie.

The orders arrived, smelling of garlic, hickory, and spices, with the vegetables seasoned to perfection and fresh. "Hmm." Anna breathed in deeply. "Farm to table at its best."

After finishing the entrees, Wyatt dug into his cherry pie. "Nowhere makes pie like Idaho."

"Texas boy here might argue, but I gotta admit that looks good." Garrett leaned back in his chair. Not touching his cheesecake. "So, folks, your most embarrassing moments."

Anna eyed him. "Aren't you eating that?"

He winked. "I'm a doctor. Cheesecake is something I look at. I'll let the winner with the best story have some, though. Anna, you start the stories."

"Deal. Sounds like you're pretty sure you won't win." She dipped her spoon into sweet meringue and savored lemony tartness. "Okay, how's this one? One afternoon, I took an order to the wrong table."

"Lame." Wyatt scooted the plate closer, cut off a corner of Garrett's cheesecake slice, and claimed it.

"Hold up." She pointed for him to return the plate. "That wasn't the embarrassing part. That came when I spilled the order, a glass of red punch, on the mayor. And it was right before he was going to give an important televised speech! Everyone was scrambling to get that resolved. Mr. Gray almost fired me."

"Oh man." Garrett groaned and handed over his plate. "Any arguments, Wyatt, or did the lady win?"

Without waiting for a response, Anna claimed the prize. "It wasn't so funny that day. For that and other reasons, I now hate red punch."

The waiter brought the bill, and Wyatt snagged it before the guy could lay it on the table. "This meal is on me."

Garrett frowned. "You don't need to do that."

"This is me getting off cheap." Wyatt grinned. "If someone had me make an all-night house call, well, it'd be a lot."

"I did it for Anna." Garrett shrugged. When she stood and walked toward the side deck, he followed.

She touched his arm. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Anna—"

"You two ready?" Wyatt interrupted.

They both nodded.

"Why don't we head to my house?"

"Sounds good." Anna leaned closer toward Wyatt. "I'll ride with Garrett since he may have to head home soon."

Wyatt's eyes flashed, but he remained expressionless. "I'll meet you there."

At the house, Wyatt grabbed some fleece throw blankets. "How about relaxing around a warm fire in the backyard?"

"Sounds good." Anna parroted herself and took the armload from him, and soon, a fire crackled in a fire bowl, orange flames lighting their faces and warning away mosquitoes.

"What's your best advice, Garrett, to deal with an angry patient who's mean when they are about to die?" Wyatt fiddled with a fire poker. "We want to ask questions while allowing Atticus to feel in charge so he'll provide answers."

"That's the right approach. Everyone is irrational at that phase of their life, but it sounds like Atticus has a running start."

"I need to go in and check on a couple of things." Wyatt braced the poker against the bowl and pushed to his feet. "I'll be back in a minute."

Anna's eyelids drooped, the warm air and monotonous glow making her drowsy. She let out a long, tired breath. "What must you think of me? My life was boring up until recently. I promise."

"You're the same person you were, only stronger. Nothing anyone tells you about your past will change that. Use what you learn to know more about yourself and more about your family. It won't alter who you are already. Whatever the future holds, you're ready."

You're ready . What nice words. He seemed to believe them. Could she believe them?

Garrett reached over and rested a hand on her knee. "You need to work through your meeting and whatever this is with Wyatt. I would stay, but there's nothing for me to do right now. So I'll return to Grandville to see my patients."

He squeezed her knee. "I'll be here as fast as I can manage if you need me. I'm here for one reason, and that's you, Anna Stanten. I don't know why we met when we did, but there's a reason for everything. You can always count on me, but I'll give you time to make your choice. You know where I am and how to reach me."

A hot tear slipped down her cheek. Garrett was a good man—better than good. Maybe perfect. If only he were the one. Funny how the brain can point in a certain direction, like north on a compass. But the heart remains an internal magnet with a draw to someone. A force both uncontrollable and unstoppable.

"I respect and feel safe with you, and that's rare." She rested her hand atop his. "I can never thank you enough, but I'm somehow connected with Wyatt. I can't explain it or change it, even though sometimes I wish I could."

His shoulders sloped, and her heart ached. But she had to continue. "It may not be what you want to hear, but it's all I can offer. I can't tell you in words how much you mean to me and how much I'll miss you. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'd never mean to."

He slid his hand free and gave her a hug and a soft kiss on her wet cheek. She held on an extra moment. He was going back to Grandville, and that left her empty and sad. What irony that two strong, amazing men would enter her life at the same time. "I'll never forget you, Dr. Garrett Clarke," she whispered.

Then they walked inside. Wyatt wasn't in the living room. He came downstairs as they headed to the front door.

"Are you leaving?" Wyatt asked.

"Yes, I'm flying out in the morning. Thank you, Wyatt." Garrett shook Wyatt's hand. "You better treat her right and take good care of her." Garrett held on, perhaps waiting to ensure Wyatt got the message.

"I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you." Wyatt clamped his other hand atop their clasped ones. "I know you mean a great deal to her."

"Not enough, evidently."

Anna walked him to his car and wished him well. Even though the air was chilly, she remained there, watching him drive away before she went inside.

Standing in the foyer, she hugged her arms around herself. "I'm going to turn in. It's been a long day. Do you want me to pick anything up outside?"

He shook his head. "I've got it. Good night, Anna."

She grabbed her things and lumbered upstairs. It was still early, but she was tired. She thought about Garrett. She thought about Wyatt.

How could she define her relationship with Wyatt? She had strong feelings for him. But she'd never been in love, and she was still cautious with her heart. Sometimes, the magnetic force between them seemed too strong to resist, but his recent behavior frightened her.

How would things progress from here?

"Doesn't matter," she muttered flopping fully clothed onto her bed. "The next step's now our meeting with the devil tomorrow."

Wyatt knocked on her door. "Are you still up?"

"Yes." She sat, then crossed the room to open the door. Gripping the doorknob, she leaned against the door. "Garrett's leaving kind of depresses me. I'll miss him."

"I understand. He proved to be a great man and a true friend. He cares deeply about you."

She opened the door wider and gestured him inside. "Do you want to sit out on the balcony for a while? I could use some company."

He followed her through the French doors, then moved a wrought-iron chair beside hers. "I'm sorry about my behavior. I felt protective and scared and acted like a child who didn't want his parents to have a new baby." He reached over and stroked her hair and then touched her cheek. When she didn't protest as he tipped her face up, he leaned over and kissed her. With one kiss, then another, he lingered near her lips, kissing her again with building passion.

Breathless, he drew back and rested their foreheads together. "Let's look at the stars and dream of life beyond all this. Maybe a life with a little calm at the cabin."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and shared his dream of a life beyond all this drama. She felt like she was home. She belonged here.

But would all that change tomorrow?