Just a Wish Away (12 page)

He gave her a look of disbelief. "And that makes you think I could fix cars?"

"You have an aptitude for grease," she said with a smile.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't think so. And I do not have an aptitude for grease. You just didn't like to get your hands dirty."

She grinned at the memory. "You're right. I didn't. Okay, so here's another idea -- what about police work? You said you were in military intelligence, and Drew is obviously happy to have you help out on this case, maybe you could be a cop." As she made the suggestion, she found herself liking the idea. Braden would be a great police officer. He was smart, strong, and he had a tough edge to him, especially now that he'd grown up and served in the military.

"Stop trying to find a job for me, Alexa."

"Come on, think about it. You have an air about you now that says,
don't mess with me
. That could work well for you as a cop."

"If that's my air, how come you're messing with me?"

She shrugged. "Because you were once my best friend, and I don't scare that easily. Tell me what you did in military intelligence."

"I can't. It's classified."

"Were you a spy?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I was a spy, just like in the movies. I wore a tuxedo and had a half dozen hot women following me around."

"Well, how would I know what you did? You're very secretive. That would make a good trait in a spy," she added.

"Maybe you should be in police work. You're very good at interrogation," he said.

"I could never be a detective. I would get too caught up in the most intriguing and probably outlandish scenario."

"Well, at least you have some self-awareness," he said dryly.

She smiled, liking the fact that they'd somehow ended up on a more even keel. In fact, the last few minutes of conversation had made her feel like she was really talking to her best friend again.

"I am now more curious about what you did in the service," she said.

"I didn't think it was possible for you to be more curious," he said. "And you became an accountant – really?"

"Stop questioning my choice of career. Accounting can be very interesting. Figuring out where the money came from and where it went can be just as big a mystery as anything else."

"It's just not you, Alexa. You were never about math and numbers. You told stories, you collected sea glass, you wanted to be a glassmaker."

She was surprised and touched that he remembered that. "Childhood dreams, Braden. When I grew up, I needed a job that was stable and that paid well. I wanted things to add up, to make sense, and there was a comfort to working with numbers. There weren't as many variables." She sounded incredibly boring, she realized, but at least she wasn't drowning in a world of chaos anymore.

A gleam of understanding entered his eyes. "I actually do get it, Alexa. Now that you've told me more about how unsettling your life was after the divorce, I can understand why you felt you had to protect yourself and create a stable world to live in."

"I'm glad you understand," she said, relieved she wasn't going to have to defend her job anymore, because since talking to Braden, she'd begun to realize just how far she'd drifted from her dreams. And conversations like this one were making her question all of her choices.

"So, you have a good job, what about the rest of your life?" he asked. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment."

"Why not?"

"I've been busy at work. But I've had boyfriends," she added quickly, not wanting him to think she was alone all the time.

"I'm sure you've had a lot of them."

"Just no keepers," she heard herself admitting. "It's my fault. I'm too picky and too scared. I'm not even sure I really want love in my life. It can cause so much pain. I don't want to go through that."

"Not all marriages end in divorce."

"Yours did." She immediately felt bad for the dig, but Braden took the hit with a simple nod.

"You're right. I'm the last person who should be giving advice."

"Evie told me that your wife asked for the divorce when you were in the hospital."

His lips tightened. "I hate that people talk about me."

"Is that what happened? It seems very cold."

"It's not exactly the way it went down."

"Was it a mutual decision then?"

"In the end it turned out to be," he said.

"I guess that makes it easier if you're both on the same page."

"There's nothing about it that’s easy, Alexa. I messed up. Kinley did, too. We didn't bring out the best in each other. We brought out the worst. I don't think marriage is supposed to work that way."

"Do you still love her?" The question came out before she could stop it, but once spoken, she really wanted to know the answer.

He didn't reply right away, and then he finally said, "No."

She waited for more of an explanation, but as Braden lifted his coffee cup to his lips, it was obvious he'd said all he intended to say.

"But…" she pressed.

"Alexa, leave it alone."

"I will leave it alone -- in a second. One thing I've always known about you, Braden, is that you're intensely loyal to your friends. You don't walk away from people. So if you're walking away from your marriage, then it had to be bad."

"She walked away first," he said.

"That doesn't sound mutual."

"In the end, it was. She just said the words first. And that's all I'm going to say on the subject."

Alexa sat back in her seat, pondering her next conversational move, when a young woman approached the table.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "But I want to invite you to the big fundraiser we're holding for Daniel Stone, candidate for state senator." She handed them a flyer. "We really hope you can come. Mr. Stone is an incredible man. He grew up here in Sand Harbor. Anyway, it's an Open House from 3:00-6:00 on Saturday at the Stone's house on Harbor View. There will be great food, music, and of course a Q&A session, so you can really get to know Mr. Stone. I hope we'll see you there."

"Thanks," Alexa said.

As the volunteer moved on, Alexa glanced down at the photo of the candidate. Daniel Stone was a very attractive man. He appeared to be his late thirties. He had light brown hair and brown eyes and had the look of a man who'd been thoroughly styled for the photo shoot. He also looked familiar. "I think I've seen this guy before."

"Of course you did. We used to call him Harvard and his friend, Yale," Braden said.

She met Braden's gaze. "This is the preppy college guy who had all the parties on his father's boat?"

"That's the one."

"I guess he wound up having more ambition than just seeing how many beers he could guzzle in an hour."

"Apparently. I find his fundraiser amusing though."

"Why?"

"Because he was always above everyone. Now, he wants to mingle with the little people?"

"Well, now he's trying to get votes."

"Exactly. You know, Daniel Stone is probably the same age as Jack Wellbourne's sons," Braden added, his expression thoughtful. "I think they used to run around together."

"Back to Wellbourne again. All roads seem to lead us back to him."

"It's a small town. There aren't that many roads."

"True." She set the flyer aside. "Shall we go see if the film is ready?"

He nodded and got to his feet, wincing as he did so. He was obviously still in some pain, not that he'd admit that to her.

As they moved toward the exit, the door opened and a woman walked in. She was tall and slender with short, straight brown hair, and was dressed in black leggings, a leather jacket and a pair of stylish boots.

Braden stopped abruptly. So did the woman. A tense look passed between them.

"Braden," the woman said in a voice that seemed both angry and uncertain, as if she wasn't quite sure about her reception.

"Kinley," Braden acknowledged tightly.

Kinley's gaze turned to hers. "Who's your friend?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" he countered.

"Just trying to be polite. This is a small town, Braden. We're going to run into each other."

Braden remained silent.

"I'm Alexa Parker," she said, as the woman's gaze turned back to her. "My aunt owns the antique shop."

"You're Alexa?" the woman said, as if the name meant something to her. "Well, I didn't think you could surprise me any more, Braden."

"We were just leaving," Braden said. He pushed past Kinley and out the door, leaving Alexa to follow.

She nodded at Kinley and walked out of the coffee house. Braden didn't say anything as they headed across the street, but she could feel the anger in every inch of his long, lean body. The divorce might have been mutual, but they seemed to have some unfinished business.

When they reached the opposite sidewalk, she grabbed his arm. "Wait."

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Let's get the photos."

"You don't seem fine, Braden. Obviously, running into Kinley upset you."

He pulled his arm free. "I told you I don't want to talk about her, Alexa."

"If you don’t want to talk about her, maybe you should talk
to
her," she said pointedly. "You're both really angry."

"That's usually what happens in a divorce."

"You don't have to tell me that. I was right in the middle of one." And as she said the words, Alexa realized the last thing she needed to be was in the middle of another one. Whatever was going on between Kinley and Braden was between them.

"Kinley and I have nothing left to say to each other, Alexa. Stay out of it. It's not your business." He opened the door of the drugstore and waved her in.

He was right. It wasn't her business, and she had no reason to butt in. Without another word, she headed inside to the photo counter.

* **

After paying for the pictures, they took the envelope outside and took a seat on a nearby bench. "I feel kind of nervous," Alexa said, as she pulled out the photos.

"I doubt we're going to find some big clue," Braden said.

The first few photos were shadows, blurry shots of a bedroom and what appeared to be a woman on the bed.

"Shayla?" Alexa questioned.

"It's really hard to tell," Braden murmured.

Most of the shots were over-exposed, and Alexa began to think there wasn't going to be anything helpful until she reached the last two photos. The setting was the deck of the Wellbourne house. It was evening. A small table was set for what appeared to be a romantic dinner. There were flowers and wine glasses. But who was sharing the dinner?

She turned to the last photo. There was now a birthday cake on the table, and a bunch of lit candles on the cake. There was the shadow of someone's shoulder, someone's red hair – Shayla probably. Her gut tightened. Frowning, she felt as if she were missing something that was right in front of her. "It looks like it's her birthday."

"We should find out when she was born. That might help us date these photos," Braden suggested. "Not that it matters. They don't tell us anything."

Her gaze moved across the photo once more. Her heart skipped a beat. Next to the cake was a shiny gold lighter with initials on the front. They were too tiny to read, and it was crazy to think that…

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

"What?" Braden asked. "What's wrong?"

She couldn't find the words, didn't want to finish the thought in her head, but she also couldn't look away from that lighter.

Her hand started to shake, and Braden grabbed the photo. "Alexa? What do you see that's so upsetting?"

She met his gaze. "The lighter."

"What about it?"

"It looks just like the one my father had."

His eyes widened with surprise. "Your father? What are you talking about? There must be a million lighters that look like that, Alexa."

"Including his," she said. "My Uncle Stan gave my dad an engraved lighter as a wedding gift. My father used to sneak cigarettes on the back deck when my mother wasn't looking. I watched him light up a hundred times."

"You're taking a big leap. How would your father's lighter have ended up in the Wellbourne's house?"

"Is it that much of a stretch? My father grew up here. He had friends here. In fact, he's only a few years younger than Jack Wellbourne."

"Whoa, slow down," Braden said.

His words barely registered. Her stomach turned over, as her thoughts moved from the lighter to the last few weeks they'd spent in Sand Harbor as a family. There had been so many arguments, so many times her father had walked out of the house to return hours later with no explanation of where he'd been.

"That last summer," she said aloud, "my dad would come down for three-day weekends, but something would always go wrong. My parents would fight, and then he'd take off late at night. Sometimes he didn't come back until the morning."