Wilde Love (Forever Wilde 6)

While George’s passing hadn’t surprised any of us adults, it had left the kids reeling. In the span of less than a year, they’d lost Grandma, Grandpa, and Mama. My heart was broken for them, and knowing that the only cure for grief was time, I tried hard to distract them in order to help time pass.

Distracting the kids was easy enough. I roped Billy into some tougher chores on the ranch now that he could handle his mount as well as any other hand. The twins took charge of their granny’s vegetable garden, cleaning and prepping it for winter, and Jackie was given the task of taking care of George’s two old coon hounds. When their spirits seemed to flag, I reminded them how proud their mama would be looking down on them and how proud their daddy and I were of how grown up they’d become in such a short amount of time.

After the first two weeks of Jackie taking it hardest, she seemed to almost forget about Betsy. She was only four, so Lois Wilde’s grandmothering seemed to fill whatever maternal needs she had just fine. The twins seemed to draw strength from each other. Bossy Brenda was unusually gentle with the more sensitive Gina.

That left Billy, who seemed to have gone practically radio silent since the day we’d laid Betsy to rest.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised to come back to my house late the night of Thanksgiving to find Billy asleep on my sofa. I’d been over at the farm, making sure the chickens were put up for the night. Instead of driving over in my truck like I usually did, I’d saddled my horse and gone for a ride to clear my head and say my own thanks in my own way to celebrate the day.

By the time I returned Thunder to the barn and made my way back to my little house across the far pasture from the Wilde’s farmhouse, it was past eleven. I’d left a single bulb light on at the front door, but the rest of the house was dark as usual. Since my house was so deep on the ranch, I’d never even considered using door locks.

I opened the door and reached to flick on the light when I noticed the small lump on the nearby sofa. The recognizable towhead poking out from the blanket clued me in right away. I walked over and looked down at him, baby-faced and serene in the protective bubble of sleep.

After kicking off my boots and sitting down on the edge of the cushion near his hip, I reached out and brushed the overgrown cowlicks from his forehead. He looked like a mini version of Doc, and I wondered if that’s what my friend had looked like when he was that age. I’d seen pictures, of course, in Lois’s albums, but it was different seeing Billy here in the flesh and in full color.

After a few moments of listening to his steady breathing, I stood up to cross to the kitchen to use the phone. If Doc or the senior Wildes knew Billy was missing, they’d be frantic.

But when I reached for the handset, I thought about a midnight call tearing through the sleepy silence of the farmhouse and terrifying everyone who’d already had more than their fair share of stress lately. I decided to leave Billy asleep and walk over to tell Doc where he was instead.

I slipped my boots back on and stepped quietly out of the house. The late-November night air was frigid but clear, and I wondered where things would be when the weather turned warm again. Would the family be any better? Would Betsy’s memory have softened by then into a fond recollection more than a jagged sharp edge tearing at all of our hearts? I missed her dearly. By the time she’d died, she’d been one of my closest friends, and she’d loved me fiercely. She’d never once shown an ounce of jealousy when any of the kids had flocked to me in a crowded room over her.

I loved her for loving me and for giving me the best home I’d ever had. She’d accepted me with open arms and made me feel welcome. They all had. Lois and Stan had done their best to make me feel like a part of their family. But I wasn’t part of their family. And that had become clear when I hadn’t felt welcome at the Thanksgiving meal that day.

Before I got to the porch steps, Doc came flying out of the front door.

“I need your help,” he cried frantically, turning toward the stable. “Saddle Thunder up. Billy’s missing. I need you to help me search. Please. He’s gone, Wes, I—”

I reached out and snagged his elbow, pulling him around and meeting his terrified eyes. I held on to both his upper arms. “I have him. He’s safe. He’s asleep at my house.”