God, they were beautiful, the couple who stood on their home’s front porch as Willow drove them into the driveway, in her pickup truck.
Wolf had received two units of blood and had been patched up. Ethan and Lily had been sent home from the same hospitalin El Paso with a diagnosis of false labor. Nobody, other than the cousins, had been told about Wolf yet.
Willow stopped the truck. She said, “Okay, here we go.” And she got out, and Wolf got out.
“I shouldn’t be here,” Camellia said.
“Yes, you should,” Wolf told her. “Camellia, I…there’s so much.”
“I know,” she said. “Same.” Their eyes held, and he nodded, understanding. There hadn’t been a minute to discuss what was between them since he’d awakened in the hospital.
“Soon, though,” he promised.
He got out, held the door for her. Willow was already approaching the front porch. He felt awkward and uneasy as he studied the couple from a distance. Native, both of them. The mother—hismother, Taylor Brand—was an older version of his sister, though Willow had her father’s brow and jawline. So did he.
“Hi, Mom, Dad,” Willow called.
“Welcome home, honey. Who’s that you’ve brought with you?” their mother asked. Their father, Wes Brand, was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing on Wolf.
“Mom, something miraculous happened when we went to the place where my brother’s baby blanket was found,” Willow said.
“You…went there?” Taylor looked stunned, and sent her eyes to her husband, but they returned to Willow’s when she spoke again.
“Yes. We held a ceremony for him. But…then we learned about a baby boy who was found in the river?—”
Their mother rose to her feet, her sharp gasp stopping Willow only briefly.
“It’s okay, Mom. He was foundalive, washed up on shore. He was raised by women who were off the grid by necessity.”
“Are you saying…Willow are telling me my son is alive?” she asked, but the words were mostly air. She seemed to wobble on her feet a little, and her husband’s arm tightened around her shoulders.
“Willow, if you’re not sure about this,” their father warned.
What a man he was, Wolf thought, watching his jaw clench as he held his wife nearer, as if he’d protect her from harm with his own body if he had to.
“Wolf is alive, and he’s okay, Dad. And…we brought him home. He’s right here.” And she turned to look at him.
The eyes of his parents turned toward him. He walked closer, still clinging to Camellia’s hand. The woman—his mother—released a strangled sob. Her face was soft, her mouth open, her brows so arched her forehead was an accordion. “Wolf?”
“That’s…what my bracelet says.” He raised his hand, loosely fisted, to show what he wore on his wrist.
She gasped, one hand covering her mouth. Then she launched from her husband’s arms and wrapped her arms around him. It hurt like hell and he didn’t care at all. She kept saying his name over and over in a way he’d never heard it before. “Johnny Wolf, my Johnny Wolf,” she said while stroking his head. Eventually she backed up just a little, clasping his face between her hands and gazing up at him.
Her husband appeared behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his discerning brown eyes on Wolf’s face. “Son?” he croaked.
“You look like your father,” whispered his mother.
And then the man’s eyes closed, and his head dropped backward and he said, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”
Camellia
Camellia still felt out of place as they had dinner around a big dining table in the home of Wolf’s parents, Wes and Taylor Brand, on Sky Dancer Ranch, where they raised, boarded, and trained horses.
Willow and her fiancé, Jeremiah, whom she frequently called Gringo, had sat on one side of the table with their nine-year-old Frankie between them. Camellia and Wolf sat on the other side, with the parents at either end. Wes and Taylor couldn’t stop looking at Wolf, and Camellia could feel it was making him a little uneasy.
“Earl’s been arrested,” Willow said, “but they moved him to a psych unit until they can get him stabilized.” She’d already filled everyone in on what had happened at Big Bend, keeping the scarier parts to the adults only. “That’s a national park, which makes his crimes federal. But a lot will depend on his diagnosis.” She nodded to Camellia. “I gave them your Detective Simms’ contact info like you asked, told them about his recent girlfriend.”
“I think his mental health has been declining for a while, and his girlfriend’s death pushed him over the edge,” Camellia said. “I’m glad he’s getting help.”
