Dandelion Wishes. Melinda Curtis

off her chest.

      Will must have sensed her defeat because he pulled her deeper into the trees, farther down the winding path toward the river.

      And she let him.

      * * *

      “TRACY?” EMMA STEPPED out of Granny Rose’s arms. She thought she’d seen Tracy in the trees, her blond hair catching a ray of soft sunlight. Emma ran down the front stairs and into the eucalyptus grove bordering the river. “Tracy!”

      But it wasn’t Tracy who awaited her. It was Will.

      Beneath the trees, he exuded none of the golden-boy aura she’d admired on Parish Hill. He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running. But his blond hair didn’t glisten, his skin didn’t radiate vitality and there wasn’t a fleeting shout of laughter as when he’d first seen her this morning.

      “How can you dance?” The anger in Will’s voice thrust barbed points at Emma, bringing her to a halt. “You were dancing like you were happy.”

      The emptiness that never receded completely expanded inside of Emma, filling her with a bleakness that welled into her eyes and threatened to overflow. But she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of Will. “I wish I could make you understand. Part of me cringes every time I feel a hint of happiness because I caused the accident that nearly killed Tracy. Me.” She tapped her chest. “I carry that with me every day and I always will. But I was trying to make my grandmother happy just now. I owe it to her.”

      Glaciers were warmer than Will’s expression.

      “So if I was smiling, if I looked happy, I’ll admit, there may have been a moment when the music swelled and I felt hope. Hope that I’d finally see for myself that Tracy is okay.” She searched the area again for any sign of her friend, but she was gone. “I’d switch places with Tracy and take on all her suffering if I could. It would mean the world to me if she forgave me, but she doesn’t have to. Whatever she thinks, whatever she feels, I’ll honor that, but she has to tell me herself. Please,” she added, feeling suddenly weary.

      Will’s gaze cast about as if searching for his arguments. Finally, he said, “Tracy was crushed when she saw you.”

      “She was here?” Emma clung to hope.

      “You upset her. She went home.” Will looked along the river toward his family’s property. “She’s hit a plateau in her recovery. She needs rest before her next round of therapy. Once her communication improves, she’ll be better equipped to handle the stress of the everyday world.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “And people like you.”

      “Me?” Emma stepped back.

      The edge returned to his voice. “People like you don’t look before they leap, you don’t think about the burn you’ll get twirling near the fire. You and your grandmother get a whiff of excitement and off you go, without considering the consequences.” His gaze returned to the river. “But people like Tracy, like my father and me, we have to be careful of every step we make.”

      Will was referring to something other than the car accident. He’d been fifteen and Tracy eleven when their mother died at work. Mrs. Jackson had been a frequent Sunday visitor at Emma’s house, taking part in Rose’s theatricals along with Emma, Tracy and, occasionally, Will. Emma had loved Mrs. Jackson’s infectious laugh, her boundless energy, her joie de vivre. She and Granny Rose were like sisters and Emma had wanted to be just like them. And she had, up until the accident.

      After his mother’s death, Will had seldom left his computer except to haul Tracy back home for supper or away from whatever mischief the two girls had gotten into. He’d never come over for Sunday theatricals unless forced. He’d started treating Emma as if she had a contagious disease.

      She hadn’t realized. She hadn’t known.

      This was why Will had shunned her all those years, treating each trip or excursion she and Tracy took as if it was hazardous. This was why Will had kept her away from Tracy, because he thought she’d hurt Tracy worse than she had in the accident. He planned to cocoon his sister the same way he’d cocooned himself, burying himself in work instead of living life to the fullest.

      Emma wanted to tell him, I don’t leap without looking. But he wouldn’t believe her. He’d spent nearly fifteen years forming an impression of her as someone he and his sister should avoid. Emma wanted to tell him, You can’t cover yourself in bubble wrap the rest of your life. Instead she said, “You can’t hover over Tracy the rest of her life.”

      “Why not?” He held himself very still, as if he wanted to be swayed by her logic.

      “Because she deserves the right to choose her own road, be it safe or risky.”

      Will shook his head. “She tried your way, Emma. It’s better if she stays on my road from now on.”

      “Don’t do this.” Emma touched his shoulder as he turned to go. “You’ll lose her.”

      Will turned back, his gaze anguished. “Can you guarantee I won’t lose her if I let her go her own way?”

      Emma couldn’t. No one could.

      CHAPTER SIX

      WILL WAS THE first to arrive in the small, one-hundred-year-old church where the town council held its meetings. He’d tried all afternoon to shake off Emma’s warning that his form of protection would push Tracy away. He’d attempted to forget the sincerity in Emma’s explanation, to ignore how listening to her threatened to erode his sense of purpose. What he felt didn’t matter. Keeping Tracy safe did.

      Would Tracy forgive her, even if Will couldn’t? He feared the answer was yes.

      The meeting started in less than an hour. Will forced himself to shut out thoughts of Emma and concentrate on the task at hand. He needed the council to set aside their no-growth policy and rezone their land for commercial use so that Harmony Valley could thrive another one hundred and fifty years.

      No sound disturbed the church. The sun elbowed its way through the grimy side windows, past ancient wooden pews, flooding the entry with dust motes and light. The church had been built so the morning sun would illuminate the minister delivering his sermon. The altar was shadowed now and the place smelled musty. No matter. Will planned to set up his laptop and projector so his PowerPoint presentation could be seen on the wall behind the now-gloomy pulpit.

      Flynn and Slade came in behind him, their feet echoing on the wooden planked floor.

      Slade paused to give each of them a brief once-over. It wasn’t every day Flynn and Will wore suits and ties.

      “About time you guys showed some class.” Slade approved their outfits with a nod.

      The three men proceeded up the aisle to set up the presentation.

      While they worked, nerves wavered in Will’s gut. There was more at stake than a new business venture, but he had to appear confident and put forth their strongest arguments.

      Once the laptop was powered up, the projector connected and the PowerPoint presentation showing on the front wall, Will flipped through a few pages, including their architectural renderings of the new buildings. Since the wall behind the pulpit had been plastered over, it wasn’t the smoothest of screens or the sharpest of images, but everything was visible.

      “Oh. My. God,” Tracy said from the back of the church.

      “I thought this was a small winery,” their dad added, coming in behind her. “And why does it look like a mission? The Franciscans never settled this far north.”

      “The mission style says California.” And Will liked how the arches resembled those at Stanford—orderly, established, impressive.

      “Wrong. For H-H-Harmony. Valley. Too big.”

      “There goes another supporter,” Slade muttered.

      “It’s not too big.” Will spared Tracy a glance