Reunion

Wyck had given the front of the house a wide berth and made his way to the kitchen doorway that opened into the back gardens. He'd come this way to avoid the crowds of mourners, well-wishers, and, honestly, looky-loos, who had invaded the Carrington home after the public memorial service. He wasn't ready to run the gauntlet of people from his past looking to 'catch up' after fifteen years away.

He also hadn't told his parents he was back yet, though he seriously doubted they would be in attendance at today's gathering. On second thought, however, his mother did belong to the ladies' group at the church that Mitzi ran. No matter how little Katie Crockett might have, she always said there was someone who was worse off, and it was her Christian duty to help.

Working two to three jobs over many years had aged his mom and dad before their time and it saddened him to see new lines on their faces every time he visited. Those visits had been few and far between, however, and that ate at his conscience. As did no longer carrying the Crockett name. He'd had it legally changed before he'd graduated from college. At the time, he'd wanted a complete break from the poor boy from Carrington Ridge.

He needed a new name for the successful man he dreamed he was going to become. And he had realized most of those dreams over the last fifteen years. Being able to help his family out financially over the last few had given him an immense sense of pride, even if it was as Wyck Ward and not Wyck Crockett. At least he could do that.

He peered through the large glass pane that was set in the back door before his hand gripped the old-fashioned, brass knob. What he saw had his other hand fisting at his side. Harper and the blond man were locked in an embrace, and a sweet smile played at her mouth. Jealousy spontaneously combusted in his chest before his intellect told him he was being ridiculous. He had no claim over Harper. He'd thought he'd made his peace with that years ago when she never responded to any of his letters. Apparently, a piece of his heart still carried a torch, however, and it was burning like a furnace in his chest. He rubbed at the spot trying to make the sensation go away.

Wyck had almost decided to leave when the man stepped back, kissed Harper on the cheek and left the room. He had a brief moment of indecision before taking a deep breath and opening the door. A burst of cold wind swirled into the kitchen and fluttered the hem of the black dress Harper wore. She turned. Her hazel eyes looked perplexed for only a moment before they widened in recognition. Her full lips parted into a perfect 'O' before he spoke.

"Hey, Harper," Wyck said. His voice broke a little and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Hope it's okay to come in this way. Felt funny coming in the front door. Don't think I ever have."

"Wyck? Is that really you?" Harper asked, her voice breathless.

"It's me," Wyck confirmed, taking a few steps in her direction. "How've you been?"

He gave himself a mental facepalm as the words left his mouth. Her father just died, loser, how do you think she's been? But Harper didn't seem to notice his faux pas.

"Good, you?" she offered automatically.

Wyck tried to give her a smile. "Real good. I'm sorry about your daddy," he offered. He'd hated the bastard, but he knew Harper had to be hurting, no matter how many problems they'd had between them.

Harper looked down at the floor. A strand of hair slipped from her twist and fell across her cheek. He watched her tuck it behind her ear by reflex. He remembered she was never able to keep the silky strands where she put them. They were constantly sliding from a ponytail, a bun, or a clip no matter how tight she pulled them. The memory had his lips quirking up slightly. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit pants fighting his need to reach out and feel the honey-colored locks in his fingers.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Wyck took a step toward Harper, her sadness calling to some protective instinct he'd forgotten he possessed. She stood frozen, seemingly transfixed by his face. Without thinking, his hands came out to reach for her.

In that moment, looking into Harper's hazel eyes glistening with unshed tears, the years fell away. Wyck was transported back to another kitchen, a lifetime ago. He could see her at seventeen, scared but trying to be brave after learning she was pregnant. Scared because of him, because he hadn't been man enough to stand up to her father.

Shame washed over him. She had needed him then, and he had failed her. Abandoned her. Though it was too little too late, Wyck desperately wished he could gather her into his arms now and shelter her from all the hurts of the past.

But did she still want that comfort from him? Did he even have the right to offer it? Wyck hesitated, hands extended but uncertain.

Just then, a stout woman with iron-grey curls marched into the kitchen, shattering the fragile moment. "Oh, hello," she added, her voice raised in partial question, when she caught sight of Wyck. Her quizzical look told him she was trying to place him but not succeeding. He recognized her easily, however. Mrs. Bolt looked exactly the same.

"Harper, honey, your mama is looking for you," the woman announced.

Wyck blinked, dropping his hands awkwardly. Harper took a subtle step back, composure returning. The emotional spell had broken. Wyck struggled to regain his own footing, internally cursing the interruption. There would be time later, he vowed, to finish what had been started here.

"Ma'am," he said in greeting, nodding to the older woman. His hands returned to his pockets.

Harper looked between the two, obviously torn over what she should do.

"Go ahead," Wyck told her, his chin pointing toward Mrs. Bolt. "We can catch up later."

Harper blinked then her lips quirking up in a partial smile. "Okay. Um, I'm sure I'll only be a couple of minutes. Help yourself to some food while you wait."

Wyck nodded accommodatingly as Harper followed in Mrs. Bolt's wake, however, he had no intention of waiting around in the kitchen until she returned. He didn't know what he had been thinking, coming here to see her today. She had responsibilities. There were too many people around. Too many people he had no desire to see.

Part of him was relieved she had been called away. His mind had gone blank at the sight of her. What could he say to her after all this time? And he wondered about the blond man again. He hadn't seen a ring on her finger when she'd pushed her hair from her face. Maybe not a husband, then? But people took off their rings for various reasons all the time. It wasn't a given that they weren't married or engaged.

He realized he was stalling. He gazed through the doorway Harper had disappeared through for another couple of beats before running a hand through his hair and blowing out a frustrated breath. Wyck finally took the several long steps to the back door and disappeared into the early winter dark.