Wildflower Bride in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

thought the military would need to contact someone anyway. “And Brighton Security is where I work.”

      “But that’s—” His mother still sounded confused. “Isn’t that Angie’s last name?”

      “Angie?” Tyler didn’t understand. “You mean Angelina?”

      Even in high school, Angelina had never allowed anyone to shorten her name. Not that many tried. He turned to look at her now.

      “I didn’t want to be different,” she said. “Everybody here is Amy or Susie or Mary or something short. Even your mom is Gracie Stone.”

      All he could do was shake his head. Here Angelina was, a bona fide rich society woman, and she wanted to sound like she’d grown up in Dry Creek. Kids here spent their summers dreaming about going to the big city. He could suddenly sympathize with her father. Mr. Brighton had worked for decades to give his daughter every advantage possible, and all she wanted was to blend into a small Western town like Dry Creek.

      “I think I need to sit down,” Tyler said as he walked over to the chair Wade had been sitting in. He looked at his brother. “I hope you don’t mind.”

      “Anything for you,” Wade said.

      Tyler closed his eyes, feeling tired. The doctors had warned him he’d have some bad days for a while, even before he began his physical therapy. He doubted they’d counted on this kind of a day, though.

      “I should make you some tea,” his mother said.

      Tyler nodded, not bothering to open his eyes.