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The Lost Daughter Of Pigeon Hollow
Inglath Cooper


Willa Addison doesn't believe in fairy talesShe's too busy running her mother's diner and raising her wild teenage sister. She doesn't like to dwell on the dreams she once had, dreams she put on hold. Then Owen Miller walks into her diner and changes her life.She doesn't know what to think when Owen hands her a letter from her father–a father she thought was dead–requesting they meet. As if that wasn't enough, her sister has become more than she can handle. It's time for Willa to figure out what's happened to her life. And maybe, with Owen around, she can finally believe in happily ever after….









“A Bland County woman, twenty-three-year-old single mother Teresa Potter, was the winner of last night’s five million dollar lottery—”


“Can you believe that?” Judy asked, pointing to the TV hanging from the ceiling. “I mean, she just buys a ticket in the Mini-Mart, and presto, her life is changed overnight.”

Willa began filling a row of glasses with iced tea. “Only happens in fairy tales.”

Judy reached for a towel and began wiping down the counter. “Does that mean something good can’t happen to a person once in a while?”

“No. But I’m not going to stand around waiting for it.”

The door opened and Judy’s eyes widened. “Don’t look now, but the winning lottery ticket just walked in.”


Dear Reader,

One of the things that draws me to books is the notion that within the covers of each one exists a group of characters who, like real-life people, have made mistakes, chosen unwisely and maybe found themselves headed in a direction they hadn’t anticipated.

In our own lives, mistakes are easy enough, but second chances are sometimes elusive. We don’t always get another opportunity to make a better choice. But as readers, we can step into someone else’s world, see what happens when they get another shot.

In The Lost Daughter of Pigeon Hollow, each of my characters has a problem that needs fixing, a turning point where they must choose to stay as they are or let go of the rope and take a chance. Easier said than done! I hope you’ll enjoy watching Owen and Willa give it their best.

I love to hear from readers. Please write to me at P.O. Box 973, Rocky Mount, VA 24151. You can e-mail me at inglathc@aol.com. Or visit my Websiteinglathcooper.com.

All best,

Inglath Cooper




The Lost Daughter of Pigeon Hollow

Inglath Cooper





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my grandmothers, Vickie Perdue Holland and Mary Mullins Johnson, ladies of character and integrity.

I love you more than you can know.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE




CHAPTER ONE


PIGEON HOLLOW, KENTUCKY, was the kind of place that could never quite get past its name. No one knew exactly where the name originated. Folks said it had been somebody’s idea of a joke. Others said the original settlers in the valley had discovered a flock of albino pigeons that came to symbolize the peace the settlers had hoped to find in their new home.

Nonetheless, the current-day residents of Pigeon Hollow were aware of the initial impression the name conjured. A town full of hicks whose definition of higher education did not broaden past Sugar McWray’s Beauty School or the local community college’s night course for mechanics.

The town council had proposed changing it a number of times. But the council had never gotten past the talking stage, the consensus being that a town ought to be able to transcend its name.

Mostly, it did.

They had an unemployment factor of less than three percent; a fair number of their high-school graduates went on to college. In addition, the town boasted impressively high rates of volunteerism and a food bank that stored frozen and canned goods for families in need.

To outsiders, the town was one of those places that existed simply because it was on the road to somewhere else. For Pigeon Hollow, somewhere else was Lexington, and the international horse industry that had become as rooted there as the blue-grass pastures on which equine royalty grazed.

There were those in town who complained about that. Willa Addison wasn’t one of them. Except for a few years away at college, she had lived in Pigeon Hollow all her life, and taken over her mama’s business when she was twenty-one. A good number of those people driving through to Lexington stopped for a meal at the Top Shelf Diner.

And each of those customers increased the probability that she would be able to pay the monthly stack of bills now looming at one corner of her kitchen counter.

Willa turned her back to the bills, put her hand on the wall-mounted telephone, debating. Should she call or not? Wait a little longer?

Surely, Katie would be home soon.

She’d waited two hours. Long enough that her stomach had begun to feel as if it had a hole in it.

She glanced up at the clock above the sink. Ten minutes past twelve.

And it was a school night.

She dropped her head back, closing her eyes.

She picked up the receiver and punched in Shelby Franklin’s number. “Shelby?”

“Yeah?” The response was groggy enough that Willa knew she’d woken her.

“It’s Willa. I’m sorry to be calling this late, but Katie isn’t home yet. Is Eddie in?”

Shelby let out a sigh, then said, “He don’t have to report in to me, Willa.”

Exactly. Willa pressed her lips together and counted to three. “Katie was supposed to be home two hours ago. I’m getting a little concerned.”

“He ain’t living here now, anyway.”

Great.

There was the sound of a match striking, a quick puff of a cigarette. “You see, Willa,” Shelby said, “that’s where you need to open your eyes to reality. If you had any hope of keepin’ that child on the straight and narrow, you shoulda’ locked her up a couple years back.” A crackle of laughter followed the short sermon.

Willa straightened, heat suffusing her face. “You being an expert on successful parenting?”

Shelby chuckled again, as if she enjoyed ruffling Willa’s feathers. “I know wild as hell when I see it.”

“She’s not wild, she’s just—”

“Sixteen. Don’t be too hard on yourself, sugar,” she said, placating now. “You’re not her mama. A sister shouldn’t have to be walkin’ into that role when you did, anyway.”

“If you see her, call me back, please.” Willa hung up, anchoring the phone to the wall with enough force to rattle her elbow.

The front door opened just then and shut with a bang.

Thank God.

On the heels of Willa’s gratitude was an already brewing lecture.

Katie appeared in the kitchen doorway, as casual about her entrance as if it were the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night. A study in rebellion, her hair was cropped short, peroxide blond. A swirl of silver studs covered one ear. She wore a white T-shirt whose bottom just covered her breasts and a pair of boot-cut blue jeans the top of which rode a good two inches below her navel.

She met Willa’s stern expression head on. “What?” With extra attitude.

“Where have you been?”

Katie slouched to the refrigerator, opened the door and ducked her head inside. “There’s nothing to eat in here.”

“You were supposed to be home by ten, Katie.”

“So I’m late.”

“What were you doing?”

“Studying.” The insolence in her voice instantly negated the truth of the answer.

Willa opened the dishwasher, pulled out a clean cup and carefully placed it in the cabinet above. “That’s the second night this week, Katie. You’re grounded.”

Katie dropped a container of yogurt on the kitchen counter and slammed the refrigerator door, rounding on one heel. “God, Willa, will you get over yourself? You’re not my mother!”

Hearing that from Shelby Franklin was one thing. Hearing it from Katie was another. Willa suppressed a quick flare of hurt and held out her hand. “Keys to the car.”

Katie folded her arms across her chest and glared. “They’re in the ignition.” She grabbed the yogurt, yanked open a drawer and pulled out a spoon, then stomped upstairs.

The doggy door flapped open from the hallway just off the kitchen. Sam trotted in on his stubby legs, ears lifted in question.

“Heard us from the backyard, huh?”

Sam dropped down on the rug in front of the sink, head on his paws, back legs stretched out behind him. If a dog could wear concern as an expression, Sam wore it clear as day.

His ancestry was questionable. Almost for certain there was Lab in his lineage, accountable for his good nature, Willa suspected. Some beagle as well, judging from his short legs and fondness for rabbit chasing.

He’d shown up at the back door of the diner one winter morning, looking as if he hadn’t had a meal in two weeks. It had been Willa’s intent to find a home for him, but his affable disposition had mysteriously turned to snarling intimidation whenever she’d shown him to anyone who happened to respond to the posters she’d hung around town.

She’d finally decided to keep him, and he’d been nothing but affable since.

He followed her outside now to her seen-better-days Wagoneer. McDonald’s burger wrappers and empty Coke cans littered the floorboard. Cigarette butts stuck out of the open ashtray.

The distinctly sweet odor of something other than tobacco hung in the air. Willa’s shoulders slumped beneath a sudden wearing sense of defeat. She pulled the keys from the ignition, picked up the trash, and shut the door.

She tilted her head back, drew in a deep breath. Late May in Kentucky. A neighbor’s freshly cut lawn scented the night breeze. A row of sweet-shrub divided Willa’s driveway from the house next door, adding its fragrance to the mix, the trees lining her street newly green and thriving.

Willa loved spring. Loved its freshness, its promise and the sense she always had of starting over, wiping clean winter’s gray slate.

Sam followed her to the front porch where she dropped onto the second step. He lay down at her feet.

Willa rubbed his head, scratching the spot behind his left ear that caused a hind leg to thump automatically.

“Really, Sam,” she said, defeat at the edges of her voice. “What am I going to do about her?”

Sam raised his head, whined once. “She’s going to end up pregnant or…” She didn’t let herself finish the thought.

Sam put his head on her leg and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’d like to do. Pretend I don’t see it.” She massaged the dull ache in her left temple. “But that’s not going to work, is it? When I finally do open my eyes, things will just be that much worse.”

She glanced up at the dark night sky, chin propped on her hand, elbow on her knee, and stared at the blink of a faraway airplane. She smoothed her other hand across Sam’s soft coat, her gaze following the plane’s trek below the stars. “Wonder where those people are going.”

Sam didn’t bother to look up.

“That’d be kind of nice, wouldn’t it? Just taking off. Not really even caring where you ended up as long as it was somewhere different. Live another life for a while.”

As appealing as it sounded, running away from trouble never worked. During Willa’s teenage years, her own mama had tried it a number of times, leaving Katie and Willa alone to fend for themselves. And inevitably, proving that the problems didn’t go anywhere. Somebody had to deal with them.

For Willa, the problem was how to steer Katie into adulthood without letting her disappear beneath the too-numerous-to-count sinkholes along the way.

She glanced up at the sky, the airplane now a distant speck. Thought for a moment of her own aspirations, plans she’d put aside to come back to Pigeon Hollow and raise Katie after their mother had died. Those dreams now seemed as far away as the destination of that plane.

She got up from the step, too tired to think about it anymore tonight.

The problems would still be here tomorrow. That, she could count on.

THE TOP SHELF DINER was something of a landmark in Pigeon Hollow. It sat midway down Main Street, in between Citizens’ Bank and Crawley’s Hardware.

At eleven in the morning, a sprinkling of customers sat at the square, wooden tables. But within the next forty-five minutes, the place would fill up with the lunch crowd, workers from the sawmill at the other end of town filing in for the daily special: meat loaf and mashed potatoes or corn bread and pinto beans.

Willa stood behind the front counter, filling a pitcher with iced tea. She wiped a hand on her just-above-the-knee black skirt, then glanced up at the TV hanging from the ceiling. It had also snagged the attention of Harold Pinckard and Stanley Arrington where they sat drinking a late morning cup of coffee.

“A Bland County woman, twenty-three-year-old single mother, Teresa Potter, was the winner of last night’s five million dollar lottery—”

“Can you believe that?” Judy Parker set a coffeepot back on its burner and scowled at the TV. She pushed her glasses back on her nose, only to have them slide right back to their previous position. Mid-forties, Judy barely broke the five-feet mark, weighed less than a hundred pounds and still managed to be known as a small tornado of energy. “I mean she just buys a ticket in the Mini-Mart, and presto, her life is changed overnight.”

Willa began filling a row of glasses with tea. “Only happens in fairy tales.”

Judy reached for a towel and began wiping down the Formica counter. “Does that mean something good can’t happen to a person once in a while?”

“No. But I’m not going to stand around waiting for it.”

Judy made a sound of disapproval, then moved to the sink, rinsed her towel and wrung it out. “So what would you do with it, if you believed in the lottery and if you won?”

“I don’t, and I wouldn’t,” she said, lifting a shoulder.

“Indulge me. And let’s just go ahead and assume you’d give a good portion to your favorite charity. Save the beagles or whatever it is. I want to hear about the you stuff.”

Willa smiled. “The me stuff. Okay. I’d buy a black Lamborghini.”

“You would not.”

“Hey, I thought this was my fantasy.”

“Fair enough,” Judy said, one hand in the air. “So we have one flamboyant sports car. Proceed.”

Willa squinted in thought. “Maybe a nip and tuck at one of those fancy canyon-something spas.”

Judy shot her a look, eyebrows raised. “What in the world would you nip and tuck?”

“Decrease size of fanny. Increase size of breasts.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “You barely have a fanny. If you go in for that, I’ll have to ask for the complete overhaul. So what else?”

Willa pondered for a moment. “My own tab at any Barnes & Noble. Better yet, my own Barnes & Noble with unlimited iced lattes.”

Judy made a face. “I never have gotten the whole cold coffee thing.”

“Acquired taste,” Willa said.

“Apparently. So once you’ve made the plastic surgeon rich and become the queen of lattes, what else?”

Willa began lining up another row of glasses, quiet for a moment, and then said, “Go back to school, I guess.”

Judy reached for the Curel lotion bottle beneath the counter, squirted some on her hands and began rubbing it in. “Dr. Addison. I always did like the sound of that. And you know what? That one shouldn’t have to wait around for lottery winnings.”

“Yeah, well, the chances of my ever getting to med school are about as likely as my winning the lottery.”

“If it’s about money, you could always sell this place.”

“Right now, I’ll be lucky to get Katie through high school. Med school at the same time? I don’t think so.”

“You could do it,” Judy disagreed.

“Maybe someday,” Willa said, hearing the doubt in her own voice.

“Speaking of the teenage terror, did she get home okay last night?”

Willa sighed. “After midnight.”

“That girl is gonna make you old before your time.”

Willa opened another box of tea bags. “I get a time?”

“Not if you stand around waiting for it.” Judy threw Willa’s words back at her with a pointed look.

Willa knew better than to get this particular conversation started. “I’ll be in the back paying bills.”

Thirty minutes later, she closed the checkbook, defeated as always by the dwindling funds in her account. She leaned back in the desk chair and stretched. Sam lay at her feet, snoring.

Katie. Willa hadn’t let herself think about her all morning. She’d dropped her off at school without either of them saying a word to each other.

On the subject of her sister, Willa felt as if she’d been dumped out in the middle of the ocean only to discover she couldn’t swim. She simply didn’t know how to reach Katie anymore.

And if she didn’t figure something out fast, Katie would end up derailing her entire life at the age of sixteen.

The office door opened. Judy poked her head inside, her eyes wide, her smile a little giddy. “To the front, please. Two o’clock.”

“What is it?”

Judy made a fluttering gesture over her heart.

Willa gave her a look. “The last time he was a long-haul trucker with the amazing ability to forget he had a wife.”

“This is no married truck driver,” Judy said. “This is a winning lottery ticket.”

Willa shook her head, then smiled and got up from the chair. “Okay. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

At the register, she picked up a stack of menus, straightening them. Shania Twain sang on the jukebox.

“Over there,” Judy stage-whispered.

Trying to look casual, Willa let her gaze wander to the right-hand corner of the diner. A very good-looking man sat in the booth, rubbing a thumb against a glass of iced tea, a newspaper in front of him. He wore blue jeans and a light blue polo-type shirt. His dark hair was short, and he had nice wide shoulders, well-muscled arms.

“Was I right or what?”

Willa looked back at the man. He was staring at her. Dead-on. She turned around abruptly and bumped into Judy who was holding a tray of cookies that went flying toward the ceiling. Willa and Judy both juggled for them to little avail. Most landed on the floor. They dropped to their knees behind the register, scooping up cookies and aiming them at a nearby trash can.

Judy gave Willa a smug smile. “Winning ticket, right?”

“I think I’ll just crawl back to the office now.”

Judy chuckled. “I’m sure he didn’t notice.”

They catapulted to their feet at the same time. The man stood on the other side of the register, newspaper in hand.

“Ah, sorry,” Judy said, looking as if she’d been hit with a stun gun. “All done?”

The man placed the check on the counter. “Yes. It was very good.”

Willa swung around and busied herself folding hand towels from the basket on the floor.

“Sure we can’t get you anything else?” Judy asked.

“No,” the man said. “Would you please tell the owner I enjoyed the meal?”

“You can tell her yourself. Willa?”

Willa turned then, a blush heating her face.

“Willa Addison,” Judy said. “She owns the place.”

“Thank you,” Willa said.

He nodded, holding her gaze for what felt like a moment too long. “You’re welcome.”

Judy handed him his change. “If you’re in town for a bit, come back again.”

“I’ll do that,” he said. He picked up his newspaper and threaded his way back through the diner and out the door.

Judy had the composure to wait until he was outside before dissolving into a puddle. “Oh, my. Oh, my, oh, my. What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“Greet him at the door in a garter belt and fishnet stockings?”

“There’s a thought,” Judy said with a big grin. “Although, he doesn’t seem the fishnet type.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway.”

“Not like you’ve had a lot of practice.” Judy hesitated, as if considering what she was about to say. “It’s an honorable thing you’ve done, raising Katie. But does that mean you can’t have a life? A man. Your own career choice.”

“I do have a life. But until Katie is where she needs to be, the last thing I want is another personality in the picture to muddy the waters.”

Judy hitched a thumb at the front door. “Even if it comes in that package?”

“Even if.”

“And the career thing?”

“I have the diner.”

“Not a thing wrong with it if that’s what you want.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Judy—”

“Take it from me, honey, the longer you let a dream go, the less likely it is to find you again.”

Willa opened the cash register, lifted the drawer and pulled out a stack of checks and receipts, before meeting Judy’s gaze head on. “And what about your dreams, Judy?”

“It’s a little late for me on that score.”

The phone on the counter rang. Willa picked it up. “Top Shelf. Sure, Jerry. She’s right here.”

Judy took the phone, listened for a few moments. Her expression instantly deflated. “We’ll talk about it when I get home, okay?” She punched the off button to the cordless, then handed it back to Willa.

“Everything all right?” she asked, concern threading the words.

“Same ole. Gum stuck to my shoe. No matter how much I’d like to get rid of him, I can’t seem to scrape him off.”

“You’ll scrape him off when you want to.” Willa put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “And by the way, if it’s not too late for my dreams, it’s not too late for yours.”

“Yeah,” Judy said, her expression uncharacteristically somber.

“I’ve got to run to the bank,” Willa said. “Back in a few minutes.”

“Oh,” Judy said, her voice perking up, “if that delectable man comes in again while you’re gone, maybe I’ll hit on him. How’s that for dream fulfillment?”

Willa smiled. “Have at it.”




CHAPTER TWO


OWEN MILLER SLID behind the wheel of his dark green Range Rover, shutting the door just as Willa Addison came out of the diner and crossed the street. She never looked his way, so he took advantage of the moment, sat back and watched her.

Medium height. Fair skin. Slim. Straight blond hair, tucked behind her ears, hung to her shoulders.

Very attractive. In those few moments at the register, he had seen Charles in her, mostly the eyes, the high cheekbones.

She stopped to speak to an older woman a half block from the diner. Laughing at something the woman said, she tipped her head back, her hair catching the sunlight.

They talked for a minute or two, and then Willa Addison disappeared through the doors of the bank at the corner.

Owen pulled out of the parking lot and followed the street he’d driven down earlier, spotting the bed-and-breakfast where he’d reserved a room. He turned in, parked out front and grabbed his overnight bag from the back seat.

The owner introduced herself as Mrs. Ross. A round woman, partial to flowers judging by the tulips on her shapeless dress and the magnolia wallpaper lining the foyer and stairwell, she checked him in and directed him upstairs. The room was small, but immaculately clean. The open curtains framed a view of tree-lined Bay Street.

Owen set his laptop up on the desk by the window. He logged onto the Internet, checked his e-mail, took care of a few business-related matters, then opened an e-mail from his brother.

Just thought you’d like to know, the debate continues. See attached.

Cline

Owen downloaded the file. A few seconds later, an article from the Lexington Daily Record popped up. His photo accompanied the headline Marriage Or The Farm?

The article below began:

The single days of well-known bachelor and thoroughbred commercial breeding heir Owen Miller may be numbered.

Sources say the will left by his father, Harrison Miller, provides that if he is not engaged by his thirty-third birthday—some ten days from now—Winding Creek Farm and all its subsequent holdings will revert to his younger brother, Cline Miller.

Owen clicked out of the file, disgust hitting him in the gut. He moved the cursor to Instant Messaging and typed in:

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Cline answered a couple of seconds later:

The entertainment value is huge, you have to admit.

Owen pictured his brother, seated in front of the laptop, and a wave of affection flooded through him.

For you, I suppose.

So, have you found her?

Who?

Your new wife.

I’m not looking for one.

Just pick out one and get it over with.

Like shopping for a new tie?

The noose-around-your-neck association does not go unappreciated. You know in the end, Dad always won. And besides, if you hand the mantle over to me, I’m not making any promises about maintaining the family name.

Hmm.

BTW, Pamela called. Again. Have I heard from you? Asked with notable irritation, I might add, leading me to think she hasn’t heard from you.

I’ll call her.

Good. Unless you find another prospect first.

Bye, Cline.

See ya.

Owen logged off, leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. Cline’s question wasn’t exactly out of left field. Why hadn’t he asked Pamela? She expected it, and probably had a right to. They’d been going out for a year. Her expectations weren’t unreasonable, considering his position.

When his father died three years ago, Owen had never thought the will provision would actually interfere with his life. It had seemed more of an annoyance, although totally in character, that his father would continue to pull strings, even from the grave.

Maybe Owen had assumed he would be engaged or married by this point, anyway. At least that he would have met someone who made him want to be. But here he was. Time nearly up.

Not married.

He glanced at the phone. He really should call Pamela.

But then there was the red flag. He should call her. Later. He’d call her later.

IT WAS THE PERFECT DAY to be at the lake.

Katie considered pretty much any day perfect if it involved skipping school.

Maybe the principal would eventually give up and just kick her out, putting an end to her useless arguments with Willa. A girl could dream.

A jam box sat at one corner of the dock, D-12 blasting. She could feel the throb of it through the backs of her calves. Beside her, Eddie lay staring at the sky, holding a joint between his thumb and index finger, his expression dreamy. He took another long pull. “God, that’s good stuff,” he said, his voice raspy with smoke. He passed it to her.

She took a small puff, then handed it back to him.

He laid it on the dock, turned on his side and propped up on his elbow. She looked at him through half-open eyes. He was hot, in a rebel-with-a-cause kind of way. Eddie’s cause was whatever pleased him at the moment. A few weeks ago, it had been the hammerhead shark tattoo now etched into his right bicep.

For now, it was her.

He touched her face. “Come here.”

She complied, not so much because she wanted to, but because being with Eddie fueled her need to reach for whatever it was she thought would piss Willa off the most.

For now, that was Eddie.

He leaned over and kissed her, heavy duty from the get-go. She followed him for a few moments, and he pushed her back onto the dock, half lying across her. He picked up the pace of the kissing, the lower half of his body moving in suggestion.

Her bikini top slipped. She turned her head, pulling the bathing suit back in place. “Easy, okay?”

“What? You don’t want to?”

Katie raised up on an elbow, dropped her head back and blew out a sigh.

“You’ve been a real drag all day. Maybe I should have brought someone a little more fun out here.”

“Maybe you should have.”

Eddie put a hand on her thigh, massaged the muscle, his touch experienced. “Hey, I didn’t want to bring anybody else. So what’s the deal?”

Katie sighed. “My sister. She’s such a pain in the ass.”

“She riding you again?”

“Only about everything.”

“What’s her problem? She’s pretty hot-looking for an old girl.”

She gave him a look. “Twenty-eight is hardly old.”

“You two sure are different.”

“That a compliment or insult?”

“Neither. Just seeing her down at the Top Shelf, she acts a lot older than she looks.”

“She’s been like that ever since Mom died.”

Eddie shrugged. “Why don’t you just check out of there?”

“And what? Live out of my backpack?”

“Move in with me.”

Katie frowned. “And your four other roommates?”

Eddie brushed the back of his hand against the side of her breast. “Hey, I’ve got my own bed. That’s all we need.”

“You are such a jerk.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid. I start acting like Joe Nice Guy, you’ll ditch me for sure.”

At least he knew her.

Katie stood, shucked off her blue-jean shorts, and made a clean dive into the lake.

Eddie followed. He came up gasping. “Man, it’s cold!”

“Weenie.”

He kissed her again. “I mean it,” he said. “Think about it. Move in with us. We’ll have a big time.”

She looked at him for a moment, and then said, “I’ll think about it.”

IT FELT LIKE A REPEAT of the night before. And far too many others in recent weeks.

Willa sat on the living room couch, hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, a table lamp the only light. Sam was curled up beside her, his head on her leg. A novel lay open on her lap, but she had no idea what she’d read in the last five pages.

She glanced at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room. Eleven.

The front door opened. Katie walked through the foyer and headed up the stairs.

“The principal called,” Willa said quietly.

Katie stopped on the second step. “Save it, okay?”

“So what should I do, Katie?” Willa asked in an even voice. “Just let you mess up your life for good?”

“It’s not your life to mess up. You’re doing a pretty good job with your own.”

Willa’s grip on the cup tightened. She pressed a finger to her forehead. “How did we get here, Katie?”

“I’m not your responsibility, Willa,” Katie said, the words a few degrees softer. “I can take care of myself.”

“Is that it, then? Do you think I should let you quit school? Hang out with guys who are going to lead you down the road to nowhere?”

“I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”

Willa stood and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “That’s not what I think at all. I think you’re smart, beautiful and at a very confusing time in your life. But, Katie, the choices you make now are going to affect your future in ways you can’t begin to see from here.”

“Like the choices you’ve made, Willa?” She tore up the stairs then, throwing out behind her, “At least I’m out there playing the game.”

WILLA DROVE KATIE TO SCHOOL the next morning. Neither spoke the entire way. Katie kept her headset on, the beat of the music pounding like a muted jackhammer.

Willa pulled up at the high school’s main entrance. Students loitered around the front steps. “You’ll go by the principal’s office, Katie?”

“Sure thing.”

“Two more absences, and you’re going to fail your classes this semester.”

“That would be a disaster,” Katie said, sounding mildly bored. She got out of the Wagoneer and strolled toward the front entrance, stopping to talk with a trio of defiant-looking teenagers wearing nose rings complemented by varying degrees of purple hair.

Katie had never seemed farther away.

AT THE TOP SHELF, Willa pulled into an empty space beside Judy’s old Citation. If possible, it was more of a rattletrap than her own. She got out and waited for Judy who slid out of the car, then slammed the driver’s door. The door failed to catch, so she opened it and closed it again.

The sleeve of her white sweater slid up with the movement. An ugly purple bruise encircled her wrist.

Willa touched her arm. “Hey. What’s that?”

Judy avoided Willa’s gaze. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Judy—”

Judy held up a hand, smiling a little too broadly. “Uh-uh. This problem’s not going on your shoulders.”

They walked across the parking lot to the diner entrance, both quiet.

“Are you all right, Judy?” Willa finally asked softly.

Judy smiled an of-course smile. “Yes.”

“I really am worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

“How can I not?”

“You know, if they measured worry in a person’s blood the way they measure cholesterol and triglycerides, you’d be on the operating table.”

“Judy. I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’m fine. And we’re talking about you, anyway. Now let’s hear about those circles under your eyes.”

Willa gave in for now. “I don’t know what to do with her anymore. It seems like the more I say, the worse things get.”

“Maybe it’s time to let her fall,” Judy reasoned. “My mama always said she could tell me all day long what a bump on the head was going to feel like, but until my own noggin hit the pavement, there was no way I would ever believe her.”

Willa smiled, pushing through the front door of the diner. Clara Hibber, one of the other waitresses, opened up every morning so Willa could take Katie to school.

Clara waved from behind the counter. Willa waved back, then looked at Judy. “She’s just so angry. I wish I knew why.”

“When you’re sixteen, it doesn’t matter,” Judy said. “Anger is just another hormone. You feel justified. But if anybody should be angry, it’s you. You got to be a mother at twenty-one without any of the fun that comes with arriving at that happy state.”

“I don’t regret what I’ve done for Katie. She’s my sister.”

“I know you don’t. But for seven years now, you’ve been living the life of your mother. Taking over this place after she died. You didn’t get the chance to be young. Take it from me, the years fly by, and you wake up one day looking at a big sign with Too Late written in big, bold letters.”

Willa put a hand on Judy’s shoulder. “If that’s your subtle way of saying I need a man, I haven’t seen anything out there worth missing a night with a good book.”

The diner door opened. The man from yesterday walked in, taking the same table as before. Both Willa and Judy stared for a moment. He looked up. They both got busy shuffling menus and stacking coffee cups.

“That’s what I call amazing timing,” Judy said.

“Just take his order.”

Judy grabbed a pad, handed it to Willa, then bolted, whispering over her shoulder, “Ladies’ room.”

“Judy—”

But she was already out of sight. Willa stared after her, made a mental payback note, then walked over to the table.

The man glanced up.

“What would you like?” she asked, trying not to stare. He was unbelievably good-looking. Dark hair contrasted by light blue eyes. The kind of mouth a woman’s gaze could not help being drawn to.

“What do you recommend?” he asked.

“Eggs and bacon are always a sure thing. Pancakes, too, but you don’t look like a guy who eats a lot of starch.”

“Eggs and bacon, then. But add a pancake, too. I’m feeling like a walk on the wild side.”

Willa scribbled the order on her pad, a small smile touching her mouth. “And to drink?”

“Coffee.”

She nodded. “Your order will be out in a few minutes.”

Judy was back from the ladies’ room when Willa got to the front counter. “What did he say?”

“Eggs and bacon. Add a pancake.”

Judy snorted. “I really am starting to worry about you. A man like that walks in here, and you don’t even flirt with him.”

“I said he looked like he doesn’t eat a lot of starch. Does that qualify?”

“Struck instant lust in his heart, I’m sure.”

Willa smiled, poured coffee in a cup, then carried it to the man’s table. He looked up, and she noticed how blue his eyes were. Magnetic, really. She wanted to look longer, but she jerked her gaze away and set the coffee down. “Your food will be right out.”

He stood, stuck out his hand. “Owen Miller,” he said.

“Willa.” She cleared her throat. “Addison.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

“Dinner? Ah, thank you, but I—” She waved a hand at the diner. “I’m here until pretty late.”

“Late is okay.”

She stood there, tapping a thumb against the coffeepot. “I take it you’re passing through?”

“Can’t deny that.”

“What would be the point?”

“Conversation?”

For a moment, Willa actually considered it. He was gorgeous, and she was tempted. But her life already had enough complications without pursuing something that would end up going nowhere. She’d already done nowhere. She shook her head. “Thank you for the invitation,” she said, “but no.”

NO.

He hadn’t expected rejection. It was the first time in his life he’d ever been turned down by a woman. The thought was completed with no particular amazement; it just wasn’t something he was used to. And so, he wasn’t exactly sure how to react to it.

Owen took the front porch steps to the bed-and-breakfast two at a time.

Mrs. Ross smiled when he came through the door. “Morning, Mr. Miller.”

“Good morning. Do you know what time the Top Shelf closes in the evening, Mrs. Ross?”

The woman gave him a knowing look. “You must have taken a liking to Willa Addison’s food. They close at nine.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated and then said, “What can you tell me about her?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Enough to figure out how to get her to go to dinner with me.”

Mrs. Ross chuckled. “Don’t know that it’ll do any good. Got a load of responsibility with that young sister of hers.”

The phone rang. Mrs. Ross reached for it. Owen thanked her and headed up the stairs.

“Young man!” she called out.

He dropped back down a few steps. “Yes?”

“There is one thing I remember about her as a little girl.”

“What’s that?”

“She loved strawberries.”




CHAPTER THREE


HE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH outside the diner when Willa closed up that evening. One leg crossed over a thigh, an arm draped across the back of the bench. Beside him sat a basket of strawberries.

He was the kind of man who made women stop and stare.

Willa stopped and stared.

“I was told you had a fondness for these,” he said, picking up the basket and holding it out in one hand.

She started forward with a jolt, tripping on a raised edge in the sidewalk, the library books in her arms cascading to the ground.

He stood instantly, retrieved the books, scanning the covers of each as he handed them to her. “Fitzgerald. Tolstoy. Alternative medicine. Interesting mix.”

She eyed him carefully, taking the books from him. “Thanks.”

“I asked Mrs. Ross at the B and B how I might talk you into going to dinner with me. She said strawberries would be worth a try.”

Growing up, Willa had picked berries from the patch in Mrs. Ross’s backyard every spring. Buckets full, which Willa’s mama had put in the freezer for pies and ice cream. “That was nice of you.”

“Was she right?”

Willa hesitated. She really shouldn’t. She didn’t know him. He was passing through. He didn’t look like a criminal—quite the opposite, in fact—but then what did that mean? Ted Bundy had been the boy next door with a cast on his leg.

“We can go somewhere public,” he added, his voice low and insistent enough to weaken her resistance. “I’ll meet you there if that’s better. You name the place.”

Clearly, he knew his way around women. She shot a glance at the Range Rover parked at the curb. A man like this in Pigeon Hollow? There had to be a catch.

“Are you married?” she asked, failing to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

His eyes widened. “No.”

“May I see your left hand?”

He held it out. She looked at the ring finger, then turned his hand over and glanced at the other side. No telltale mark where a ring had been removed.

“Trust issues?” he asked.

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t be the first man to misplace his wedding band.”

He smiled. “Hmm. It’s the bad guys that—”

“Give the good guys a bad name.” Common sense told her she should go home. But Judy would never let her forget it. And besides, what did she have better to do than wait for Katie to bust her curfew again? Just a few moments ago, she’d felt weary to her heels, dreading the inevitable confrontation. Delaying it suddenly had enormous appeal.

“Now?” she asked, surprising herself.

He brightened. “Now would be great.”

“There’s a place over off 260.”

“I’ll follow you,” he said, looking just pleased enough to make her heart beat a little faster.

ON THE WAY, WILLA USED her cell phone to call Judy.

Judy’s disbelieving shriek pierced her eardrum. “You’re meeting him for dinner? I can’t believe it.”

“He brought me strawberries. I thought I’d better let someone know where I am in case he turns out to be an ax murderer.”

Judy laughed. “Yeah, I read the story in yesterday’s paper. Well-to-do hunk terrorizing small-town diner owners with poison strawberries.”

“It could happen.”

“You read too many books. What are you wearing?”

“Black pants and a white blouse. The same thing I wore to work.”

“Unbutton a button.”

“Judy!”

“It’s called sex appeal, honey. You’re allowed.”

“Thanks,” Willa said, laughing, “but I’ll keep my buttons buttoned.”

“Odds preparation, that’s all. Like dropping another five for lottery tickets on the way out of the store.”

“The lottery’s a scam.”

“You’re hopeless. You’ll call me as soon as you get home?”

“I will.” Willa clicked off, then hit the stored button for her home number and got the machine. She left Katie a message, told her she would be home later. They needed to talk.

Maybe by then, Willa would figure out what to say.

THE HOOT ’N’ HOLLER DREW a crowd every Friday night for buy-one-get-one-free pitchers of Budweiser and waffle fries.

Willa chose the place because it was one of the liveliest around and not the kind of spot for which she could be accused of harboring any romantic notions.

Even from the parking lot, the noise level required a raised voice. Willa got out and stood beside the Wagoneer. Owen pulled in beside her, the Range Rover making her jalopy of a vehicle look like a third runner-up beauty contestant.

He threw a glance at the front of the building, basically concrete blocks with a roof on it. A big neon sign blinked the name of the establishment in bold orange. “Interesting,” he said.

“Not exactly an architectural wonder. But keep in mind the old book-by-its-cover adage.”

“Now I’m really curious.” He ushered her forward with a wave. “After you.”

At the entrance, he held the door for her, and yes, okay, she noticed. Her last few dates—few and far between as they were—had left her all but certain the pool of available men in this county had forgotten any courtesies their mothers had taught them where women were concerned.

The place was nearly full. A country-and-western band took up the far right corner of the room, the lead singer a frosting-kit-era blonde in a mini-skirt that redefined mini. She crooned a familiar Reba hit. Smoke hung like a veil over the main room. Peanut shells littered the floor.

The only available table sat a little too close to the band, making conversation next to impossible.

Again, Owen held her chair, waited for her to sit. Again, Willa was impressed. Maybe Judy was right. Maybe she did need to get out more if all it took to wow her was a surface show of manners. Pretty soon, she’d be unbuttoning buttons.

He sat down across from her. “Great place,” he said.

“You think?” she shouted.

The band hit the last note of the song and promised to be back in fifteen minutes. A jukebox started up at a volume that did not rattle the eardrums.

“Did you think I’d run when I saw the monster trucks parked outside?”

“I thought the local color might test your resolve.”

He smiled. “Did I pass?”

“So far.”

“Good.”

The waitress arrived with their beer and waffle fries. He poured her a glass from the icy pitcher, then handed her a plate, waited as she put some fries on it. He filled his own glass, loaded his plate and dug in.

She stared.

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Is something wrong?”

“I—no. You just don’t seem like the waffle-fries type.”

He took a sip of his beer. “So what do you think my type is?”

She shrugged, buying time.

He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “No, really. Go ahead.”

She wrapped both hands around her glass, giving it some consideration. “Let’s see. You play some sport like squash. Or maybe golf. You have a connection to the horse-racing industry. You drink port and smoke skinny cigars.”

Owen laughed, a real laugh that came from somewhere deep inside him. “You got one of them right anyway. How’d you figure out the horse connection?”

“We get a lot of that passing through here.” She smiled. “And you’ve got a decal on the back of your truck.”

He grinned. “My turn.”

Willa wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear the conclusions he’d drawn about her so far.

“So noted you’re a reader,” he said. “You think TV is the drain through which all modern intelligence is leaking. NPR is secretly programmed on your FM dial. You normally frown on the kind of food sitting in front of us.” He hesitated, rubbed his chin, then added, “There’s some reason why you’re not married. Some obligation you’re meeting because a woman like you should have been snatched up long ago. And you’ve already assigned me a spot in your Okay, so I was right about him file. How did I do?”

She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Did Judy put you up to this?”

He laughed again, one elbow on the table. “Fairly well, I take it.”

The band started up with a sudden blast.

Owen leaned over close to her ear. “Since talking is out of the question, how about a dance?”

No was the obvious answer. Again, passing through. Clearly, a one-night thing. And she wasn’t a one-night kind of girl.

Intrigued, though? That, she had to admit.

One dance. What could it hurt?

There was a crowd on the parquet floor, making closeness essential. He was a good dancer; she noticed as much right away. Not like he’d had lessons or anything. He just moved with the kind of fluid ease that said the rhythm came naturally.

The frosted-blond singer belted out another Top 40 hit with a lively beat, her gaze set on Owen. Laser set.

Willa didn’t think it was her imagination that the woman’s hips gyrated with more deliberation every time Owen glanced at the stage.

She couldn’t resist. She leaned in and with a straight face, said, “I can duck out. Leave her a clear playing field.”

“Do, and I’ll stage a food-poisoning picket outside your diner.”

“Low.”

He smiled. And it hit Willa then that they were flirting with each other. Or maybe she had flirted with him, and he had flirted back. Whatever the sequence of it, she was enjoying herself. Imagine that.

THEY FINISHED THAT SET, and while the band took another break, Willa excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.

Owen watched her disappear around the corner. What was he doing? He was supposed to give her the letter. That was all.

He’d asked her to dinner for that purpose alone, and somewhere between the parking lot and that last dance, he’d gotten off track. Way off.

The cell phone in his pocket rang. He pulled it out, hit Send. “Hello.”

“Owen.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “Pamela.”

“Cline said you were going to be out of town for a couple of days,” she said, a clear note of dissatisfaction lining her voice.

“Yeah,” he said. “Kind of unexpected.”

“Is everything all right?” The question tentative, as if she were afraid to ask too much.

“Yes,” he said.

“When will you be home?”

“A day or so.”

There was a long pause, and then she said, “I’m not really sure how to say this, so I’ll just out with it. I haven’t made any secret of my hopes for our relationship, Owen. I’m not naive. I realize that if you wanted to marry me, you would already have asked me. So let’s just bring this to vote, okay? Propose when you get back, or I’ll fade out of the picture. Fair enough?”

“Pamela—”

“You don’t need to explain anything. But I can’t sit on the fence any longer. That’s all.” And she hung up.

He sat for a moment, then popped the phone back into his pocket, acknowledging a wash of guilt for the way he had treated her. She didn’t deserve it. And she was right. He’d kept her hanging on.

He had come here to do an old friend a favor. Maybe clear his head in the process. And yet he couldn’t deny he saw Willa Addison in a light that did nothing to promote either of those agendas.

SHE FELT THE CHANGE as soon as she arrived back at the table. Saw it in the set of his ridiculously well-cut jaw.

Second thoughts.

That was fast.

She glanced down at the top button she’d undone in front of the restroom mirror, her face flushing with instant embarrassment. Initial gut feeling. Always trust it. She’d known this had nowhere to go.

She pasted on a smile, one hand at the neck of her blouse. “It’s late. I have to get going.”

He stood, threw some bills on the table and said, “Let’s go.”

She decided to wait until they were outside to clarify that she would be leaving alone.

But as soon as they hit the parking lot, he said, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

She gave him a smile that had to look as forced as it felt. “Look, Owen. It was fun to this point. But we both know anything more would just be an exercise in why bother. So—”

He leaned in and kissed her, quick and thorough.

At first, Willa was too stunned to respond. But he softened his approach, and anything that might have rallied as outrage collapsed like so much false bravado.

And she responded.

The man knew how to kiss.

She had a moment to catalogue impressions. The very faint scent of expensive cologne. The rough stubble on his chin in direct contrast to his mouth, lips smooth and full. The hand cupping her jaw insistent, but somehow letting her know at the same time, he would stop whenever she wanted.

Never would be just fine.

She finally latched on to enough will to pull back and hope she looked offended. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you’re so sure you’re right about me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Not about the obvious, no. Can we sit in your car?”

She dropped her head back, studied the night sky. She finally let her gaze meet his and said, “Why don’t we just end this here when we can both still say it was fun?”

“Willa. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The seriousness in his voice brought her up short. “What?”

“Not here. This would be better in private.”

“Why can’t you say it here?”

A man and woman in twin Stetsons walked by, singing an off-key George Strait tune, slightly drunk smiles on their faces. They both eyed Willa and Owen with curiosity.

“All right,” she said and headed for the Wagoneer. She got in the driver’s side, the door squeaking in protest. He went around and opened the passenger door, sliding into the seat, making the vehicle seem much smaller. She rolled down her window, feeling a sudden need for air.

“I came here to see you,” he said.

The words hung there between them, something in his voice making her stomach drop. “What do you mean?”

He reached in his pocket, pulled out a sealed envelope, handed it to her. “This is for you.”

She turned it over. Her name was written in neat cursive on one side. “What is it?”

“A letter. From your father.”

She dropped the envelope as if it had suddenly ignited. “What are you talking about?”

“He asked me to come and see you. He’s a very old friend of my family.”

She slowly shook her head back and forth. “That’s ridiculous.”

Owen said nothing for a moment. “It’s also true.”

Impossible. She had a father who wanted to see her? Her father had died years ago. And if her mother had been accurate in her portrayal of him, it had been no great loss to the world. “I’m afraid you must have me confused with someone else. My father is dead.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” he said. “But there’s no confusion.”

“This has to be a mistake.” Her brain tried to process the information, sorted through the bits and pieces her mother had meted out during Willa’s childhood about the man who had been her father. Which wasn’t much. The one subject Tanya Addison had chosen not to discuss except for the times when Willa’s need to know something, anything about her father, pressed her to dole out just enough to stop the questions.

“No mistake,” he said.

“If I have a father, why didn’t he come himself?” she asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

Owen’s gaze cut to the parking lot. He rubbed a thumb across the back of his hand, his voice somber when he said, “Because he’s sick.”

“Sick?”

“He had a very serious heart attack a couple of weeks ago. It was impossible for him to come, so he asked me.”

“Why you?”

“I guess I’m someone he trusts.”

She gripped both hands on the steering wheel, as if it might steady the tilt of disbelief inside her. “Why now? After all these years?”

“The letter should tell you what you want to know.”

Willa picked the envelope up again, stared at the handwriting. “This is why you came here.”

“Yes.”

“And why you—” She waved a hand at the building they’d just come from, humiliation settling in the pit of her stomach.

“I think that was more about something else,” he said, his voice softening. “Something I had no right to pursue.”

She wondered what he meant by that, but at the same time did not want to know. He probably had a wife and five kids waiting at home for him. A flat feeling of outrage slid in behind the humiliation.

“Read the letter tonight,” he said. “Then we’ll talk again.”

He got out of the Wagoneer and shut the door with a firm click.

She sat for a few moments, stunned, then finally started the engine and pulled out of the Hoot ’n’ Holler parking lot. The Wagoneer muffler clanked on the pavement, a shower of sparks visible in the rearview mirror.

Behind them, he stood, watching her go.

SO MUCH FOR well-laid plans.

Owen didn’t think he could have bumbled it more if he’d tried.

Willa’s reaction to learning about Charles wasn’t exactly surprising. She had a father she had not known existed. Who wouldn’t be blown out of the water by something like that?

A brown pickup truck with tires that looked like they had been injected with steroids roared into the parking lot, came to a rumbling halt. Two guys in bandanas and muscle shirts got out, swaggered inside.

Owen headed for his own vehicle, got in and slapped a palm against the steering wheel. He had asked Willa out tonight with the intention of softening the news he’d come here to deliver. So how did he explain the detour he’d taken in there with the dancing and flirting? And that kiss in the parking lot. No one had ever accused him of being the straightest arrow around, but he did have a girlfriend, and it wasn’t his style to cheat.

Still, there was no getting around the fact that he had wanted to dance with Willa tonight. That he had, without doubt, wanted to kiss her.

He had been around the block enough times to have had a lot of firsts. He’d known his share of women. But the energy between the two of them in there hadn’t felt like anything he recognized.

He ran a hand across his face. Or maybe it was just that his back was to the wall, and he was looking for an exit. Ten days to make up his mind. He glanced at his watch. Past midnight. Make that nine days.

The future had never looked less clear.




CHAPTER FOUR


ONE DINNER. One dance. It was always the little decisions that led to the big trouble.

Willa drove a few miles before letting herself glance at the letter on the passenger seat, no idea what to make of any of it.

Owen Miller had been a messenger, a delivery service. His asking her out tonight had nothing whatsoever to do with strawberries, or dancing a shade too close, or anything at all resembling romance.

Cheeks flaming, she fumbled to redo the button of her blouse with one hand.

A date. She’d thought it was a date. And he’d been nothing more than a messenger.

Tipp’s Minute Market sat just ahead on the right. Willa hit her blinker, turned in and pulled underneath a parking-lot light. She picked up the letter from the passenger seat, held it for a moment, then began to read.

Dear Willa,

I know you have no idea who I am, and most likely at this point, have no desire to. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself for too many years to count.

I also know that your mother never told you about me. But I am your father, and I would very much like to meet you.

I sincerely hope you will indulge an old man’s wish and return to Lexington with Owen so that we might have a chance to talk.

Sincerely,

Charles Hartmore

It had to be a joke, and yet it didn’t read like one.

But it couldn’t possibly apply to her. Her father had died. What reason would her mother have had to lie about that?

She flung the letter aside and leaned her head against the seat, a sudden throbbing in her left temple. Crazy. No other word for it.

She put the Wagoneer in gear and pulled back onto the road, parking in the driveway of her house a few minutes later with little memory of how she’d gotten there.

Lights were on. Thank goodness. At least Katie was here. That was the last thing she needed to deal with tonight.

She stuck her key in the lock and let herself in the front door. Sam bounded into the foyer, tail wagging hard enough to send anything in its path crashing to the floor. She leaned over, rubbed his chin, then went into the kitchen and gave him a bone-shaped cookie from the treat jar. He trotted off, tail flagpole straight.

Music erupted from upstairs, throbbing through the ceiling. The kitchen light fixture rattled in complaint. A drum solo picked up the beat of Willa’s headache.

“Katie!”

No answer. No surprise. She climbed the squeaky pine steps to her sister’s room, knocking at the closed door. When she got no response, she opened it and stuck her head inside.

Katie had her back turned. She yanked clothes from drawers, tossing them into the suitcases on her bed.

Willa put a hand to her chest, stepped into the room. “Katie.”

Her sister whirled then, the surprise on her pretty face quickly replaced by irritation. “Can’t you knock?”

“I did.” Willa’s voice was little more than a whisper.

Katie reached over and lowered the volume on the boom box quaking on her nightstand. “What?”

“I said I did. What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“I can see that.”

Katie dropped a handful of thong underwear into the closest suitcase, not meeting Willa’s eyes. “Yeah, don’t you think it’s time we admitted this isn’t working?”

“Katie,” Willa said, throwing up her hands. “You’re sixteen. Where are you going?”

“Eddie said I can stay with him. He’s got a place with some friends.”

Willa sank down onto the bed, palms on her knees. “Don’t do this, Katie.”

Katie looked up then, her face blanked of emotion. “I’m not like you, Willa. All you care about is doing the right thing. But we have different definitions of what that is, and I’m not ever going to be like you.”

Defiance underscored each word, and Willa’s heart wilted beneath the blow. “No one’s ever asked you to, Katie. I just want you to give yourself a fair shot.”

“Maybe this is the shot I want. Eddie’s not so bad.”

Willa pressed her lips together, certain that anything negative she said against Eddie would only push Katie out the door that much faster. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

Katie opened a drawer, scooped up an armful of T-shirts, and hurled them at a suitcase. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m quitting school.”

Willa put one hand to the back of her neck. “Oh, Katie, no.”

“You quit! Why is it such a crime if I do the same thing?”

“I left my last semester of college. Don’t you think that’s a little different?”

“Is it? Sometimes I wonder if you really wanted to stay here or if it was just a good place to lock yourself up.”

Willa pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose where a sudden pain had set up. “My coming back had nothing to do with that,” she said in a calm voice.

Katie reached for another shirt, tossed it in the suitcase. “You’re sure about that?”

Frustration at her sister, for her sister, churned inside her. “This isn’t about me, Katie! It’s about you. I know this may seem like what you want right now. But believe me, one day you’re going to wake up and wish you’d taken a different path.”

“You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

Willa flinched, the question hitting its intended mark. “I don’t regret what I’ve done.”

“But then we’re not all saints.” Katie propped her fists on her hips, her blue eyes narrowed. “I mean what about all those dreams you had? Don’t you ever wonder what kind of doctor you would have made?”

Willa wrapped her arms around her waist, anger a sudden weight on her chest. It wasn’t often that she let Katie get to her, but tonight her defenses were down. “What do you think I should have done, Katie? Left you to foster care? Pretended you weren’t my sister?”

Katie glared at her. “Yeah, maybe so. Then at least one of us would have had a chance to be happy.”

Hurt flared inside her, spread like liquid fire. There didn’t seem to be anything she could say to soften Katie’s resentment. And wasn’t that the ultimate irony? That Katie was the one harboring all the regret?

Suddenly, Willa couldn’t talk about this anymore. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, are you?”

Katie stubbed a sneakered toe against the worn rug beside her bed and shoved her hands in the pockets of her faded jeans. “No.”

Under a stifling sense of failure, Willa turned and left the room, closing the door with a satisfying thud.

Downstairs, Sam finished up the remains of his bone. At the sight of her, he stood, whined and wagged his tail. The dog was nearly human, and it wasn’t the first time Willa had glimpsed sympathy on his face. She grabbed her purse from the table in the foyer. “Come on, Sam. I could use a change of scenery.”

He was out the door in a flash, as if he, too, needed the escape.

OWEN HAD JUST LET HIMSELF into his room when his cell phone rang. His home number flashed on caller ID. He clicked on to an unusually somber Cline.

“Natalie just called,” he said. “Charles is in the hospital again.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it looks like he might have had another heart attack.”

Owen’s grip on the phone tightened. “How serious is it?”

“I’m not sure. Natalie was pretty out of it. I don’t know more than that. She asked where you were. I didn’t know what to tell her, so I just said out of town.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’ll head home.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Drive safe.”

Owen hung up, stunned. Willa. Charles hadn’t met Willa yet. The very real possibility that he might die without doing so flooded him with a sinking sense of panic. He yanked his suitcase out of the closet, started throwing things inside.

He had to get back. And somehow, convince Willa to go with him.

WILLA DROVE, her mind going in a dozen directions.

Sam sat on the seat next to her, alternating between looking ahead and then out the window.

She followed the street through town, edging out into the county until she ended up at Judy’s. She pulled into the driveway and cut the lights. The house was small but neatly manicured, bushes trimmed. Baskets of ferns hung from the porch roof above a newly painted white railing.

Crossing her fingers that Jerry wouldn’t answer the door, Willa knocked. She waited a few moments, decided this had been a crazy idea and tripped back down the steps.

The door squeaked open. Willa turned around, and there stood Judy with a batch of pink and blue curlers in her hair, her eyes and mouth the only visible landmarks beneath a glacier of cold cream.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

Judy waved a hand in front of her face. “Yeah, I know. It’s not pretty.”

Willa tried for a smile. “Have you got a minute?”

“Do you really think I’m going to let you leave without telling me what brought you out here at this hour?” She pulled the door closed and sat down on the top porch step.

Front paws on the dashboard, Sam barked his displeasure at being left in the car.

“So shoot,” Judy said.

Willa sat down, then sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about with the date? How was it?”

She massaged the back of her neck with one hand, the tension there a hard knot. “First of all, it wasn’t a date.”

Judy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “By whose definition?”

“All concerned parties. Believe me.”

“Oook-kay. How about starting at the beginning?”

Willa stared at the step beneath her feet. “He came here to tell me I have a father in Lexington.”

Judy’s eyes popped wide. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Are you serious?”

“He sent a letter saying he knows my mother never told me about him.”

Judy shook her head, pink sponge curlers jiggling. “Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“So what now?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“Don’t you want to meet him?”

Willa lifted a shoulder. “No. I mean, I don’t know. The whole thing is just too weird.”

“What if he’s rich?”

“Judy.”

“Maybe you’re his only heir, and he wants to leave you the millions he no longer has any use for.”

“The lottery thing again.”

Judy smiled. “All joking aside, of course you have to meet him.”

“Why? What difference would it make now?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll wonder about it for the rest of your life. That’s a long time to wonder.”

“I’ve managed twenty-eight years without him.”

“But that was before you knew he existed. That changes everything.”

Willa considered the words, wondering if Judy might be right.

“And our delectable Kentucky morsel. Where does he fit into all this?”

“Apparently, he’s an old friend of my—” She broke off there, unable to say the word. “I guess the whole dinner thing was just a big setup.”

Judy rewound a wayward sponge curler. “So you didn’t have any fun?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What’s that old saying? Don’t shoot the messenger?”

“The messenger could have just given me the letter sans the dinner and dancing.”

“Me? I would have preferred his version. You know, Willa, you’re way too young to be writing off the entire male population. Like me, you just picked wrong the first time around. Unlike me, you can still do something about it.”

Willa put one elbow on her knee, palm to her forehead. “I’ve got bigger stuff to worry about.”

“Let me guess. Katie.”

She nodded, miserable. “When I got home tonight, she was packing. She’s planning to quit school and move in with Eddie.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “Hormones must actually leech intelligence from the teenage brain.”

“She’s just so unhappy,” Willa said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe you’re going to have to let her make the mistake. It’s kind of like quicksand. Once you get out in the middle of it, it’s not that easy to remove yourself.”

Willa stared up at the sky. “I don’t know.”

They sat there for a few minutes, not talking. Finally, Judy said, “Okay, here’s the fix. Go to Lexington, meet this man, and take Katie with you. Get her away from here a while. Maybe that’s all it will take to make her see young Eddie in a different light.”

“She seems pretty hooked on him.”

“That old saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder?” She flapped a hand. “Hogwash. Out of sight, out of mind.”

OWEN HAD BEEN WAITING in Willa Addison’s driveway for a little over an hour when the Wagoneer rattled to a stop behind him. He got out of the Range Rover and waited for her.

She opened the door. A small beagle mix leaped out ahead of her, rocketing toward him like a mini torpedo.

“Sam, no!” Willa called out, jumping from the Wagoneer.

The dog latched his teeth on to Owen’s pants, his four legs planted like concrete columns. He growled and shook his head, looking over his shoulder at Willa for confirmation of his catch.

She bent to rub the dog’s back. “Let go, Sam.”

He did so with reluctance.

“I’m sorry,” Willa said, looking up at Owen. “He’s a little protective.”

Owen reached down and rubbed his ankle. “Is that so?”

“He’s really a teddy bear. Except when it comes to looking out for me. The only flaw is he doesn’t know a good guy from a bad guy.”

Owen let that hang a moment, then said, “At least he spared me my skin.”

She glanced at her watch, gave him a questioning look. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Ah, yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Something’s come up. It’s Charles. He’s in the hospital again.”

Willa stared at him for a moment. “What happened?”

“The doctors are guessing another heart attack. I don’t know very much. But I’m heading back tonight to see him. I was hoping you would come with me.”

“Tonight?” She put a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Look, Willa. I know this is all kind of crazy. I don’t want to sound like I’m pressuring you, but anything could happen. He’s a good man who’s looking to fix something he regrets. Can’t you just give him this chance?”

Her eyes softened. White teeth worried her bottom lip. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t go tonight.” She hooked a thumb at the house. “My sister. She’s having a tough time. I need to be here for her.”

“Sixteenish? Blond?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“She left a little while ago with a couple of suitcases.”

“What?” Willa whirled and ran to the house, taking the porch steps two at a time. The dog was right on her heels, barking like he’d just gotten a good rabbit scent.

Owen followed, opening the screen door and letting himself inside. He could hear her hurried footsteps upstairs, the beagle’s click-click-click behind her.

He waited in the foyer. A minute later, she came back down the stairs, her steps heavy, her expression defeated. He followed her back outside where she sat down on the bottom step of the porch and released a heavy sigh.

“Did you see who she left with?” she asked.

“A couple of guys in an old white Buick.”

“Eddie.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend.”

“I take it you didn’t know about this?”

“She was threatening to leave, but she said she wouldn’t go tonight.”

“Teenagers.”

“Look, Owen. I can’t go with you. Not now. I’m sorry about…your friend. But I have responsibilities here.”

Wondering if he were crazy to make the offer, Owen forged on before he had time to consider whether it made any sense. “Do you know where she is?”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Okay. So here’s the deal. Go pack your stuff, and we’ll pick up your sister. She can go with us.”

Her eyes widened at the suggestion. “I don’t think she will.”

“This guy she left with. I take it you’d rather she hadn’t left with him?”

“She doesn’t really care what I think.”

“Then call it an intervention.”

“That is crazy.”

The cell phone in his pocket rang. He flipped it open to Cline’s somber voice. “Hey,” Owen said. “How is he?”

“I went to the hospital. Natalie is over the top.”

“I’m heading back, Cline. If she calls again, tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” he said.

Owen hung up and looked at Willa. “That was my brother. Charles’s wife, Natalie, she’s having a tough time. I really have to get back. Are you coming or not?”

Indecision wavered across her face. The soft drone of an airplane engine broke the silence. She glanced up at the sky, then stood suddenly. “Give me a couple minutes. I’ll be right down.”




CHAPTER FIVE


THIS WAS NUTS.

No other way to look at it.

Willa jammed clothes into the tired blue Samsonite suitcase she’d inherited from her mother, not giving herself time to think about what she was doing. To do so would be to call a halt to the whole thing.

Maybe it was crazy, but this man who claimed to be her father could die at any minute. And if he did, Judy might be right. Maybe she would spend the rest of her life wishing she’d had the chance to meet him. To look in his eyes and see if there was truth there.

She picked up the phone on her nightstand and dialed Judy’s number. This time she wasn’t so lucky. Jerry answered with a growl.

She started to apologize for calling in the middle of the night, decided she didn’t want to be that nice to him and said, “May I speak to Judy?”

There was a rustling sound and then a clunk, as if the phone had been dropped.

“Hello?”

“You were asleep,” Willa said.

“Um, yeah. It would seem you’re not into that tonight.”

“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve decided to go.”

“To Lexington?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, glory be.” More awake now.

“It’s probably going to be a mistake. But Owen got a call that Charles—this man who says he’s my father—he’s in the hospital. It may be serious. And Katie’s run off with Eddie. I don’t know, it just seems like maybe there’s some kind of timing in all this.”

“If you’re calling to see whether I’ll take care of the diner, don’t bother asking. Of course, I will.”

Willa sighed in relief. “Judy, you’re the best.”

“I’d like regular updates, of course.”

“Absolutely. Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.” Willa hung up. She had to find some way to pay Judy back.

She latched the suitcase and lugged it down the stairs. Owen met her at the bottom.

“I could have gotten that for you,” he said.

“It’s not that heavy. I’ll be right back.”




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