Willow in Bloom

by Victoria Pade

  But from the minute he sat down, his focus had been on Willow.

  Or actually, on Wyla.

  Becky hadn’t minded. Not long after it had become clear that Tyler Chadwick preferred Willow, another man had begun to show an interest in Becky, and she’d gone to sit at the bar with him, leaving Willow and Tyler alone.

  Wyla and Tyler.

  Which was when Willow had discovered that her new Wyla persona could be quite a flirt.

  And not only that, she could be coy and cute and coquettish, too.

  She could even be sexy.

  It had all seemed innocent enough. It had been Wyla doing it, not her. Wyla who was laughing that high-pitched laugh. Wyla who was putting her hand on Tyler’s arm. Wyla who was drinking so much champagne…

  It wasn’t completely clear in Willow’s mind how she’d gone from that innocent flirtation in the bar to Tyler Chadwick’s room in the hotel next door. But that was where she’d ended up. In the suite he and his brother were sharing, because of some glitch in their reservation that had upgraded them.

  Which meant that he had a bedroom to himself.

  A bedroom in which he and Willow—Wyla—had had a wild night of passion.

  Mindless passion, as Willow’s head had been filled only with thoughts of Tyler Chadwick and all he was doing to her that made her feel so, so good.

  So, so unlike herself.

  So unlike herself that after a second round of love-making just after the sun had come up, when Tyler had fallen asleep again, she hadn’t been able to believe what she’d done.

  It wasn’t merely uncharacteristic behavior. It was complete insanity.

  And while Tyler still slept, Willow—and she had been Willow again by then—had dressed at record speed and slipped out of that hotel room, out of that hotel and into a cab, putting that night and Tyler Chadwick behind her.

  Which was exactly where she intended to leave them. Forever.

  Then she’d missed her period.

  At first she’d thought it was just stress, but when she’d begun to have some very odd symptoms that couldn’t have been stress-related she’d had to entertain the possibility that something else was going on.

  Pregnancy.

  She’d actually passed out cold in the doctor’s office when her worst fear was confirmed.

  And then she’d come to and cried. Sobbed. Right in front of the doctor.

  That had caused the doctor to talk about alternatives if she didn’t want the child, which had made Willow cry all the harder.

  “Alternatives? I don’t have any alternatives,” she’d wailed.

  But by the time she’d returned to Black Arrow that night she’d thought about the alternatives the doctor had laid out for her and she’d known she couldn’t choose any of them. This was her baby and she was going to have it, raise it, love it.

  She just didn’t know anything else.

  She didn’t know how she was going to have and raise a child alone.

  She didn’t know how she was going to tell her brothers.

  She didn’t know what they were going to do when she did.

  She didn’t know whether or not she should find Tyler Chadwick and tell him.

  Only now he’d found her.

  He just didn’t know it.

  Willow slumped in her desk chair like a wilting flower.

  The father of her baby was a man who obviously had had so many one-night stands with so many different women that he didn’t even remember the women he’d had them with.

  It kept coming back to that.

  Back to what Willow had thought the previous day—that he was the worst kind of creep.

  But he hadn’t seemed like a creep that night in Tulsa.

  She’d thought he was the nicest guy she’d ever met.

  He’d made her laugh. He’d put her at ease. He’d made her feel good about herself. He’d made her feel free. Free from being the little sister to Bram and Ashe and Jared and Logan.

  Which had been exactly what she’d needed.

  It had just been so wonderful it had all apparently gone to her head.

  “But that was then and this is now,” she said to herself as she crossed her arms on her desk and laid her head on them to rest.

  And as much as she wished she could just forget about Tyler Chadwick and that night, the way he apparently had, she couldn’t.

  So what was she going to do? she asked herself.

  One thing that she definitely couldn’t see herself doing was marching up to him and announcing out of the blue that, whether he remembered it or not, they’d slept together and that she was pregnant as a result.

  But what if she gave him more of a chance to remember her? What if she did what she could to spend some time with him? To let him get to know her? To see more of her?

  Maybe something about the sound of her voice or the way she looked at just the right angle would make him remember her and that night together.

  Surely somewhere in his brain there was some image of her that could be brought back to the surface.

  And then…

  And then…

  She didn’t know what then.

  But at least it was a first step. It was something to do.

  And she needed to do something. Something that could give her a clue as to where to go from here.

  Because not only had Willow been knocked for a loop when she found out she was pregnant, she didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about breaking the news to her brothers, or whether or not to tell the baby’s father, or what to expect his reaction would be if she did, or what to do about her entire future.

  But getting the baby’s father to remember the baby’s mother seemed like a logical beginning.

  She just hoped that her initial impression of Tyler as a genuinely nice guy had had some validity to it and that he wasn’t really the jerk she’d decided he was the day before. That maybe along the way he’d tell her she reminded him of someone he’d once encountered, and she would learn that he hadn’t forgotten her at all, that he just hadn’t connected the dots and realized that she and Wyla were the same person.

  It was a hope she tried hard to hang on to even though she was very much afraid the odds were against her.

  But still it was a whole lot better to hope that his not knowing her had a simple, believable explanation than to accept what seemed more likely—that he’d spent an entire night making love to her and now didn’t remember who she was.

  Willow had the perfect excuse to see Tyler again, and once she’d closed up the Feed and Grain for the day she decided to use it.

  But not before making a stop in the apartment above the store.

  The apartment had been her grandmother’s, but Willow had moved into it with Gloria when Willow had taken over the running of the Feed and Grain. Now that her grandmother had passed away she lived there alone.

  And she never climbed the stairs at the back of the store without wishing she would still find her grandmother there to greet her.

  But she was learning to weather those moments, and tonight, when she had, she made a beeline for her own bedroom to change her clothes.

  Only as she stood in her closet, trying to figure out what to change into that might give Tyler a hint as to who she was, did it occur to her that all of her things were basically the same—jeans and tops.

  She had a couple of pairs of slacks she wore to church, and a plain, simple black dress that she wore with a matching jacket to funerals and, without the jacket, to weddings. But that was about it. And because she knew she’d feel overdressed if she wore her Sunday slacks—besides the fact that it would no doubt raise eyebrows and questions if anyone who knew her saw her—the closest she could come to Wyla-wear was a red V-neck T-shirt with a clean pair of jeans.

  She did unbraid her hair, though, brushing it and letting it fall free the way she’d worn it that night. And although lip gloss was all she owned in the way of makeup, she made a mental note to buy herself a few cosmetics as
soon as possible to aid her cause.

  Then she locked up the apartment and used the outside stairs to go down to her old blue pickup truck, wishing she had a better, sexier vehicle, too.

  But there wasn’t anything to be done about it, and so she climbed behind the wheel, started the engine and pulled away from the curb, feeling more anxious than she could ever remember having felt before.

  Willow was familiar with all the farms and ranches around Black Arrow. It had been her job at the Feed and Grain to make deliveries after school as soon as she’d been old enough to drive. So she knew exactly where she was going.

  The former Harris place was south of town about four miles. She’d gone all through school with the Harrises’ only child, Samantha. But she and Willow hadn’t been friends. Samantha had been a very girly girl—worlds apart from tomboy Willow.

  As she turned off the main road onto the private drive she could see the house in the distance. It was a two-story frame, painted white and trimmed in black, with a steep black roof.

  The house had a nice front porch—that was what Willow had always liked best about it. The porch was bordered with a spindled railing that looked beautiful at Christmas, decorated with lights and evergreen boughs.

  But August was not the time for that, and other than a wicker rocker and a chair swing hanging from chains, the porch itself was littered with several moving boxes apparently waiting to be thrown out.

  No lights shone through the windows, but since it was only seven o’clock and there was still an abundance of summer daylight, Willow didn’t think that was a sign that no one was home. Besides, there was a big white truck parked in the drive, so she assumed Tyler was there.

  She parked beside the truck and cut her engine, taking a deep breath to bolster her courage and wishing—as she had so many times since June—that things hadn’t taken the turn they had.

  But wishing didn’t make any of it go away, so she picked up the file she’d brought with her as her excuse, and got out of the truck to climb the five steps onto the porch.

  The front door was open, and through the screen door she could hear music playing. Softly.

  She recognized the singer. Chris Isaak. He was one of her favorites, and she hoped that maybe he was one of Tyler’s favorites, too, and the fact that they shared similar musical tastes was a good sign.

  She knocked on the screen’s frame, feeling her tension level increase with each rap.

  Nothing stirred in response. Chris Isaak just went on singing about the wicked things people do.

  Maybe she hadn’t knocked loud enough to be heard over the music. She tried again with more force.

  “Hold on,” she heard Tyler call, his unmistakable baritone sounding as if it were coming from the living room to the right of the front door.

  Then he came into sight from that direction.

  He had on a white T-shirt, a pair of jeans with a tear in the knee, and he was in his stocking feet.

  He was hardly dressed for company, yet he still looked good enough to make Willow recall one of the reasons she’d been so swept off her feet by him in Tulsa. The man exuded a raw sensuality that made the woman in her sit up and take notice.

  She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same effect on him. The way he squinted his eyes against the light made it look as if he’d been sleeping.

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” Willow said, as that thought occurred to her.

  “No, no, it’s okay,” he assured her, blinking a few times as if fighting to keep his eyes open. “I just had one of these headaches I get, and the pills for them knock me out.”

  “Maybe I should come back another time.”

  He waved away that notion with one big, blunt-fingered hand. “Nah. It’s fine. Headache’s gone.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and then took his hand away and finally seemed to really look at her.

  “Willow. Willow Colton. From the feed store,” she stated.

  “I know,” he answered. But then he gave her the once-over and smiled that one-sided smile. “You look different than you did yesterday, but I still knew you.”

  From yesterday, but not from June…

  She tried not to let that bother her.

  Tyler stepped back from the doorway. “Come on in.”

  Willow hesitated a moment, feeling all the more awkward because she’d awakened him. But in the end she decided that, since she already had, she might as well do what she’d come for.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Positive. I’m glad for the company. Gets kind of lonely out here.”

  Willow accepted his invitation and went in.

  It was cooler inside than out, and the scent of leather was in the air. Maybe from the cowboy boots that stood beside the wide, elegant staircase that faced the door.

  Tyler didn’t seem to mind being shoeless in front of her because he didn’t move to put the boots back on. Instead he just closed the door and pointed toward the living room.

  “Let’s go in there.”

  Willow did, with Tyler following behind.

  “Excuse the mess,” he said in reference to the fact that lamps were on the floor rather than on tables, and chairs were in no particular arrangement. The only pieces of furniture that were situated with any sort of purpose were the long leather sofa—likely the source of the scent of the place—and a wide-screen television.

  “Please, sit down,” he invited. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea?”

  “No, thank you,” Willow responded. Her throat felt like the top of a drawstring bag with the ties cinched so tight she didn’t think she could get even liquids down.

  She did sit on the couch, though. Hugging one end.

  “I just wanted to let you know you’d been approved for an account with us and to bring you over our price lists and policies,” she announced, not sounding nearly as relaxed as he seemed to feel.

  “Great. I appreciate that,” he said, joining her on the sofa at the opposite end, as if he were entertaining an insurance salesman.

  Willow opened the file folder she was clutching in a white-knuckled grip, and pointed out a few details about special orders and delivery schedules. It didn’t take long, and once she’d finished, she realized she’d exhausted her excuse to be there.

  “Maybe I will have that glass of iced tea, after all,” she said, to give herself more of a reason to linger and put into motion her plan to spend time with him.

  “Sounds good to me, too,” he said.

  “If you’re sure you’re up to it,” she added.

  “I’m fine.”

  All remnants of his nap had disappeared, and he seemed as awake and energized as ever, so she believed him.

  “Can I help?” she asked as he stood.

  “You can keep me company, but I think I can manage the pouring myself,” he joked.

  Willow got to her feet, too, tagging along.

  As she did, her gaze took a dip to his derriere, and she realized her own memory hadn’t done it justice.

  But that was the last thing she needed to be thinking about, so she forced her eyes to behave, and made small talk to occupy her mind.

  “When I was a teenager my job was to make our deliveries. Mr. Harris would have me come in as far as the living room while he signed the receipt. I’ve never seen the rest of the house, though.”

  “I’ll give you the grand tour,” Tyler promised. “But be warned, there isn’t much to see. Before this I lived in a studio apartment, and I was only there when I wasn’t chasing rodeos. So I didn’t have a lot to bring with me to fill this place up.”

  They went through a large, empty dining room before they passed under an archway to get to the kitchen. The very white kitchen. Walls, cupboards and appliances were all sterile, hospital white, and there wasn’t a single other color to break the almost blinding, institutional effect.

  Apparently that fact wasn’t lost on Tyler. As he went to the refrigerator he said, “You just
about need sunglasses in here.”

  “Just about,” Willow agreed.

  Tyler poured two glasses of iced tea and asked if Willow wanted sugar in hers. When she declined, he handed her one of the glasses and then they set out for the tour of the house.

  He was right about there being nothing much to see. There were four bedrooms, three baths and a recreation room upstairs; another bathroom, a den and a library to go with the kitchen, living room and dining room downstairs. But room after room was bare, except for beds in two of the bedrooms, and a few unpacked boxes here and there.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t bring much with you,” she said as they returned to the living room. Tyler had pointed in the direction of the sofa with his chin, inviting Willow to sit down again.

  “I know,” he said with a laugh that transported her back to that night in Tulsa, when they’d both done a lot of laughing and the sound of his deep, full-barreled chuckle had sent a skitter of delight along her spine. Just as it did now.

  Then he added, “And I don’t have any idea where to start to furnish the place. Or where to even look for things in Black Arrow.”

  “We actually have a furniture store. With some factory-manufactured things and some really nice hand-crafted pieces that folks around town make,” she informed him.

  She knew this was a prime opening, but it took a moment of screwing up her courage to take advantage of it. “I’d be happy to go with you, show you where it is, give you my opinion—for what it’s worth.”

  “I might just take you up on that. I could definitely use a woman’s advice when it comes to decorating.”

  Not many men in Black Arrow thought of her as a woman. It pleased Willow to no end that Tyler did.

  But she tried to contain her pleasure. She didn’t want to appear too eager.

  “So where are you from?” she asked, changing the subject before she got carried away. And also because when she’d found out she was pregnant she’d realized she’d actually learned next to nothing about him that night in Tulsa, and thought it was time she did.

  “I was born and raised in Wyoming,” he answered.

  “Is that where your family is?”

  “My folks died in a flood up there a few years back. That left only me and my brother, Brick. Brick is still riding the rodeo circuit, and since I bought this place we gave up the apartment we shared in Cheyenne. When he needs a place to stay off the road he’ll come here.”