by Wendy Vella
She found three men settled in chairs around a wood stove, all with cups in their hands. One was tall with a rangy build and looked to be in his fifties; he seemed vaguely familiar. The second was older with wiry gray hair and a stunning pair of eyebrows, and the last was dressed in a sheriff’s uniform. He was the man she had met when she entered Lake Howling yesterday.
“Good day to you, missy,” the older man said. “Can I interest you in a cup of mulled wine?”
“No, thank you, although it smells good.”
“If you purchase nothing else, then I suggest a sachet of Mac’s herbs to brew a batch for yourself,” the other man said in a thick Irish accent.
“D.J. O’Donnell!” Willow squealed, realizing who he was. She’d seen his face staring at her from the backs of his book covers. “I love your books.”
“Well, now, that’s nice of you to say so.” His smile was easy and the same as his daughter’s.
“You’re Branna’s father,” Willow added as the other shoe dropped. “I just met her at Macy’s. She’s very nice.” Dear God, she had squealed, and now she was babbling. Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, she stopped talking.
D.J. O’Donnell’s smile was wide at the mention of his daughter. “I was heading there myself shortly. How’s the tree coming along?”
“Very well. I—ah, I’ll… now…I’ll leave you to your wine.” Willow quickly made her way back to the shelves and out of sight, then closed her eyes. What was the matter with her? Since she’d arrived here, she seemed intent on making herself look like an idiot. Tree trimming, clumsiness and now squealing. She needed to get back to New York.
“I guess you’re the New Yorker who wants Buster to sign something?”
Opening her eyes, Willow saw that D.J. O’Donnell had followed her. He was standing a few feet away, smiling at her gently.
“Is there anyone in this town who doesn’t know that?”
“I shouldn’t think so. You’ve been here a whole day, after all,” he laughed.
Willow didn’t groan, but she wanted to. Instead, she found her usual smile. “I enjoyed your last book, Mr. O’Donnell.”
“Did you? Well, if you want a signed copy, I have a few of them lying about at the house.”
“Really!” Oh, God, she’d just squealed again. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“My name’s Declan.” He held out his hand.
“Willow Harper.” She shook it.
“It’s okay to be excited about something, Willow.”
“Pardon?”
“You seem upset about the excitement you displayed after meeting me, and about the book. I just want to say that getting excited about something is one of life’s pleasures. Don’t try to shut that out.”
Stunned by his words, she managed to nod as he said goodbye. What the hell had just happened? Shaking her head, she walked through the store in a daze, selecting a few more things she didn’t need and finishing with a lilac woolen sweater, a pair of soft blue gloves and some red fluffy slippers. Looking down at her basket she saw a set of pencils and a sketchpad. How had they gotten in there?
“I’m Cubby, the local sheriff.” The man arrived at the counter the same time she did. Tall and solid, he had a steady, blue-eyed stare that she was sure came in handy in his occupation. “We weren’t properly introduced yesterday.”
“Willow Harper.” Willow placed her things on the counter and shook the hand he held out to her.
“Well, now, Willow Harper from New York, I hear you’re here to rattle the cage of our favorite local Grinch.”
“It’s not my intention, Sheriff. I assure you I come in peace.”
His smile was quick and flashed a dimple Willow had a feeling not too many people saw. “Well, good luck to you,” he said, placing his hat on his head. “Buster’s more stubborn than most and has a head harder than a redwood. If you need anything, you just holler.”
“Thank you,” Willow said, thinking it was nice of him to say that when he didn’t even know her, and she was here to annoy a man who was very likely his friend.
“You want that sachet for the mulled wine as well, missy?”
She nodded and handed over her credit card. It was a testament to her confused state that she didn’t even flinch at the cost—especially considering the unpaid bills she had waiting for her in New York and the fact that she never used her card unless it was an emergency.
Loading her purchases into the car minutes later, she shook her head. She didn’t make irrational purchases; she budgeted and spent what she’d allocated, which lately wasn’t much. Looking around as she locked the car again, she wondered if there was something in the air because her brain cells seemed to have temporarily scattered.
“Starting now, you need to think before opening your mouth or getting out your credit card,” she told herself as she headed for the grocery store.
Had D.J. O’Donnell just told her it was okay to get excited? It certainly appeared that way, and she wondered when she’d lost the art of doing that. When she’d become so serious that she found no excitement in anything anymore. Another sobering thought in a day filled with them.
The grocery store was busy. After picking up a basket, she made for the fruit and vegetables. She was pleased to see the place looked immaculately clean and the produce healthy and tempting.
“Afternoon.”
Willow found a smile for the girl and wasn’t even shocked that her hair was red with green and white spikes.
She’d felt off balance since arriving in Lake Howling and had yet to regain her feet. Realizing Buster Griffin was the man she was looking for, the man she’d fantasized about for many months, had been the first shock—one that she hadn’t yet recovered from. Then there was dinner with Macy and Billy, tree trimming with strangers, and to top that off she’d found the famous D.J. O’Donnell sipping mulled wine in the general store.
“It’s enough to make a girl crazy,” she muttered.
“My wife has a roasted parsnip and carrot recipe that those would go nicely with.” A short man with a shock of white hair was standing beside the carrots, looking at her.
“Oh…well, thanks,” Willow said, wondering when she had last had a conversation in a grocery store over the carrots.
“Goes well with any meat, but my favorite’s beef.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Willow selected several parsnips and carrots, not wanting to disappoint the man and wondering why not, as she had no idea who the hell he was.
“Name’s Walt Heath,” he said, sticking out his hand. “You must be that girl from New York who wants Buster to sign something.”
“I—ah, yes, yes, I am. Willow Harper.”
“Well, I’ll be around if you want the recipe, Willow.”
He moved on to the potatoes, leaving her staring at the carrots. She had been in New York too long if simple courtesy was unsettling her.
She walked through the store collecting things, having small interludes with people who seemed to want to converse with the strange woman from New York, and finally reached the checkout. The spiky-haired girl, who said her name was Jilly, served her. Willow managed to field more questions about what she wanted to get Buster to sign, then hurried to her car, dumped her things in the back, jumped in the driver’s seat and started the car.
Her chest felt tight, like she’d been breathing too rapidly. Was this the onset of a breakdown? Maybe she did need a vacation.
Heading out of town and onto the lake road, she admired the scenery as she counted driveways. At the sixth she turned left off the road. The drive was steep, but she made it and stopped in front of a cabin that the redwoods dwarfed. The front was cute in a rustic way, and the house had a small deck with a rocker she guessed would have a great view.
She grabbed her briefcase and handbag and climbed out of the car. The front door stuck a bit after she’d unlocked it, so she dropped her shoulder into it and pushed. Stepping inside after it gave, she lowered her things to
the floor. It smelled musty and was so far from her New York apartment that the only comparison she could make was that they both had running water.
Flipping the light switch filled the room with a soft glow from the yellow shade hanging from the ceiling. This room was a combination kitchen/dining room/living room. The walls were painted apricot; a blue rug covered some of the polished floorboards, and blue curtains hung from the two windows. The TV hung on one wall, a table and chairs were pushed against the other, and two armchairs curved around a wood stove. The kitchen held the necessities.
Seeing the two doors leading off this room, she decided to bring in her things before exploring. After the second trip, she headed for the first door. Inside, she found a small compact bathroom. The other door revealed a room with double bed, a chest of drawers and a bedside table with a lamp. Again decorated in apricot, the room had a high window with a view that looked at the trees behind the cabin.
She set her suitcase on the bed, pulled out her leggings and then the woolen sweater she’d just purchased. After dressing, she slipped her feet into the red fluffy slippers.
Thirty minutes later she had the wood stove working and had stored the supplies she’d purchased in the kitchen cabinets. She spent the next hour cleaning, and as the cabin was small, it was soon looking spotless. Unlike Macy’s house, this place made Willow feel comfortable. It was a worrying thought that in such a short time she felt more at home here than she often did in her own apartment.
So much had happened in the brief time she’d been in Lake Howling, she was feeling off balance. Things would settle down tomorrow, she told herself.
Work would help her refocus. So why, then, was she reaching for the sketchpad and pencils?
It was late when she saw car lights through the window. Seconds later a knock sounded on her door.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“Buster.”
Looking down at her leggings and slippers, she didn’t think she had time to change, so she went to open the door.
Buster was wearing his thick black coat, collar upright, face flushed from the cold. As usual, he looked sexy as hell.
“What do you want?”
“We usually start with ‘hello’ here.”
“Hello. What do you want?” Willow knew she should be nice, seeing as how she wanted him to sign those papers, but her store of niceness seemed depleted today.
“Macy wanted someone to check on you, and I drew the short straw.”
“I’m fine. Thank you,” she added, refusing to acknowledge how nice it was that someone was checking on her. Should she invite him in and see if she could coax him into looking at the offer?
“Being a city girl, we thought you might not know how to light a fire and imagined you shivering under the covers in your silk PJs, hungry and cold.”
He was taunting her like he had at Macy’s, and she wasn’t sure why, only that it irritated her.
“I looked it up on the internet.”
“I saw the smoke, so I figured you must have. This is from Macy.” He handed her a container. “Pumpkin soup.”
“Thanks.”
They were silent for several seconds, and Willow wondered if she was the only one who felt the tension between them.
“Mind if I come in?”
“I told you I’m all right, so you don’t need to check and report back.”
He blew out a breath. “You city people aren’t very hospitable.”
“I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be lecturing me on being hospitable. And where I come from, we don’t let strangers into our houses.”
“But I’m not a stranger. You fantasized about me for months, remember?”
“I did not!” Willow fell back a step as he moved closer, grabbed the door and gave it a little push. He was inside seconds later, and closed the door behind him.
“Sure you did. Struggling student, I think you said.” He was looking around the room, taking in the cleaning she’d done and the fire roaring in the wood stove.
“I didn’t invite you in,” Willow said, moving to the kitchen and away from him so he couldn’t see the guilty flush his words had put in her cheeks. Placing the soup in the fridge, she pretended to look around inside the nearly empty white box as she tried to compose herself.
“Shouldn’t you be nicer to me if you want me to sign those papers?”
Realizing she couldn’t keep her head in the fridge all night, she stood up straight again. Buster was prowling around the room like a large, dangerous jungle cat.
“You can go and tell your friends that they won’t find me frozen and huddled in a corner somewhere, starving. I can take care of myself,” Willow said. She wasn’t used to having people in her space—in fact, she rarely invited anyone to her apartment—and this man had disturbed her already, so having him in this small area wasn’t comfortable.
“You did this?” He was looking over the back of the chair, and Willow realized she’d left her sketch pad open.
She hurried to pick it up and flipped it closed. “That’s private.”
“You’re good. Why are you hiding it?”
His gaze was running over her, starting with the hair she’d taken down and was now hanging in a long, thick rope over one shoulder, and finishing with her red slippers.
“Nice shoes, Dorothy.”
He moved closer, and Willow held the pad tight, using it as a shield between them.
“You look cute dressed like that with your hair loose. Less like you’re going to close some multi-million-dollar deal and eat a few men for dessert, and more like you’ve been tucked up in bed all day…with someone.”
You! a voice in her head screamed. “I’ve always thought ‘cute’ screamed of a cross between ugly and pretty in an adult.”
“I noticed right off you don’t take to well to compliments.”
She didn’t know how to answer that, so she said, “You should go before it snows.”
“I’ve lived here for most of my life, New York. I know the conditions.” He was close now, his gaze once again running over her face. “You call if you need anything or if you get frightened. It can be scary out here if you don’t know the place. Jake and Branna live at the end of the road by the park, and Ethan and Annabelle three driveways back toward town.”
“I’ll be all right, but thank you. I’m used to being alone…I mean, I’m used to my own company.” Willow felt compelled to add the last as she didn’t want his sympathy.
“You don’t like letting people help you, do you, New York? You’re a loner. I bet if the power went out, and you ran out of supplies, you’d just starve and freeze.”
“I don’t know you people, nor do I like personal questions, especially not from people I don’t know.” Willow managed to keep her words calm. “Plus you thought I was public enemy number one yesterday, so I’m not sure why you’re here now.”
“But we’ve known each other for a long time,” he drawled.
“I asked for a muffin and coffee every day. That does not mean we know each other.”
His hand went to the side of her face, and he removed her glasses. Willow tried to back away, but her feet wouldn’t move. Then he was kissing her again, and this time for longer than two seconds.
It was hot and fierce, and her body was awash with sensual heat in seconds. She swayed forward, placing a hand on his chest, her fingers curling around the edge of his coat, where a button dug into the soft skin of her palm as the onslaught continued. She couldn’t think; her head was filled with the sensation of his mouth dominating hers. He cupped the back of her head, angling it so he could deepen the contact and she could do nothing to stop him…wanted to do nothing.
“Wh-why did you do that?” she whispered as he drew back and then replaced her glasses.
“Hell if I know.”
They looked at each other, his eyes blazing with passion and need, hers the same. She was breathless, and she realized her hand was still holding his coat.
“I have to go.”
“Yes.” She released him and stepped back. “I—that shouldn’t have happened.”
“No, but it did, and it was just a kiss, so don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“Me? You instigated it,” she said as he reached the door.
“You should go back to New York.”
“Not until you read the contract.”
His sigh was loud enough to make her wince. “That’s not going to happen, Willow, so you’re wasting your breath trying. The Gryphon will never be for sale because it means too much to my family. My mother helped out when I first opened. She baked for me, and Dad served. It’s not something you forget.”
He pulled the door open.
He couldn’t mean that. Willow could feel acid start churning inside her stomach again. “I’m going to come and see you tomorrow, so please at least listen to what I have to say.”
He didn’t answer, and seconds later the door was shut, leaving her alone in the room, her body now alive with need and her thoughts desperate.
“The man can kiss,” she said, slumping into the chair as she watched his headlights disappear down the drive. Her breasts ached, and heat had pooled between her thighs. She hadn’t felt this aroused in…well, ever.
She hadn’t had great sexual experiences. The first had been painful and undertaken in alcohol-fueled haste, the second totally without passion, and the third had been a disaster. Needless to say, she believed herself to be a person who wasn’t passionate by nature—yet after just two kisses from the owner of The Hoot Café, that idea no longer had any foundation. Part of her was saying run. Run back to New York like Buster Griffin had told her to. There she could reclaim her life, reclaim her control; there she didn’t have to feel. But there she’d have to face Michael with her failure, and probably end up selling her apartment because he wouldn’t make her his partner.
She decided that it was time to go to bed in the hope that when she woke she’d once again be the Willow Harper she’d been before arriving in Lake Howling. Cool, calm and collected. The other Willow Harper, the one who’d made d
