How Sweet It Is

by Wendy Vella

  “Hi. How can I help?” The woman at the reception desk smiled as Willow approached.

  “I don’t live here and I don’t have an appointment, but I went to the pharmacy to get some ointment for my burn, and was told I should come and see a doctor.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. We have two doctors on duty this afternoon. If you fill out these forms, I’ll see who can take a look at you.”

  There were a few people in the waiting room. After she’d found a chair, Willow worked through the paperwork. She had to wait thirty minutes, and then was surprised when Annabelle Smith, whom she’d met at Macy’s house, came out in a uniform to get her.

  “Hey, there, Willow. I hear you hurt your arm?”

  “You’re a nurse here?” Willow got to her feet.

  “Sure am, and if you follow me, we’ll take a look at you.”

  She followed Annabelle into a treatment room and took the seat Annabelle waved her into.

  “Hey, there, Willow.” Jake McBride walked in wearing jeans and a sweater.

  “Jake’s a doctor,” Annabelle explained, seeing Willow’s look.

  “I hear you hurt your arm,” Jake said. “If you take off your coat and roll up your sleeve, then get up on the exam table, I’ll take a look.”

  A doctor, a nurse, a café owner—these people were a varied lot, Willow thought as she did what he’d asked.

  “Did you get that flu jab into Branna, Jake, or do you want me to do it?” Annabelle said as she helped Willow roll up her sleeve.

  Willow heard Jake McBride’s loud sigh as he shook his head and pulled the trolley closer to the bed.

  “It’s the only thing she’s irrational about, even though I promised her chocolate after.”

  “I could drug her by dropping something in her wine, and then we could do like the vets do with animals while they sleep—give her a good checkup,” Annabelle said. Willow couldn’t help it; she laughed at the vision.

  “My wife has a phobia of anything to do with the medical profession,” Jake said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh—”

  “Don’t worry about it. If she was here, she’d be laughing with you. Unfortunately for her, she married a doctor, and I insist on certain vaccinations. I’ll be honest, Willow, I’d sooner wrestle a grizzly than treat my wife. I usually get my mother to do it.”

  Willow watched as he gently pulled off the bandage she’d wrapped around her arm over the gauze pad. The pad came away, revealing a sticky mess underneath.

  “Your mother is a doctor too?”

  “This is her practice. You’ll probably see her soon. She’s always checking up on me.”

  “Ouch. That must be sore.” Annabelle had moved to the other side of the bed.

  “Is this from the coffee burn you got at The Hoot?”

  Willow nodded in answer to Jake’s question.

  “You have an infection in there, which we need to treat, and then you’ll have to come in to the clinic for the next few days and get this dressed.”

  “Oh…I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”

  “I thought you were taking a vacation,” Jake said as Annabelle started cleaning the burn.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like The Hoot,” Annabelle said. “Coffee and pies, muffins, a combination of everything.”

  There was no point in denying it; Willow had already come to the realization that everyone would know by nightfall. “I helped out there this morning.”

  “Really?” Jake said, now with a needle in his hands.

  “I went to see Buster, and Newman was at the counter. He said that Buster’s staff had let him down, and everyone else was busy, so I made a few coffees to help them out.” Silence greeted these words, and she watched as Jake and Annabelle shared a look. “What?” she asked, then hissed as she felt the needle sink into her arm. “Ouch.”

  “See, now, that’s the response Branna should have. A gentle ouch, not screaming so loud my ears ring for days. I had to sit on her the other day just to get a tiny splinter of wood out from under her fingernail.” Jake pressed a small pad of cotton against her arm and held it there while he talked. “She’s irrational. She morphs into this crazed woman as soon as she picks up the scent of antiseptic.”

  “I’m packing my bags and leaving town when she’s pregnant,” Annabelle announced.

  They were amazing people, these Howlers, as Newman had told her the locals were called. They shared their thoughts and feelings openly and were fiercely loyal and protective of each other.

  “So, no doubt Buster was effusive in his gratitude for your help today at The Hoot?” Jake said, putting an adhesive bandage on her arm now that Annabelle was done cleaning it. “A succession of elegantly stated ‘thank you’s that had him gushing all over the place because you saved his butt?”

  “He said thank you.”

  Jake snorted. “That means he’s grateful, then, because he doesn’t offer those words up lightly. Take it from someone who’s known him since before he could walk.”

  “He doesn’t smile a lot, does he?” Willow didn’t want to dig, but couldn’t help herself. Buster Griffin intrigued her. “Even in New York it wasn’t something he often did. Well, not with his mouth.”

  “But he does with his eyes?” Annabelle asked, looking at Willow.

  “Yes.” Dear Lord, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. They were both looking at her now.

  “There aren’t many people I would trust my or Branna’s life with, but he’s one of them,” Jake said. “There are depths to that man that only a few of his close friends have ever seen, but when you do, you realize why you put up with the rest of him.”

  Why did she feel like Jake had told her that for a reason?

  “Some people need to talk and show their love constantly, and I have one of those at home,” Annabelle said. “But not Buster. He just does it when you least expect it. It takes you a while to realize, and then you’re, like, wow.”

  “You got the opposite in Ethan,” Jake laughed. “He can’t go a day without saying something emotional. He told Buster he loved him the other day, and to give Griffin his due Buster took it on the chin and said it was a one-time thing, but try it again and he’d drop him with a fist.”

  Willow found herself laughing as they told her their stories. When her treatment was finished, she was given a bottle of pills and told to rest up as she had a nasty infection.

  “Come in sometime tomorrow and I’ll dress that again,” Annabelle said as she walked Willow to the door after she’d said goodbye to Jake.

  “I will, and thank you, Annabelle.”

  “No worries.” The beautiful Annabelle Smith gave Willow a bright smile that only enhanced her looks. “I was wondering, if you’re not too busy tomorrow, and your arm is feeling better, would you be interested in coming to careers day at the school? We don’t have anyone involved in real estate, and it’d be great if you could offer up a few pointers so the kids can see what’s involved.”

  “Oh—I—”

  “These children don’t have much perspective on what’s going on in the big wide world. Often, they don’t leave here until they’re older, so this is a wonderful opportunity,” Annabelle said, strengthening up her request. “We often ask visitors to come along. It’s important, don’t you think? I promise it won’t take more than an hour of your time.”

  Well and truly manipulated, Willow said, “I was going to try to head back to Brook tomorrow, but if you think it would help—?” She didn’t know what else to say, as she’d never been asked to do something like this before.

  “Are you kidding me? It’d be awesome. We try to run this day every year so the kids can get enthused about the future. They’re young, but it gets them thinking about their options and what they’ll need to study in high school.”

  She’d only been here a few days, and she’d been roped into careers day. And that was after working in a c
afé all day and decorating a stranger’s Christmas tree. Her life was spiraling out of control.

  “Okay, sure. So, where do I go and what time?” Refusing Annabelle Smith, Willow realized, was not an easy thing to do. She was determined, smart, and had a way with words that would make her top salesperson at Howe Realty in a matter of months.

  Sitting in her car minutes later, Willow shook her head. What the hell had just happened? Annabelle had enlisted her, and Willow hadn’t even put up a fight. She must be losing her edge.

  Sighing, she started to run through what she’d need to take with her to the school. If she was going to do this, then she’d do it right. Maybe she’d do a PowerPoint presentation. She stopped to pick up a few things at The Roar, then headed out of town.

  “What the hell is the matter with me?” Willow asked herself aloud. For years in New York, she had actively avoided people and connections other than work-related ones. Here in Howling, that philosophy seemed to have been cast to the winds. She’d made friends…hadn’t she? Maybe not friends, but acquaintances. She was sketching again, and she’d even told Newman a joke this morning that had made him laugh. It was like she’d stepped into an alternate universe where everything was out of sync.

  “It’s like I have this whole other side to my personality that’s suddenly making itself known,” she muttered, wondering if she was happy or angry about that.

  There were a lot of motor homes on the road now as she drove out of town, but none of them looked familiar. Once she was back at the cabin, she stoked up the fire, showered the scent of coffee and muffins off herself, carefully keeping her injured arm dry, and dressed in clean underwear and leggings before pulling on her warm lavender sweater and slippers again. She took down her hair and brushed it, then left it loose. She heated up some soup, then grabbed her laptop and sat at the small kitchen table and fired it up. It was too late to head back to The Hoot now. She’d go in the morning before she went to the school.

  Why was she content here? Was she burnt out in New York? Was that where all these conflicting emotions were coming from?

  Maybe after she was made partner, she’d take a few days for herself. She’d go somewhere and relax, just her and her sketch pad. She had to get Buster’s signature on that contract and then everything else would fall into place; she had to believe that.

  That man should not appeal to her as much as he did. In New York she’d known nothing about him, so her fantasies had been of her own creating—his personality and his life had been made up in her head. But now she knew that he was abrasive, rarely talked or smiled, and that his friends loved him, and suddenly he intrigued her more.

  He’d said he didn’t want to sell the Gryphon because he and his family had an emotional connection to it. She realized she was beginning to feel guilty about pushing him to do just that. Staring at the screen of her laptop, she wondered how she could have doubts now, when her future depended on him signing that contract.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Buster pulled in behind Willow’s rental and switched off the Jeep’s ignition. He felt the first flake of snow settle on his cheek as he got out, and seconds later he was knocking on the door. No one answered, so he tried the handle, but it didn’t budge.

  “Damn city folk,” he muttered. Always needing to lock everything.

  If her car was here, that meant she was on foot, which was just plain irresponsible in this weather.

  Jake had called as Buster was finishing up at the café for the day to tell him that the burn on Willow’s wrist was infected. Guilty that it had been him who had put it there in the first place, he packed up some supplies and headed out here. Besides, Newman was right: he did owe her thanks, and probably an apology, but he wasn’t thinking about the firstborn child naming, because that conjured up images of him and Willow getting naked, and he’d thought about that far too much already.

  Walking around the cabin didn’t result in finding her, so he opened his car, rummaged in the back seat and found a woolen hat, then started back down the drive on foot.

  When he left Howling to go to Paris, he’d thought he would only come back to visit, but he’d never forgotten what was here waiting. Something had been missing inside him the entire time he was gone, like a hole had opened he’d never been able to close. Lake Howling was in his blood. He loved the people, the scenery, the vibe, and pretty much everything the town was and stood for. His friends were the same; they’d all left at various times, vowing never to return, but like him they had filtered back, and now the people closest to him all lived here again.

  His boots crunched on the stones as he turned left at the bottom of the drive and walked with the lake on his right. He didn’t think she’d head back into town because she’d driven that road already today. The lake water was freezing, and in this light almost the color of the slate on his kitchen table. Looking ahead, he wondered where the hell that foolish woman had gone, as the snow was falling steadily now. Walking along the verge, he searched the trees bordering the water and finally found her seated on a log, back to the road, facing the lake.

  She didn’t look up as he approached, which told Buster she was engrossed in whatever she was doing. When he got close, he noticed she was drawing on her pad. Standing to the side, he watched as her hand flew over the page. Every so often her eyes would lift, and then she’d drop them again and draw a few more strokes.

  He touched her shoulder lightly, trying not to scare her. “You know it’s snowing, right?”

  She dropped the pad and leaped to her feet, fists raised. The look in her eyes made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  “Easy, New York. I come in peace.”

  She dropped her fists, then her eyes.

  “Y-you surprised me.” She bent to pick up her pad and pencil, and when she straightened, her eyes were cool again.

  “Remind me never to surprise you if that’s the reaction I’m in for.”

  Her hair was loose. His eyes roamed the mass of caramel curls that fell from beneath her hat.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “You have an infection in your arm, Willow, and I believe the doctor, who happens to be my friend, as does the nurse, told you to rest up for a few days.”

  “I’m drawing. That’s hardly stressful.”

  “It’s close to dark, the temperature is in single digits and very possibly with a minus in front of it, and there’s snow falling.”

  “I’m wrapped up warm.”

  The hat was sitting on her eyebrows, and she was wearing a woolen overcoat, leather boots, and gloves.

  “Those are city boots.” He pointed to her feet. “Where’s your scarf?”

  “I forgot it. Who made you my keeper?” she said with a surprising show of belligerence.

  Buster had never seen her anything but polite and cool. He liked the change and wanted more of it. “Nothing wrong with friendly concern, New York.”

  “You’re just feeling guilty because of the burn.”

  “Probably, but if you’re found here with your cute butt frozen to that log in the morning, then it is my problem, because it’ll be my friend Cubby who’ll have to deal with it. And he’ll whine for days about how ignorant you out-of-towners are.”

  Her lips twitched, but she fought the smile and managed to swallow it down.

  “Is that where the people stay when they come for the carnival?” She pointed to a wide stretch of grass that jutted out toward the lake, further up the road.

  “Yeah, and as you can see it’s filling up fast. The carnival starts on Saturday and by then it’ll be full.”

  “I need to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “I—ah… I don’t like crowds.” She still had her eyes on the site.

  “That must be a bitch, considering you live in New York.”

  “Do… do many hippies come to the carnival?”

  Buster wanted to see her face, so he moved to stand in front of her. She looked worried, and he wanted to know w
hy. “It’s full of them.”

  “Really.” She dragged her gaze from the vans and motor homes back to his. “That must be great for the town.”

  “Peachy. We just love having it full of people.”

  “You don’t sound sincere.”

  Buster could see her lips were turning blue from the cold, so he took her pad and put it under his arm, then wrapped his fingers around her arm and turned her toward the cabin. “Walk.” Surprisingly, she did. “I like the carnival, but not all the visitors are nice. Some drink too much and throw up on the streets, others argue and sometimes end it with their fists. Litter is left everywhere, even though we put out dozens of trash cans, and while it’s good for the town’s economy, most Howlers breathe a sigh of relief when it’s done.”

  “I never thought about that side of things. When I was a kid, we traveled a lot and we often went to fairs and carnivals and things like that, but I never thought about what was left behind when we left.”

  “Illinois, right?”

  “Newman’s good at pumping people for information without their realizing it,” Willow said, shooting him a look.

  “The best. When we were kids and in trouble, it was always him we sent in to talk with the parents. He’d apologize, and discuss what had happened, and by the end the parents had forgiven us.”

  “Wow, he must have been handy to have around.”

  “It’s a talent,” Buster said as they turned up the driveway to the cabin. He slid his hand down her arm and grabbed her fingers, both because the drive was steep and slippery, and because he wanted to.

  “He said I owe you an apology and thanks.”

  “You don’t. I helped you today because I was there and wanted to. You don’t owe me anything for that.”

  They both fell silent. To his surprise she didn’t pull her hand free, and it felt good nestled in his. “You go on in. I need to get something from the car,” he said when they’d reached the top.