by J. B. Havens
The driver’s door swung open, and the man that emerged set her teeth on edge.
Andrew.
As a litany of curses ran through her head, she didn’t move, not wanting to give her presence away. Ethel came slinking out from the shade of the porch and approached the unwanted visitor. She’d almost doubled in size since Willow had adopted her. Andrew scowled down at the cat, making a move as if he was going to kick her.
“You kick my cat, and you’re not going to like the consequences,” she barked.
His head jerked up, and his foot returned to the gravel, leaving Ethel unharmed. “Willow? Where are you?”
She took a step toward the still closed screen door, keeping the barrier between them. Ethel had clamored up the steps at the sound of Willow’s voice. “Get off my land.”
“Now, Willow, that’s no way to talk to your husband.” He strode closer, clearly intending to come up onto the porch.
Before his foot hit the first step, she picked up the shotgun, not giving herself a chance to think about it. She kicked at the screen door’s frame, sending it flying, and shouldered the weapon. Her hands shook a little, but it was definitely from anger and not from the fact she was pointing a gun at someone for the first time in her life. The chh chh of the pump action had Andrew freezing where he stood. “You’re not my husband, Andrew—you haven’t been in a very long time. Now, you’re nothing to me other than a trespasser. And around here, we shoot trespassers.”
His hands were raised, and actual fear appeared on his face. “What the fuck, woman? Put that thing down before you hurt someone!”
Taking two steps closer, she aimed the barrel to the left of him and fired into the dirt. Andrew paled and jumped about a foot straight up in the air, yelping in alarm. Quickly pumping the action again, she ejected the spent shell as a live round loaded into the chamber. “I have four more where that came from.”
“What the fuck! You shot at me!”
“If I’d shot at you, you’d be dead. I’m going to say it one more time, really slow, since you’re such a dumb ass. Get the fuck off my property before I decide you’re too stupid to live.”
“I’ll have you arrested! You tried to kill me!” he shouted as he quickly retreated to his car. “I’m calling the police!”
“Go ahead! I’ll be waiting right here.” She kept the shotgun trained on him until he was in his car and backing away in a cloud of dust.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later, the sheriff arrived at her house. She’d taken the time to put her groceries away before deciding to wait on the porch swing for him. There’d been no doubt in her mind Andrew would file a complaint against her. Sheriff Grady Minor was in his fifties and had been with the county’s sheriff department his entire adult life, having been elected to the top position after fifteen years as a deputy. Maddie Fisher had told her everyone loved him so much, he’d run uncontested during every election. He had the reputation of being firm but fair. Willow had been introduced to him briefly at the fourth of July parade but hadn’t had a chance to say more than hello to him because he’d had to run off for someone having a medical emergency. He’d seemed like the good guy everyone proclaimed him to be though, and as she waited to find out how much trouble she was in, she hoped that was true.
The lawman climbed out of his SUV and slowly ambled up to her side porch. He was dressed in his official brown uniform, complete with a badge over his heart, a duty belt around his hips, and a cowboy hat on his head. He had a strong physique that probably had most criminals thinking twice about going toe to toe with him.
“Where’s the shotgun, Ms. Crawford?”
“Inside by the door, where it’s always been. You here to arrest me, Sheriff?”
“Should I?” He took a step closer before crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against one of the porch’s columns. “You shot at a man, trespassing or not, that’s against the law, unless he was threatening you, which he says he didn’t do.”
She tamped down her reemerging anger, remembering this man had the ability to toss her into a jail cell and throw away the key. “To be clear, I shot near him, not at him—a good eight-feet away from him. I’m sure I skirted the law a bit, but he got a fair warning.”
She should be afraid about being arrested, but for some reason she wasn’t. If she was still back East, she would already be face down in the dirt with her hands cuffed behind her back. But as she was learning, things were far different in Antelope Rock than Philly, and she was hoping this was one of those times where the cultural differences would lean in her favor. “Look, he’s my ex-husband, and he’s been harassing me since the divorce. I keep blocking his number, but he keeps getting new numbers to call me from. Shit, I moved across the country, Sheriff, and the bastard still tracked me down. The way I see it, if doing all that doesn’t get him to leave me alone, maybe buck shot will convince him.”
The corners of the sheriff’s mouth ticked upward, but he quickly ran a hand over his face to hide what she was sure had been the start of a smile. “Fair enough.” He pushed his hat higher up on his head and eyed her closely. “Mind if I sit?”
“Knock yourself out, Sheriff.” She scooted over on the large swing, making room for him as he climbed the steps.
“I ran your name before coming over here. You’ve never been in trouble, not so much as a damn parking ticket and now you’re shooting at a man.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to clarify she’d shot near him. “Jeremiah took you for some target practice, huh?”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy.” Sighing, she turned to look directly at him. “Look, if you’re going to take me in, fine, but I need to call Jeremiah, so he can come check on my chickens and cat.”
He shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, everyone has the God given right to protect themselves and their property. Maybe more so since you’re out here all alone. No one was hurt. If you’d clipped him or his car, we might be having a different conversation. Your ex has been advised to be on his way to the airport, by the way. If you hear anything more from him, let me know. Keep that gun close. You never know what folks like him’ll do. I’ve seen situations like this go south real fast. I’d hate for something to happen to you.” He patted her leg and stood. “Remember, Ms. Crawford, I’m here to help. Call me if he shows back up before you go blowing holes in him.”
“If you’re not going to arrest me, please call me Willow. And I can’t make any promises about not blowing holes in my ex if he harasses me again, though I do promise, if he does, I’ll call you before it escalates.”
“I guess that’s going to have to be good enough, huh? Just make sure it’s justified. In fact, next time, yell that you see a rattler before you pull the trigger.” The smile he’d hid earlier appeared on his face, accompanied by a twinkle in his eyes. “Stay safe, Willow, and tell that cousin of mine not to be a stranger—I know the two of you are getting on pretty well.” At her look of confusion, he continued, “Jeremiah’s my cousin. His mom and mine are sisters, although they had a falling out years ago. He’s still kin though.” He descended the steps and strolled to his cruiser. He opened the driver’s door before pausing and looking back at her. “Oh, and Willow, welcome to Antelope Rock. Since you’ve officially discharged a weapon at someone, you get an honorary shot at Spurs & Bulls. See you later.”
Once again, she felt as if she’d fallen into an alternate reality. One where shooting near someone got her a visit from the sheriff, but instead of being hauled off in cuffs, she’d been invited to go out drinking like it was a rite of passage to get a visit from the local fuzz. Apparently, times had changed in the past decade or so. From what she’d heard, it used to take years, a blood pact, and the sacrifice of a firstborn before newcomers in a small town were accepted into the fold. There were still people who talked in hushed tones or avoided her when they saw her, but they were far less than she’d expected. Antelope Rock was feeling like a home, where she could put down roots, more and more each day. Nice.
&
nbsp; She couldn’t wait to tell Nathan.
With that in mind, she hopped off the swing and wandered down her long drive to the mailbox, hoping another letter was waiting for her.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Wannabe,
Nathan crumpled up the page, tossed it into a nearby wastebasket, and started over.
Dear Willow,
Tell that jackass neighbor of yours that you already have a boyfriend and to keep his dirty hands off you.
“Arrgh.” That piece of paper ended up in a ball in the bottom of the trash too.
Dear Willow,
You’re so damn sexy, I can’t stop thinking of you. Hell, I jacked off in the port-a-john to images in my head of having you naked underneath me.
“Get a freaking grip, Casey. That’s not something you tell her in a letter when you’ve never even been in the same damn room with the woman.” He threw the crushed-up page toward the basket to add to the others, but it bounced off the rim and onto the floor.
“You talking to yourself over there, man?” Hector Garcia asked from across the multipurpose room a few members of Nathan’s squad were hanging out in during their downtime. “Or just playing a crappy game of trashball?”
“Neither. Mind your own business.”
His roommate, Zach Ramsey, made kissing noises before announcing, “He’s writing to Willow and trying to not tell her how badly he wants to bang her the first minute they meet.”
With that, everyone in the room started up with the kissing noises and moaning and yelling like they were getting some tail.
“Fuck you, all,” he responded without any heat. They always gave each other shit about one thing or another. Today was just his day to get razzed apparently. He ran his hands through his hair as his captain strode into the room.
Before anyone could stand, Capt. Matt Santana waved both hands in a downward gesture. “At ease. I come bearing gifts . . . well, actually good news. A week from Thursday, we’re outta here—a little earlier than expected. So, give your significant others, and anyone else you want, a heads-up. We’re going home, boys and girls!”
The room erupted into a cacophony of whoops, hollers, and whistles. That was the best news they’d gotten since they’d arrived in this hellhole. If all went well, Nathan would leave Iraq next week and never return.
September 10
Dear Willow,
We just got the greatest news! My platoon is heading back to the States next week! I think I might kiss the ground as soon as I get off the plane. It’ll take about another week or so to settle back in, but after that, I should be able to take a few days leave. I was thinking of taking you up on your invite to visit Wyoming, so I can sit on that porch swing with you and watch the sunset. Is that okay with you?
Don’t bother mailing another letter or care package to me here, because I’ll be on my way home, if not already there, by the time you do. I’ll put my email address and cell phone number at the bottom of this letter, so you can send me yours. That way, when I get home, it’ll be easier to contact you.
I want you to know, I’m saving all your letters. They’ve meant the world to me, and so have you. When I get a chance, I’d like to take you out on a date, like a proper date. Please say yes. Pretty please! Okay, enough begging. I’m probably coming off as a desperate schmuck, but I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer than these past few months. Oddly, it doesn’t seem strange to me that we haven’t met in person, yet I feel like we already have. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy. Anyway, let me know if you’re up for me visiting you, and I’ll make the arrangements. Maybe you can scout out some tattoo shops within driving distance and help me choose some new ink. We could also go horseback riding, shooting, and if we’re lucky, watch a thunderstorm roll in. (As I wrote that, I was struck by how cool it is that we have so much in common. It must’ve been fate when our mail clerk chose me to give your first letter to.)
To answer your questions about thunderstorms—yes, I love them, and no, we really don’t get them here. In fact, there is very little rain, if any, from May to September. Instead, we get sandstorms, and those things are a bitch. You feel like you’re coughing up sand for days after getting caught in one of them.
I’m sorry to hear about your douchebag ex-husband. No one deserves to be treated like that. I’m glad you’re half a dozen states or so away from him now. Maybe he’ll get the picture. And if he doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to make sure he does.
The Brodericks sound like nice people. It’s great of them to take you under their wing, sort of, and show you the business. I think you should go for it, if that’s what you really want to do. I have a feeling you’d excel at anything you put your mind to. I mean, you packed up and moved halfway across the country and transitioned from a big city woman to a small town one with more ease than most people could. I’m proud of you. Just do me a favor and don’t name any of the alpacas after me, okay?
Well, I gotta go—my buddies want to celebrate the good news, and they’re making such a racket, I can barely hear myself think. The next time I write, I’ll be in the States! I can’t wait. Talk to you soon.
Yours,
Nathan
(719) 555-9420
[email protected]
Willow’s hand shook as she finished reading. “Oh my God!” She wanted to scream out loud for the world to hear, “He likes me! He really likes me!”
She refrained, but just barely. As it was, she’d let out a squeal that probably sounded like a mating call to any nearby pigs. As she’d walked to her mailbox, she’d been hoping for, but not really expecting a letter from him so soon. She’d been so surprised and excited, she’d ripped it open and read it right there, standing on the side of the road, oblivious to any rattlesnakes that may have slithered by.
She traced her finger over the carefully written numbers at the bottom of the page. His phone number. Flipping the envelope over she noticed the post mark was almost two weeks old. That meant . . . he was home! She could call him, like right now—just dial the number and talk to him for real. She’d be able to hear his voice. His breathing. His laughter.
Did she have the guts?
Tucking the letter safely into her back pocket, she sprinted up the dirt driveway to the front door. If she could pull a shotgun on her ex-husband, she could pick up the phone and take a chance. The first thing she was going to tell him was, yes. Yes, to the date. Yes, to the visit. Yes, to everything!
Dammit, maybe she should’ve bought those condoms after all.
Barreling into the house, she skidded to a stop by the island where she’d left her cell phone. She snatched the letter from her back pocket and smoothed it out on the countertop. Her hands trembled, hitting the numbers wrong three times before she got it right. Taking a moment, she tried to calm her racing heart before she pushed green button. Raising the phone to her ear, she held her breath and waited as it rang.
“Staff Sergeant Casey.”
His voice was deep and thick, sounding more than a little annoyed.
“Hello? If someone is there, you’ve got two seconds before I’m hanging up and blocking this number.”
She shivered at his commanding tone, never thinking he’d sound like that.
“N-Nathan? It’s Willow,” she replied, unsure and hesitant. Nerves jumbled around in her stomach until she was sure she was going to puke. Had it been a mistake to call him?
“Willow?” he replied, the air of command now absent in his tone, having been replaced clearly with disbelief. “Is that really you?”
“Yeah. Yes. It’s me. I, ugh . . . I just got your last letter. Is this . . . um . . . is this a bad time? I should have waited until later this evening, but I was just so excited to call you.”
“No! No, this is a perfect time. I was just leaving work for the day. It’s so good to finally hear your voice. Hang on, let me get in my truck.” She could hear people talking in the background, their words and laughter rising and falling in volume, as if he’d wal
ked by a large group. The sound of a vehicle’s door opening was followed by it shutting again before he spoke again. “Willow . . . I just . . . wow. I don’t even know what to say. I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.”
Relief was coursing through her over the fact he was happy to hear from her, Willow began pacing back and forth . “Same here. I’m . . .” she trailed off, struggling to get her thoughts into words. “I’m just so glad you’re home safe. Where are you?”
“Fort Riley, in Kansas.”
“Really? That’s not that far away here. You could . . .” She smacked herself on the forehead. “Oh my God, that was really presumptuous of me.”
“No. Stop. It’s not. I told you I wanted to come see you, and I meant it.” He paused. “Did you think about what I asked?”
“The date?”
“Yeah.” His voice was quieter than it’d been a moment ago and sounded a little insecure. Maybe he was as nervous as she was.
“Yes.”
“Yes, you thought about it?”
Laughter bubbled from her lips before she put him out of his misery. “Yes, I thought about it, and yes, you can take me on a date.”
His sigh of relief was audible, making her giggle even more. God, when had she become a woman who actually giggled at a cute guy? She didn’t know or even care. All she knew was that Nathan made her feel lighter and happier than she could ever remember being.
“You laughing at me, Wannabe? You know how damn nervous I was? I thought for sure Jeremiah would’ve beaten me to it.”
