Diamonds And Denim (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots)

by Danni Lee Nicholls

  Settling her emotions, Willow hurried inside. She asked for Katherine and was told she had the day off.

  Willow nodded. Probably for the best. She asked the clerk for the battery, who pulled it up from the shelf below the counter before checking Willow out and carrying it to the truck. Willow thanked him. Giving Pilot a gentle pat on the head, she turned Clementine toward the open road, looking forward to going home. But once again, her thoughts turned over Mick’s accusation, and it throbbed like a hornet’s sting. During his short stay, Mick had touched some tender place within Willow she hadn’t even known existed, and she had opened herself to him only to be wounded by his venomous allegation.

  Well, Bert was a magician when it came to cars. After all, he kept her old truck working. If anyone could get Mick’s useless bucket of a Jag up and running, it would be Bert. Then, Mr. Studs could be on his way. The sooner, the better. Did he really think she’d swiped his earrings? What use would she have for a pair of one-carat studs, anyway?

  Willow pushed the truck into fourth gear and picked up speed. The Double W was about an hour from town, and she wanted to hurry home.

  She turned her thoughts from Mick. There was a prediction of early and heavy snow, and it was already beginning to fall. She hoped this didn’t mean the cows would have to be started on hay. They had enough for a normal winter, but it would be better if this snowfall melted as soon as it came, giving their cows more time on the pasture grass.

  There was so much to do before the snow piled up. Willow’s mental list lengthened. There was equipment that needed maintenance, and the cows that needed to be checked for pregnancy. This early snow wouldn’t stop that work, but it would make it miserable. She also wanted to make sure there was enough wood close to the house, in case they lost power. The generator and its store of fuel also needed to be checked. She was glad Shorty was cooking today. The snow meant extra chores for her, whether it stayed or not.

  Pilot left the passenger’s side window and moved toward Willow, where he curled up, placing his head on her lap.

  Willow let out a long sigh as she stroked the dog, her thoughts turning once again to Mick. “I know you liked him, and I liked him, too,” she said. “But he sure got rude in a hurry. Besides, sitting at breakfast with Mick probably would’ve set off a firestorm in this town because of Curtis. You know how it is here.”

  Pilot sighed again.

  Willow knew Pilot didn’t care much for Curtis, and Curtis only tolerated the dog. Curtis saw dogs as working animals. Nothing more. Letting a dog in the house was practically sacrilege. Sleeping in the same room? Never!

  Willow loved Pilot, and he was her constant companion. He was there for her when her mother died and would curl next to her whenever she cried. In the middle of her darkest nights, when her clock blinked coldly with crawling minutes, Willow had turned to Pilot, and his heart had been constant and loving through her grief. And although he didn’t sleep on Willow’s bed, he did have his own special sleeping space that included a nice soft pad in her room.

  Willow took another deep breath and slowly exhaled. Curtis. Their family ranches shared a property line that stretched for five hundred acres in grasslands. From the time they were children, both sets of parents spoke of their marriage as if it was their fondest wish. But it was more than just a marriage between two well-loved children. It was the bringing together of two ranches under one family. The Triangle 4 and the Double W would merge under the care of Curtis and Willow.

  For years, Willow thrived on the idea of merging her life with Curtis and his family. It fed her in moments of hungry grief after her mother died and Willow’s beliefs around family had been emptied by her mother’s death. However, Curtis never discussed marriage, and he didn’t talk much about his time in Texas either, leaving Willow wondering if he had a girlfriend at the university. She had asked him if he was seeing someone, and he scoffed at the idea but never fully denied it.

  Ruby had cautioned Willow, telling her that long-distance relationships rarely worked. She wanted Willow to cut Curtis loose and find her own path. But Willow hesitated to give up the man she’d known since childhood, even if their relationship was beginning to deteriorate along the jagged edges that had fit so neatly together for most of her life.

  Their differences began showing up in the decisions around how to run the Double W.

  Their fight from this last summer still echoed through her.

  “We need to think of this as a business,” Curtis said during his last summer vacation when he wanted Willow and her father to fire Shorty.

  Willow vehemently disagreed. “We need to remember this is a family,” she shot back.

  “And last time I checked, Shorty wasn’t blood related,” Curtis replied.

  Willow’s gaze had burned into Curtis. “He’s closer to me than you are at this moment,” Willow stated under her breath. Curtis didn’t hear. He was too busy checking a text that came through his phone.

  For Willow, life was fleeting, and her job was to hold close those she loved, and that included Shorty.

  Shorty had been with the Double W since she was three years old. She didn’t remember a time when he wasn’t in her life. As a child, she would spend her summer afternoons in his kitchen as her parents worked the ranch. He never complained about her being underfoot, but instead made her believe she was his “helper.”

  When her mother was sick, Shorty explored every possibility to help her mother eat when she was on chemo and food tasted like metal. He researched cancer diets and made a special menu for her in the midst of cooking for the ranch hands along with Willow and her father. Curtis didn’t recognize Shorty’s contribution if it didn’t add to dollars and cents.

  Willow cleared her throat as she flicked on the windshield wipers. Snow started falling fast and thick. Willow peered at the flakes. Well, at least the snow was wet. That meant it would probably melt soon. Willow reached down and stroked Pilot’s head. The dog looked up at her.

  “I need to quit remembering the trouble Curtis causes and think of the good in him.”

  Pilot lowered his head back on Willow’s leg, as if that conversation wasn’t worth having.

  “He’s a good man,” Willow protested. “He just wants everything to be as efficient as possible.”

  But there was more to Curtis than efficiency and numbers. He loved Willow’s parents as much as his own. When Willow’s mother became ill with cancer, Curtis quit his freshman year at college, coming home to help Willow’s family. He worked beside Willow and her father in the fields. And he tended her mother when Willow and her dad were exhausted.

  After Willow’s mom died, it was Curtis who helped Willow keep the ranch afloat when her dad basically locked himself in the bedroom he had shared with his wife of twenty-eight years. Willow and Curtis worked side by side during that awful summer, harvesting hay, checking cows, vaccinating calves, and fixing fences.

  Soon after her father began working the ranch once again, Willow let down her guard and relaxed into love with Curtis. She adored him then, loved the tender side of him that sacrificed a whole year of his schooling and offered her family a safe harbor in the midst of a sea of grief. Even though that was five years ago, her mother’s passing and the summer she and Curtis spent by each other’s side in caring for the ranch was as vivid as today’s snowfall.

  Pulling up to the house, Willow let Pilot out of the driver’s side door. The dog hopped out and began trotting up to the porch. Willow stood in the drive, looking over the sloping grasslands dotted with pine trees, quickly becoming covered in white. The mountains weren’t too far off, but snow closed in around them, cutting them from her view. She shivered, hoping this weather was nothing more than an early squall. Maybe that was all she and Curtis were enduring: an early squall.

  Squinting in the bright light of the snow, she watched her father and Shorty riding their horses at a slow walk toward home. The gait of her father’s horse and his easy motion in the saddle was familiar, making Willow
smile.

  Even her father talked about her relationship with Curtis, as if it were the anticipated end to a long journey that would usher in his retirement. “Once Curtis gets out of school, the two of you will be married, and I’ll take up the rocking chair.” It was a comment her father would say at random moments, usually accompanied by a heavy sigh or a hard night with a troublesome cow.

  Willow’s heart stilled. Her father was the perfect guardian for the Double W. He was healthy and fit enough to work for another fifteen years at least, and Willow worried about taking that responsibility from him. The ranch kept him sharp and focused as he aged, and Willow wasn’t sure she was ready to see that responsibility move to Curtis, even though Curtis acted as if the Double W already belonged to him.

  A familiar irritation surged through Willow. Curtis had behaved that way ever since Willow’s mother died.

  Another shiver passed through Willow, accompanied by a stiff but wet stormy breeze, bringing Willow’s thoughts back to Mick. Who made a cross-country trip at the beginning of autumn in that kind of car, anyway? Anyone with any sense knew the snow could start to fly in these mountain passes as early as August. And who wore such ridiculously large diamond earrings? They seemed to have one purpose—to show off.

  Willow peered through the snow once again. If this storm had a more ominous purpose, it would be hard for anyone to get in or out of this valley, especially in a Jaguar. Even if Bert was able to work his magic with the Jag, there was nothing the mechanic could do about the weather.

  Chapter 9

  Mick sat in the mom-and-pop fast-food restaurant, picking apart his breakfast sandwich—overcooked sausage and egg with fake cheese and a soggy English muffin—along with fried tater tots and orange juice from concentrate. This meal was the closest thing to the motel, and he worried it would also be his dinner. He wouldn’t be posting this picture on Instagram for Simone, or anyone else, to see.

  He slapped the sandwich together and took a bite before checking his watch for the tenth time since Willow left. Eating in quick gulps, he downed the last of the orange juice and headed back into the cold. The snow was beginning to taper off. Now, it fell in lazy patches, driven by a fitful breeze. If he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave or so concerned about his life outside this moment, he would actually enjoy the beauty of the weather. Snow looked so different here than in New York, but it had that same peaceful hush he enjoyed.

  Thrusting his hands into the pocket of his jacket, he tried to shrug off the cold along with the sharp and icy accusations he had leveled at everyone. How was he ever going to explain himself to the sweet young maid or Bev, the motel owner? He cringed inside his coat. How was ever going to make things better with Willow?

  Maybe it would be best if he just left town as soon as the Jag was fixed. It was an attractive idea, but Mick didn’t like leaving a trail of stupidity behind, and so far, his own idiocy was the only constant during this whole trip.

  Turning toward the lake, he took in the gray water as snow curled along the shoreline. It was hard to see the mountains, but every now and again he would get a peek of the evergreen boughs through swirling snow. It was hard to believe this morning had dawned bright and fair and so full of promise with Willow’s visit. Now, regret lingered along with a sense of helplessness like the storm clouds that covered the sun.

  Walking along the shoreline, Mick followed the same paved path he and Willow had enjoyed just a few days ago. He passed the park with the gazebo but didn’t stop. His shoes were the only prints as he moved into the neighborhoods. Coming to the trailhead, Mick turned and faced the lake. The beauty of this place, even in the deepening cold, both calmed and excited him. What would it be like to live here?

  He shot down that thought. He was trying to get out of here. A new worry surfaced, adding to the growing list of concerns. How was he going to get out of here? Even with the Jaguar in top condition, this weather made it obvious that travel was going to be difficult. Was it going to be impossible? He still had the Rockies to cross. He wished he could ask Willow.

  Irritation seeped into him like the cold. He needed to quit thinking of Willow! She wasn’t the only local who understood the weather. But she probably was one of the few who wouldn’t laugh at him. Why had he been so quick to accuse her? Her honest smile and scrubbed-clean beauty seemed to offer him the closest possibility of a real friend.

  In Sunrise Creek, everyone he came in contact would land their glance on his earlobes and the diamonds he sported. A smile would curve on their lips, making a mockery of their question about how they could help him.

  Bev, the motel owner, had been kind until now. He doubted she would even treat him with civility again. That was his own doing. He couldn’t blame her. Then, there was Bert, who seemed to think that everything about him was funny when he wasn’t annoyed. Now, they would just find him a suspicious nuisance.

  Heat built up underneath Mick’s coat, along with his growing shame. He needed to apologize to Bev, the young maid, and especially to Willow. He recoiled from the idea. He didn’t like being wrong, and he liked admitting it even less. Lately, he’d been wrong about a lot of things, and it shook to the core everything he believed about his life, leaving his soul stranded as well as his car.

  Mick’s parents had never really offered him understanding, but he’d believed he’d found that in Simone. She had become his family. They were the same in almost every way, loving the nightlife of New York City and the fast-paced and sometimes brutal restaurant business. She was flashy with her piles of black hair, zebra-striped leggings, false eyelashes, and red leather coats and boots.

  He loved his designer clothes and jewelry, wall-to-ceiling windows in his ultra-modern condo and his older-model but eye-catching Jag. Mick was the commander of his environment, a young and upcoming chef who could not only take the kitchen heat but the heat dished out by the critics. Simone was the brassy and confident hostess, and together they believed that New York City was their own big apple at the center of the universe.

  They adored each other and the city in which they lived. They loved their work in the new and scene-smashing restaurant, Red. Everything was heading in an upward direction, which was why Simone’s sudden yearning to move to Seattle was so shocking.

  At first Mick questioned her. Why would he leave a job where he was at the top of his game, to start over in a city that was barely on the food map? Simone reasoned his questions with enthusiasm. Wouldn’t it be great to start fresh and become a big fish in a smaller pond, instead of a smaller fish in a bigger pond? They could go together and start a new life there. Seafood was abundant. The influences of California, Asia, and local Northwest farms came together to create a cuisine that was unique and fresh. Mick could immerse himself in that culture. Seattle was becoming a sophisticated market in every way, and maybe when he was well-known, he could export that experience to other regions of the country. Didn’t he want to become a part of that? It was the perfect place for the two of them. It would be hard at first, but once he rose to the top, he’d make a great salary, and that assent would be easier in a smaller market.

  In the three years Mick had known Simone, she had never steered his career wrong. She had suggested he apply at Red when the restaurant opened, and Mick believed in her, maybe more than he believed in himself. He trusted Simone.

  Mick sucked in air as sharp and bitter agony sliced through him like his favorite kitchen knife through meat. Yes, he trusted her, even more than his best friend, Paul.

  Mick swallowed hard as humiliation over his own folly roosted in his soul. He pushed back at it. It wasn’t his fault Simone was unfaithful. But everything he clutched close and the sameness he and Simone shared now looked pockmarked and silly compared to the earthiness of Montana and the hard work of those he was coming to know, rattling everything he believed about himself, relationships, and his future.

  Mick’s knees went weak. Turning back to the gazebo in the park, he sat and placed his head in his hands. He cou
ld never go back to New York now. Everything there was tainted with Simone and her lies, especially his condo, where she and Paul had created something that didn’t include Mick but instead, comprised him with their parties and untold number of people who used everything from his furniture to his silverware. No, his only direction was forward, even if the future was filled with murky uncertainty.

  He rose from the gazebo and continued his walk. He was in Sunrise Creek now, and there was nothing he could do about Simone, New York, or Seattle. When he took a deep breath, the sweet, cold Montanan air scoured out part of his worries and harsh anguish, making his body settle into his coat.

  Mick turned away from the lake and walked back through the neighborhood that led to the trailhead. Smoke lazily floated from a few chimneys and lights shone from some houses, giving the neighborhood a snug feeling. In spite of all of his troubles, a small smile came to his lips as he continued to breathe in the cold scent of snow in the pines mingling with the faint but pungent whiff of warm possibilities coming from the fireplaces. The aroma tugged at him. If this wasn’t where he was supposed to be, why did it feel so much like home? Why was his torn heart mending in this place? Was Willow a part of that?

  Willow. Mick’s cell phone rang. His thoughts flew to Willow with a wish as clean as the air. The screen flashed a local number. “Hello?”

  “This is Bert. You’d better get over here.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Mick said.

  “Hurry it up, now,” Bert said before Mick could ask any questions.

  Mick stared for a brief second at the fitful gray water of Sunrise Lake as it urged its way toward shore with little white caps. Then, he hurried through the neighborhood to Bert’s garage.

  Without even saying hello, Bert beckoned him to one of the bays, where the Jag sat with its hood up and various parts still lying around. Mick’s wishful hope that the car was ready to drive crashed.