Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  “I sold it.”

  “Good.” Willow kept her arms crossed tightly. She dropped her gaze, one foot kicking at a tuft of grass. “Thanks for coming.”

  Christian nodded, then took a step back and closed his door. Coming around the front of the car slowly, he stopped a few feet from her. She didn’t come out from behind her postal barrier.

  They stared at each other a few moments, then she looked away, over her shoulder toward Doc and Al on the porch. Al had a clear shot of most of the man’s face, and what he saw there was starting to embarrass him. Even from this far away, he could see the way Christian was taking her in, raw hunger all over his face.

  “Willow.” It was only one word, but when the guy said her name like that, she flinched visibly.

  “Ah, man,” Doc growled. “He just took off the gloves.”

  Christian took another tentative step closer, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “Willow, please,” he said. He didn’t beg; it was just a request, but Al had no doubt the jurors in the courtroom sat up and listened when Christian Goodhope spoke. Authority and persuasion, compassion and determination, it all rolled off his tongue like an incantation. Al wanted to plug his ears for Willow’s sake.

  The man reached the side of the driveway where grass started; the row of mailboxes and Willow only a few feet away. Al had to strain to hear the next words. “Will you take a ride with me? I’ll bring you right back, I promise.”

  Willow looked back at them again, her eyes wide, then at her husband’s car, then back at them again. Doc shook his head and scowled. The spell was broken.

  “I didn’t ask you here so you could show off your new wheels. Follow me. I’ll introduce you to Al.” She stepped around the last mailbox and whisked by him, so close that the hem of her skirt swirled against his shins as she moved.

  “Weighed, measured, and found wanting,” Doc chortled to himself, but Al could see that Willow was at the very edge of her limits as she walked purposefully toward them, Christian just a few steps behind. She had that shell-shocked look he’d seen so many times in Maggie’s eyes, as though she suddenly couldn’t take anything more, and he felt his shoulders tense, the muscles reacting automatically to her stress. Both he and Doc stood as they approached.

  But by the time she reached the patio, she’d regained enough of her composure to be able to turn and face her husband. “Christian, this is my next-door neighbor, Doc.”

  Al didn’t miss the grimace on the younger man’s face when Doc didn’t release his hand right away. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, Doc was holding on pretty tightly. Good. Let the kid know where things stood right up front. Just because this pretty boy lawyer was a necessary evil didn’t mean they all had to get along.

  “And this is our friend, Al Tanner. The man you’re here to help.” The two of them shook hands, too, and when Al met his gaze for the first time, he felt a fissure of guilt at the haunted look in Christian’s eyes. He suddenly wished he knew more about the Goodhope’s story.

  Chapter 7

  Doc walked Willow home and Al watched Christian follow his wife with his eyes; as though memorizing every detail of her to take away with him when he left. Al cleared his throat. What had he gotten himself into the middle of?

  Christian turned to him and blinked, the vulnerable hunger instantly replaced by a sincere smile. “I’m glad Willow called me, Al. Yes, it was good to hear her voice, and to see her—” His voice broke off, but he started again. “To see her looking so well, but when she told me about your situation, I wanted to meet you. What you’ve been through is really remarkable, and from what I gather, rather commendable, too. I’d like to hear your story, Al, if you’ll share it with me.”

  An hour later, Al felt like a new man. Christian Goodhope was a man worthy of his name, and in Al’s opinion, worthy of his wife. It wasn’t his place to say so, he knew that, but he believed the man was honorable and upright; a man of integrity.

  Christian didn’t sugarcoat anything with him, explaining his rights, his options, and what he thought the best course of action would be. “The circumstances of your case are not common, Al, but I believe that even with a full confession, you’ll be able to get your case dismissed after a few court appearances. If you opt to have me represent you, that’s what I’d present to the judge, based on what you’ve told me.”

  “I can’t afford you,” Al stated, matter-of-factly. He eyed the modest luxury sedan parked outside.

  “I’d like to take the case anyway.” Al no longer cared if Christian’s motivation for helping him was to get to Willow. In fact, if hiring the young lawyer meant helping to repair the broken marriage, then he was all for it. He’d seen the way the man looked at his wife, and Willow had all but admitted she still loved him, too.

  Al knew what it was like to live in a loveless marriage. He knew what hopelessness looked like. From what he’d seen, what was between the Goodhopes wasn’t hopelessness. Oh, they were both hurting, maybe even beyond repair, but he didn’t think they’d given it a full fighting chance yet. He wasn’t going to play matchmaker, but he was through with waiting. He wasn’t going to stand around and wait for the hammer to fall, for the other shoe to drop, for another tragic ending. If hiring Christian Goodhope as his lawyer meant the man would have an excuse to show up at The Coach House Trailer Park every once in a while, then Al was signing on the dotted line.

  Al watched the road long after the silver car disappeared around a bend. He took a deep breath in, then blew it out, amazed at how light he felt. Was this the peace that Willow had asked God for? Was God taking down the prison walls Al had lived inside almost all his life?

  And what if God was using Al’s circumstances to take down the Jericho walls around Willow’s heart?

  “Did you set all this up, God?” He voiced the question into the fading light of the August evening. He felt a little foolish, but he’d heard Willow’s conversation with God, and he’d seen the results. Maybe, just maybe, God might start listening to Al, too. “Is this what you planned all along, bringing Willow Goodhope here to help us? Is it so that we can help her?”

  There was no audible response, but Al had a good idea of what God’s answer might be.

  SEPTEMBER LONGING

  Chapter 1

  Prudence sang her favorite Beatles song—the one she was named after—softly to herself as she rinsed her cereal bowl and teacup, and left them to drip-dry on the already full bamboo dish drainer beside her sink. It was, in fact, a beautiful September day, and Pru moved quickly through her apartment, scooping up abandoned shoes and discarded scarves, her two favorite fashion accessories, as she straightened the place up.

  Carney was back from the road and would be here in an hour, and she had big ideas for how they were going to spend their day together. Things had felt a little stale lately, and while he’d been away, she’d thought a lot about their plans for the future.

  Could she see herself with him forever and ever? Could she live with the long absences his job demanded of him? What about Carney? Did he really want to spend the rest of his life with her? Could he accept her the way she was and not try to change her, not try to make her into something she wasn’t? She was a fair bit older than Carney, long past child-bearing years, but she never wanted to be a mother anyway. He hadn’t mentioned having children, but neither had she asked him directly about it. What if that was why he still hadn’t proposed after all these years? What if he was just keeping her around until he found a woman who would produce a brood of miniature Carneys? She grinned at the visual her mind drummed up; a room full of barrel-shaped, tattooed babies with hairy forearms.

  “Ew,” she giggled, scrunching up her nose at the thought. “That’s just wrong.”

  Besides, she had Mumsy, whose condition had rendered her like a child for years now. Pru was glad she could give her mother the undivided attention she needed after the woman had dedicated so much of her own life to be there for Prudence.

  The phone rang, and she s
pent a few frantic moments digging through the loveseat cushions for the cordless handset. She hadn’t bothered returning it to its stand after checking in with Mumsy first thing this morning, and by the time she found it, her cellphone was ringing instead. Carney.

  “Hey, you big stud. Excited to see me?” She dropped her voice to a sultry purr, knowing it would make him smile self-consciously, wherever he was.

  “Hey, yourself, Doll. Actually, I’m running late.” He sounded distracted, tense. “Can we do this after lunch?”

  “Is everything all right? What’s the hold up?” Do this? He made it sound like an oil change, or a trip to the dry cleaners. He’d been driving for ten days and it’d been even longer since they’d seen each other. Mumsy’s Alzheimer’s was getting significantly worse, and two days before Carney left, the poor dear fell and ended up in the hospital with a broken arm.

  “I need to update my medical card, that’s all. I just got here and the doc’s already half an hour behind. Nurse Ratched just informed me I have to do a full lab workup this time, too.”

  Carney’s conversational skills left much to be desired, especially on the phone, but Pru usually liked filling in the spaces around his terse sentences. They made a good couple that way; she loved to talk, and he preferred to listen. For Carney to call anyone names, especially in reference to the awful nurse in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Pru knew he wasn’t happy.

  “Why did you have to schedule a doctor’s appointment for today?” she asked, keeping her voice level, her tone guarded. “I took the whole day off to spend with you.”

  “They opened at eight. I planned on being outta here by nine.”

  She glanced at the heavily-scrolled clock that doubled as wall art over her loveseat. It was ten after nine already. “Can you do your lab work another time? Tomorrow morning, maybe?”

  “I’m not subjecting myself to this nuthouse two days in a row unless I have a gun to my head. I’m here. I’m gonna get it all done now.”

  It made sense; really, it did. The facility the trucking company used was about thirty miles away from Carney’s place, and having just arrived back from a cross-country delivery that included a breakdown in Pennsylvania, she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to drive any more than he had to while he was off. But they’d been together so long now, and Pru could tell there was something else; something he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t normally a rude man, although she knew some people mistook his taciturnity as such, and even if things didn’t go the way he wanted, he’d spent enough hours behind the wheel of his big rig in stop-and-go traffic that he usually had the patience of a saint. So what was up with him today that he was so out of sorts?

  She didn’t bother asking. If he didn’t want to tell her what was on his mind, her pushing him to talk never worked to her benefit.

  “Okay,” she replied, no longer bothering to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Dropping down on the coffee-colored couch, she propped her feet up on a padded footstool and sighed loudly.

  “Look. If I’m outta here in time for lunch, I’ll call, okay?” His voice was gruff, the way it always sounded when he knew he’d let her down. She stuck out her bottom lip, her eyebrows drawing together in a scowl, feeling childish, and she was glad no one could see her pouting. “I’m already starving, but they won’t let me eat until after the vampires get to me.”

  “You didn’t eat any breakfast?” How often had she chided him about making the first meal of the day the most important one? No wonder he was grumpy. She didn’t know any man who could handle going without breakfast for very long.

  “Figured I was on my way to some of your home cooking. Saving my appetite.” The smile crept back across her face. She did love to cook for him, mainly because he was so appreciative.

  “Okay. I’ll have something yummy ready and waiting. And Carney?”

  “Hm?”

  “I’m sorry this morning isn’t going well for you, but I’m really excited to see you again, no matter what time of day it is.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.” He hung up before she could ask him for clarification. Was he sorry the morning was shot, or excited to see her, too?

  Now that she had extra time on her hands, Pru decided she didn’t feel like hanging out by herself. She could go sit with Mumsy, but she knew a morning visit would upset her mother’s routine, and besides, Pru wanted to be close to home in case Carney finished up earlier than he was predicting. She puttered around the house a little longer, put the drainer full of dishes away, straightened up her Tarzan and Jane inspired bedroom, and made certain all her cupboard and closet doors were closed. She had way too many articles of clothing for one woman, but she could pretend leopard print and zebra stripe fabric wasn’t an addiction when she didn’t have to look at it spilling out onto the floor of every room.

  She sat at the window seat, legs crisscrossed beneath her, and stared out the window toward the driveway that ran between Edith and Al’s places, as though wishful thinking would make Carney appear in his orange El Camino.

  “This won’t do,” she declared out loud, pushing up off the cushioned bench. She stood, both hands on her curvaceous hips, and scanned the room for ideas.

  On the coffee table, filled with a pretty display of smooth river rocks, cloudy blue and green sea glass, and candles, was the rectangular twig basket Willow Goodhope had brought by over a month ago. It had been filled with all kinds of goodies: a rosemary and mint scented lotion that made her skin tingle pleasantly, a bag of loose fragrant tea made from some kind of berries and tiny white flowers, a tea ball, and two mugs. There was also a lavender and rose petal pillow for Mumsy; Pru had mentioned to Willow one day out near the mailboxes that Mumsy suffered from headaches and had trouble sleeping. The pillow, along with a tiny blue glass jar of salve called Sweet Dreams, was packaged together in a mesh bag with instructions for use. “Rub a tiny bit of Sweet Dreams into Mumsy’s temples in the evening. Not only is your touch soothing, but the calming herbs and oils will help settle her nerves.”

  Pru didn’t know if all that earth girl stuff was real or not, but over the last month, Mumsy seemed to fall asleep much easier after their evening visits.

  The day really was beautiful, the morning still young, and sharing an hour or so with the enigmatic Willow Goodhope suddenly sounded like just the way she wanted to spend it. She scooped up her phone and dialed Willow’s number.

  Chapter 2

  Pru and Willow bumped into each other often at the row of mailboxes that ran along one side of The Coach House Trailer Park driveway, and more than once, they’d promised to get together for a meal, coffee, even a dinner out. Time, however, kept marching by, and there always seemed to be a scheduling conflict for one or the other of them. So when Willow exuberantly agreed to make her way across the bridge to Pru’s apartment, Pru was thrilled.

  “I brought scones!” Willow declared, holding up a covered platter in one hand and a jar of garnet-colored fruit in the other. “You must try my elderberry jam. If you like it, there’s more where that came from. I’ve harvested so many elder-berries over the last two months, it’s all I can do to keep up.” She gave Pru a one-armed hug and bustled in, dropping her slouchy shoulder bag on the floor near the end of the couch. “It’s September, and my little tree is still making fruit.” The jam and scones she set on the kitchen counter, the stretch of Formica already comfortably cluttered with various mismatched kitchen appliances, a set of glass canisters, and a miscellany of other things, including notepads and pens, a bowl of pennies, and a box of tissue.

  “I just put on a fresh pot of coffee, but should we have tea with our scones instead?”

  “Coffee’s perfect for me,” Willow said, spinning slowly to take in the apartment. “Oh Pru, your place is so you! I love the animal print and jewel tones, those big floor cushions. And look! You have a beanbag!” She crossed the room and flopped down onto the big red leather bag of tiny Styrofoam beads, spreading her arms wid
e. “I love beanbags!” She fluttered her fingers at the alcove across the room. “And the way you have everything set up so the window is a focal point? You inspire me, Prudence Meriweather!”

  Pru beamed. She loved the way it felt in here, too, but she knew there weren’t many who approved of her style. Too flamboyant, too wild, too young for her fifty-eight years. But it was exactly the way she wanted it. “Thank you. It is me, isn’t it?” She picked up the plate of scones and carried it to a sturdy little table with two chairs in front of the window where she’d planned to share her midmorning coffee with Carney. “I love that I can see all the comings and goings of this place through this window. You can’t get in or out of here without me knowing,” she chuckled. “At least when I’m here, anyway.”

  Within minutes, they were settled into the conversation of long-time friends, moving past the “first official visit” awkwardness before they knew it. Willow sat cross-legged on the cushioned seat, her back soaking up the warmth from the sun through the window, and Pru settled in one of the chairs, her feet propped up on the bench beside Willow.

  “I hear Shelly Little over at the other end of the park is spending a lot of time with our Eddie,” Pru remarked, leaning forward, coffee cup in both hands. She drank it strong and creamy and sweet, while Willow took hers black.

  “Oh yes! I love that the two of them have discovered each other! And the fact that they’ve lived next door to each other for so long already takes some of the pressure off them hurrying things along.” Willow’s eyes sparkled. “A remarkable girl was hiding out over there, Pru. Shelly’s blossoming under Eddie’s attention.”

  Willow’s voice was pure whimsy, Pru decided. Rich and husky, but entirely feminine. Listening to her talk was like lying on her back in the middle of a stand of aspens on a blustery Colorado morning.