Elderberry Croft: The Complete Collection

by Becky Doughty

  Pru smiled to herself; she hadn’t thought of that early childhood memory in a long time. She’d spent the first nine years of her life in a tiny home in the shadow of the Rockies. Her father, a quiet, reserved man she remembered mostly by his photographs and her mother’s undying love for him, worked for the railroad, and was gone more often than he was home. Mumsy adored John Lennon and the Beatles, and each morning, her mother got her out of bed by singing Dear Prudence to her. They’d go running through the woods, following animal trails and catching lightning bugs, sharing picnics in their favorite clearing, and listening to the wind swirling and twirling through the leaves of the white-barked aspen trees. Even when the sun wasn’t up and the sky wasn’t blue, Mumsy insisted that Pru was beautiful, like the song said, and to this day, the two of them still sang it together over the phone each morning.

  “You remind me of—” Pru blurted out. “Of trees.”

  Willow’s eyebrows arched prettily. “Oh? As in willow trees?”

  Pru snorted. “No. That would be too cliché, even for me. Aspens. Mumsy and I used to spend hours listening to the wind in the aspens, and the way you talk…I don’t know. Something about your voice reminds me of that sound.” She reached for a second scone and slathered it with the elderberry jam.

  “Aspens, hm?” Willow’s smile showed all her teeth. “I take it you didn’t grow up around here.”

  “Colorado. My father worked for the railroad. We lived in a little house in the middle of nowhere, but that was just fine with us. My mother taught me at home, back in the days when home schooling was frowned on. When my father was killed in a train derailment, we moved out here to be close to her sister, and we’ve lived here ever since. My goodness, but those were precious years to me.” Pru closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to recall the way the arid woods smelled, the spicy aroma of mountain air.

  “I grew up in the woods, too.” Willow offered, and Pru opened her eyes, nodding encouragingly, wanting to know more about her. “Up in Oregon. My mom and I traipsed around like forest children, too. That’s where I first learned about elderberries. The trees grew wild where we lived, and she taught me how every part of the tree was good for something, even if it was just for entertainment. Do you know Ivan? Ivan Davis from Space #10?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever met Ivan, but I know Patti and Richard. At least Patti. Richard doesn’t get out much, does he?”

  “Not really. But Joe next door is helping Patti put in a fall garden in the Davis’ little yard this year, and Richard’s often outside on the porch keeping them company. You should wander over there some day. I know they’d both enjoy getting to know you. And Ivan! You two would get a kick out of each other. Anyway, I’ve taught him how to make clappers and whistles with the elderberry branches. You should see him. He’s like a kid with new toys. I don’t know if Patti and Richard are happy to have him around more or not, with all the noise he makes whenever he visits!’ Willow laughed loudly; a sound that startled Pru. Her coffee sloshed with her sudden movement, but fortunately, it all stayed in the cup.

  Pru chuckled good-naturedly. “My goodness, Willow Goodhope! That’s quite the noise you make!” She didn’t mean her words to sound ugly, and the minute they were out, she regretted them, but Willow laughed again, the riotous sound bouncing around the room like a pinball machine.

  “I know! Isn’t it terrible?” she hiccupped. “My mother used to laugh like that, too. I don’t mind it because it makes me feel like she’s still with me.” She pressed a hand over her heart. “In here. And when I laugh, a little bit of her comes bursting out of me.”

  “I don’t think it’s terrible, honey. I think it’s wonderful. Besides, I sorta like a little brass, can’t you tell?” Pru fluffed the fat, freshly darkened curls floating around her face, and batted her long-lashed eyes. “Give me bold any day. Let’s people know where you stand. None of this subtle nuance stuff for me, thank you very much.”

  A movement out the window caught her eye. “Oh look. Speaking of Joe, there he goes with that wife of his out for their morning walk. I love that he’s finally come out of the closet about her.”

  Willow peered over her shoulder briefly, patted her hand over her heart, and sighed dreamily. “It’s so romantic. And she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, my goodness, yes! You know, when I admitted to her that I’ve always wanted to learn how to do those intricate hair weaves like she wears, she promised to bring her daughter out for a visit. Between the two of them, she claims they’ll have me weaving like a pro in no time. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?” Pru set her cup down and pointed at Willow’s hair. “And you, Willow Goodhope. Oh my word! What I wouldn’t give to have your hair!”

  She reached over and snagged one of Willow’s curls, pulling it out straight, then releasing the corkscrew to watch it bounce back into its insistent spiral. “Do you ever straighten it? It must look like a copper waterfall hanging down your back.”

  Pru was a taken aback when Willow blanched noticeably. “I used to wear it straight all the time, but it’s too much work.” Her voice sounded less like the wind dancing with aspen leaves and more like the stillness before a storm.

  “Oh.” Pru wasn’t sure how to respond, but she was rescued by the approach of a shiny silver car turning into The Coach House Trailer Park driveway. She’d seen it only once before, about a week ago when the car pulled up in front of Al’s place. She’d watched, curious to see who was paying the quiet man in Space #4 a visit, but the driver never got out. Al walked down and met him at the car window, they exchanged what appeared to be files or manila envelopes, then Al headed back inside. Instead of turning around in the drive in front of the main building, though, the car headed over the bridge toward the back of the property. She hadn’t seen it come out again, so she assumed the car had gone all the way around and left by the driveway at the opposite end of the park.

  Now the same silver car was here, pulling up in front of Al’s again, and this time, the driver’s door opened.

  “Oh my,” Pru murmured appreciatively. “What have we here?”

  Willow turned to look out the window, then stood so abruptly, she almost lost her balance.

  “Willow? What’s wrong?”

  Chapter 3

  “I need to go,” Willow stated, her voice high and tight. “Wait. I probably better stay or he might see me. But I need to get out of the window.” She was jabbering almost more to herself than to Pru.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Pru asked again, standing up and taking Willow by the shoulders to steady her. “Do you know that guy?” Pru watched him from the corner of her eye, appreciating everything about him, from the way he carried himself with casual elegance, to the purpose in his stride as he made his way up the three steps to Al’s small porch. His dark hair, although combed neatly, was a little long, curling ends brushing his collar. He wore a suit, but when he climbed from the car, he slipped out of the jacket and left it draped over his steering wheel. Although his pale blue shirt pulled snugly across his broad shoulders, he seemed long and lean to her; almost as tall as Carney, but his opposite in every other way. She couldn’t see his face, but at the moment, she was busy taking in the rest of him and didn’t really mind.

  Besides, if Willow’s response was any indication, it was probably better that the man was walking in the opposite direction.

  “I know him, yes. But I don’t want to see him. Or be seen by him.” Well, that cleared nothing up.

  “Who is he?”

  Willow answered curtly, “He’s a lawyer.”

  “A lawyer? What does Al need a lawyer for?” This was getting curiouser and curiouser, as the Cheshire Cat would say. “And how do you know him?”

  Willow slipped out of Pru’s grasp and crossed the room to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, she faced the window, but stayed out of sight of Al’s sliding glass door. Her eyes were shadowed with something that looked like sadness.

  Pru tried a differe
nt tactic. “Should I be worried for Al?”

  “No. No.” Willow shook her head, her red curls bouncing vehemently. “He’s here to help Al, not hurt him.” As Pru gathered up the plate of scones and jam and brought them to the kitchen, the girl continued. “He’s my ex. Or he will be. He’s my husband.”

  If she’d said the gorgeous man was an alien, Pru would have been less surprised. She’d heard the rumors that Willow was married, but she’d thought they were just that, rumors. No man in his right mind would walk away from the ethereal beauty who’d christened her little cottage Elderberry Croft. And from Pru’s experience, Willow was just as lovely on the inside as she was on the outside. It simply didn’t make sense.

  “Wait. Wait!” Pru raised an arm toward the window and pointed at Al’s place, putting two and two together. “Is that guy…Shadowman?” First Eddie had come by, warning her to lock her doors at night, to keep an eye out for a loiterer, and to call him if she saw anything suspicious. Then Kathy and Myra both made a point to stop by and fill her in on the whole Shadowman situation. Kathy’s spin on things was much less dramatic than Myra’s, but the bottom line was the same as Eddie’s. The man wasn’t welcome. “Have you called to let Eddie know he’s here? Or the police?”

  Willow shook her head. “No. It’s okay. He’s here because I asked him to come.”

  “What?” Pru was getting confused. Then she remembered the way the silver car had headed toward the back of the property the last time she’d seen it. “Has he been by to see you? Is he bothering you?”

  “No. Sometimes he drives by my place when he comes to see Al,” Willow acknowledged, as though reading her mind. “But he knows better than to stop.”

  Pru frowned. “So let me get this straight. He’s here because you invited him to come, but you don’t want to see him?” When Willow didn’t answer right away, Pru tried again.

  “Willow, honey. I’m concerned. Are you afraid of him? Did he hurt you? Is he dangerous?” She didn’t like that the younger woman looked so pale, hands trembling, eyes wide.

  “No,” Willow assured her, waving both hands briefly in a negative gesture. “It’s not like that. He just doesn’t want to take ‘no’ for an answer, and it’s the only answer I can give him right now. So it’s better if we steer clear of each other altogether.” Her voice faded away on the last words.

  This was bad; very bad. It was plain to see that Willow was deeply affected by the man who’d just slipped into Al’s place, that his presence completely undid her, but why?

  The phone rang, startling them both. Carney! She’d almost forgotten about him in the unfolding drama.

  “I’m finished. I should be there in half an hour.” Straight to the point, that was her Carney.

  “Sounds good. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving. For lunch and for you.”

  “Oh, Carney. You’re so sweet.” She grinned broadly, suddenly anxious to see him again.

  She eyed Willow as she hung up. “You haven’t met Carney, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t had the privilege.” The girl headed over to pick up her floppy handbag from the end of the couch. “But it sounds like he’s on his way, so I’d better get out of your hair. You two don’t need me around for your reunion.” Willow’s expressive green eyes were too bright.

  Pru put a hand on the girl’s arm. “I’m worried about you, Willow. You don’t look so good. Why don’t you wait until Carney gets here. We’ll walk you home, and you’ll get to meet my man.”

  Willow stood indecisively for a moment or two, so Pru pushed a little harder. “Look. Your husb—that guy won’t try to stop you if you’re on Carney’s arm. He’s the size of a mountain, and even though he’s really just a big teddy bear, he looks pretty threatening.” She poured them both another cup of coffee and handed Willow hers. “Please stay. Besides, if you wait, maybe he’ll leave and you won’t have to worry about him seeing you at all.”

  Finally, Willow nodded, and sat down slowly on the edge of the loveseat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What a terrible way to thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Don’t be silly. Truth be told, I thrive on this kind of thing, although I know it’s at your expense.” Pru winked at the girl, trying to help her relax. “Nothing exciting ever happened here before you moved in, Willow Goodhope. I didn’t used to mind never being around, but now I feel left out because I’m missing parties and cookouts and prowlers!”

  Willow grinned, her expression impish. “Ha! I moved here to avoid excitement, not to stir it up.” She shot a glance out the window. “I had no intention of him ever showing up here, but now? He’s here because I asked him.” She shrugged in resignation. “I suppose it was inevitable.”

  Pru studied her, not quite sure how to respond to that. Was it inevitable that the husband would be here? Or that Willow herself would be the one inviting him? What had gone wrong in the Goodhope marriage that had this usually vivacious girl so shaken up?

  She desperately wanted the scoop, but her years of studying clients’ faces in the beauty parlor mirror had taught her that comfort, not confrontation, opened mouths. She’d have to do what she did best—talk about hair.

  “Well, regardless of that man over there, I doubt you could go anywhere and not cause a stir with hair like yours. I have clients that would sell their first born children for all those glorious curls.”

  Willow absentmindedly combed her fingers through the curls that tumbled around her shoulders, but Pru’s words didn’t seem to bring comfort. In fact, what she saw in Willow’s eyes looked more like pain, stark, and haunting; a stillness that seemed to seep out of every pore, filling the room with something Pru couldn’t articulate.

  “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what I said.” She scrambled for words, but Willow shook her head, silencing Pru’s stutters.

  “Stop. It’s okay.” Color was starting to leach back into Willow’s face. “Just having Christian—my husband—around has me on edge. I’m overreacting to everything. I’m sorry.”

  Pru’s stomach still twisted sympathetically over whatever Willow was dealing with, but she smiled, relieved. “You don’t have to apologize, honey. I don’t know what’s happened with you two, but it’s obviously terrible.” Once she got started, the words kept tumbling out. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. I like gossip just as much as the next girl, but I do know how to keep my mouth shut when it counts.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad.” Willow sipped her coffee, and Pru stayed quiet, hoping she would continue, but she changed the subject instead. “You know what, Pru? I could really use a trim.” She swept all her hair forward over her right shoulder, lifting a handful to examine the ends. “I don’t cut my hair as often as I should, but usually by the end of the summer, the ends are dry and need a little TLC. I’ve never been to your salon before. I’ll make an appointment to come see you sometime soon, maybe later this week. Would that be okay?”

  “Don’t be silly. You don’t have to come see me there. We can trim it right here. Let me grab my scissors.” Although disappointed that Willow wasn’t going to open up, Pru was relieved to have something to do, something she was good at. She hurried into the surprisingly large bathroom—it was one of the things that had sold her on the apartment back when she’d first looked at it. The stream was charming, the bay window a promising element, but the huge bathroom with its claw foot tub, expansive vanity, and the bank of cabinets and shelves along the back wall had sealed the deal for her. A window of vintage glass blocks above the shelves let in natural light, making the room feel spacious and airy. She’d hung a pink-jeweled chandelier over the bathtub to read by, and the double curtain encircling the tub and goose-necked shower head boasted an array of pink and black high-heeled shoes and handbags. Plush pink throw rugs lay scattered across the ugly linoleum floor. She suspected there was gorgeous hardwood beneath the checkered plastic sheeting, and if she owned the place, she’d expose it in a heartbeat. But in spite of the dated flooring, she’d made th
e place work beautifully. This was a chick’s bathroom, all the way.

  Poor Carney. Although he never said so, she knew he felt uncomfortable using it. The thought of the tattooed bear of a man standing in the middle of her make-up strewn, fuzzy pink and leopard print, perfume- and hairspray-scented powder room always made her giggle.

  “Oh Carney,” she murmured. “How will we ever make this work, you and me?”

  Thoughts of him had her checking the ornately framed mirror over the sink, but determining she still looked her best, she returned to the kitchen with her salon kit.

  She had Willow move to a stool, draped her shoulders with a turquoise nylon cape, then handed her a large hand mirror with a long handle. Standing behind her, she asked, “Do you just want the ends trimmed, or would you like me to take a little length off?”

  “Just the ends, please. My husband loves it long.” The moment the words were out, Willow’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. A silence like a stirring lion settled between them, and Pru wanted to shake the girl—awake the lion—and get things out on the table once and for all. It was blatantly clear that Willow was in need of a set of shoulders to lean on, to cry on, to unload on, and Pru wanted to be that set of shoulders.

  “Then we’ll keep it long. Chin down,” Pru instructed, lifting a section of the red curls. One by one, she separated a corkscrew, and snipped off a half-inch or so. “We’re doing this dry; it’s called ‘dusting.’ You already have a great cut, so I’m keeping the shape the same, just getting rid of the dry ends where it’s needed, okay?”

  Willow nodded, and as Pru worked her way methodically through her hair, she saw the girl’s shoulders begin to relax. Finally, Willow spoke without preamble. “I suppose, no matter what happens, part of me will always think of him as my husband.”

  Pru murmured encouragingly. The salon magic was working.