by Kacey Linden
The silence between them grew awkward for a few moments, until Willow exclaimed, “What is it with this town and Christmas, anyway?”
Cale chuckled. “You must have met Alicia Alverson.”
“How did you know?” Surely small town gossip didn’t work that fast.
“You have that shell-shocked look that seems to follow in her wake this time of year.”
“Well, yes,” Willow conceded ruefully, “there’s that. But it isn’t just her. There are lights up everywhere! You used to have a town-wide Christmas decorating contest, there’s a Christmas bazaar, and I’ve seen at least four people in here this morning wearing Christmas sweaters.”
“You have something against Christmas?”
“No,” she said, drawing the word out a little in her hesitation. She didn’t want to risk offending him, and she definitely didn’t want to explain her own feelings about the holiday. “I can’t say that I’ve ever enjoyed it, but this is the first time I’ve ever really done much for Christmas. Mrs. Dillon brought down all her decorations and said she wants my help to put them up, and… there’s a lot. You could decorate the entire town with what’s laying around her living room. And after seeing how everyone seems to participate, I was just wondering how it all got started.”
“I’m not sure,” Cale admitted, “but I’ve never asked. I’ve just noticed that an Echo Creek Christmas seems to bring out either the best or the worst in people.”
“Does it?” Given her own experience, Willow thought that might actually be true everywhere.
Cale was having a hard time concealing his surprise. He’d seen Willow through the window, looking deeply uncomfortable as she faced Rory across the table, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming in to see whether she was all right and whether she’d convinced Rory to give her a try.
To be fair, Rory had probably heard enough of Willow’s story from Marcia that she would have given the younger woman a job no matter what. The kind-hearted single mom had a soft spot for anyone who needed help, and he guessed it wouldn’t be long before she joined the club of people trying to convince Willow to stay.
He wasn’t surprised about the job—what surprised him was Mrs. Dillon’s decision to decorate for Christmas. He’d hoped having Willow around during the holidays would help fill the empty place left by Olivia’s death, but he hadn’t imagined the older woman getting quite so quickly into the spirit of things.
“Marcia’s really decorating?” he asked after a pause in the conversation, wondering if he’d misunderstood. “It’s been years. She always said she didn’t care to go through the hassle anymore.”
“The five hundred boxes I carried down from the attic would beg to differ with you,” Willow responded dryly.
He whistled. “You two should have called me. Those stairs are a menace and I would have been happy to help.”
“Happy to help or happy to get out of putting up your own Christmas tree?” she asked, then turned bright red, sank down in her seat and stared at her lap. “I’m so sorry. I had no right to be so personal.”
Cale tried to look innocent. “What makes you think I’m not putting up a tree? Mrs. Dillon has only been reminding me every day since a week before Thanksgiving.”
Willow seemed to relax, clearly relieved that he wasn’t angry. Tilting her head to one side, she appeared to study him, hazel eyes wide, golden hair drawn over her shoulder.
She really was beautiful, Cale realized, as he studied her in return. He thought suddenly that if he could only have one thing for Christmas, he would want to see her smile. To see the bruises and the haunted look disappear from her face. He wanted Willow to experience what life could be like in a world where she was loved and valued instead of abused.
But she was only going to be there for a few short weeks. Plus there was the issue of the stolen car. As Willow had said, she’d done things she couldn’t take back. If her brother chose to report the theft and press charges, Cale wouldn’t be able to stop him, and he’d be bound by duty to turn the car, and Willow, over to the Seattle authorities.
If he could only find a way to untangle that web and release her from the fear of reprisals and pursuit. What he needed was evidence against the bastard who had abused her. He suspected Elliot Renner, and he’d already begun investigating that possibility, but he needed proof. If Elliot’s own violent behavior had led her to flee by whatever means necessary, Willow would never be prosecuted, but that meant she would have to trust Cale enough to share her story—to give him details he could never find in a database.
Stolen car aside, Cale also felt an inexplicable need to earn Willow’s trust for himself. As a man, not just a deputy. But if she ever found out that he had mixed motives for spending time with her, that trust would be irrevocably broken.
Cale cursed the circumstances that had trapped him so neatly between his duty and his desire to help someone who desperately needed it. He couldn’t bear the thought of betraying Willow’s trust, should he ever be fortunate enough to gain it. Her hope was such a fragile thing already, and her faith in basic human kindness had clearly been shattered long ago.
But he didn’t see an alternative. He wasn’t about to let anyone hurt her again, and if her hating him was the price of her safety, he was more than willing to pay it.
“I didn’t mean to suggest that you should feel obligated to put up a tree,” Willow was saying. “I just noticed that you didn’t look enthusiastic. Why not tell Mrs. Dillon you don’t want to?”
Because Mrs. Dillon was another person he couldn’t bear to disappoint.
“That’s complicated,” he told her carefully. “Christmas and I… I guess you could say we have a history. I enjoy the season, and I take part in other people’s festivities, but for myself I prefer to avoid the memories.”
That history was also going to complicate his attempts to befriend Willow. When a bachelor with a tragic past started showing interest in the pretty newcomer, the whole town would know inside of two days. They would either want to reminisce about Marissa or celebrate the fact that he’d gotten over her, and they would certainly have no qualms about indulging in public speculation and gossip.
Fortunately, his relationship with Mrs. Dillon should make it easier to find excuses to be around Willow without arousing suspicion. At least at first.
“Do you have a lot of family here?” Willow asked. It sounded like she was merely trying to be polite, but if he wanted her to open up about her past, maybe he needed to show that he was willing to do the same.
“Only my Uncle Pete,” he said. “The rest of my family lives in Pendleton.”
“Does that make you the rebel?” Her question was accompanied by a tiny smile.
“I am,” he confirmed. “I had the colossal nerve to go into law enforcement instead of sticking around on the family ranch. But I also have three brothers and two sisters, and there’s only so much ranch to go around. I was eighteen and bored when Uncle Pete broke both his legs in an ATV accident, so I ended up coming down here to give him a hand. That was ten years ago. Pete eventually talked me into this job and I basically just never left.”
Willow nodded and rested her chin on her hand. “I can see why. This town is… different.”
“That it is,” Cale allowed with a chuckle.
“Do you miss them? Your family I mean.”
Cale felt oddly pleased by the fact that she seemed comfortable enough to ask him personal questions. He just wasn’t sure she would be quite so complacent when he asked them back.
“I do,” he told her, feeling a pang at the memories of his adorable nieces and nephews. They’d grown so fast, even in the few months since his last trip. “But I get to see them fairly often. Just got back from spending Thanksgiving with the whole crew.”
He paused, and braced himself for her reaction. “What about you? Did you have a lot of family around, growing up?”
“No,” she said, pulling back and folding her hands in her lap. Her face closed
off and the light left her eyes.
“Willow.” He leaned forward in his chair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk, but you also don’t need to be afraid. I’m not waiting for you to say something incriminating so I can haul you off and lock you up. I’m asking because I genuinely want to get to know you.”
“You say that,” she replied, looking down at her hands, “but I don’t understand it. You’re happy and talented and successful, and I’m… me. There’s nothing in my life worth knowing, and I don’t have any pretty stories to share. I could tell you about my drunken, abusive father, or the mother who abandoned me when I was seven, but you wouldn’t enjoy it and I wouldn’t enjoy telling you. Maybe letting my past be a mystery is the best way for everyone to enjoy the season.”
Cale had no answer for that but silence. He couldn’t even imagine how it must feel to be so alone, with no memories of family but those of being unloved and unwanted.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”
“Are there any other kind?” Willow’s eyes fixed on his with stark honesty.
“Yes,” he answered firmly. “There are. Maybe you don’t have any right now, but I challenge you to spend Christmas in Echo Creek and still tell me truthfully that you don’t have any good memories.”
“Christmas isn’t exactly my favorite time of year,” she informed him, picking at the sleeves of her sweater while her gaze grew distant. “Like I said before, I don’t have much experience with celebrating the holidays.”
“Just give us a chance,” he coaxed. “If Mrs. Dillon and her scones and garlands and unending mugs of tea can’t change your mind, nothing can.”
“I hope you’re right.” A tiny smile appeared on her lips. “I do feel like I want to know what’s in all of those boxes. After yesterday, I’m pretty sure it’s more than just garland and tinsel. It’s memories too.”
“I think that’s why she hasn’t decorated since her daughter died,” Cale confided quietly, glancing at Mrs. Dillon where she sat in the middle of the room, holding a baby and smiling like she’d been given the best Christmas present ever. “They both loved Christmas and did everything together, so for her, Christmas is about Livy.”
“When did she die?”
“It’s been five years.” Five years of not having anyone to share her favorite holiday with. It was why he tried so hard to keep Marcia from feeling alone this time of year. And probably why she seemed determined to return the favor. Why it mattered so much to her that he put up a tree and went on living, in spite of his disappointment.
Willow couldn’t quite hide her confusion. “So why open up the boxes at all, if it will just bring up all those painful memories?”
“Because there are good ones in there too. Maybe with you here she feels like she can finally find a balance—remember the good and the bad together, and let herself make new memories.”
“But why me?” Willow looked shocked. “She can’t want to make memories with me. I’m a stranger. And I don’t know the first thing about being festive or supportive or… anything.”
Cale shook his head. “You don’t have to do anything. Just being here is enough. For Marcia, Christmas isn’t about what she gets from others, it’s about giving. Having someone to celebrate Christmas for means everything to her. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy it.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” Willow protested.
‘Trust me,” Cale insisted. “Give it a chance. I know it may seem strange, but like you said, this is a strange place.”
Willow looked up at him and her gaze pierced straight to his heart. “I don’t know how,” she said seriously. “Trust and chances aren’t things I know very much about.”
“I don’t think it’s too late to try.”
“And what if it is?” She seemed to have forgotten to be wary of him. “What if Christmas just doesn’t work for people like me?”
The thought that she might just believe that broke his heart. “I don’t think that’s possible. And before you insist again that you don’t know anything about Christmas, you should know that I haven’t seen Mrs. Dillon this happy in a long time. She always says that nothing happens for just one reason, so maybe your being here is as much for her as it is for you.”
Willow seemed to consider that. “I don’t know how I can help anyone else when the only thing I’ve ever been successful at is screwing up.”
“I doubt that,” Cale said, shaking his head, “but like I said, sometimes just being there is enough.”
She folded her arms and pressed her lips together stubbornly. “I want to try. I really do. But I can’t stay, and I’m afraid all we’ll have when this is over is more hurt.”
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. “And maybe you’ll have a season of memories that nothing can take away from you.”
“Cale, your coffee is ready.” The teenage barista’s voice intruded on the unexpectedly serious moment and he remembered that he was on duty. He needed to get his drink and return to his car, but he didn’t want to leave the conversation like this. Not while Willow was retreating back into hopelessness.
He stood up, but leaned on the table for a moment. “Think about it?” he asked.
She looked so uncertain, as though she were teetering on the edge of a decision. He wanted to keep trying to convince her, but some instinct told him to wait. That she would have to choose hope for herself.
Like a church bell on a quiet Sunday afternoon, Marcia’s laugh rang out across the coffee shop. Willow turned to look at her, bit her lip and sighed.
“Okay,” she said finally, glancing up at Cale with what looked like resignation. “I’ll do it. I’ll do all the Christmasy things Mrs. Dillon asks me to do. I’ll try to be here for her and do my best not to mess it up. I’ll give your Echo Creek Christmas a chance…”
“Thank you,” he said, feeling a surge of relief. “This means—”
“…if you will,” she continued, her gaze sharpening on his. “I don’t want to be the only one wondering whether I’m a gullible fool for pretending things can be different. Put up a tree. Make some new memories. After all, maybe Mrs. Dillon was right and Christmas really is the cure for everything.”
Cale held his breath as they stared at each other. He hadn’t wanted to do this. Had planned to spend Christmas thinking about anything and everything except himself. But if Willow could take a leap of faith, so could he. “Okay,” he said. “You’ve got a deal.”
Chapter 5
After they returned to the house, Willow expected Mrs. Dillon to plead exhaustion or disappear on some errand or task of her own. Instead, she headed straight for the boxes of Christmas decorations and began to categorize them.
“This stack is for outside,” she called, as Willow staggered into the living room carrying bins that felt like they held an entire ceramic Christmas village.
“You want them on the porch?” Willow asked, eyeing the stacks without enthusiasm.
“No, just set them in the front hall. We won’t be able to get them all put up ourselves, so I texted Cale and asked him to come over and help us after he’s off tonight.”
“You did?” Willow’s voice sounded more like a squeak, drawing an inquisitive look from Mrs. Dillon.
“Does he make you nervous, dear?” The older woman was clearly trying to hide a smile.
“No,” Willow answered hastily, and a little dishonestly. Maybe nerves weren’t the right word for it, but she definitely felt on edge when he was around. “I’m sure it will be nice to have the help.”
“Tall help,” Mrs. Dillon specified, smiling mischievously as she opened another box. “Oh, look at this. I’d forgotten these were up there.”
Willow crossed the room and saw that somehow she’d brought down the wrong box. This one was full of clothes, rather than Christmas decor. “I’m sorry,” she said, starting to close the box again. “I’ll run it back upstairs.”
“No, wait.” Mrs. Dillon began
pulling things out. They were mostly sweaters, and a few shirts, all stylish and barely worn. “These were Olivia’s. I packed up everything in her room and stashed it in the attic because I just didn’t have the heart to do anything else with it at the time.” She dug further into the box. “This one.” She held up a long, black, cowl-necked sweater. “I told her it made her look washed out, but she bought it anyway because she loved the cashmere. Still has the tags on it, because after she got it home she realized I was right but didn’t want to tell me.” She laughed a little and wiped her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” Willow felt as though she’d been caught watching a deeply private moment. “You must miss her a lot.”
“Oh, I do, and I always will,” Mrs. Dillon acknowledged. “That’s part of the pain of losing a child. It never really goes away. But I need to stop pretending that I can hide my feelings in the attic with her clothes and the Christmas lights. It’s time to do something.” She took a deep breath and pulled up her sleeves. “We’re going to go through these boxes too, and I’m going to give away all of her things.”
“It’s okay if you aren’t ready.” Willow wished she could offer comfort but had no idea how. “No one can tell you when it’s time to let this go.”
“No one told me, dear,” Mrs. Dillon said. “I just know. I told Cale that you were here for a reason.”
“Me? What reason?” Puzzled and apprehensive, Willow took a seat on the blue couch, pulled up her feet and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I mean, I’m happy to help you go through these things and pack them up to give away if that’s what you want.”
“No.” Mrs. Dillon’s eyes brightened with enthusiasm. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. You’re going to wear them! Olivia was always a tiny little thing, and I’m sure there are some pieces in here that will fit you. Whatever you don’t like, I’ll give to the women’s shelter in Bend. Olivia would have wanted her clothes to be used and loved instead of sitting in my attic getting moth-eaten and outdated.”
