by Susan Sey
She’d buried it deep, her sexuality. That was what you did with dangerous things. You put them deep in the dirt where they’d draw no notice and hopefully just sleep. Because once people saw that primitive appetite in her, once men saw it, they wanted it. Oh, they didn’t want her. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what she looked like. But she also knew that looks didn’t matter much once men got a good sniff of the earthy lust that lived inside her.
So she’d hidden it. Hidden herself. Done such a good job that nobody in this town even remembered the half-wild girl she’d once been. The one who used to laugh and dance and attack the world with wide-open arms and a wider-open heart. The one whose hair had flown like birds in the air, like bare feet over the grass. The one who’d loved a boy whose wild streak had put her own to shame. A boy whose wildness had been veined with a cruel selfishness she hadn’t understood and so hadn’t seen or even imagined. Not until it had been far, far too late.
But nobody else had seen the cruelty in him, either. How could she be blamed for not seeing something nobody else had? But even if they had, who would have stopped him? The Davises were the closest thing Devil’s Kettle had to royalty, and Diego had been their crown prince. Willa had been nothing but a pretty bit of trash.
Now she wasn’t even pretty. She’d made sure of it.
But Eli had taken her hand last night like it was something precious.
He’d nudged up the brim of her ball cap because he’d wanted to see her eyes.
And when she’d dropped him back off at his rickety little cabin in the woods in an agony of confused awareness, he’d said nothing more than, “Thank you, Willa.” And left her alone in the darkened cab of her truck wondering what the hell had just happened.
She was still wondering, damn it.
She shoved through the swinging door into the front of the bar and stopped dead, the box of straws clamped tight in one armpit. “Addison.”
“Hey, Willa.” Addison Davis grinned at her from a bar stool, the late morning sun bouncing off her wild auburn curls. In all the years she’d lived with the spit-and-polish Davises, Addy had never even tried to tame those curls of hers. It was just one of the reasons Willa actually liked Diego’s young widow. Another was that she suspected he’d been just as vile to his pretty little wife as he’d been to Willa.
“What are you doing here?” Willa asked. But she knew. After yesterday’s baffling exchange with Bianca? Of course she knew.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Addy’s green eyes danced under that disarming bird’s nest of curls and she wrinkled a pert nose sprinkled with the most innocent freckles known to man.
“Why?”
“Because I want to ask you something.”
“Like what?” She took the box of straws from her now-sweaty armpit and shoved it under the counter. She kept the swinging door open with one boot just in case. An escape hatch seemed like an extremely good idea just now.
Addison slid off the stool and raised both hands. “Now, Willa, don’t panic. And don’t say no right away.”
“To what?”
“Take your foot out of that door first. Heaven’s sake, I’m not going to shoot you.”
“Am I going to wish you had?”
She smiled and dread gripped Willa by the throat. “Maybe.”
“Oh hell.” Addy nailed her with a look that had Willa pulling her boot out of the door. “Okay, okay. Fine. Sorry.”
Addy favored her with a sunny smile — cheerful as a daisy now that she was getting her way — and said, “Come out here.”
Willa did as she was told. Now that Addy had her, there was no point trying to get away. Might as well just get it over with.
“Sit,” Addy said and pointed to a stool. Willa blinked at the pretty diamond winking and burning on Addy’s ring finger. It was a far cry from the massive heirloom diamond that had lived there until earlier this year, the one Diego had put on her finger when she hadn’t even been twenty-one.
“Jax finally got his ring on your finger, I see,” Willa said, desperate to distract her.
Addy smiled smugly. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Willa sighed. She was so bad at this. She thought she’d been changing the subject and instead had walked right into the jaws of the trap. But how could Addy’s engagement to Diego’s older — and far better — brother possibly be any of her business?
“Um, okay.” She sat. “Why?”
Addy hopped up on the stool beside hers and grabbed one of Willa’s hands. Willa flinched, startled. Why was everybody touching her lately? But she didn’t pull away because, once she got past the shock, Addison’s delight was overpowering. It buzzed in the air all around her, enveloped Willa like a bouncy hug, all but vibrated in her bones. There wasn’t a hint of darkness in it, though. Willa smelled nothing of ambition or manipulation. Addy was just straight up happy and Willa felt her resistance crumbling under the sheer force of it.
“Because I need a bridesmaid and I want it to be you.”
Willa didn’t think she could’ve been more shocked if Addy had produced a girl-sized hammer from her purse and rapped Willa smartly between the eyebrows with it.
“What?”
“I want you to be my bridesmaid.”
“Why?” Horror dripped from her voice. Willa didn’t even care.
Addy laughed. “Willa, my goodness. What a question! Because you’re my friend.”
“I am?” she asked automatically. It still surprised her, Addy’s friendship.
“Of course you are.” Her face softened and she let go of Willa’s hand to pat her knee. “After what you did for Matty the night Davis Place burned? You’re mine for life.”
“I didn’t do anything but keep my mouth shut.”
“Exactly. Do you have any idea how rare that is in this town?” Unfortunately, Willa did. “And I heard what you said to Gerte the other day when she was trying to slap Eli Walker’s face off his head at the Wooden Spoon. The way you took responsibility for the fire.”
That slow, hot shock rolled through Willa again at the mere mention of Eli’s name. She carefully squelched it. “She needed to stop harping on that damn fire, that’s all. She was after Eli right then, sure, but it was only a matter of time before she worked her way back around to giving Matty the stink eye, so I—”
“—protected a kid.” Addy beamed at her. “A kid I happen to love like he’s my own. And you protected a stranger, too. Best of all, you shut Gerte’s mouth for her, which is no easy task.”
“Tell me,” Willa muttered.
“I love you double just for that.”
Willa narrowed her eyes. “And you’re demonstrating this love by asking me to wear a fancy dress and let some sadist at my hair?”
Addy gave her a patient smile. “No, I’m inviting one of the best people I know to stand for me while I do one of the most important things I’ll ever do.”
“Oh, hell. When you put it that way, how am I supposed to say no?”
“You’re not.” Addy gave a watery little laugh and launched herself at Willa without warning, wrangled her into a fierce hug. “I’m getting married, Willa!”
“Okay, okay.” Willa patted Addy’s back with uncertain hands while Addy squeezed her like a tube of toothpaste, rocking her side to side, half unhinged with that mad delight Willa could all but smell. “And to somebody I actually love this time.”
“You didn’t love Diego?” Willa had no idea why she’d asked. It wasn’t any of her business.
“No, I did.” Addy drew back and swiped her fingers under her damp eyes. She took her own barstool again — thanks be — and beamed at Willa. “I loved Diego the way you only ever love the first one, all wild and passionate and impulsive. But it was shallow. There were no roots, and real love needs those.” Her eyes softened and Willa understood that whatever Addy felt for Jax had sunk those roots deep into the bedrock of her being. “But I’ll never regret marrying him. How could I, when it put me here, righ
t where I belong?”
“You couldn’t,” Willa conceded. She herself could and did regret many things, but she could see that Addison was made of sterner stuff. “Of course you couldn’t.”
“But this one’s forever and I want to do it right.” She gripped Willa’s hand and locked her in the tractor beam of that uncompromising gaze. “And that means making my promises surrounded by the people I love and who love me. My folks will come and they’re good people, they really are. But they don’t do family the way my heart does, and I need family around me this time.”
“I’m not family—” Willa began.
“Oh yes you are.” Addy’s eyes blazed and she seized Willa’s hand again. “You’re tough, Willa. Smart and funny and sharp. And what’s more, you’re true. You have more courage than everybody in this town combined. I see it every time you protect Matty, one of the very Davises who treat you like garbage.”
She paused, eyed Willa thoughtfully. “I don’t know why they do that, you know. I don’t know why you allow it. Why anybody in this place allows it. All I know is that there’s a story there, a complicated, painful one that nobody’s told me yet. That maybe I haven’t earned yet. But I do know one thing. Earlier this spring? When people went bonkers about Diego’s lost paintings? When everybody else in this town stepped away from me? You stood for me, Willa. You stood for me, even though it also meant standing for a family you must hate. That makes you family in my book, and believe me, I’ve made sure that the Davises know it. Know it and accept it. So I’d be deeply honored if you’d stand for me one more time while I marry the man I love.”
Willa stared at her. Addy had just said more words out loud about the tragedy of Willa’s own childhood than all the people in Devil’s Kettle combined. And each word had lifted a stone off her soul. The space underneath was just as dark and slimy as you’d think the underside of a rock might be, but there was no denying the exquisite relief of having that weight lifted.
And it was tempting, so tempting, to heave off the rest of them. To tell Addison — to tell anybody — that story she so obviously wanted to hear.
But it wasn’t as simple as just telling the story, was it? The truth came at a price, and it wasn’t only the guilty who would pay. Innocents would pay, too, and Willa couldn’t be party to that. She’d been an innocent once herself. She had a strong back. She could bear the weight of a few secrets.
All she said to Addison was, “You’re going to let Georgie have me, aren’t you?”
Addy laughed, wicked and satisfied. “I’m sorry but yes.”
“I thought you said you loved me.”
“I also said you were strong and courageous.” Addy’s eyes danced merrily. “Are you really going to tell me you’re afraid of a little makeover?”
“You put a sharp and/or hot implement in Georgia Davis’s hand and leave her alone with me, there’s going to be bloodshed.”
“You and Georgie shed blood just having a conversation.”
“That’s why we don’t have conversations.”
“Well she’s my sister—”
“Sister-in-law.” Willa paused. “Do you double down on the in-law bit since you’re marrying another of her brothers? Is she going to be your sister-in-law-in-law?”
“She’s going to be my maid of honor,” Addy said firmly. “Which means you’ll have to follow her lead until the wedding.”
“Wait, follow her lead on what?”
Addy’s eyes skated to the side. “Well, dresses and hair and makeup and such.”
“Define such.”
“There might be an event or two in the run up to the wedding.” Addy gave her an innocent smile. “A shower or bachelorette party. Things the bridesmaids usually…plan together.”
Willa closed her eyes. “Kill me now.”
Addy patted her knee. “I already have Walt at the Sugar Rush thinking about a doughnut tree.”
“What in the holy hell is a doughnut tree?”
“Just an idea right now but maybe the best bridal shower centerpiece in the history of bridal shower centerpieces?”
Willa eyed her. “I thought you were a pie girl.”
“That was before Gerte went after Matty.”
“Ah.” Willa could respect that.
“Please say yes, Willa. I need you.”
She clamped her jaw shut on the no trying to happen and thought about the new lightness Addy had put in her soul. Solitude was Willa’s natural habitat but honest friendship was a gift. It wasn’t something she could walk away from without regret, and Willa didn’t need even one more regret.
“Listen, I’m not making any promises,” she said finally. “I won’t start anything but if Georgie starts something—”
“—you’ll finish it. Understood.” Addy caught her up in yet another hug. Addy being Addy, she’d probably give out three dozen more before lunch but two hugs was more than Willa had had in…well, more years than she wanted to count. So she hugged her back. If standing by one real friend cost her several months in the company of her bitterest enemy, it was worth it. Enemies were a dime a dozen, even those with Georgie Davis’s talent for meanness and taste for theater. Friends were far more rare.
Or so Willa had to assume. She’d never had one before. How would she know?
She was still pondering the question several minutes later while untapping the kegs so she could give the lines their weekly flushing. Everything under a bar was sticky but the keg of hard cider was always the worst. Any little spill, and sugar sludge cemented everything together for the ages. Willa was down on her knees with a wrench and some creative language when a waft of fresh lake air struck terror into her heart.
Lord, please let it not be Georgie already. Wasn’t it enough for one day that she’d agreed to let Trust Fund Barbie dress her? Did she really have to live through her first consultation with a shirt full of sugar sludge, reeking of old beer?
She stayed where she was and went after the tap line with renewed vigor. Which wasn’t hiding, she told herself. It was simply good strategy. Don’t engage the enemy under unfavorable conditions. That was a rule or something, wasn’t it?
Footsteps approached the bar and paused. Willa could all but feel the eyes on her back but she counted to twenty and kept wrestling with that stubborn hose. Thirty. Forty. Then the wrench slipped and she smashed her finger and that small, new pain glided into the everyday pain she’d just gotten used to carrying. She gave up on the hose and pushed to her feet. Pointed the wrench at Georgie and said, “Listen.”
Then she stopped. The words just died and she stared. Because that wasn’t Georgie, smirking at her from the other side of the bar, all mascara and despair over the hopeless task of making Willa pretty.
It was her father.
CHAPTER 7
IT WAS ALMOST noon and Eli had been on his feet for over seven hours. The sun rose at about 4:30 a.m. this time of year in the north country, and the birds along with it. Birds and whatever the hell else lived in that cabin of his. Willa had implied he might have a mouse issue and Eli didn’t doubt it for a minute. When it came to Willa’s job skills, Eli had seen everything he needed to see last night. She wasn’t just good at what she did; she was gifted. He could sign off on her license right now with perfect confidence.
It was everything else about her he couldn’t figure out.
And he wanted to.
The mystery of her had eaten at him as he lay in his lumpy excuse for a bed after she’d dropped him off. She’d spun through his brain, chewed at his dreams and eventually driven him out of his bed and into his boots. He’d laced up in the dark and been three miles into the other reason he’d been stationed here in Devil’s Kettle before the sun had even broken through the pearly morning fog. And still she’d simmered there in the back of his mind. Even as he hiked and photographed and documented, he thought of her. Of the way her appeal hadn’t faded with the rising sun.
He’d expected it to. She’d been like a dream last night, her footsteps s
ilent in the living night, the moonlight streaking that thick tail of dark hair a witchy silver, that self-possessed, preternatural stillness of hers singing to him, calling to his aching bones.
She should’ve faded from his mind the way a dream did, leaving nothing but incomprehensible fragments that eventually disappeared altogether. But a dozen and a half miles of hard hiking later, it was still there. As was the urge to touch her, to smell her, to unwrap that cloak of stillness she wore. To peel it open layer by layer until he saw how it worked, how he could fashion one of his own. It was all still there.
He was going to see her again. Outside of the two supervised removals he had left, he was going to see her again. He wanted to see her. Didn’t know if he could resist seeing her. He’d planned to steer clear, to give last night’s strangeness a few days to settle more comfortably in his gut before he risked it. But he didn’t want to wait. She’d been on his mind for coming up on twelve straight hours now. He didn’t just want to see her. He needed to.
He checked his watch. Nearly noon, and he’d already put at least fifteen miles on his boots this morning, and had documented enough of what he’d come here to see to concern him. He was sweaty, he was hungry and having just wrapped up a singularly unimpressive conversation with the DNR guy managing the region’s state forests, he was mildly pissed off. A shower, a meal and a phone call, he told himself. Then he’d let himself drop in on Willa Zinc.
He slid into the insulting excuse for a car the DNR had issued him. No wonder their employees were assholes. Eli might be an asshole, too, if he had to drive around an underpowered tuna can like this come winter. He fired it up — it coughed pitifully but caught — and dialed up his boss at the Forest Service.
“Ben Bayfield.”
“Hey, Ben.” Eli put the accelerator on the floor. His tuna can eased half-heartedly toward the exit of the state forest parking lot. “Eli.”
“Eli.” He could all but hear his uncle Ben sit up straight. “How’s Devil’s Kettle?”
