“Tell him how you feel.”
“I can’t.” She croaked out the words through a dry, tight throat.
“I don’t know what brought you to Cottonbloom, but my guess is your life hasn’t been easy and you have a difficult time trusting people. Am I right?”
“Maybe?” Her questioning lilt broadcast the truth behind the word.
“You can trust Jackson. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you could trust all the Abbotts. Me included.”
Willa wanted to throw her arms around the woman. Would she smell like cold cream and lotion, things she associated with her own grandmother? Instead of acting on the foolish urge, she dropped her hand from the door and stepped back.
Hazel’s final glance was one Willa recognized and hated even if it was tinged with kindness. Pity.
She cracked the door and called for River. The dog shot out and danced around her legs. Willa scooped up a stick on their way to the magnolia tree for a few rounds of fetch. River’s simple joy in the game despite her less-than-kind past was a comfort.
Over the past few days Willa had gone from inconspicuous to exposed, and it wasn’t a comfortable place to be. Everyone from Wyatt to Sutton to Hazel to Jackson were examining her. Like a scab picked off a wound, a rawness had been uncovered and she wasn’t sure if it would heal or fester.
* * *
Hazel sidled closer to where Jackson was working, holding two cups of steaming coffee. “Coffee break?”
If it had been Aunt Hy, he would expect small talk and gossip, but he and Hazel were too similar to play those sorts of games. He wrapped a hand around the mug and sipped. “Did Wyatt send you over to talk about our mother and Ford?”
“No. But if you’re looking for my opinion, I think you should go. Might be healthy for you boys to reconnect with her.”
“We’re grown. Don’t need a mama.” Jackson eyed her under his lashes. “We have you and Aunt Hy for that.”
Hazel’s smile was affectionate but wistful. “Always.” She sipped her coffee and studied him.
“Was there something the matter with the car?” Reading Hazel was like trying to decipher a different language. He might recognize a word here or there, but the context made little sense.
“I expect not.” She took another sip and swept her gaze over the garage. “It’s brighter in here. Cleaner. You boys have done a good job transforming the place. I don’t know why Hobart was hesitant to take a chance on restorations.”
“Mack deserves the credit.” The garage did look more prosperous and professional since Mack had effectively taken charge. “Pop was waiting and hoping Ford would come around.”
“Hobart could be blind.” Hazel’s gaze cut to him over the rim of her cup. “Do you take after him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Willa is still outside. Alone. Maybe you should check on her.” Hazel didn’t smile or wink or offer any hints.
He peeled off his mechanic’s gloves and slapped them against his palm, his gaze down. “Am I that obvious?”
“You’ll be waiting forever if you wait for her to come to you. She’s unsure of herself, but not of you.”
“Did she say something?” Suddenly he wanted to pump his aunt for as much intel as she could provide on Willa.
“Go ask her yourself.”
“Maybe I will,” he said with more confidence than he could muster inside. An apology had been brewing since their disastrous kiss, but Aunt Hazel had tempered his guilt with a drop of hope.
He went out the front door, but she wasn’t with the Crown Vic. A happy bark turned his attention to the magnolia tree. She bent over to give River’s head a rub, then tossed a stick end over end. The dog jumped to try to catch it midair, but missed. River’s happiness didn’t seem diminished by her failure.
River noticed him first, veering toward him with the stick in her mouth. She dropped it at his feet, and he threw it farther than Willa’s toss. She stood framed by the glossy green leaves of the giant magnolia.
The tree had been his favorite place as a kid. In the summer it was covered in blooms as big as his hand and the scent called forth bittersweet memories. He’d climb up into its lower branches when he needed to escape his family and think. Being a twin meant never being lonely, but sometimes he craved solitude. Wyatt had never seemed to need the same.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath. “Aunt Hazel said that you—”
“She told you? I mean, it’s true, but none of her business.” She gestured with her hand over him like a model selling a high-end car. “It has nothing to do with you and me or what happened or didn’t happen or … whatever.”
Her eyes darted from side to side in a panicky way, and he was pretty sure her cheeks hadn’t been that red when he’d walked up. He grabbed the nearest branch of the magnolia, his emotional balance disturbed.
“I’m not following. Were you and Aunt Hazel talking about me?”
She closed her eyes and muttered a few choice words before staring somewhere in the vicinity of his neck. “She didn’t tell you anything, did she?”
“Only that I should get my head out of my ass and come talk to you.”
Her laugh eased the tension. Damn, he’d missed her laugh. It had been days since he’d heard it ring out in the garage.
“I cannot imagine Ms. Hazel cursing. Ms. Hyacinth, maybe. Did lightning strike?”
“I might be paraphrasing slightly, but that was the gist.” River returned, but when it became clear the game was over, she settled at their feet and chewed on the end of the stick. Seeking a moment to gather his thoughts, he leaned over to give the dog a pat, then straightened, forcing himself to look in Willa’s eyes. “You should know something. I kissed you because I wanted to. And, I hope you kissed me back for the same reason and not because you felt obliged to.”
“Obliged to?” The genuine confusion on her face gave him the courage to continue despite the fact his stomach was using his heart as a punching bag.
“Because you work here and I’m part owner. I’m not that kind of guy. If you think what we did was a mistake and don’t ever want me to talk to you again, then I’ll make sure we’re assigned to different projects for now until … forever. But I hope that’s not what you want.” He swallowed, trying to even out his voice. “Because it’s not what I want.”
During his halting speech, her expression changed to something he wasn’t able to read. He waited, mental preparations under way for soul-crushing rejection.
Which is why he was wholly unprepared for her to pop up on her toes and mash her lips against his. He blinked, her face blurry. She pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard enough to prod him into action.
He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground with a chesty rumble. River barked and nipped at his ankles.
“Tell her you want this. Want me.” He wasn’t sure if he or River needed assuring more.
She pulled away and addressed the dog in a breathy voice. “River. Stop. It’s fine.” She looked back at Jackson. “I want this.”
“Not because I’m your boss?”
Her half smile was teasing in the sexiest way possible. “You’ll never be the boss of me, Jackson Abbott.”
Screw the ribbing he would receive from his brothers and the disapproving looks from his aunts, he was going full-on caveman and dragging her back to the loft to finish what they’d started.
A whistle sounded from the side door. Willa shot out of his arms and squatted down next to River. Wyatt made a come-on gesture with two fingers, his customary smile nowhere in sight.
“We’re not done.” Jackson shuffled backward toward the shop door, keeping his eyes on her.
“We’re not?” Her face was hidden in River’s ruff, and her noncommittal tone sent him veering into confusion. Again. Why couldn’t women come with an instruction manual like a car?
“Don’t leave today without seeing me.”
She raised her face to fix h
im with a stare that did not settle his nerves. “That sounds like an order from my boss. Is it?”
A big part of him wanted to say yes. Anything to get her alone and talking to him. “It’s a request from a friend.”
She stood, but her guard was up, the soft look in her eyes gone. “Didn’t Mack tell you? I already set up to leave early today. And I’m taking tomorrow off.”
“Why?” When one corner of her mouth pulled back and her eyes narrowed, he tempered his voice. “Anything I can help with?”
“Nope. I’m doing a favor for Marigold. Can you get my car done in time?”
The fact he couldn’t decipher truth from lie scared him. She only offered brief glimpses behind her brick-and-mortared wall. The rest of the time he was in the dark stumbling around searching for a way through. She slammed the door on him once more.
“It’ll be done in two hours, but I’m not going to let this go.”
“Fine.” There was defiance but also a challenge in the word.
He retreated, conceding the skirmish, but not willing to surrender the battle.
Chapter Ten
Willa wandered the Louisiana side of downtown Cottonbloom. Two city workers were talking football while stringing Christmas lights around the trunks of denuded crepe myrtles that lined the road. Ignoring Christmas was hard around Cottonbloom. Both sides of downtown looked like elves had barfed tinsel and lights and red bows on everything, living or dead. She’d even seen a dog with reindeer antlers on its head. It was three days before the dreaded holiday and the rare chance of snow in the forecast had sent the Christmas meter to obnoxious.
With Dave too sick to even get out of bed, Marigold had asked Willa to help construct a curtained stage for the library to use for puppet shows. While she wasn’t an expert carpenter, Willa had been happy to be able to pay back a fraction of the kindness Marigold had shown her. It had taken longer than she’d anticipated, but she and Marigold had shared some laughs and the result had made her proud. At least if she had to disappear from Cottonbloom, something tangible and worthwhile would remain.
With the project completed, she’d headed back to her trailer to wash off the paint as best she could. Shivering in the plummeting temperatures, she left River curled up on her bed and headed to town for a hot lunch. At the crossroads, she’d pumped her brakes, almost giving in to an impulse to head to the garage. And Jackson. The unfinished way they’d left things had her afraid to be alone with him. Not because of what he might do, but because of her impulse to jump his bones. An all-around bad idea.
She stepped into Rufus’s Meat and Three, the smells and warmth an instant mood lifter. Clayton Preston was manning the counter. It was early yet for lunch and only one other customer, an older man reading the paper with a cup of coffee, was inside.
“What can I get you, Willa?” Clayton asked.
Clayton was brother to the Cottonbloom, Mississippi, police chief and a recent parolee from the state penitentiary. His forearms were covered in tattoos and his eyes reflected experiences that belied his physical age. When she looked at him, in some ways, she saw herself.
“A pork plate, please.”
He doled out the food, and she paid in exact change. After a moment’s consideration, she dropped two pennies in the “give a penny, take a penny” tray. She was painfully aware there were people worse off than she was. Before she’d landed in Cottonbloom, she’d been one.
She took her plate and sweet tea to a table facing the window. With only her cold trailer and River waiting and her self-control to stay away from the garage in tatters, she ate slowly. Clayton approached with a steaming cup of coffee.
“Like some company? I’m tired of talking to myself.”
She nudged her chin toward the chair across from her. “Sure. What about old man Morrison?”
“He forgot his hearing aid.” Clayton’s smile lifted a decade or more off his shoulders. “Taking his order was a trial of patience.”
“Seems like you’ve settled into Cottonbloom well.”
Like her, Clayton was a transplant, although his path had originated in New Orleans and taken a detour through jail.
“Cottonbloom is a nice town. There’s some that don’t like or trust me because of my past, but nothing will change that except time. And maybe not even that.” He took a sip of coffee.
Willa stabbed the slaw with her spork, his words resonating. “Do you wish you could go back and do things differently? I dream about it all the time.”
Clayton set his elbows on the table and turned the coffee cup in his hands. “One thing I had to come to terms with in prison was the futility of wishing for the impossible. Reality is what it is. You can choose to confront it or run away.”
Willa dropped her spork, rubbed her hands down the legs of her jeans, and met his gaze. “What is your reality?” She was asking a lot, but he didn’t shy away.
“I had to own up to what I’d done and live with the consequences.”
The question that had been stewing since she’d met him popped out. “What were you put away for?”
“Stealing cars and dealing drugs.” He didn’t seem embarrassed or offended at her curiosity.
The longer she stared into his eyes the more familiar the road he’d traveled seemed. The stops along the way might have been different, but the scenery was the same.
“What if something really bad happened to someone you cared about? And what if it was your fault but it’s too late to fix things?” She braced herself for laughter or dismissal at her vagueness.
“It’s never too late to apologize.”
She swallowed and pushed her plate to the side, her appetite turning to nausea. “She’s dead.”
He didn’t gasp or turn away. “And you hold yourself responsible?”
“My best friend OD’ed on heroin she bought from my ex-boyfriend.”
“Did you know she was using?” No accusation shaded his voice. In fact, he sounded as impersonal as the policeman who’d questioned her afterward.
“It started with pot. Didn’t seem like a big deal. Then, things happened after we graduated high school, and I wasn’t the kind of friend I should have been. She shot smack one night at a party.”
“She got hooked.”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize how serious it was until it was too late.”
“Look, I’ve seen more than my share of addicts. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do if someone’s set on using.”
She picked at her thumbnail, the sting centering her and keeping her from flashing back to the past. “But I introduced her to my scummy boyfriend. Brought her around his house, his parties. If I hadn’t—”
“Stop.” He took her wrist, his grip firm. “What-ifs are useless. All you can do now is live your life.”
“That’s what you’re doing?”
“I’m tryin’. My brother and his girl, Sadie, have my back. I’m doing my best to mend what I can and leave the rest behind.” His smile this time was tinged with a sweet bitterness. “Not gonna lie, it’s tough, but people make it better.”
The bell over the door tinkled and a family of four walked in, their spirits high and their hands full of bags with wrapped presents. The children shoved each other as their parents herded them toward the counter.
Clayton stood and rapped his knuckles on the table. “You take care, Willa. I’ll be working through the holidays if you want to talk more.”
She turned in her seat to watch Clayton take the family’s order. She’d done so much looking behind her that she never considered the distant future. She’d only concerned herself with the next meal, the next month’s rent money, the next town. But being in Cottonbloom and around Jackson had her looking beyond her immediate needs to what she wanted.
The family took the table on the other side of the restaurant, chattering about Christmas and the likelihood of snow. Confronted with their normalcy and ease together, her insides jostled. It didn’t feel as simple as jealousy though. It was akin to longing
.
If she told Jackson the truth and he turned away, at least she’d know. She wouldn’t be living in this hellish in-between, waiting for her execution papers. Her heart felt sore from overuse, like a muscle she hadn’t exercised in too long.
She forced herself to finish her food. Making full use of what was in front of her was a hard-learned lesson. After dumping her empty plate, she stepped outside. Her layers of flannel shirt, sweatshirt, and hoodie kept out most of the cold.
She walked across the footbridge toward the Mississippi side of town and window-shopped at the Quilting Bee, laughing to herself at the thought of hanging a picture or lighting a scented candle in her trailer. But the quilts along the walls drew her closer to the window, and she cupped her hands against the glass to look. They were intricate and lovely and warm-looking. Probably expensive too. She moved on.
Standing outside Abigail’s Boutique, she stomped her feet to get her chilled blood flowing. The mannequin in the window wore a fancy off-the-shoulder gown in black. It was pretty enough but how did a woman raise her arms in the darn thing? So impractical. Willa shook her head.
She took a side step toward the footbridge, ready to huddle in front of her kerosene heater for the foreseeable future. The door to the boutique opened with a jangle, and Sutton popped her head out. “I thought that was you. I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
“What? No, I didn’t—”
Sutton grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the shop. “God, it’s frigid out. Can you believe they’re talking about snow showers? I can’t even remember the last time it snowed in Cottonbloom.”
Willa paused, feeling like Dorothy escaping black-and-white Kansas and landing in Technicolor Oz. Racks of clothes, some arranged by color, and headless mannequins in beautiful clothes peppered the floor. The smell was light and feminine, starkly opposite the grease-and-metal manliness of the shop.
Willa had never been inside the high-end clothing store. The only new clothes Willa splurged on were underwear. Apparently, the line she wouldn’t cross in the name of poverty was buying used panties.
When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel Page 12
