When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Wyatt returned with a grim smile. “The judge will personally invite Tarwater tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. Let’s sleep on it and brainstorm options over coffee.” Mack’s voice was steely as he walked to the door.

  A few beats of silence fell. Wyatt’s arm was draped over the back of the couch in a pose of relaxation, but his bouncing foot gave him away. “What was she really like?”

  “She had our high school graduation picture on her mantel. And other school pictures of us around.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Wyatt muttered. “Has she lived in Oak Grove all this time? What does she do for a living? Does she want to see me?” The eagerness in Wyatt’s voice recalled something childlike.

  “Of course she wants to see you and Mack. But listen, I don’t know anything about her. Not really. She never remarried and is still using Abbott as her last name. But for all I know she could up and move again.” Even as he issued the warning, he didn’t believe it.

  “You have her number?”

  Jackson fished the piece of paper with her info out of his pocket and handed it over. “She wrote Ford a check that he ended up not needing because of the sale, but I’m worried.”

  “Worried Ford will bleed her dry?”

  “Something like that.”

  Wyatt glanced over his shoulder to the door. “You think Mack will come around?”

  “Let’s you and me pave the way. Feel her out before we drag him down that road.”

  Wyatt stood up and stretched. “Good idea.”

  “Where’s Sutton?”

  “Working on final details of the party with her mom.”

  “You want to crash here? It’d be like old times.” Jackson, who usually craved solitude, suddenly dreaded heading to the empty, quiet loft.

  “Nah. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll wait for her at home.” Wyatt slipped on his jacket and sent Jackson a not-so-subtle side-eye. “Why did Willa head out?”

  “I don’t know.” Jackson kicked at a buckling board. He’d get his tools out and fix it. Or maybe he’d go a couple of rounds with the punching bag. It wasn’t that late.

  “Things are progressing between you two though, right?”

  “I guess.” He wanted to talk to Wyatt about the information he’d obtained about her car registration, but it would only compound his sense of betrayal.

  “Okeydokey.” Sarcasm was rife in Wyatt’s voice, although it vanished when he clapped Jackson on the back on his way out the door. “Hang in there. Time has a way of unraveling complications and getting to the heart of the matter.”

  His heart didn’t feel like it even belonged to him anymore. The silence reverberated in his ears. Oh hell, it didn’t.

  His heart belonged to Willa.

  Chapter Sixteen

  New Year’s Eve dawned with a clear blue sky so deep, Willa had to squint against its brilliance. Looking out at the sun and sky, one would think it was summer, but a crack of the door revealed nature’s joke. The wind whistled with a chill that made her stomp her feet.

  The garage was closed. So was the library. She’d left River at the garage knowing she’d be gone all afternoon and would spend the night with Jackson. It was strange and too lonely to contemplate being in the trailer without her. Willa settled herself on the couch and opened a new book.

  The words failed to work their magic. She used to spend days reading in her trailer, escaping to other worlds and places. But lately something had shifted. She didn’t want to escape her life anymore. Not if that meant escaping Jackson.

  She wished she was curled up on his couch, or better yet, in his bed, talking or maybe not talking but doing. She smiled, but it faded fast.

  Their trip to find Ford and meet his mother had complicated things further. She’d physically ached for Jackson, both from the implications of Ford’s betrayal and the impact of meeting his mother. He’d hit a brick wall of emotions and it had knocked him backward. Not much she could do except help hold him up until he got his bearings in the new world.

  She’d wanted to plant herself and be his rock. Forever.

  Which is why she’d retreated. If she’d stayed, there was no way she would be able to hold back the way she felt about him. It was frankly terrifying.

  The morning and afternoon passed in bursts of reading and thinking and killing time before heading to Sutton’s house to get ready for the New Year’s Eve party and wait for Wyatt and Jackson to pick them up.

  She packed a small satchel with the little makeup she owned—a mascara that was old enough to talk if it had been a child and a cracked blush she had found on the sale rack.

  Sutton’s house was a surprise. It wasn’t trendy and new, but older with character. The bushes out front were a patchwork of green leaves and bare limbs. She parked on the street, tucked her bag under her arm, and trod softly to the porch.

  Before she even rang the bell, the door opened and Sutton ushered her inside with an infectious energy.

  “I’ve been watching for you. I half expected you to cancel on me.”

  “I can’t say I didn’t think about it.” What stopped her was Jackson. Like in her work on cars, she didn’t want to let him down. He was counting on her.

  “We’re going to have fun.” She glided into the kitchen. It was airy and remodeled. Modern black-and-white tile and gray granite countertops were offset by homey gingham curtains and dark-stained swivel chairs at the bar.

  “Coffee?” Sutton waved toward the pot. “It’s going to be a late night.”

  Willa fixed a mug and took a sip. Its rich flavor set it apart from the basic black she was used to from the shop. “It’s good.”

  She peeked out of the window above the sink. The backyard was eighty percent taken over by roses, the stems deadheaded and bare at this time of year. “I’ll bet your backyard is pretty in the summer.”

  Sutton sidled closer until they were shoulder to shoulder. “Sure is. The roses are what sold me on the place. The woman who lived here never married. Her health wasn’t good, and she had to move to Cottonbloom Comfort Home, but the Realtor said that she wanted someone to buy the house who’d take care of her roses. I promised I would.”

  “How did she know you’d keep your promise?”

  “She didn’t. Sometimes you’ve got to have faith.” Although Sutton said it lightly, to Willa the words felt heavy with portent of the future. Could she put her faith in Jackson? Sutton broke the silence. “But she didn’t have to wonder. I brought her bouquets at the Comfort Home until she passed.”

  Sutton was a good person. The Abbotts were good people. Did her past mistakes exclude her from ever belonging? For the first time, she could see herself earning a place with them.

  “I can see why you and Wyatt got together.”

  “Why is that?” Sutton’s brows drew in, but a smile still turned her lips.

  “Because you’re both ridiculously nice.”

  Sutton’s bark of laughter was unexpected. “Wyatt is nice. I’m not. I basically blackmailed him into going out with me. Neither one of us thought it would turn into more.” She twisted the engagement ring on her finger, chuckling. “I mean, he was a little jerk to me as kids.”

  Sutton nudged her head in the universal signal for follow me and swept out of the room. She stopped at a door halfway down a short hall. “I know you’ve seen the dress, but it’s finished and freaking beautiful.”

  Sutton pushed the door open, and Willa tightened her grip on her mug. Sutton wasn’t bragging. The dress wasn’t beautiful; it was a work of art. Willa was afraid to touch it, much less wear it.

  As the artist, Sutton didn’t have any such qualms. She ran her hands over the bodice.

  “The headless mannequin wears it better than I will.” Willa was only half joking.

  Sutton made a scoffing sound, examined a seam, and picked at a loose string, everything about her serious. “Ridiculous. You have way better boobs than my mannequin.”

  “Uh, thanks?” Willa couldn’t stop a sm
all laugh from spurting out.

  “How about a shower first?” Sutton backed out into the hallway and pointed to a room down the hall. “I left a robe on the back of the door. Everything else should be out. Just holler if you need me.” Sutton walked away with a little wave over her head.

  Willa took her time. The endless hot water and the choice of bath washes and shampoos would make going back to her bargain-brand shampoo and the bar of soap she used in her five-minutes-or-less showers depressing.

  She toweled off, thankful the steam fuzzed out her reflection. The robe was a thin cotton, and she clutched the lapels together as she opened the door to peek out. The puff of chilly air made her shiver. She picked up her mug, but the coffee had cooled during her epic shower.

  Sidling down the hall toward the kitchen, she stopped when it was clear Sutton wasn’t there. Alone in silence was a comfortable place for her and the tension across her shoulders loosened. She put her coffee mug down and moved to the shelves of books in the den. Regret and desperation were familiar companions, but the spike of jealousy was an unwelcome guest.

  The books represented something more than pleasure and escape, but an alternative life she’d burned to the ground. If things had been different, where would she be? In a nice place like this with a college degree framed on the wall? Would she have a full bookcase?

  Maybe, maybe not. School had never been her priority, and she hadn’t appreciated books until she had nothing else. And that alternate life wouldn’t have Jackson in it. Any jealousy vanished, leaving a pang that felt suspiciously like thankfulness.

  She turned away from the books and packed her regret away. She would always carry it with her—Cynthia’s death was something she would never forget—but maybe she could forgive herself and claim a piece of happiness with Jackson. Was that too much to ask of fate?

  “Are you out? Come on back.” Sutton’s voice drifted from the room at the end of the hall.

  Even though a dark part of her popped up with a warning of self-preservation, Willa wanted—or maybe closer to needed—hope to cling to and shoved the feelings down like a game of whack-a-mole.

  Willa pushed at the half-open door with her foot. Sutton sat on a wooden kitchen chair in front of a mirrored bureau, flipping through a fashion magazine. As soon as she spotted Willa, she stood, tossed the magazine on the bed, and gestured to the chair.

  “Have a seat. I’m going to attempt to re-create Brenda’s magic with your hair, then I’ll do your makeup. Unless you want to do it yourself.” Sutton’s voice veered high as if she were afraid she’d offended Willa with the offer.

  The role reversal helped de-rust Willa’s friendship skills. She laughed and gave a half-shouldered shrug. “Makeup wouldn’t last five minutes at the garage so I never bother.”

  She didn’t add that makeup wasn’t a consideration when keeping her car running and food was a priority. People like Sutton had never experienced that type of gnawing hunger.

  “Good, because I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” Sutton’s excitement was genuine.

  Willa slipped onto the chair and met Sutton’s eyes in the mirror. “Obviously, Wyatt is falling short if this is the highlight of your week.”

  For a split second, Willa worried she’d overstepped, but Sutton’s pealing laugh set them on new footing. “That man has rocked my world in every way. Besides the obvious”—she waggled her eyebrows—“he’s given me the confidence to show off my designs. I used to make things and shove them into a closet. Seeing women wear them is a dream come true. And you are the perfect model.”

  Willa made a scoffing sound. “Shockingly, Victoria’s Secret has not come calling.”

  “Those aren’t real women. They’re robots, haven’t you heard?”

  They shared snickers. “Rich robots, though,” Willa added.

  “Yep. But there’s more to life than money.” Sutton squirted hair product in her palms and shuttled her fingers through Willa’s hair, ruffling it.

  “Spoken like someone who’s never had to worry about it.” Willa kept her voice from veering dark. The last thing she wanted was to topple the fragile camaraderie they were building like a Jenga tower.

  Sutton’s hands stilled for a moment, her eyes downcast, before resuming to work her hair. “You had a rough childhood, huh?”

  If she had then it would be easier to shuffle blame to someone or something else, but her hardships were all of her own making. “Actually, I had a pretty great childhood. I mean, my mom died right after I was born, but my dad was really great.”

  She raised her hand to touch the fraying emblem on her hat before she remembered she didn’t have it on. Fisting her hands, she forced them to her thighs.

  “Did he inspire your love of cars?”

  “Yeah. He owns a shop. I would hang out there all summer and after school. Once I was done with homework, he would let me help him. Soon enough, I was working there. Mr. Abbott reminded me so much of my dad.” The sting of tears surprised her, but she wasn’t sure which man they were for. Both of them were lost to her in different ways.

  “Mr. Abbott and my dad were both into cars and friends of a sort, I suppose. I barely knew him though. I hated being dragged to the garage when I was a kid.” The regret in Sutton’s voice was something Willa recognized. “I thought it was dirty and smelly and Wyatt was so annoying.”

  “Boys can be pretty dumb, huh?” Willa attempted to inject some humor into the moment.

  Sutton’s laugh was more sardonic than amused. “Girls too. Lord knows, I’ve made my share of mistakes.”

  Was she referring to her disastrous engagement to Andrew Tarwater? “It’s not your fault.”

  Sutton stilled. There was no need to explain what she’d meant. “But it is,” she whispered. “What if Andrew—”

  “Stop it.” When Sutton wouldn’t meet her eyes in the mirror, Willa twisted around in the chair. “Trust me on this: what-ifs are useless. All you can do is move forward and try to mitigate the damage.”

  The advice echoed in Willa’s chest as if she were the one hearing it instead of the one giving it. Had she moved forward or had she run away? And why did it feel like she was circling right back around to where it all started?

  Sutton nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. The noise of the hair dryer covered the need to speak. Willa studied the room in reverse through the mirror. Touches of Wyatt were everywhere. A shirt tossed over the pillow, a pair of boots sticking out from under the bed, a brush and male deodorant on the bureau in front of her. Wyatt had basically moved in with Sutton and would be living there full-time after their wedding.

  By the time Sutton was finished, the mash of worries and emotions had been put away. The artful tousle of her hair was something Willa wasn’t sure she’d ever learn how to replicate. But she liked it. Liked how it made her feel feminine and pretty for the first time in forever.

  Willa stared into the mirror; the woman staring back was familiar yet somehow irrevocably changed over the last weeks. “It’s great. Thanks.”

  Sutton patted her shoulders. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. Makeup is next.”

  Willa opened and closed her eyes on command and didn’t complain. She trusted Sutton not to turn her into Bimbo the Clown. In fact, she trusted Sutton more than she had another woman since Cynthia so many years ago.

  “How about some lip gloss instead of stick? It’ll look more natural.” Sutton’s gaze was narrow and assessing.

  “Whatever you think.”

  A corner of Sutton’s mouth quirked in a flash of amusement. “Says the woman I nearly had to blackmail into getting a new dress and haircut.”

  “Considering I’ve cut my own hair the last five years and shop at the secondhand store while you honest-to-God could be a model somewhere, I’m learning to trust your judgment.” Willa’s voice was teasing, but any humor drained out of Sutton.

  “I’ll talk to Wyatt about getting you a raise. That’s ridiculous.”

  Willa shifted an
d grabbed Sutton’s wrist. “No. Jackson gave me a big raise. It’s not how much I make. It’s that I don’t—” Deserve nice things and people. Willa let go of Sutton’s wrist, turned around, and stared into her own wide eyes.

  With a worried look creasing her brow, Sutton unscrewed the tube and leaned in to dot the gloss on Willa’s lips. “I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

  “I appreciate that.” And she truly did.

  She rubbed her lips together, the slick feel of the gloss different from the balm she used to protect her lips from the cold of her trailer.

  “Dress and shoes, and then I’d better get ready.”

  Willa followed her into the sewing room. Sutton handed her a pair of black lace underwear. They were delicate and probably expensive.

  “I brought—”

  “You’re not wearing a pair of cotton granny panties under my dress. Put them on.”

  Willa shimmied them on under the robe while Sutton worked the dress off the form.

  “Drop the robe and step in.” Sutton’s voice was clinical.

  In a fit of modesty, Willa tucked an arm over her breasts, but the dress was up and covering her in seconds. Once zipped, the bodice was tight in a way that made her feel more confident than uncomfortable.

  “Check yourself out.”

  Willa sidled over to a floor-length mirror. She looked … pretty. Really pretty. The green brought out the new reddish highlights in her hair. She spun. After wearing jeans and coveralls for so long, the airy skirt against her legs felt decadent and revived memories of high school dances.

  “Shoes.” Sutton held up two different styles. A pair of high heels in metallic gold and matte gold ballet flats. “I wasn’t sure how comfortable you’d be in heels.”

  “The flats would be smarter.” Yet, when she reached out, she took the heels like a raccoon unable to pass over a shiny object. “I’ll try on the heels for fun.”