He watched as she slid her cell phone from the pocket of those ridiculously short shorts. Her face, already showing signs of strain, crumpled when she saw the cracked and broken screen. Her attempts to bring the thing to life met with complete and utter failure.
“Oh no!” she cried. “It’s not working.”
“Must’ve happened when you hit the bank, huh?” he observed.
“How am I going to get to Marietta now?”
Why was she so all-fired keen to get to Marietta? Booth clenched his jaw as he sought the words that might convince her to change her mind but they eluded him. He cast her another look. A dark bruise had begun to form at her temple. She needed some ice on that and she probably needed to get off her feet before she fell down and did herself more damage. He made a decision, even though every instinct inside him roared at him to do the opposite.
“Go take a seat in my truck. I’ll give Dillon a call. See if he can come out and get you.”
“Thanks,” she said with a sweet smile that did stupid things to his heart rate. “I really appreciate it.”
He helped her into his truck and broke open a one-use ice pack from the first aid kit he kept under the seat.
“Put this on your face,” he directed, lifting the pack to her temple. “It’ll help with the bump.”
Their fingers touched as she took the ice pack from him and the craziest urge to press his lips to her forehead almost overtook him. Oh yeah, she was trouble all right. And, he had the distinct impression that once he’d seen the back of her today that that wouldn’t be the end of it.
Two
Willow watched as the tow truck driver, who’d introduced himself as Dillon Tanner, hooked up poor old Daisy and dragged her, metal protesting loudly, from the ditch. Once the bus was hitched up behind the truck, Dillon dusted off his hands and walked over to where she waited with the tall, dark cowboy whose facial features seemed to be set in a permanent glower of discontent.
“We’re all set,” Dillon said to Willow. “Hop on up in the truck.”
Willow turned to her taciturn rescuer and handed him back the ice pack. “Thanks for all your help. I appreciate it. I didn’t get your name before.”
“Lange. Booth Lange.”
“I’m Willow Phillips. Well, thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“I doubt it,” he replied, earning a surprised glance from Dillon.
The two men clasped hands briefly, then Booth returned to his truck and drove away without so much as a wave.
“Talkative, isn’t he?” she commented.
Dillon chuckled. “He’s all right once you get to know him.”
Willow gave a snort of laughter. “I doubt that’s going to happen any time soon.”
The journey into Marietta was a quick one and she hopped out of Dillon’s truck when he pulled into a yard behind his garage.
“I’ll do an assessment for you tomorrow so you can get in touch with your insurance company. You are insured, aren’t you?”
Willow shifted uncomfortably. She knew it was a legal requirement here in the U.S., but insurance had been the last thing on her mind when she and Daisy had made their acquaintance.
“Do you think it’s going to be expensive?” she asked, avoiding his question.
“Hard to tell in this light,” he answered, scratching his head. “Tell you what. Give me your number and I’ll call you once I’ve worked up an estimate.”
“Oh, I’ll just drop by in the morning,” Willow answered. She looked around the yard, in particular at the high chain-link fencing that surrounded it and the gate currently hanging open. “I guess you’ll want to lock up now?”
“Yeah, you want to grab your things from the bus? It’ll be safe enough here overnight.”
It might be, Willow thought, but what Dillon didn’t realize was it was her bed for the night as well. She’d have to find some way back in here once he’d gone. Or somewhere to hide until he left.
“Sure, thanks. I’ll just get my pack.”
She made her way to Daisy, opened the side door and climbed inside for her pack. She cast a backward glance at Dillon, who was entering the rear of his workshop. Maybe she could just stay here in Daisy and he’d be none the wiser. She could just fake leaving the yard.
“’Bye, see you tomorrow!” she yelled in the direction of the workshop and heard Dillon’s muffled acknowledgement in return.
Satisfied he’d think she had gone, she clambered in, wincing again as her aching muscles made their presence felt, and carefully closed Daisy’s door behind her. It didn’t close quite all the way, but she didn’t want to try slamming it in case it alerted the friendly garage owner to the fact she hadn’t left. She was quite sure that she wouldn’t be allowed to stay here on his premises, even if she was in the yard. The lumpy mattress that had served as her bed for the past two nights beckoned and Willow eased her bruised body down, hoping Dillon wouldn’t check the vehicle before he left.
It wasn’t long before she heard his truck start up and move a short distance, soon followed by the clang of the gates being secured. She waited a while then lifted her head. He was well and truly gone. Willow’s stomach growled, reminding her it had been several hours since her last meal. Well, she’d gone hungry before, she could do it again. She had her water bottle and a roof over her head and that was all she needed for now. Tomorrow would bring a new beginning.
Exhausted by the day’s events, Willow soon drifted off to sleep, only to be woken with a start by a ruckus outside a few hours later. Jeers and catcalls, followed by the sounds of a fight, filled the night air. She burrowed more closely under the scratchy blanket she’d picked up in a surplus store before leaving L.A. At least she had Dillon’s fence around her to keep her safe. Soon, a lone siren wailed up the street and she could hear the sounds of people dispersing. By the time it was silent outside, well, silent except for the insistent dull beat of the music playing in the bar next door, Willow was even more aware of her aches and pains and her head had begun to throb.
What she wouldn’t give for a feather pillow and a decent bed. Maybe when she found her father everything else would fall into place. She fervently hoped so, and if there’d been a star visible through Daisy’s grimy windows she’d have been wishing on it as hard as she could.
Dawn broke with an itch that Willow couldn’t ignore. She scratched at her bare arm and opened her eyes. A mosquito the size of a small bird, to her eyes anyway, buzzed crazily around in the close confines of the VW, obviously having found its way in through the gap in the door. She swatted at it ineffectually before another, more pressing, discomfort made its presence felt. She needed a bathroom, and soon.
She looked around outside. After her initial short sleep of pure exhaustion, the bar next door had kept her awake into the small hours and left her with her eyes feeling as if the dust of a thousand sandstorms had settled in them. She carefully stretched and reached for her one pair of colorfully patched jeans and a tie-dyed T-shirt, grimacing a little in pain as she stripped off and redressed.
Willow looked around outside and grabbed her bag, a hand-embroidered canvas pack that had traveled with her mother for twenty-seven years, and shoved some yarn samples and a few pairs of her hand-knitted socks inside it. She carefully opened the door and slid from Daisy. Every muscle in her body protested. She groaned as she started to walk toward the gate, her eyes on the lookout for a way out that didn’t entail scaling the very high fence. It was soon apparent there was nothing for it but to do exactly that. Either that or wait for Dillon to arrive to open his workshop and face his questions as to why she was on the inside of his property instead of the outside where she was supposed to be.
Climbing the chain-link fence tested the very boundaries of her sore body and overfull bladder. The bruises she’d earned in yesterday’s crash throbbed with a dull ache and her muscles protested every stretch and pull as she levered herself over the steel framework. She was on the point of weeping by the time she lowered her feet to the si
dewalk and took her bearings. Tanner’s Garage was situated on the corner of Fifth and Front Avenue. Surely there had to be somewhere open early with a restroom she could use.
Willow walked stiffly up the street, past an old railway depot that looked as if it had been converted into a boutique brewery and then on past a small park. Beyond the park was a hotel. It didn’t look like the kind of place she could just pop into, use the facilities, then pop straight back out of—especially not looking the way she did right now. She made a face and kept going. Things were getting beyond uncomfortable by the time she crossed the street and rounded the corner onto Court Street. There, hallelujah, the lights were on at a diner on the corner of Court and Main. Willow quickened her pace and pushed open the door.
The scents that greeted her were enough to make her mouth water and her stomach growl very loudly.
“Take a seat anywhere, hon. I’ll be right with you,” a woman behind the counter smiled her greeting.
“Is it okay if I use the bathroom first?”
The woman gave her a second glance and halted in her activity of mopping the countertop. A small frown settled between her brows. “Sure thing, hon. It’s right over there.”
Willow saw the reason for the frown the moment she stepped in front of the mirror after relieving herself. From her temple to her cheekbone was a kaleidoscope of purple and blue and her hair was a complete mess into the bargain. She looked like something that had been dragged through a bush backwards, sideways and then forwards again.
She reached into her pack and dragged out a hairbrush, then attempted to at least restore some order to her appearance. She swiftly braided her hair into a tail that swung over her left shoulder and, with artful arranging, almost hid the worst of the bruising on the side of her face. A dampened paper towel served as a washcloth as she washed her face at the basin. There, it wasn’t perfect, she thought as she studied her reflection, but it would have to do.
Back in the diner she took a seat at the counter. A mug almost instantly slapped down in front of her and the waitress began to pour her a coffee.
“Were you at the Wolf Den last night? I hear there was a fight, again.”
“The Wolf Den?” That must be the bar next to Tanner’s Garage. “No, I had a bit of an accident in my VW bus yesterday. Landed pretty hard on my left side.”
The woman nodded, although Willow had the distinct impression she didn’t fully believe her.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“A big breakfast, please.”
“The works?”
“Sounds like exactly what I need,” Willow answered with a smile.
It probably would be outside of her carefully planned budget—a budget that would no doubt be blown to hell by the repairs to Daisy—but what the heck. She hadn’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday and a good meal now would hopefully tide her through the whole day. Maybe she could pick up some granola bars or something for later on. She took a sip of her coffee and relished the sensation as the caffeine eased into her system.
“What brings you to Marietta?”
Willow smiled again. “I’m on an adventure. My mother came here years ago. She died a few months back and I thought it would be fun to follow her trail, especially since the county fair is coming up and I know she really enjoyed it. In fact, she met my father there.”
The woman across the counter gave Willow another piercing look. “That’s one heck of an adventure. Are you looking for your father?”
“I might be,” she admitted carefully.
“Good luck with that. The population here swells with summer folk and visitors to the fair. He may not be local, you know.”
Willow nodded. Thing was, she had a name, and a post office box address. And a pile of letters marked “return to sender” that she’d mailed to him after her mother had died. He was local all right, but he clearly didn’t want anything to do with the daughter he’d fathered all those years ago. That was about to change if Willow had anything to do with it.
“Order up!” A cry came from the open window between the kitchen and the front counter.
The waitress grabbed Willow’s plate and put it in front of her, together with a set of cutlery.
“Just holler if you need anything,” she said as she grabbed some menus and sauntered over to a booth where a couple had just seated themselves.
“Thanks,” Willow answered and turned her attention to her plate.
She would never normally have been capable of consuming such a quantity of food but the scrambled egg, hash browns, bacon, biscuits and gravy all soon disappeared. The sausage she wrapped carefully in a paper napkin and put in the side pocket of her bag. It would do for later, she decided.
Willow paid for her meal and left the diner feeling decidedly more optimistic than she had when she’d walked in. It was amazing what a good meal could do for a person. Now, all she had to do was find somewhere to stretch her legs before she could look for the yarn store that had been listed on the Marietta chamber of commerce website, and hope like crazy that they wanted to buy some of her yarn.
Thinking about her yarn reminded her of Booth Lange and how his jeans had stretched tight across his butt as he’d bent down to pick the skeins up from where they’d scattered. A shimmer of heat raced up her spine, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck tingle with anticipation. He’d been a surly thing, but beautiful with it. Beneath that black Stetson his face had been carved perfection and that voice…It was enough to make a girl go all weak inside. She wondered what he’d sound like whispering sweet nothings in a girl’s ear.
Determinedly, she shoved all thoughts of Booth Lange to the back of her mind. However he spoke to his lover, he certainly hadn’t used that tone of voice with her. No, for her he’d reserved annoyance and frustration with a liberal dose of barely suppressed fury. It was a good thing she was unlikely to bump into him again anytime soon.
Willow sat down on a bench outside the handsome grey stone courthouse building and reached into her pack for her mother’s journal. She unwrapped the silk scarf she’d protected the book with then carefully opened the leather-bound journal and inhaled as the sweet scent of orange blended with patchouli drifted from the pages. Every time she smelled that signature scent, it was as if her mother was right there with her, guiding her along. Tucked in the front cover was an old map of Marietta, and Willow gave it a quick look before tucking it and the journal back inside the pack. Satisfied she had the image of the map clear in her mind, she rose and made her way north over the railroad tracks and then took a left turn, over the river, toward the fairgrounds.
Even now, three weeks out from the fair, there was already activity going on. She stood a ways back, leaning against the solid trunk of a tree, and just watched as people came and went.
“I’m here, Mama. And I’m going to find him,” she promised out loud.
After a bit she noticed a small black cat picking its way over the grass toward her. She squatted down and held out her hand.
“Hello, beautiful. Have you come to bring me luck?” she asked as the cat butted against her hand and started to purr. “I sure hope you’re better at it than that blasted deer yesterday.”
Willow reached into her pack and found the sausage wrapped in the paper napkin. She broke a tiny piece off and offered it to the cat, who sniffed at it delicately before scarfing it down as if it hadn’t had a meal in forever. Willow laughed softly and scratched behind the kitty’s ears.
“I know how you feel,” she said. “I was in the same state this morning. Ready to eat just about anything.”
She broke off a bit more of the sausage and left it on the grass for the cat to eat. Would it be too early to head back to the garage by now, she wondered? A glance at the height of the sun in the sky was her only answer. Yeah, probably still a little early. She sat herself down at the base of the tree and smiled as the cat immediately jumped on her lap and did a couple of circles before tucking itself into a ball and settling down to
sleep.
“Hey, don’t get too comfortable,” Willow cautioned, but she couldn’t resist stroking the glossy black fur, nor could she bring herself to move in any great hurry and push the cat away.
Instead she spent the next hour reading her mother’s journal again. Even though the words were already imprinted in her mind, looking at the violet colored ink scrawled across the pages in her mother’s looping handwriting and seeing the fairground in front of her made her mother’s words come to life in a way they hadn’t before.
She realized she’d dozed off when the sound of a truck backfiring brought her rudely awake again. The cat was long gone from her lap and the sun was now higher in the sky, building in warmth and brightness as the morning drew on. Willow cursed out loud. Judging by the change in the sun’s angle, she’d slept for well over two hours and now not only was her backside as numb as if she’d had a spinal block, she had a generous scattering of cat hair on her jeans as well.
She got up and dusted herself off then rewrapped her mother’s journal and stowed it away again. It was only to be expected that after having read the journal that she’d dream of her mother, but instead of the usual closeness Willow experienced when she’d dreamed of her before, it had left Willow feeling unsettled, almost uneasy. A cloud passed over the sun and she fought a back a shiver. Her superstitious nature told her the dream had been a warning of some kind. But what?
Grabbing her pack and making her way back into town, Willow pushed the dream, and the sense of unease it had left her with, to the back of her mind. She couldn’t let fear, or even her superstitions, rule her life. She was on the cusp of what she hoped would be a new beginning for her. She couldn’t let anything ruin that.
Things were getting busier on the streets, she noticed, as she made her way down Main Street. The diner was bustling with patrons and the stores she passed were all open and busy. It seemed Marietta was a lively town. No wonder her mom had loved it here.
Three blocks down, Willow found the place she was looking for. She looked up at the sign. “Superstitch’n’s.” She couldn’t help it. A broad smile wreathed her face. If ever there was a sign from the universe, this was it. And, to make things even better, a neatly printed “Help Wanted” sign sat in the front window. Things were definitely looking up, Willow thought as she squared her shoulders, pushed the door open and marched right on in.
For Love of a Cowboy Page 2
