“Your ability to complete this job. I have others—”
“I’ve got it, boss.” Nick turned and walked to his car. As he opened the door, a shot rang out and he slumped to the ground.
Solari glanced at the man rounding the corner of the old warehouse. “Took you too long. You can’t hesitate, or you’ll be the one who never drives home.”
“Some kids were heading this way. I had to scare ‘em off without being seen.”
“How’d you manage that?” Solari rolled his eyes at the suit jacket and slacks Ben Fischer wore. The fool had grandiose ideas of becoming a mafia hit man.
“Cop lights. I flicked them on just before they came around the corner. Ran like scared puppies.”
“Good work.”
“So, I go after the girl now?”
Eyes narrowed, Solari took two steps toward Ben and raised his sunglasses. “Do not harm her. If she gets a single scratch from your actions, you’ll wish you were lying there next to Nick.” He waited for his words to sink in for a moment and then added. “She’s an attractive girl. With a good haircut and the right clothes, she’d turn every head in a room. Don’t look twice. It’s not happening.”
“Not interested, Mr. Solari.”
Steve waited until the man rounded the corner and then slipped back into his sports car. “That was the wrong thing to say, my boy. The wrong thing.”
Chad reached for the deodorant but found the shelf empty. He rifled through his duffel bag and still found nothing. “Must be on Willow’s sink still. Ugh,” he muttered as he pulled on his shirt. He’d have to get another stick before his shift. “Might as well keep that one at Willow’s—”
He stopped. His words echoed through his mind. For twenty-four hours, his father’s words had taunted him. He wanted to believe his parents were wrong, but every minute that passed seemed to prove the opposite. He had made himself at home in her life, and while he didn’t think Willow’s reputation was truly at stake, the rest of his father’s rebuke hung around his heart like a weight. He tried to protest that his parents didn’t understand, and he was right. They didn’t understand. Some of their concerns were valid, while others were based upon a reality that Willow hadn’t entered yet.
Lord, I prayed about what to do, and ten hours later my father tells me exactly what to do. Is that You? Is it just his opinion? Am I crazy to want it and reject it at the same time? The convenience alone—
Through the lenses of high-powered binoculars, Ben watched the farm from behind an oak tree near the road. Snow sifted down into his boots, but he forced himself to ignore it. The man—must be the cop, Chad—and the woman built a snowman in the yard. “How bucolic,” he muttered to himself.”
Scarf, carrot… Willow turned and almost stared directly into his lenses as a dog jumped around the base of their snowman, pawing at it until she chased him away. “Boss was right. She’s not bad looking at all.”
The man dug into his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Ben’s throat went dry as he turned to the girl and seemed to send her inside. Ben swore. Outdoors it was easier to observe. If they went inside, he’d have to stay out in the cold, and that dog would probably bark—again. Step one. Silence the dog.
When the couple appeared, carrying boxes to the truck in the yard, Ben jumped the fence and climbed into his car, starting the engine. His eyes narrowed as the man gave Willow a half-hug and jumped into his truck. “Didn’t kiss her goodbye, eh cop? Boss’ll be glad to hear that.”
He pulled onto the highway and crept along the road, punching the gas as soon as the truck should have him in view. With less than a tenth of a mile between them, he turned into Fairbury just seconds ahead of Chad. Once the cop passed the convenience store, Ben tore out of the parking lot and raced back to the farm. Phase one to begin.
The temperature dropped steadily. When it fell into the teens, Willow decided to bring in the chickens before their combs got frost bitten. She pulled on her coat and boots, donned her gloves and hat, and stepped out into the yard. Her stomach lurched and her eyes widened at the sight of Saige hanging from her clothesline—blood dripping onto the snow. She raced for the sink and lost the contents of her stomach.
Her hands groped through her pocket, reaching for her phone and wondering why someone would do anything— Get a grip, Willow. You’ve strung up deer like that a hundred times. Well, maybe twenty anyway.
“Chad? Come home. Now. Just—” she collapsed in uncontrollable weeping.
With a flagrant disregard for ice and safety, Chad raced down the highway and up the driveway, slipping and stumbling his way into the house. “Willow?”
“The back yard—clothesline.”
Uncertain as to what he’d find, Chad stopped beside her on the chaise and brushed her hair from her face. To his disgust, he noticed that it had the same attractive windblown look that it occasionally had after she let it down from its customary braid. He had to stop noticing things like that—at least for now. “Be right back,” he whispered. “It’s going to be ok. Whatever it is, it’ll be ok.”
After one glance at the clothesline and Chad whipped open his phone and called for Joe and Judith. “I know you’re busy, but this is a crime. Get the women from the church to dole out those candles. It’s not a police matter. This is.”
Chad returned to Willow’s side, knowing nothing he could say would really help. “I’m sorry. She was a good pup.”
“Why—why would?” he heard her swallow hard. “Did you take her down? I couldn’t.”
“I can’t either. Not until the guys arrive. They were giving out candles.”
“That reminds me, does anyone need wood? I have plenty of wood—”
“We can let them know,” he assured her.
Willow rattled dishes, flagrantly banging them on the counter, in the sink, and into the cupboards as she washed, dried, and put them away. “Who kills a dog? That’s just sick.”
“Yes.”
“And a sniper!” she wailed. “Someone drove out here and went to all that trouble to set up a place to kill a dog. Why?”
“To silence the dog’s barking—we think.” The alternative was too horrifying to suggest.
“How could a dog way out here annoy anyone? No one can hear her bark but me.” She wrung what must have been every drop of water from the rag and slammed it into the sink again. “I want him caught. Whoever this creep is, I want him caught. He killed my dog.”
Chad had watched her all afternoon. As though detached from himself, he observed their interaction together, their camaraderie, and, if he was honest with himself, even a bit of chemistry. He’d been blinded by proximity. He saw, in nearly everything they said or did the things that both delighted and concerned his parents. It was time to talk.
“I’ve been thinking about things.”
“About Saige?
He groaned. Maybe it wasn’t a good time. “No. Maybe I shouldn’t—”
“Good. I don’t feel like talking about it. She was just a dog, but you have to be a sick person to do that to an animal for no reason. I don’t like the idea of someone like that anywhere near my land, and I really don’t want to talk about it until we’ve found out who did it. I am so glad Ryder was out of town this weekend.”
He needed to do it. Why was it so hard if their relationship was only the simple friendship he claimed it was? Why did he suddenly dread her answer? Because you knew, even from the first evening you drove out here, you knew that this would happen. She fascinated you. You found her attractive. You resisted because you knew—you knew that she would hold you back if she was half the person she seemed. And you wanted Rockland. Excitement. Drama. Well, you got it now. How do you like it?
She waited, her eyes questioning—growing afraid. Should he give her the option? Maybe he should bring it up, as something neither had much choice but to agree to.
“Let’s go sit down.”
“Ok.” As she passed him, she started to speak, but strode to the chaise and curled up on it
instead.
He took his favorite corner of the couch, the fact that he had a favorite pricking his conscience. He had to do this. With a deep breath, a prayer, and more nerves than he knew he possessed, Chad launched into his pitch. “You know, you’re my best friend.”
“I was thinking about that today.”
“It’s kind of unique, but it’s good and strong, and I don’t want to see anything change it.”
Willow sat up straighter on the chaise.“Is everything ok?”
“Come here,” Chad urged, his voice low.
“What—”
“Come to me, Willow, we’ve got to talk.”
She came, but the dread in her eyes as she started to speak cut him. “I—”
“Shh. I need to talk to you, and it’s difficult for me. Just give me a second, ok?”
With his arms around her shoulders, nearly choking her at the neck at times, Chad prayed silently for strength, courage, and wisdom. This would be the hardest thing he’d ever done since the day he acknowledged the Lord’s claim on his life.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“But—”
He laid a finger on her lips chuckling softly. “You’ve never been so chatty! Let me talk.
“Well you’re not exactly Mr. Orator as a general rule,” she challenged turning her head to meet his eyes.
“You know, I once considered kissing you to shut you up, and if you keep it up, I might just do it.”
Her eyes widened. She started to speak but clamped a hand over her own mouth, giggling as she did. Chad grinned. “That’s how I can keep you in line. I’m not sure that’s very flattering but—”
“Hey!”
He took a deep breath and tried to reorganize his thoughts. He’d already strayed too far off topic. “Anyway, I don’t want to lose you, and yet, I... I’m just your friend—and I like that,” he hastened to add. “I—”
Willow, ignoring his threats, moved away from Chad. “What’s wrong? What have I done now? I can’t take this suspense. I feel like I did when I was five and Mother caught me playing with matches and was too angry to deal with me.”
He pulled her back to him. “Hush! I told you—”
“Obviously empty threats so just spit it out, and I’m not swapping.”
He snorted. “That’s a good one. Ok. Let me try this again.”
“Can you just get to the point?”
“I think we should get married.”
Stillness filled the room, stifling them. Chad fought to find the words he wanted to say, and he watched as Willow fought the rising panic his words had already prompted. “Chad—”
“Shh. Listen first. I may not be crazy in love with you, but… I mean, I do love you. That’s kind of obvious. But I don’t really feel a whole lot different for you than Aunt Libby or Cheri or any of Luke’s sisters—and yet I do.”
“You do what?”
“Feel differently about you than them,” he tried to explain. “It’s like I’ve told the Lord, I’m not exactly immune to you.”
“What does that mean?”
His heart sank as he realized she truly didn’t know what he was trying to say. “Well, you’re attractive. I know that. I won’t pretend that sometimes I’m not more aware of it than others.”
“That’s not something I am comfortable discussing.”
“I know, but I needed to be honest,” he insisted. “Willow, my parents made a valid point when they were here.”
“What was that?”
“Dad said I was ‘playing house’ by spending so much time out here. He accused me of, and I confess I do see his point, of well—” The words stuck in his throat. It sounded—ugh. Maybe he should have gone with his inclination just to decide for them and pray she went along with it, but it was too late now. “Well, of enjoying all, or most anyway, of the benefits of a husband without any solid commitment behind it.”
She stiffened. “I—”
“In my defense,” he continued ignoring her interruption. “I wasn’t trying to avoid a commitment to you. I’d considered all of this before and truly thought it was wrong of me to even mention it. I thought, ‘what happens if she meets someone else—I’ve denied her.’ You know what I thought.”
“I told you that—”
“Yes, and I believed you and allowed things to continue as they were, but I see my parents’ point. They love you. They love me. They want what is best for us, and after considering their opinions and praying about this, I think they’re right. I think we should get married.”
“I feel,” she began, “A little like Elizabeth Bennett must have felt in Pride and Prejudice. You haven’t told me you care about me against your better judgment or that I’m beneath you or anything, but this is a very Darcy-like proposal you’ve thrown at me.” She frowned at him as he started to speak and continued, deepening her voice in a weak attempt to sound like him. “‘I’m not in love with you, although you don’t repulse me or anything, but to keep up appearances I think I should deny myself the rights of a bachelor and make an honest woman of you.’ My how gallant you are, Chad. Forgive me for not being overwhelmed with gratitude.”
Her sarcasm cut him deeply. She was right. He had bungled his so-called proposal. “Willow, right now, I want nothing more than to pretend we haven’t had this discussion.”
“Well that makes two of us. The motion is carried.”
“How did you know—”
Her impatience sent her to her feet, hands on hips, and eyes flashing. “Roberts Rules of Order. On the third shelf of the center bookcase, two thirds of the way from the left. I’m not an idiot, Chad.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“Brilliant observation.”
He smiled up at her. “Come here.”
“You must be joking.”
“Willow,” he pressed, forcing himself to speak softly and keep his voice low. “Come here. Let’s talk.”
“I don’t really want to talk.”
“Well you don’t get that option. Friends don’t just clam up and let things stand like this when there is a problem. They work it out.” Chad couldn’t believe he now echoed the very words his mother had drilled into his head—seemingly without effect. It finally sank in now, Mom.
“But you’ll just be all nice, and I’ll get comfortable again and then—”
He tried again. “C’mere, Willow.”
“No.”
Chad stood, scooped her off her feet, and sat once more with her on his lap. “We have to talk.”
She dropped her head against his chest, tears slowly falling. “I don’t want to.”
“Then I’ll talk. You listen.”
He smoothed her hair, wiped her tears, and spoke soothingly about his idea. They were best friends, he asserted, and she couldn’t deny it. They almost couldn’t be more husband-wifeish if they tried. “I’d be here more. I could help more without feeling like I was overstepping.” He swallowed. “I wouldn’t have to go home.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Aww, Willow. You know I’d never—”
“That’s part of marriage, Chad. It’s a part I don’t—can’t—”
“Shh,” he soothed. “Listen. I can’t say that a lifetime of marriage in separate rooms will work. I’m realistic enough to know that eventually—” He took a deep breath praying for the right words. “But I am not Steven Solari Jr. I would never force—”
“I know,” she whispered, the pain in her voice cutting him. “And I could never force a man into a marriage without—”
“Hey, hey,” he replied, trying to calm a fresh wave of tears. “No one is forcing anyone into anything. I’m asking, and at this point I’ve quit begging God for you to say yes and am now pleading that He won’t let you say no.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“I wish.” He pressed his cheek against her hair. “Yes is an agreement. A lack of a no just means maybe.”
With her arms wrapped tight a
round his chest and her head over his heart, she sighed. “Well, I can’t ever tell you no, but—”
“That’s enough for now, Willow. Take it to the Lord, but whatever you do, or decide, or anything, we can’t let it change us—this. I didn’t know how important it was to me until about thirty-two seconds ago when I thought I’d lost something amazing.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Willow sighed in relief as Chad drove home, watching the taillights of his truck as they disappeared down her driveway. “I never thought I’d be back to being glad he’s gone,” she muttered to herself. “Why did he have to ruin everything?”
Her heart wasn’t in it. She wanted to blame Chad for the unsettled feelings in her heart and mind, but the fact was she was just simply angry with herself for not realizing that things couldn’t continue as they were. She knew that as natural as their friendship seemed, it wasn’t the same she’d read in books or seen with other people she knew. He was right. Their relationship seemed more like the Tesdall’s marriage than simple friends.
Headlights in the driveway frightened her. She dashed around the room, putting out the candles, turning down the lamp, and locking the doors. The lights of the vehicle were so bright that she couldn’t tell who or what kind of car was out there. Unsure what to do, she crept upstairs and tried to see from her room but it was gone.
A noise came from the back of the house. Growing afraid, Willow grabbed the gun from behind her bed, hurried to her mother’s room looking for a place to hide, and then dashed from there again. She started into the spare room but then chose the attic. The stairs were hidden. She could easily hide in there, no one would find her without knowing where to look for the stairs, and there was no electricity to reveal the trapdoor in the ceiling!
Once in the attic, Willow grabbed a rug, crawled to the corner of the room, wrapped it around her, and prayed. She couldn’t hear the rooms beneath her. Was someone shuffling around down there? Why had mother insisted on all that extra insulation? It made things very difficult for her now.
Past Forward- A Serial Novel: Volume 2 Page 29
