A Wedding in Willow Valley (Willow Valley Women)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  “Thunder?” Laurel said, her eyes widening. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. That tops Cadillac saying that a ghost of a dead coyote darted in front of Ben and caused him to fall, breaking his hand. Dumb.” She frowned. “I wonder why Ben just doesn’t explain how it happened and stop all the ridiculous stories?”

  “Because he’s embarrassed,” Jane said. “He was so upset outside of Grandfather’s hogan after you three came out that he punched his vehicle.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Dove told me what happened. She gave him a piece of her mind for speaking to you the way he did, told him he’d taken out his sorrow about Grandfather on you—oh, and on his SUV. Ben Skeeter is not about to confess to the world that he behaved like a naughty four-year-old and hit his vehicle.”

  “He’s not about to change his mind about what he said to me, either.” Laurel sighed. “Ben believes every word.”

  “You don’t know that, Laurel.”

  “Yes, I do, because when I really look back on how I acted inside that hogan, I would come to the same conclusions about me, too. I don’t blame Ben for the way he perceived my behavior that day. Self-centered and silent. Too wrapped up in me to reach out to our Grandfather.”

  “Then set Ben straight.”

  “It’s time for the news, Mother. Would you turn on the television, please?”

  Jane rolled her eyes in frustration, then reached for the remote.

  Chapter Ten

  The governing board of Willow Valley, which was made up of a mayor and city council, had not held an official meeting in nearly five years, due to the fact that there was really nothing for them to discuss.

  The mayor was sixty-year-old Donald Smith, who was also the president of the chamber of commerce. Don owned and operated an antique store with Maryellen, his wife of forty years.

  It had been decided many years before, when Don accepted the office of president, that it would appear more impressive on tourist information if there was a mayor and city council to list on the color brochure. The city council was made up of five business owners, Jane having taken Jimmy Windsong’s place after his death.

  The meeting held five years previously had been to appoint one of the shop owners the job of changing the population figure once a year on the sign on the edge of town announcing that a person was now entering Willow Valley, Arizona.

  On Monday morning Don sat on one of the stools at the counter at Windsong Café and drank a cup of coffee that accompanied a huge fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon roll. Don was short, round and balding. Every Christmas he dressed up as Santa Claus for the annual party held in the high-school multipurpose room for the children of Willow Valley and the reservation. Don was a cheerful man who had a smile always at the ready. But not today.

  “Then you agree with me, Jane,” Don said. “Willow Valley is in trouble because of losing the tourist trade so early this year.”

  “Oh, yes, Don, I certainly do agree with you,” Jane said, filling his coffee cup. “I can’t remember the autumn tourist season ever being this short. That storm that came up so fast and blew through here has had far-reaching ramifications.”

  Don nodded. “As mayor, per se, I feel as though I should do something. You know, call a meeting of the city council and brainstorm ideas about how we’re all going to get through this. But for the life of me I can’t think of one plan I could suggest that would be the least bit helpful to any one of us.”

  “Well, as a member of the city council, per se,” Jane said, sighing, “neither can I. We’re at the mercy of nature, Don, and nothing is going to change that. We’ll all just have to get through this as best we can.” She paused. “I do worry, though, that there will be people on the reservation who might go hungry, actually not have money for food because they were laid off or couldn’t sell their handmade crafts in the shops.”

  Don nodded and took a bite of the warm roll. “Don’t tell Maryellen I ate this thing. Doc Willie says I have to lose twenty-five pounds. Just because he’s seventy years old and weighs the same as he did in high school he thinks everyone else should be skinny as a post. Anyway, this is comfort food. I’m worried about the people in our town and on the rez.”

  “So am I,” Jane said, frowning.

  Ben entered the café and slid onto the stool next to Don.

  “Good morning, Ben,” Jane said. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” he said, nodding. “How are you, Don?”

  “Drowning my concerns in this cinnamon roll,” Don said. “Between the economy here being rock-bottom low and the sad, sad news about Grandfather, it’s as though there’s a dark cloud hanging over everything, Ben.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Ben said, managing to pick up the coffee cup with his right hand despite the cast Doc Willie had put on it.

  “I heard,” Don said, “that you broke your hand when you were arm wrestling with your deputy. Can’t remember which fella it was, though, now that I think about it. It didn’t make much sense, either, because you’re bigger than all those guys on your staff.”

  Ben took another sip of the hot coffee. “That’s not how I broke my hand, Don.”

  “Didn’t think so,” Don said. “Want to share the true story, Sheriff Skeeter?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think that would happen, either,” Don said, popping the last bite of roll into his mouth. “Well, I’d best get back to the store. Jane, if you come up with a genius-level idea about what we can do to create some revenue around here, be sure and let me know.”

  “I certainly will,” she said. “Say hello to Maryellen for me.”

  Don left the café, and Jane tended to coffee cups along the counter, then returned to stand in front of Ben.

  “Laurel isn’t working here for now,” she said. “I just couldn’t afford to pay her, and she agreed that it wasn’t fair to our long-standing employees to be getting what would be their tips and what have you.”

  “Mmm,” Ben said, staring into his cup.

  “Laurel’s keeping the house so clean it squeaks, and she has my dinner ready in the evening.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I think she’ll be getting bored, though,” Jane went on. “It’s too bad she doesn’t have a hobby, a craft she’s good at, like Dove.”

  “Mmm,” Ben said.

  “Of course, in Dove’s case, the things she makes put food on the table for her and Eagle, and the shops aren’t taking Dove’s work because there aren’t enough tourists in town to buy things.”

  “Mmm,” Ben said, then drained his cup.

  “Well, gosh, Ben,” Jane said, planting one hand on her hip. “Don’t talk so much and not let me get a word in edgewise.”

  Ben met Jane’s frowning gaze.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just have a lot on my mind, I guess. Everyone I speak with is down in the dumps. They’re worried about the lack of revenue and feel so helpless about Grandfather.” He paused. “I’m also dealing with…” He cleared his throat. “Never mind.”

  Jane leaned over and lowered her voice.

  “Dealing with the confrontation you had with Laurel after the visit to Grandfather’s hogan? Did it ever occur to you that you two should talk that through, clear up the misunderstanding that it actually was?”

  “It has come to light,” Ben said, tugging his Stetson low on his forehead, “that Laurel and I have had a communication problem of very long standing. We just don’t seem to be able to talk to each other very well.”

  “Well, la-di-da,” Jane said. “So you figure, what’s the point in attempting to get the facts straight? I guess you don’t care enough to try to do that.”

  “That’s not true,” Ben said. “I…”

  “You what?”

  “I have to get back to work,” Ben said, getting to his feet. He dropped a bill on the counter. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Mmm,” Jane said, glowering at him.

  Outside, Ben glanced around and shook h
is head as he saw the nearly empty sidewalks.

  Things hadn’t looked much better over the weekend, he thought, because people had no reason to come to Willow Valley. The situation was bad, very bad.

  Drinking on the rez was going to increase, which would result in more domestic-violence calls coming into the office. People with money worries had a tendency to drown their problems in liquor, then take out their frustrations on those they loved. There had to be a solution to everyone being at the mercy of nature, but he sure as hell didn’t know what the answer was.

  Ben drove his patrol car slowly through town, then cruised through the residential section.

  He was not, he told himself, going to turn onto the street where Laurel was living with Jane. But then again, it wasn’t fair to the other homeowners to not check things out and… Aw, Skeeter, shut up. Who are you kidding?

  As Ben approached the Windsong home, his eyes widened and he pressed on the brake in front of the house. He parked at the curb and moments later was striding across the small yard to where Laurel was standing high on a rickety wooden ladder she’d rested against the front of the house.

  “What in the hell are you doing up there?” he yelled, halting by the side of the ladder.

  “Aakk,” Laurel screamed, gripping the gutter with both hands. She looked down at Ben. “Darn it, you scared me to death, Benjamin Skeeter.”

  “Answer the question,” he said, none too quietly.

  “I’m cleaning the wet leaves out of the gutters,” she said, dropping a clump that landed just in front of him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “It looks like you’re working up to a stay in the hospital when you fall off that ladder that was probably built during the Civil War,” he said, volume still on high. “There are people in town who you can hire to do that stuff, Laurel.”

  “And they charge a fee,” she said, flinging another handful of leaves in Ben’s direction. “We’re watching our pennies in this household, and because I’m not working at the café I decided to do this myself. Since it’s not against the law, Sheriff, to clean out one’s gutters, I suggest you go catch a crook and earn your keep.”

  “If you hit me with one soggy leaf, just one,” he said, “I’m going to arrest you for assaulting an officer of the law and throw you in jail.”

  “Now that,” Laurel said, tossing some leaves over her shoulder, “was funny.”

  “I’m not kidding, Laurel Windsong. Get down off that thing right now.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll come up and get you.”

  “Don’t you dare. This ladder can hardly hold me, let alone you, too. Are you going for a whole collection of casts on your body? By the way, did you dent your vehicle when you hit it?”

  “Who told you that I…” Ben narrowed his eyes. “Dove.”

  “I haven’t seen Dove.”

  “Well, she told someone who told someone else who told you,” he said. “I know how these things go.” Ben paused. “Laurel, please, be reasonable. That ladder is dangerous. Look, I’ll bring my ladder over after I get off duty and clean those gutters.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Fine,” Ben said, raising both hands. “Then I’ll stand here so I can call for the ambulance when the rungs on that piece of junk let go. How’s that?”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, reaching farther along the gutter to scoop out more leaves.

  As Laurel leaned far to the right, the ladder tilted, then the rung she was standing on snapped in the middle and she lost her footing. In the next second she was airborne, heading swiftly backward toward the ground, a scream escaping from her throat.

  Ben took one long step, held out his arms and caught Laurel, who was wearing her red jacket that matched her van. With one arm beneath Laurel’s knees and the other around her back, Ben staggered, then steadied.

  Laurel was so stunned by the frightening fall that she didn’t move, her eyes wide as saucers, her lips slightly parted.

  “Laurel,” Ben said, “breathe.”

  She jerked, drew in a huge, wobbly breath, then went limp in Ben’s arms. He shifted her closer to his chest and tightened his hold on her.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said, turning her head slowly to look up at Ben. “That was so scary. Thank you, Ben. I am so grateful that you…”

  Laurel totally forgot what she was going to say as she realized that Ben’s lips were only inches from hers and that his dark eyes were radiating desire so intense it was causing heat to churn deep within her.

  “I hope you didn’t hurt your hand when you caught me,” she said, hearing the strange squeaky sound that was her voice.

  “No.”

  “You…you can put me down now.”

  “No.”

  “You were very angry with me, Ben, and then I told you to stay away from me, but here you are in my front yard, and that doesn’t make sense.”

  “No.” Ben lowered his head toward hers. “But this does.”

  Ben’s lips melted over Laurel’s, his tongue parting her lips and delving into the sweet darkness of her mouth. She shifted one arm to enable her to encircle his neck with her hand, pressing his mouth harder onto hers.

  The kiss was heat that was fanned into licking flames of desire so hot it raged within them like a prairie fire out of control. Hearts raced, and their breathing became labored as the kiss intensified even more and went on and on.

  “Yo, Sheriff Skeeter,” a male voice yelled from a passing truck. “Way to go, man.”

  Ben’s head snapped up. Laurel stiffened in his arms.

  “Oh, good grief,” she whispered, not having enough air left in her lungs to speak louder.

  “Aw, hell,” Ben said, then carefully lowered Laurel to her feet. “Okay? Are you steady? Over the shock of the fall?”

  “Yes, I’m…I’m fine,” she said, straightening her jacket so she could avert her gaze from Ben’s. “Thank you again for…”

  “Laurel, I’m sorry,” Ben interrupted. “I was way out of line when I jumped your case after we saw Grandfather. No one is going to change his mind about the choice he’s made, and I was upset, frustrated. But that’s no excuse. Please forgive me for being such a jerk. Please?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “I should have said something to Grandfather, anything to let him know that I love him, respect what he’s doing. I’m sorry, too, for the way I acted that day at the hogan. I plan to visit Grandfather and assure him that I understand his wishes.”

  “Laurel, look at me,” Ben said, his voice gritty.

  “Oh, I don’t think that would be a very good idea right now.”

  “Look. At. Me.”

  Laurel raised her head slowly to meet Ben’s gaze, her breath catching as she saw the desire still radiating in his eyes, knowing it was mirrored in her own.

  “I know you told me to stay away from you,” he said, “but I couldn’t. I can’t. I want to be with you, talk and laugh, give and get comfort over what is happening to Grandfather. I want…I want to make love with you for hours and hours and…

  “Aw, damn it, Laurel, don’t you get it? I’m still in love with you, never stopped loving you. There. I’ve said it out loud. I love you, Laurel Windsong. Always have, always will.”

  Laurel’s eyes filled with sudden and unwelcome tears.

  “I love you, too, Ben,” she said, a sob escaping from her lips. “I don’t have the emotional energy to deny it. But, Ben, we’re not the same people we were ten years ago. We’re not.”

  “You’re Laurel,” he said, his jaw tightening. “My Laurel. That’s all I need to know.”

  “No, it isn’t all you need to know,” she said, tears spilling onto her cheeks as she took a step backward. “Something happened in Virginia that…” She pressed shaking fingertips to her lips and shook her head.

  Ben attempted to grip her shoulders, but his hand with the cast slipped off her jacket, and she took another step backward.

  “Don’t run from me,
” he said. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened to you in Virginia. We’ll deal with it, Laurel. Together.”

  “No, no, no. It’s something I have to do on my own. It changed everything for me. I don’t know who I am or what I’m going to do with my life. Okay, yes, okay, I love you. But I can’t be with you, pretend I’m the same person I was before, because I’m not. I’m just…not. I need time to…”

  “Then I’ll wait,” Ben said, tugging his Stetson low on his forehead. “I’ve waited ten years, I can wait some more. The hell with my pride. Until you tell me that you no longer love me, that you’re leaving me again, leaving Willow Valley and not coming back, I’ll wait.”

  “I can’t promise you anything,” she said, more tears streaking her cheeks and running along her neck. “I’m searching desperately for inner peace and I don’t know if I’ll ever find it. I just don’t know.”

  Ben stared at her for a long, heart-stopping moment, closed the distance between them, then bent down and brushed his lips over hers.

  “I’ll wait, Laurel,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Then he turned and strode across the yard, driving away minutes later without looking at her again. Laurel watched him go, her heart aching as she felt nearly crushed by the weight of a mixture of joy beyond measure that Ben still loved her, but unable to ignore the truth that she might never be for him what she wished to be, what he deserved to have.

  “Oh, Grandfather,” she said, crying openly. “I need your help so much, your wisdom. Please, Grandfather, help me.”

  The next morning, after a nearly sleepless night, Laurel drove to the reservation and was welcomed by Dove, who ushered Laurel into the kitchen, draped her red jacket on a chair and soon placed mugs of tea in front of both of them as they sat opposite at the old Formica table.

  “You look terrible,” Dove said.

  “Thanks a bunch,” Laurel said, producing a small smile that disappeared in the next instant. “Um…how’s Eagle?”

  “Fine.”

  “And Yazzie?” Laurel said.