Sweet Town Love

by Maggie Ryan

  They chatted quietly with the bridesmaids, listening for their musical cue. When it came, it seemed to Piper as if she were on a roller coaster chugging its way to the top of a hill. Up, up, up went the rate of her heartbeat until with a whoosh and a swoop, she plunged into a thrill of happiness. She steadied herself by holding Mr. Silberman’s shoulder as they sedately made their way down the aisle.

  When asked who gave this woman in marriage, Mr. Silberman replied in a clear voice, “On behalf of her loving mother and father who have gone on before us, and as her dear friend, I do.”

  With that, the roller coaster plunged around dips and curves, faster and faster thrilling her heart, but going by in a blur. “It was over just about the time I got comfortable up there,” Piper admitted later, as she and Blake were dancing to the band’s rendition of An Old-Fashioned Girl.

  “Not me. I was aware of every word, just like I’m aware of every minute we spend here. When can we leave? As fun as this is, I’ve got better things to do.” When he gazed down at her, the look in his eye left no doubt as to what those things entailed.

  Piper laughed. “There are a lot of items left on the night’s agenda, so slow down, cowboy. I’m an old-fashioned girl.”

  “I’ve waited long enough, but I promise, when we get to the hotel, I’ll take all the time in the world.”

  Blushing at random and embarrassing moments, Piper made it through the rest of the traditions of a big wedding. The cake, the garter and the flowers were all taken care of with Blake’s usual attention to detail and Piper’s splash of creativity. One moment in particular had her face glowing redder than the glorious sunset outside. It happened when Mr. Silberman rolled up to the newlyweds and addressed Blake in a quiet corner. Handing him a long thin present, Mr. Silberman said, “I know you’re not unwrapping gifts right now, but I want you to open this one as a special favor to me. It belonged to Piper’s mother when she taught school. Piper lost it once, so I want you to keep it safe for her.”

  Piper frowned in confusion as Blake tore the paper off the box. Lying in white tissue was that old hefty two-foot ruler. She recognized it at once and could only cover her cheeks with her hands to cover her reaction, hoping against hope that no one else was watching.

  “That’s great, Mr. Silberman. Thank you,” Blake replied with a grin. “I’m sure it will come in real handy. I’ll make sure she doesn’t lose it again.”

  After that, Piper was quite glad to make her escape. She couldn’t wait to get that ruler into their suitcase and out of sight. Soon they had changed into their “going away” clothes and made their way to the door of the fellowship hall.

  As they ran through the shower of birdseed the crowd was throwing, Piper saw that Blake was taking her towards the van. She was surprised to see a sumptuous looking captain’s chair in the space where the wheelchair had been buckled. Once they were on the road, Piper couldn’t help but ask. “Wait, why are we taking the van? Doesn’t it have to go back to the rental company?”

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s yours, Piper. That’s why Sharon turned you down for the car loan. I thought you might try something like that, so I warned her not to let you buy what I had already planned to get you. Surprised?”

  “Astonished! Oh, Blake!”

  “I just thought it would be easier for you to have this kind of vehicle and if you want to work next summer, this will help.”

  “But how is Mr. Silberman going to get home tonight?”

  “Mrs. Feeney will take him back with her on the Shadestone bus. It has a ramp.”

  “You think of everything!”

  “I try to. Can you tell what I’m thinking about now?”

  She looked over at him and answered in amused but almost sultry tones. “Not Mr. Silberman.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Blake laughed. “I was thinking about how many Christmas presents this van will carry. We’ll be able to take them all to my folks’ house in one trip.”

  Piper grinned at the thought. “I was wondering how many child car seats this van will hold.”

  Blake looked over at her, eyebrows raised and mouth quirked in a hopeful smirk. “Let’s hope we have to find out real soon.”

  The End

  Chula Stone

  Chula Stone has been writing romance fiction with Domestic Discipline themes since 2004. The day she won that first short-story contest is one of her favorite memories. "The best thing about writing," Chula says, "is when the characters take over the story and make it their own. All I have to do is listen in and write down what I see and hear."

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Chula Stone and Blushing Books!

  Holiday Heat, Volume 2

  Byrds of a Feather

  A Stitch in Time

  A Byrd in Hand

  Penny Candy Christmas

  Good Fences

  What It’s Called

  Your Smile Come the Morning

  The Shawna Trilogy:

  Shawna’s Choice, Book 1

  Shawna’s Chase, Book 2

  Shawna’s Chance, Book 3

  Shawna’s Trilogy , Three Book Set

  Ranygazoo Series:

  Trouble Cones to Texas, Book 1

  Simon Finds Trouble

  A Rancher's Bride Series:

  Skittle-Pip - Book 1

  When A Cowboy Asks - Book 2

  What A Pip - Book 3 - Available Spring 2017

  Anthologies

  Sweet Town Love

  The Art of Love

  Love Alaskan Style

  By

  Alyssa Bailey

  Chapter 1

  Sunrise on a clear morning in southeast Alaska was still one of the most beautiful visions Willow had ever seen. The rugged beauty of the shore before her called to her spirit, offering peace and tranquility. This place, as in most of Alaska, was rough but serene. The purity of the wilderness was never more pronounced than when the sunrise appeared on a calm morning in unobstructed splendor, like today. This picturesque island community on the Inside Passage had always been home. While content, she was of the belief that two enjoying the beauty together was better than one. Someday, she told herself, someone will enjoy it with me.

  Willow raced to pull off her night flannels. She threw on her sweats and runners, securing her long dark hair in a ponytail as she went. She grabbed her fleece-lined lighter jacket, and knit gloves, knowing she would have to put it away for heavier wear soon. She hurried to the cove where the sunrise with its brilliant colors would dance over the landscape for a short time, kissing the frigid lips of the ocean that lay cradled in the protective arms of the snow-tipped mountains.

  She kept her art supplies and her cameras in a bag at the door for just such an occasion. It had been raining hard the whole week, but today, the sky was clear and the sun was working its way up. She had to wait until past eight o’clock these days to run anyway because running in the dark was ill advised in Alaska.

  Each Alaskan season had its own mystique but being a bear’s lunch was not one of them. It had been an uneventful autumn so far with more rain than expected. However, with bears less afraid of humans on the island, they were becoming more adventuresome and, therefore, more dangerous. Her ex-husband hated their wild home, the land covered with evergreens showing signs of too much old growth and patches of clear-cutting that grew back quickly in the rainforest.

  Her ex even hated the ocean that was full of wildlife. Who did that? Unfortunately for him, the mountains surrounded and sheltered them, and the sea’s bounty was at their doorstep. She wondered what had attracted her to him and knew it had been his lack of community history. Simply put, he didn’t come from here, and that appealed to her. However, the fact that he was part of her history saddened her. She would go slow the next time around. She was determined there would be a next time.

  Willow drove her car to the lookout point on the edge of the cove, her landing spot for rejuvenation outside of her own beach. She took pictures of the beauty before her. Those
who had never experienced Alaska didn’t know the absolute awe seeing eagles circle the blue glaciers in search of prey amidst the blackened angular outline of the predawn mountains. Those sentinels stood stark and powerful, dominating the scene amidst a background of watercolor wisps of light. The glistening ocean so blue at times, it challenged the belief that perfection didn’t exist.

  She was like the salmon in the summer, herself. She left for adventures away only to return to her place of origin, Eagle’s Landing. She sat a moment to sketch, and her muse must have been excited because the drawing was perfect to frame in its raw state. She was going to compete, possibly for the last time, in the Art of Alaska Show later this month. She loved it when her artwork seemed to create itself. She might even submit this piece instead of the one she had been working on. Whichever one she didn’t present she would sell and could expect a good price for it. As was her routine when setting any of her work aside, she took pictures of her art, quickly saved them to the cloud before locking her vehicle up. Settling her music and cell phone on her body, she happily took off to enjoy the run.

  Nearly an hour later, tired but rejuvenated and proud that she had stayed the course missing most of the mud puddles today Willow leaned over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath and finished listening to the last song. Unlocking her car, she stared at the scene before her. Her chest tightened as she tried to process what she was actually seeing. The inside of her car looked as though a cyclone had passed through, leaving no survivors. Seconds ticked by. She’d never experienced any type of vandalism before, and very few people she knew had either. What should she do? Did she call the troopers and report it? Was this enough to report?

  It had to be enough. Part of her livelihood was in this car, and she needed to get it back. She felt violated even though it wasn’t her person ravaged. Her sketchpad was gone, her work stolen. She sighed watching the ocean’s waves caress the shore, trying to focus on the peaceful display before putting in a call to the trooper station. The dispatcher told her not to bother anything inside the car.

  “My coat is in the car.”

  “They are on their way, hon.”

  Willow lived about fifteen miles outside of the largest community on the island, but when the weather was bad, it might as well be fifty miles. She figured the borough had to have about ten thousand in it now, during the winter. Half of them lived in the town proper, the rest on either side of it. She loved her island home.

  She was beginning to chill from the cool down after her short run when a vehicle with two troopers arrived. They stepped out, and she stood from her seat on a damp log.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said as though she had invited them to a cookout.

  “Are you Willow Ashcroft?” A tallish trooper she had never met before was speaking to her. His deep voice was reminiscent of a creamy chocolate fondue, warm and decadent creating a surprising need to take a lick. His dark, vivid blue eyes seemed to mesmerize her. Lulled by the vibrant depths, Willow didn’t notice the chill.

  She nodded, reaching her hand down to still a twinging tummy. “Yes.”

  “Hey, Willow. What happened here?” asked Jonathon Matheson, another trooper stepping out of the vehicle’s passenger seat.

  “Oh.” Willow gave herself a mental shake. “Hi, Jon, I don’t know for sure.” Willow tried to ignore the appreciative look of Jon, the same one since high school, and the impatient look of trooper number one.

  “I took some pictures and sketched the sunrise before I went on my run. When I came back, I opened the door, to see my car ransacked and work gone.”

  The unnamed trooper asked some questions. “Did you lock your doors?”

  “My equipment was in it, so yes, I locked my doors. Who are you again?” Willow was irritated that someone she didn’t know would be so rude as to not introduce himself and then to act as though she was an idiot. This was rural Alaska; no one locked their doors.

  “I’m Trooper Hart, ma’am, my apologies for not introducing myself.” Arrogant, but he apologized nicely. He had a killer smile that caused little crinkles in the olive complexion around his eyes. As tasty as he looked, though, attitude was everything, and he was flunking that part in a major way. She was willing to overlook it if the man found her things.

  “Oh, sorry, Willow. He’s the new investigator transferred from Nome. He’s only been here a few weeks. He’ll get used to the place.”

  “Oh, right. Does this rate an investigator?”

  “You’d be surprised what we investigate.”

  Willow nodded her understanding. “So what about my car, guys, my things?”

  “Well, let’s look at it,” offered Jon.

  “Ma’am, did you see anyone around here when you parked or at any other time?”

  “Nope, don’t usually this far out of town this time of year.”

  “Willow has the big stone and wood homestead at the end of the road. Her family has been on the island for generations. They were here before most people could find Alaska on a map. She’s one of the town’s most famous artists. In an area full of artists, that’s saying something.” He announced it with communal pride in his voice. “She wins most competitions she enters in the state such as the Art of Alaska Show. My sister Amy says since Willow’s gotten national mention now, she should bow out and let the amateurs compete,” Trooper Matheson said with a laugh.

  Willow blushed. “I might do that actually, after this year. Amy has a good chance of winning this year.”

  Trooper Hart nodded and then stopped writing in his little notebook.

  Turning towards her with dawning realization he asked, “Wait, Willow Ash? That’s you?”

  She smiled and inclined her head. “Yep, that’s me.”

  “You do incredible work, ma’am.” Trooper Hart’s voice was appreciative, and Willow's cheeks heated to a deeper red.

  “Thank you and please, call me Willow, everyone does.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment. “Now Willow, what about this break in? Anyone angry with you or anyone you owe money or art, maybe? Anything people might want to break into your car over?”

  “No, I mean I’m on the borough council and some people might not like how I vote but this is a small community, and actually, I’ve lived here my whole life except for Art College back east and my little jaunts to travel. Most people know me.”

  “Well, then might be kids or something. Is there anything missing?”

  “Don’t know except my sketchpad seems gone.”

  “What?” asked Officer Hart.

  “You told me not to touch it and when I could see it had been gone through, I never opened the door all the way. I try to do what I’m told if it’s reasonable. Even as an unruly artist, I do respect authority and the law.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  She waved his words off with a dismissive hand and a shake of her head.

  “Right,” Officer Hart continued, “let’s look then shall we?”

  As they sifted through the SUV, Willow’s teeth started to chatter. Officer Hart looked alarmed and asked in a gruff voice that had a touch of accusation in it, “You cold?”

  “J-j-j-ust a little,” she answered. He looked annoyed and began to take off his jacket.

  “No, I have a c-c-oat inside my car.”

  “Put this on, we’ll be done in a minute.” Authority had spoken.

  Willow sniffed. “No, I’m—”

  Officer Hart leaned into her while he put his coat around her shoulders. “No arguing, just do it.”

  “Okay,” she whispered in response. Her knees almost buckled when he smiled.

  She felt her insides heat up quickly from the warmth of the trooper’s take-charge voice and the warm jacket. She liked a man who took care of others. She wasn’t so sure about his take-charge methods, though. She couldn’t deny it made her tummy tumble. Except for that one act, he certainly was a stiff one, but he was new. He would get used to everyone. His coat smelled of pine, sandalwood, a
nd man. A scent she could fall into as it surrounded her.

  The officers continued their inventory and found that the only things missing, was the memory card from her camera and the sketchpad.

  “Hey, Willow,” Jon said, “maybe they enjoyed your art so much, they decided to get it before it came on the market.”

  “That wouldn’t happen because I keep digital records of my progress so that it can’t be duplicated without getting caught.

  “Wow, you really know your stuff. Well then, no harm no foul?”

  “Well, except I need it reported and put on record so if something does happen, not that I think it would, but if it did, then I have the proof.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying,” Officer Hart said, “that’s pretty well thought out.”

  “It was my agent who told me all of that. I guess it happens all the time, and we have plenty of tourists more than half the year. I’ve become one of the attractions, unfortunately. I paint on the dock sometimes and was discovered some years ago, hence the national recognition.”

  She watched as they went through her trunk of blankets and the assorted survival items most northern people carried in the winter. When they had finished taking their own pictures, she spoke up.

  “Can I have my coat now, Officer?” She was irritated by her timid voice.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She took his off and handed it to him while she grabbed her own from the back seat. “And stop calling me ma’am. Call me Willow or hey you but not ma’am.”

  He nodded. “If you’ll call me Tristan, I can call you Willow.”

  She noticed he sniffed the coat as he donned it.

  “Deal. Now listen, don’t you think it odd that whoever it was, didn’t take the whole camera or the other art supplies? He just took my sketch pad and the memory card?”