by Wendy Vella
“You got paying customers, Griffin. Maybe you should come out and serve her,” the other man said.
“She was just leaving.”
Both men studied Willow after that comment from the kitchen.
“You know him?” the green-eyed one asked.
“Yes. Well, no. Sort of.” Dear God, Willow, shut up until the words coming out of your mouth make sense.
“Now, you just have to elaborate on that,” Green Eyes said. “But before you do, I’m Jake, and this is Ethan.” He slapped the Texan hard on the chest, making him grunt.
It was like having a blowtorch suddenly turned on full as they both focused on her, but Willow stood her ground.
“I thought I told you we’re closed.”
Willow dragged her eyes from the men and looked at the angry owner of The Hoot Café as he once again arrived on the other side of the counter. He should look ordinary compared to the other two men, yet he didn’t; in fact, he looked gorgeous. Tattoos, apron, boxer’s arms, and long curling lashes—he made her traitorous heart sigh in memory of the months of longing and fantasy-weaving she’d done.
“Griffin, this here is a lady, and my uncle always taught me that we show them respect.”
Aramis didn’t appreciate Ethan’s words, because his glare became more pronounced. “She’s from New York and has stuff that I don’t want to see.”
Jake and Ethan turned from Aramis after his little speech and once again looked at Willow.
“What stuff?” Jake asked, and his eyes weren’t so friendly now.
“Confidential business,” Willow said. “That I assure you is in his best interests to look over.”
“Now, don’t go spouting off your mouth, New York. These men don’t need to hear my business,” Aramis Griffin said. “Besides, like I told your colleague, I don’t want to sell, so you’re wasting your time here.”
That said, Willow watched him once again storm back to the kitchen. That left her alone with the two men, who were no longer as friendly as they’d been when they’d first walked in the door.
“What’s your name?”
“Willow Harper, from Howe Realty New York.” She took a card from her pocket and handed one to each, as she always did when she met new people. You never knew where your next customer would come from.
“I have no idea what this is about, Ms. Harper, but I think my friend has made his decision clear, so it would be in your best interests to leave town now,” the man named Jake said.
“I just want Aramis look at the papers I’m carrying, and then I—”
“Wait…what did you call him?” The Texan was smiling now, a wide one that made his blue eyes sparkle and brought a whole new level of handsome to his face.
“Aramis.”
“As in the Three Musketeers?” he said, his eyes swinging from hers to Jake’s.
“I—yes, that’s how it’s spelled.” Willow felt as if she’d just made a massive blunder, but wasn’t sure how.
“Thank you.” He then raised his eyes skyward and started howling with laughter. “D-did you kn-know that was his n-name?” He turned to Jake.
“Of course I knew, you idiot.” Jake was laughing now too. “I went to school with him, as did Annabelle.”
“A-Annabelle knows?”
Jake gave him a look that to Willow suggested that whoever Annabelle was, she did indeed know.
“Tell me you didn’t just use my real name in front of this asshole.” Aramis erupted out of the kitchen. In one hand he was holding a rolling pin, and he was pointing it at Willow.
“But it’s your name,” Willow said. “And a very nice one it is, too. You should be proud of it.”
“Well, fuck!”
“God damn, this day just got better,” the Texan said before howling with laughter once more. “All for one and one for all.” He leaped back from the counter and began swishing an invisible sword.
“I don’t understand.” Willow looked at Jake, as he was the only one not laughing loudly or glaring at her.
“Everyone here knows him as Buster. Only a few of us know his real name. Of course, that’s about to change now that the Texan has hold of this information.”
Willow had a sinking feeling as she looked into the angry eyes of Aramis, aka Buster. She’d wanted to talk him into looking at the contract, but instead had made him angrier. “But there’s nothing wrong with the name. I mean, I don’t know many people called—”
“His mother loved The Three Musketeers,” Jake interrupted her.
“Shut up, McBride,” Buster Griffin snapped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she whispered. “We…we were never on first name terms in New York, so I didn’t know Ar… Buster’s,” she added as his glare got darker. “Name,” she finished lamely. She could feel the deal slipping from her grasp.
Willow watched him pinch his nose.
“Aramis,” Ethan snorted. “Did your mom really pick it from The Three Musketeers?”
“Mrs. Griffin was into all that period stuff, but they were her favorites. He was lucky, really. She could have chosen Porthos,” Jake said.
“You want to tell them my life story next?”
“Way too colorful with a lady present,” Jake said calmly while his friend seethed and raged behind the counter. “I’ll save it for the next poker night.”
“I think it’s time you left, Ms. Harper.”
Willow felt the rare sting of tears as Buster Griffin spoke to her. His words had been cold and hard. She wasn’t a crier; it must be because she was exhausted…and desperate. She’d learned early on in her life that tears got you precisely nowhere. Hard work was the best panacea for everything that went wrong.
“Buster,” the Texan said now that he had himself under control. His voice was deep, and she was sure that tone often made people jump to attention.
“What?”
“Don’t speak to Willow like that. She may be bringing some papers you don’t want to look over, but that’s no reason to be rude.”
“I’ll add a ‘please’ to the request for you to leave, then.” Buster was still scowling.
“I’m staying here for a while and combining the trip with a vacation.” Willow said the words quickly. The three men give her a look suggesting they knew she’d made that story up seconds ago. But she wasn’t leaving until Aramis—Buster—looked her offer over. This deal would change her life for the better, and as “for the worse” wasn’t something she wanted to contemplate, she was staying until it was done.
“You here for the carnival?” Jake said.
Willow shook her head.
“You’re vacationing here, in the winter, when there’s a chance of a big dump of snow, when you could go someplace hot?” Jake said. “Seems to me you’ve got that all wrong, Willow.”
“I burn easily, and I like colder climates.”
“You’ve sure got nice skin,” Ethan said, looking closer.
“Thank you.” Willow felt herself blushing. She’d had compliments before. Well done closing that deal. Nice work with those buyers. In New York, she was all about the business, and there was no time for socializing or for that matter personal compliments.
“You’re hitched to my best friend!”
“A woman likes to be complimented, Baker Boy, no matter her age. It wouldn’t hurt you to learn that, considering your single status.”
“Silken-tongued Texans,” Buster snarled before he stormed back to the kitchen. Willow was sure he’d worn a path in the floor by now.
“So, what’s the deal?” Jake opened the display case and helped himself to a pie. “What business do you have to discuss with him?”
“That’s private,” Willow said.
“We’re pretty protective of the Grinch in there.” Jake nodded toward the kitchen. “You seem to have him more hostile than usual, so we either kick your pretty butt out of town, or you get us on your side.” He handed Willow a plate with a muffin that she hadn’t asked for, but made her stomach ru
mble. “You have ten minutes to convince us to let you stay.”
“I’m not pretty,” she said because she could think of nothing else, and she knew her limitations. She was acceptable and made the best of the features she had, but pretty she was not.
“Yes, honey, you are pretty,” Ethan said. “And now I need coffee before we get into this any deeper. You want one?”
“I-I… yes, please.” She then watched the Texan disappear into the kitchen.
“Let’s find a seat.” Jake touched her back, and she was so surprised she jumped.
“You’re from New York. You people can’t move without touching each other, especially at this time of year. Those department stores are manic, so don’t tell me you’re not used to it,” he said, directing her to the seat where she’d placed her things.
“People touch by mistake, not by choice,” Willow said.
“Well, now, that’s just plain sad to my mind.” Jake pulled out a chair for himself once she was seated. “Nothing nicer than the touch of a hand if it’s well intended.”
Willow realized she’d forgotten what that felt like. She’d grown up among people who loved to touch, and while she had accepted it from her family, she’d always felt uncomfortable with others. She’d been a shy child, and growing up in a commune had been hard on her; in fact, she’d hated it.
“I wasn’t speaking on behalf of all the people of New York.” Willow felt she needed to clarify that point. “I’m sure plenty of them like to touch.”
“I’m sure they do.” He was smiling at her now. “Like I said, nothing nicer than a person’s touch if it’s welcome.”
Willow had often wondered what it would feel like to be touched by Buster Griffin, but it would be safe to say now that that wasn’t going to happen.
CHAPTER TWO
Buster braced his hands on the countertop and sucked in a deep, calming breath. He remembered Willow Harper. Now that he knew her name, the guesses he’d come up with had been way off, he realized. Sarah, he’d thought, or Amanda. Maybe Sharon, but never in his wildest dreams would he have come up with Willow. Willows to his mind were a bit wild, walking just this side of respectability. They were beautiful, with a free spirit. Of course this Willow was beautiful, in a buttoned, uptight kind of way, but he couldn’t picture her walking on the wild side of anything.
Straightening, he looked around his space. Gleaming countertops, hanging implements, stacked bowls and his appliances. A shelf ran along one wall filled with cookbooks he’d collected over the years. This was his home; here he was in complete control. Usually being in his kitchen calmed him, but today it wasn’t doing the job. Today his insides resembled the contents of a blender, and he wasn’t sure if it was the offer Willow Harper was carrying with her or seeing her again. Both, he suspected.
She had come into his New York café every day for months and had sat in the same chair; if it wasn’t free, then she took the one closest to it. She’d ordered the same food in five clear words, then sat and pulled out her laptop, and worked for thirty minutes. Her suits had been severely tailored, gray, blue or black. Sometimes a skirt had accompanied the jacket, and other times pants. She had always worn heels, which he suspected was due to her height—a little on the short side, because he had several inches on her. Her caramel-colored hair had always been slick and neat in a bun at the nape of her neck. Buster had spent quite a bit of time staring at that bun. He’d always wondered how long her hair was, what it would feel like sifting through his fingers, and what the soft skin of her exposed neck would taste like if he pressed his lips there.
She wore glasses with tortoiseshell frames when she worked, and the few times she’d come in without them he’d seen how beautiful her eyes were. Lavender with flecks of gray. Buster had never seen that color on anyone else, and he remembered how off-balance he’d felt the first time he’d seen them. They’d made her seem soft and vulnerable, and he’d felt the urge to touch her—reach over the counter and take her hand in his and hold it tight.
It was fair to say that Willow Harper had tugged at his insides a time or two. Buster had never been able to shake the feeling that beneath that buttoned-up, tailored façade was a woman on shaky ground. A woman with secrets and insecurities, and he’d wanted her. He’d often wondered how a woman he didn’t know and hadn’t had a single conversation with that didn’t involve ordering a coffee or muffin could have such an effect on him.
He’d tried to talk to her a couple of times, but she’d just nodded, uttered a single word, then hurried to her seat, so he’d settled for a greeting or a smile.
Tex had been right: she had soft, unblemished skin, and in the summer months when she’d opened her jackets, he’d seen curves that had made his hands clench around whatever implement he’d been holding.
Buster had woven a few fantasies around Ms. Harper during the months he’d served her. He’d imagined dragging her over his counter and ravishing her, or asking her to slip out back where he could kiss her senseless in the storeroom. However, he’d been happy with his fantasies and had never wanted to take them any further. She might look soft and vulnerable, yet in all likelihood she was a sassy, smart businessperson who’d kick him in the balls as soon as the chance presented itself. He’d been burned by a woman just like Willow Harper, and he was a quick study, so he wouldn’t be going back there again.
“You gonna throw that?”
At Tex’s words, Buster looked down and realized he had a knife in his hand. Opening his fingers, he released it, then pushed it away. “Only if you call me Aramis again.”
“I owe you for months of torment, Griffin, so don’t think your threats will stop me.”
Buster snorted. He and his friends had indeed tormented the Texan. He was the fifth Ethan Gelderman, from a rich Texan family, and they’d never let him forget it.
“So, what’s the deal?”
“About what?” Buster stalled.
“That woman out there has you all hot under the collar, Baker Boy, and not in a good way.”
“She has some papers she wants me to look at,” Buster said, reaching for cups. He wasn’t up to tackling the coffee machine, so they could have instant and lump it. “She still here?”
“Yup. Jake’s giving her ten minutes to convince him he should let her stay.”
“I’d rather she didn’t.”
“You ran a café in New York, right? After studying in Paris, you went there and worked for a few years?”
Buster spooned coffee into the cups, and the Texan poured in the boiling water as he talked, filling the air with the strong aroma Buster never got sick of inhaling.
Then Buster corrected his friend. “The Gryphon Café was my baby. I built the business from scratch while you boys were off playing soldiers.”
Tex whistled. “I didn’t realize you owned it.”
“Unlike you, I don’t spill my guts every time I open my mouth.”
“Buster, I know a few clams that could outtalk you,” Tex said, showing no sign of being insulted, which was why he was a good friend. The man had a hide thicker than a rhinoceros’ and took everything Buster threw at him, then hurled it straight back. “And even if you don’t spill your guts, Annabelle, Jake or one of your childhood buddies will fill me in. Although I’m pretty pissed they kept their mouths shut about ‘Aramis’.”
“What can I say? They love me more than you.”
The Texan snorted before adding, “Willow Harper sure makes a big deal out of hiding she’s a woman.”
Buster looked at his friend. Tex had only recently made the move to Howling to be with his girl, Annabelle, one of Buster’s friends. He’d never let the man know it, but Buster was glad to have Tex in his life.
“What the hell are you talking about? She wears makeup and expensive clothes. You tell me a woman you know who doesn’t like to do that.”
“Willow”—Tex nodded to where she and Jake were sitting, somewhere beyond the kitchen wall—“is hiding behind that tailored exterior and
those big glasses that swallow her face. Her hair is pulled back so tight her eyes squint, and you gotta wonder what’s underneath all that. She’s hiding, man. Surely you’ve noticed?”
“You’ve known her for, what…ten minutes, fifteen tops, and suddenly you’ve got her all figured out?” Buster knew he shouldn’t be so interested in the answer just because he’d once been intrigued by the woman. She was the enemy now, sent here to torment him with her papers and promises of instant wealth. “She doesn’t usually wear the glasses unless she’s working on her laptop,” he felt compelled to add, but had no idea why.
“I know women,” Tex shrugged. “She’s got this businesslike, ‘don’t mess with me’ front, but she talks like you’d imagine your favorite teddy bear would, all raspy and cute. She’s hiding the woman she is behind all that exterior shit, bud, trust me. She also has eyes the color of Annabelle’s lavender, and they’re the first pair I’ve seen like that, so I’m willing to cut her a break for those alone.”
She did talk like a teddy bear would; Buster had to give his friend that. Soft and raspy, and her eyes were pretty special.
“Whatever. Just get rid of her.”
“You get rid of her.”
Buster didn’t like the calculating look in his friend’s eyes as he said that, but he ignored it. “Fine, I will.”
Taking two of the cups, he stomped back out to the café and stopped when he heard her laughing. Buster had never seen her laugh or smile; she’d always been serious, just like her clothing, but Jake had managed it in under five minutes. Her face was suddenly alive, her eyes sparkling, and why that pissed him off, he had no idea, but it did.
“Pull up a chair, Buster. I was just telling Willow a bit about the characters in our town,” Jake said.
“I thought we decided you were leaving, Ms. Harper, considering I don’t want to talk any more business with you.” Buster didn’t often let his temper rear its ugly head, but it was nipping at his heels now. When he banged the mugs down on the table with a little more force than he’d intended, he watched the black liquid slosh over the top and onto Willow’s sleeve, making her jump out of her seat.