by Wendy Vella
After she’d gotten into her car she pulled out the piece of paper Macy had given her last night and looked at the numbers written in soft, looping strokes with a black pen.
She could stay here for a day or two. Her colleagues could deal with anything pressing at the office; this was too important to walk away from. She’d just have to suck it up and wait Buster Griffin out long enough to get him to sign, then she’d be out of Lake Howling before the winter carnival.
Her cell phone rang just as she was about to punch in Macy’s number. Noting the caller ID, she was tempted to ignore it, but knew he’d just keep calling.
“Hello, Michael.”
“Well, did you get him to sign?”
“He’s not in Lake Howling at the moment, but he’s due back in the next few days.” She wasn’t sure why she was lying, as it was one of her pet hates, but she needed to buy herself some time, and a small fib would do that. Michael Howe held her future in his hands, and he wouldn’t accept failure from her, not on this deal.
“You know what’s at stake, Willow. No deal, no partnership, so stay until it’s signed.”
“I’ll present the details to him, Michael, but it hardly seems fair that this alone will secure my becoming a partner.”
“Nothing’s fair in life, Willow,” Michael said in that condescending way that often made her want to slap him. “This is the deal breaker, as far as I’m concerned. You get this signed, and we’ll talk partnership.”
“You promised me, Michael. You said it would happen when this deal was signed, and now you’re saying we’ll talk.”
“I won’t discuss anything with you until you bring me that signed contract, so this conversation is over. Stay as long as necessary, Willow. I won’t accept failure on this one. It’s too important, to you and to Howe Realty.” He disconnected the call before she could say anything else.
Resting her head on the headrest, she looked out at the lake. The water was still ruffled by the breeze today, and she knew that even dipping a toe into its icy depths would result in a freezing digit. Beyond were the snowcapped mountains. They looked remote and distant, just like her.
She knew that time had made her that way; experience had taught her to keep to herself. Her drive to succeed had also played a part in stopping her from forming relationships.
When she finally reached New York, Willow had been determined to have everything she hadn’t had during her childhood—and she’d begun to achieve that when Michael had lured her to Howe Realty with the promise of a partnership. She’d used her savings on the deposit for an apartment, and then realized the partnership wasn’t going to happen right away.
She’d been a fool to believe Michael, and should have insisted on things being formalized. But he’d seemed genuine when he’d approached her, and obviously she was still naive enough to believe he’d stay true to his word. Experience should have taught her that you should trust no one, but she’d been gullible, and was now paying the price. Six months later, she was still not a partner and had a huge mortgage and bills she was struggling to meet.
She opened the piece of paper she’d crushed into her fist during her brief talk with Michael and called Macy to ask about that cabin. She had to get Buster Griffin to sign. She was out of options.
Macy instructed her to drive to her house, where she would hand over keys and directions to the cabin, which she said Willow could use for as long as she needed.
Willow found the house without any trouble. Macy had said it was the biggest on the street, and it was, by a considerable amount. It looked out of place among the smaller properties surrounding it. It was covered in white weatherboard with pale blue trim and had two huge pillars that signaled the front entry.
Macy had told her there was no Mr. Reynolds, and she hadn’t dug any deeper. Willow didn’t like people delving into her past, which could be described in one word as chaotic, so she didn’t dig into theirs.
Once she’d parked in the driveway, she slipped on her glasses for no other reason than they gave her courage. She locked the car, then headed for the front door, where she knocked three times.
“Hey there, Willow.” Macy was wearing the same smile and a sweater that had a large reindeer with a red flashing nose on the front. “Come on in out of the cold.”
Willow took off her boots, which reduced her height drastically, but as Macy was no taller she didn’t mind too much. Looking down at the toes of her thick purple socks, she realized she hadn’t thought about taking off her boots, or she would have settled for black socks this morning.
The interior of Macy’s house wasn’t what Willow had expected, either. Okay, they hadn’t spent a great deal of time together, but she had still pegged the woman as liking color in her life, with plenty of pretty things around her. Everything in here was white and sterile. The pictures were pastels, and the rugs over the beige carpet were the color of mud and exceedingly ugly even to Willow’s eyes—and she was absolutely not anyone to judge, as her own apartment wouldn’t win any interior design accolades.
“I’m just feeding Billy, so come on through to the kitchen and I’ll get you a coffee.”
“I know you’re busy, so I’ll just take those keys and head to the cabin.”
“It won’t take a minute,” Macy said, walking away from her. “And Billy would like to see you again.”
How could she refuse that request?
The little boy was sitting in his booster seat eating carrots, one of which he waved at her when she entered.
“Sit and warm up.” Macy pulled out a chair for Willow.
The kitchen was white and the appliances were all stainless steel. The only color came from a splash of red in a cloth on the table.
“Macy, we didn’t discuss payment for the cottage, or who I owe it to.”
“The cottage is mine, and I have no idea how much to charge, but I’ll think about it and let you know.”
How someone could contemplate renting their property and not know for how much was beyond Willow.
“I’ll pay you two hunded a night,” Willow said, making Macy’s eyes widen. “And I’m not taking those keys from you until you agree.”
“That’s too much,” Macy spluttered. “A hundred will do.”
“Two hundred.”
“One twenty-five.”
“One seventy-five,” Willow countered.
“One fifty or you can’t stay there.”
“All right.” Willow smiled at Billy.
“Was I just conned?” Macy said, taking down a cup.
“Of course not. It’s called negotiating.”
“You’re good.” Macy filled a mug with steaming black coffee before placing it on the table before Willow. “You want cream and sugar, or something to eat?”
“Sugar and cream, and no thanks to the food. I had breakfast at The Howler.”
“Would you just watch Billy for me while I run upstairs and get those keys? Here’s his lunch if you want to help him with it.”
Before Willow could answer, Macy had gone. Looking at the child, who in turn was studying her intently, she thought that the boy’s mother was way too trusting. She had no idea if Willow was good with children or not, yet she’d just left a stranger alone with her son.
Standing, she shrugged out of her overcoat and jacket, then sat down again and pulled her chair closer to Billy’s booster seat.
“So,” she said. “How are those carrots?”
Buster and Newman arrived at the same time as Jake and Branna at Macy’s house. A large fir tree was sticking out of the back of Jake’s pickup. He’d called his friends early this morning and told them about his conversation with Macy last night. Between them, they’d decided to decorate her house today as a start to changing the way she felt about the place. After calling Connor Tucker and asking him to work, Buster had gone into The Hoot early and set the place up, baked what needed to be baked, then left instructions for Connor to call if he needed anything.
“You girls gonna
get out here and give me a hand?”
Buster flipped Jake the bird through the window.
“How long shall we give him?” Newman asked, making a production out of pulling on his gloves and tugging down his hat.
“I’d say he’s probably about ready, or he’ll just whine all day. Grab that container out the back seat, will you?”
“What’s the matter, Doc? You worried about a splinter in those soft hands of yours?” Buster called to Jake when he got out of the Jeep.
“Hey, Buster, you be nice to my man.”
Branna McBride gave his cheek a smacking kiss. With her pale skin, green eyes, and thick, dark hair, if her looks didn’t alert you to her heritage, then the soft burr of her words would tell you she was Irish.
“I’m not real good with nice, Branna, as you know.” Buster headed for the pickup, noting that Jake had left the heavy end of the tree for him to take.
“Is there a reason you didn’t jump in here, Newman?” Buster said, grunting as he lifted the tree out of the pickup. Like Jake, he’d shared his first day of school with Paul Theodore Newman and they’d been friends ever since. His blond curls were out of sight under a red woolen hat. With his cheeks pink from the cold, he still looked about fifteen.
“Now, why would I do that when you do the macho stuff so much better than I do? Besides, I’m holding the food. It’s an important job.”
“You’re such a girl, Newman,” Jake said, starting for Macy’s front door.
“I can still take you in an arm wrestle, McBride.”
“I’m sure that’s sexist,” Branna said, following with two large bags in her arms. “I mean, I’m a girl and pretty tough, so I should be angry about that statement, Jake.”
“You’re not a girl, baby. You’re all woman.”
Branna smiled and blew him a kiss.
They kept bickering all the way up the driveway because it was their way. This was how they had always communicated, and probably always would be.
“You found any gray hairs yet, Newman?” Jake asked.
“Nope, still got my youthful looks, unlike you and Baker Boy here.”
“Yeah, but we shave because it’s what real men do,” Buster put in. “Whose car is this?”
“No clue. It’s a rental from Brook, by the looks of it,” Jake said, walking around it.
“Well, hell,” Buster muttered, hoping his guess as to who owned the car was wrong.
“Ms. Harper,” Jake said, laughing softly. “My day just got better.”
“Why is Ms. Harper about to make your day better?” Branna juggled her bags and knocked on the door.
“Just watch and listen, baby girl.” Jake’s smile was so wide, Buster hoped his jaw displaced.
“Asshole,” Buster muttered.
“My tree!” Macy flung the door open, then clapped her hands loudly. “I’m so excited! I’ve never had a real one before.”
Buster sent Newman a look that silently conveyed their feelings about Macy’s ex.
“Well, stand aside, then, sweet cheeks, ’cause it’s colder than the North Pole out here,” Newman said.
They carried the tree into the living room, where Macy had placed a stand on a red-and-green checkered cloth. Looking around, he couldn’t see Willow, and he hoped the car belonged to someone else.
“Who owns the car in your driveway, Macy?” Branna asked as she dropped her bags. “Because these guys think they know, and I want to.”
“Willow Harper. She’s from New York, here to get some papers signed by Buster. She wants to stay longer, but The Howler was full, so she’s going to stay in the cabin.”
“Great. My life’s an open book,” Buster muttered, heading for the kitchen. He needed coffee if he had to see that woman again. Behind him he heard a discussion start on why Willow was in Howling and knew that by the time he joined them, they’d all be on the same page—that she was here to annoy the shit out of him.
He’d given some thought to that kiss they’d shared and tried to reason why a two-second lip-lock could have felt as good as it had. He still hadn’t come up with an answer but suspected it had something to do with his being without a woman for so long.
Pushing open the door, he stepped inside the kitchen and stopped. Willow Harper was dancing around the table with little Billy. Her back was to him; she was singing in her soft, gruff voice and Billy was laughing.
Buster pressed a fist into his chest and wondered why he had indigestion all of a sudden. She was wearing a pair of tailored gray pants that stretched tight across a shapely ass as she moved, and a pale gray silk shirt that caressed her curves. Her hair was in that neat bun again.
He hadn’t figured on her being child-friendly. For some reason he’d had her down as a businesswoman from head to toe and all the nice parts in between, yet here she stood singing in that voice that rolled up and down his spine, dancing with his favorite little man.
“He ate all his food, Macy. Now we’re dancing off the excess.”
She sounded happy, her voice lighter than he’d ever heard it before, which admittedly wasn’t often, but it had never sounded like that when she was ordering coffee and muffins.
“Great,” Buster said, because he had nothing else. “He needs a weight complex at his age.”
She spun, her eyes wide as they went to his. She moved closer to Billy as if to protect him—or was she protecting herself?
“Mr. Griffin.” She stiffened up, spine suddenly rigid, eyes cool.
“Just Buster.”
Moving toward her, he realized how short she was without her heels. The top of her head would brush his chin. Trying to ignore her, he reached down to pick up Billy, enjoying the feel of his small body and the arms Billy wrapped around his neck.
“Hey, big boy.” He blew a raspberry into Billy’s neck, making him giggle.
“Excuse me, Mr. Griffin.”
“My name’s Buster.”
She pulled on her jacket, her movements swift and angry, then picked up her overcoat. He could see the toes of her purple socks. They had small pink flowers on them. He wondered what she’d look like in jeans and a sweater instead of the severely tailored clothes he’d always seen her in, or better yet, in nothing.
Where the hell had that thought come from?
“Nice socks.”
She gave him a jerky nod that slid her glasses down her nose. “I went to your café today, but I was informed you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
“And that annoyed the hell out of you because I didn’t tell you last night that I wasn’t going to be there, didn’t it, New York?”
He saw the anger flash in her eyes, but she ignored the question, instead using a polite tone to ask, “Can I make time to come over and talk to you?”
“No, and I don’t want to talk about this on my day off, which I rarely get, by the way.”
“I understand that, Mr. Griffin. However, I would like to set up a time to see you, please—and then I shall leave you to your day off.”
“That’s three times,” Buster said, ticking Billy and making him squirm. “If you’re trying to sweeten me up, Ms. Harper, then don’t call me Mr. Griffin.”
“I apologize.”
“And don’t mention the contract in front of my friends, either.”
“Are they with you?” Her eyes shot to the kitchen door he’d just walked through.
“They’re all in the other room helping Macy with her tree.”
She snapped her teeth together and gave him another jerky nod, which dislodged her glasses once more.
“How come you only wear them sometimes?”
“I need them for reading.”
“I don’t see you reading anything,” When she didn’t say anything, he asked another question. “Why don’t you get them tightened?”
“I do.”
“Then why are they loose?” Buster blew another raspberry into Billy’s neck as he watched Willow. He’d thought her a still person, but, in fact, she moved constantly. He
r eyes, her teeth chewing her bottom lip, her fingers opening and closing, one after the other, like a small, fluttering fan.
“I play with them, and they loosen.”
She didn’t seem happy about telling him that—like it was some kind of black mark against her, her having this weakness.
“And it pisses you off that you can’t stop yourself, right?” Her gaze shot to his face, and Buster could see he was right. “It’s a habit,” he said with a shrug. “We all have them.”
“I don’t like them.”
“Habits?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Excuse me. I have to go now, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I said no, so you should head back to New York.”
“Just read the offer and let me talk to you about it…please.”
The desperation in her eyes was real, and he wondered why this deal meant so much to her. “The Gryphon Café means a lot to me, Willow,” he told her. “I think you need to understand that. My parents have ties to it, too.”
“Are they financial partners? Is that why you’re reluctant to look at the contract? If that’s the situation, I could go and—”
“No, that’s not the situation,” Buster interrupted her. “They have an emotional investment in the café, like I do, but I’m the one who owns it outright.”
“I don’t understand.” Her brow wrinkled. “Surely emotion wouldn’t stop you from selling if the price was right, which I assure you it is.” She looked confused, as if the idea of letting emotion rule his decision was a foreign concept.
“Willow—” But before he could explain, Branna walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, you got that coffee on, Buster? Jake said he was having trouble thawing out.” The look on her face told him she’d been sent in to see what was happening.
“Willow Harper, Branna McBride, wife to that idiot Jake you met in my café.” Buster set Billy down on his feet, then headed for the coffeepot. The little boy immediately bolted from the room, no doubt looking for his mother.