by Kacey Linden
“Well, he’s not getting her back, whoever he is.” Marcia’s eyes flashed fiercely, and her arms crossed over her chest.
“You know we can’t make her stay,” Cale reminded the older woman firmly. “Don’t get so attached that you forget she’s just passing through, on her way to somewhere. All we can do is make sure she’s safe while she’s here.”
“That’s your job, Deputy Matthews,” Mrs. Dillon said, nodding decisively. “You keep us safe from careless tourists and marauding rats, and I’ll take care of the rest. She may think she’s passing through, but I say God works in mysterious ways.”
Cale held up his hands and backed away, grinning. “I’m not crazy enough to try to stop you, or God,” he told her. “I should be getting back on the street, but let me know if you need anything. And I’ll be over in the morning as soon as Marty knows anything about the car.”
Mrs. Dillon stepped closer and peered up at him with evident disapproval. “When do you sleep, Cale?”
“I’m off in an hour,” he said, ducking his head guiltily. “Then I’ll sleep, till seven or eight if the dogs let me.”
He turned and retreated down the front hallway, not seeing Willow, but knowing Mrs. Dillon would be able to set her at ease far better than he could.
“See that you do,” she called after him. “Don’t forget to eat! And don’t forget to put up a Christmas tree! It’s already three days past Thanksgiving!”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Dillon!”
He couldn’t bear to tell her that he’d decided not to celebrate Christmas this year. It would make her sad, and he would do anything to keep her from feeling sad at this time of year.
Mrs. Dillon loved Christmas. She loved the decorating, the baking, the parties, the music and the presents. All of it. She had always made a huge production of the holiday, every year up until her daughter’s death. After that, she’d encouraged the rest of the town, baked for other people’s parties and participated in all the holiday events, but she claimed she just didn’t have the energy to do it for herself anymore.
Cale thought she just didn’t have the heart to celebrate alone. Hopefully, having someone to take care of for a few days would do her good.
Willow’s flight ended in a dark but cozy-looking sitting room at the back of the house. She hated her cowardice, and her tears. She was ashamed of running but more ashamed of crying. Hopefully they would leave her alone until she could get herself back under control and decide what to do about the confusing people in this strange town.
They couldn’t be this nice. Not for real. There had to be a catch. There was always a catch.
She was going to have to find a way to pay them back. But first, she had to get out of town, which meant getting her car fixed, which she couldn’t pay for either. But she was exhausted and her face hurt and she couldn’t think of anything but sleep.
“Hot chocolate and scones,” Mrs. Dillon said from behind her, in a firm but pleasant tone. The light came on.
Willow whirled around and scrubbed her face with her overlarge sleeves. Her hostess carried a tray with two mugs—one of which appeared to be overflowing with marshmallows—and a plate with what looked like five scones.
“Now, let’s sit and have a nice cozy chat while we eat these up. It’s a new recipe I’m trying, but I’ll warn you now, I never tell anyone what’s in my scones until they’ve tried them.”
The woman uttered her commands in a voice that suggested she was never disobeyed, and Willow didn’t have the energy to be the first.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She took a seat, cross-legged, on a dark blue couch, which turned out to be a mistake. She sank in so deeply she wasn’t sure she’d ever get out. After a sip of incredibly rich chocolate and a bite of something so heavenly she almost started crying again, Willow glanced up at Mrs. Dillon. “I still don’t understand why you would take me in. I’m a total stranger.”
“It’s almost Christmas.” The white-haired woman smiled happily. “Taking in strangers is practically a tradition.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s enough for me,” Mrs. Dillon told her complacently. “I like visitors. And I had a daughter. She would have been older than you, of course, but I would like to think that if she was alone and in need of help on a snowy night in a strange town, someone would have helped her.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow said soberly.
“So am I,” the older woman said simply. “I miss her very much. But I’d much rather talk about you. Tell me. How did you come to be in Echo Creek?”
“It wasn’t on purpose.” Willow wasn’t quite ready to unpack her life history for this woman, no matter how sweet she seemed. Or how delicious her scones were. “I was just out for a drive.”
Mrs. Dillon’s eyebrows rose with a look that said she knew exactly how much Willow wasn’t saying.
“And how did you meet Deputy Matthews?”
“My car ran out of gas,” Willow explained. “And he gave me a parking ticket. Then I crashed on the ice and he let me use his gas can.”
Mrs. Dillon laughed. “I’m sure you would have preferred to meet our handsome deputy in some other way, but you have to admit, he’s almost worth the cost of a parking ticket.”
Willow felt a blush spread from her neck to her hairline. “Not if you just sat in a puddle and spent your last two dollars on gas,” she muttered, then dropped her eyes. “I mean… I guess he’s not bad-looking.”
“Hah!” Mrs. Dillon scoffed. “He’s more than that. Kind, too. Takes care of everyone in this town, including me. A lot of the ladies would like to catch his eye, but he’s still a little heartbroken.”
Willow was more than a bit curious about that last statement, but she refused to take the bait. Fortunately, she didn’t have to.
“He was engaged a few years ago. To a local girl—Marissa Beckett. She was beautiful, a bit wild, but loved life and had a great career in marketing. He was crazy about her. Would have done anything she asked, given up anything to make her happy.”
Willow wondered what it would be like to have a man feel that way about her. “What happened?” She hadn’t even meant to ask.
“She left,” Mrs. Dillon said flatly. “Just disappeared one night and called him from Portland. Met some fancy marketing executive while skiing and decided she was in love. Broke things off with Cale over the phone and she’s never been back.”
“Then he’s lucky,” Willow murmured. “He didn’t end up married to her.”
“Good luck telling him that.” Mrs. Dillon snorted. “I don’t think he’s been on a date since.”
“That’s very sad for him,” Willow said, feeling a little awkward, “but he might not want you sharing his secrets with a complete stranger.”
“Oh, pish.” Mrs. Dillon waved airily. “Everyone in town knows that story. You were bound to hear it eventually. Now, how about you? Where are you from? Have any family around here?”
“No.” Willow set her mug down carefully and stood up. It was clearly time for a strategic retreat. “Look, I’m very grateful to you for the scone, and the chocolate, and for taking me in, but I’m so tired. I haven’t slept since two nights ago. Would it be all right if I go to bed now?”
The older woman eyed her closely, but nodded and bounced to her feet more like a woman of thirty than seventy. “Of course. I showed you your room, and there’s clean sheets on the bed. If you need anything at all, my room is the one at the very end of the hall.”
“And…” Willow paused. “You’re just going to leave everything unlocked? With me here?”
“Do you sleepwalk?” Mrs. Dillon asked archly.
“Not that I know of.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there? If you wake up first, feel free to rummage around the kitchen. Sometimes I sleep in if I’ve been up late the night before.”
Willow nodded, feeling completely bereft of words. This poor old woman was just asking for someone to take advantage of her,
but it wouldn’t be Willow. She knew too well what it felt like to have people she trusted rob her of everything, and would never repay the old woman’s hospitality that way.
“Thank you. And good night.”
“Sweet dreams, my dear,” Mrs. Dillon called after her as she headed for the stairs. “And if you hear strange noises in the night, it’s just this crazy old house. Nothing to worry about.”
Despite her fears and confusion, Willow fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t wake up until the light was shining dimly through the curtains.
Morning. Monday morning. She checked her watch. It was already eight thirty, which meant Deputy Matthews might have news about her car.
She rolled out of bed and sorted through her duffle, looking for anything remotely clean or presentable. At the bottom of the bag she found one last pair of jeans, with only a few minor stains, and a hooded sweater.
It would have to be good enough. After she dressed, Willow steeled her nerves and faced the mirror over the dresser. It was almost worse than she remembered. The bruises stretched from her hairline down her cheek and onto her neck. They had begun to turn green around the edges—hardly attractive, but at least they were fading, and the swelling was mostly gone. She wished she’d been able to bring makeup, to cover them up a little, but at least three people had already seen them. No doubt they were storing up questions about how she’d gotten them, but Willow wasn’t ready to talk. Probably never would be.
She had just started down the stairs when someone pounded on the front door. A jolt of adrenaline shot to her heart and she clutched at the railing, reminding herself of where she was. Echo Creek. No one could have followed her.
As quietly as possible, she crept into the front room and peered out between the curtains. A black pickup was parked by the curb.
“Mrs. Dillon?” a man’s voice called from the porch. It was Cale Matthews.
Willow opened the door and barely stopped her jaw from falling.
He looked even better out of uniform. Jeans, work boots, and a quilted flannel shirt were the perfect complement to his tousled brown hair and dark stubble. And that smile. He really ought to keep that to himself.
“Um. Hi,” she managed. “Mrs. Dillon isn’t up yet. But I’m sure she’d want me to let you in. And probably expect me to make tea.”
“Don’t forget the mystery scones,” he said, eyes twinkling as he stepped inside, shut the door and wiped his boots on the mat. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No.” Willow folded her arms to keep from fidgeting awkwardly. “I was up. Did you find out anything about my car?”
He hesitated. “You should probably have tea first.”
Her heart sank. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No,” she acknowledged. “I haven’t been up that long, and I feel weird about messing around in a stranger’s kitchen.”
Cale rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Then let’s fix that.”
“But…” Willow wasn’t sure what to think. “Shouldn’t we wait till Mrs. Dillon is up?”
“Oh, she’ll probably sleep in. She always does after a late night.”
A tiny gurgle of laughter escaped in spite of her best efforts. “This really is a small town.”
“Best kind,” Cale assured her, leading the way to the kitchen. “Now, what do you like for breakfast?”
“You cook?” She raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“Don’t judge,” he protested, placing a hand over his heart to feign hurt. “It’s possible that I make the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten.”
“It’s also possible that I’m a Russian spy,” Willow retorted, before clapping a hand over her mouth.
“No, don’t stop,” Cale encouraged her, laughing. “But before you tell me the tragic tale of your highly unsuccessful career in espionage, what shall I cook?”
Willow considered the question as she seated herself cautiously at the breakfast bar. “Uh, whatever is easiest?”
“Pancakes it is.”
She watched as he rummaged around in the pantry, procured mixing bowls, ingredients and a griddle, and managed to produce thick, fluffy, golden pancakes without measuring a thing.
When he slid a stack of four onto a plate and placed it in front of her with a flourish, she almost clapped. “That was amazing,” she said honestly. “I’m going to be so disappointed if they taste like wet cardboard.”
Cale’s dark brows lowered sternly. “Don’t mock the pancakes, ungrateful wretch,” he admonished, pushing the syrup her way.
Willow froze. She’d been joking. She hadn’t even realized she’d relaxed enough to make a joke, and it probably had sounded ungrateful. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry,” she said hastily, pulling away and ducking her head.
“Hey, it’s okay.” The deputy stood back, hands in his pockets, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “I wasn’t being serious. It’s fine. I’m not upset.”
Willow forced herself to sit up and pick up her fork. It was embarrassing how often she misinterpreted people’s emotions, expecting them to be angry or to lash out. She hadn’t always been that way—there’d been a time when she could feign normal well enough, but that was before she’d moved in with Elliot. Now, everything else felt like it had happened in another life.
To distract them both from her embarrassment, Willow poured syrup on the pancakes and took a bite.
“Can everybody in this town cook?” she asked in amazement, after she swallowed. “These are almost as good as the scones.”
“And now you’ve committed very near blasphemy,” Cale informed her. “Nothing is better than Mrs. Dillon’s mystery scones.”
“And don’t you forget it!” Mrs. Dillon shook a warning finger at him as she strolled into the kitchen wearing a bath robe. “What are you doing in my kitchen, you miscreant?”
“Making the world’s best pancakes, of course,” he said, holding up the spatula.
“Then I’ll forgive you if I can have some,” Mrs. Dillon announced. “Who wants tea?”
“Tea,” Cale proclaimed firmly, “is an afternoon beverage. That’s why there’s ‘tea time.’ For mornings, it’s coffee.”
“After ten years, haven’t you given up on convincing me to try your nasty heathen slop?” Mrs. Dillon demanded.
“Never.” Cale winked at her and flipped a pancake with ease. “I’ll convert you yet.”
Willow sat back and watched them with a tiny smile curving the corner of her mouth. Odd as the situation was, the casual, comfortable friendship between the two of them warmed her even more than tea, or pancakes. They seemed like good people, even the deputy. It was hard to keep being afraid of a man who made her breakfast and teased old ladies about tea time.
But still, she had to remember that he was the police. If she let him get too close, or ask too many questions, she might find herself answering them, and that would be the worst thing she could do. She needed to get the car fixed and get out of town, before Deputy Matthews got curious enough to start looking for answers elsewhere.
Chapter 3
Cale was careful not to let her know he was watching, but he made sure Willow ate enough to take the pinched, hungry look from her eyes. Hopefully a full stomach would help to soften the blow he was about to deliver. …
“I should probably tell you what Marty had to say about your car,” he began carefully, as she scraped the last dribbles of syrup off her plate.
“Yes.” She sat up, tension immediately visible in her shoulders. “How bad is it?”
“He said it’s actually a miracle the car got you as far as it did. It doesn’t appear to have had any proper maintenance for years.” He saw her face go even paler than usual, but forged ahead. “The fuel pump is probably bad, but so are the brakes and the belts. It needs a new air filter, and all the fluids are low.”
Her fork clattered onto her plate. “How much?” she whispered.
“He’s not sure. He d
oesn’t usually do paid mechanic work, but since this time of year is slow he’d be happy to fix it up, and he’ll charge you less than either of the other mechanics in town. Since the car is so old, the parts will be a little harder to find, but he thinks he can order them.”
“How much?” she said again, a little louder this time. “He must have given you an estimate.”
“Maybe as much as two thousand,” Cale said quietly. He could see when the hopelessness began to steal over her expression. And no wonder. The whole car wasn’t worth two thousand dollars. She’d be better off buying a used one somewhere. Either way, two thousand was as good as a million when you had nothing.
“What do I do?” The words seemed to burst out without her permission, and she instantly took them back. “I’m sorry. That’s no one else’s problem. Please”—she got up from her seat and backed away—“excuse me.”
“Wait,” he called after her. “Don’t go yet. I didn’t come here just to give you bad news.”
She threw an empty look back over her shoulder, her fading bruises clearly visible against the pallor of her cheek. “Didn’t you? I won’t take any handouts, Deputy.” Her hazel eyes bored into his.
“My name is Cale, and I didn’t ask you to,” he said firmly, not looking away. “Come back and we’ll talk about options.”
Mrs. Dillon entered the fray. “There is always a way,” she said emphatically. “And for heaven’s sake, we’re not going to toss you out on the street. In this town, folks help each other.”
Willow turned but she didn’t close the distance between them. “I’m not part of this town,” she said, almost angrily. “When will you get that? And I can’t stay here. It’s not safe. Not for me, not for you.”
“Why not?” Cale didn’t think she was ready to tell him, and he was right.
She shook her head. “That’s my problem, not yours.”
It was his turn to be stubborn. “Right now, there’s no way for you to get anywhere else. You’re here, whether you like it or not, which means it is our problem.”