by Kacey Linden
“About what?”
“Your car would have started.”
More tears began to fall from her eyes. “Why, Cale? Why did you do it?”
“Because,” he said, reaching out in desperation and cupping her cheek in his hand. “You had just put two dollars’ worth of gas into a broken-down car and were about to drive off into the night on icy roads with no idea where you were going and no way to keep warm when you finally ran out of gas again or crashed into a ditch.” He wanted to hug her, shake her, plead with her, but he didn’t. There were tears in his own eyes now, and he didn’t care. “I’m only human, Willow. I couldn’t watch it happen. So help me I would have done the same thing a thousand times over to keep you safe.”
Willow closed her eyes, but the tears still leaked out from beneath her lashes. For a single instant she seemed to lean into his hand, but that moment was over before he could even be sure. She drew back, wiped her cheeks with her glove, and shook her head.
“I think I understand. But Cale… that wasn’t your choice to make. No matter what you thought I would do, you should have respected me enough to let me make that decision for myself.”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. I make a lot of decisions every day to protect people, and I’m used to taking responsibility for their safety. It didn’t occur to me until it was too late that I’d gone too far. That in the context of our relationship, those same responsibilities didn’t apply. By then, I had no idea how to fix it. I just knew I didn’t want to lose you.”
But he had. He could feel the distance growing between them even as they stood there, mere inches apart.
Willow had heard him out, but the truth was too much.
“I can’t pretend it never happened, Cale.” Even the sound of her voice was closed off, unemotional. “Everything you said, everything you’ve done… I don’t know how to feel about any of it when I realize that our relationship has been based on a lie.”
“I never lied about my feelings,” he insisted, struggling against the dark shadow of despair. “Never. Willow, I still want more than anything else to be with you.”
“And I want to go back to yesterday, when I still believed I could trust you,” she said hoarsely. “But I can’t, and I definitely can’t see clearly enough to decide what I should do about it. Please, Cale. Please just take me home and don’t ask me any more questions. Don’t press me for answers. I don’t have them and I may never have them, but right now I just need you out of my head.”
Pain lanced through his heart, but there was really nothing more he could say. He’d forfeited the right to her trust by choosing a lie in order to save her life, and even now he didn’t regret that.
She was safe. He’d put things in motion to ensure that her brother would never hurt her again, so that even if she chose to leave Echo Creek, she would be able to start over somewhere, free from fear. If he could do it all over again, he would be honest with her from the beginning, but he would always—always—choose to protect her.
“Okay.” He led the way back to his truck, opened the door and shut it carefully behind her. After driving the short distance to Marcia’s house, he let her out at the curb and watched her walk up the porch steps. She laid her hand on the door and stopped, just for a moment, as though struggling with the desire to turn back. But she didn’t. She went in without a goodnight, a goodbye, or even a glance to tell him whether there was any hope she might forgive him.
It was one of the worst moments of his life.
He was leaning against his truck, staring at the house, when Marcia slipped out the door and approached him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“Does she hate me?” he asked quietly, staring up into the night sky.
“I don’t think so, but she is angry. She trusted us.” Marcia let out a sigh and pulled her glasses off to rub her eyes. “Now she feels like that was a mistake, and it’s making her wonder whether she can trust herself.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.” Raw desperation made his voice harsh. “I never wanted to hurt her and now I can’t do anything to help.”
“I think she just needs time,” Marcia told him sadly. “Time to think through what happened. She needs to decide whether the things you did make you a danger to her or not.”
“I should have told her. I know I screwed up, but… does she really believe I would hurt her?” The idea caused him almost physical pain.
“I don’t think she can look at this the way you or I would.” Marcia put her glasses back on and wrapped her sweater more tightly around herself. “I know you’re a good man, Cale. I also know your protective instincts run deep, and that you would never hurt me. I can look at your decisions and see that even when you make mistakes, you’re trying to keep people safe. But Willow has to consider that you might not be safe. She’s never known anyone who would protect her at even the smallest cost to themselves, so she has to weigh the danger you pose to her ability to protect herself.”
His throat ached from holding back tears of helpless frustration. Marcia was right. There was nothing he could do now.
“You won’t let her do this alone.”
Marcia sighed. “You know me, Cale. She’ll be as safe and comfortable as I can make her.”
“You’ll tell me if you need me? Let me know if anything changes?”
“I will,” she reassured him. “Go home. Sleep. There’s time yet and Christmas is still to come. Miracles bigger than this one have happened before.”
It was true. Christmas itself was the biggest miracle of all. But it was hard to believe in miracles on a cold night when his heart was broken and the magic of Christmas seemed like a cruel joke.
Why did he feel like this was shaping up to be yet another Christmas he would spend the next two years trying to forget?
Chapter 13
Willow awoke the next morning to a sense of crushing emptiness. She’d managed to help Mrs. Dillon clean up the night before, but hadn’t felt like talking, or even thinking. She was going to have to think everything through eventually, but she was so exhausted and confused, nothing seemed to make sense, so she’d gone to bed.
Sleep hadn’t helped much. She still had no idea what she ought to make of Cale’s confessions. Marissa’s return. Her own emotions. Even her own feelings weren’t what she had expected them to be.
She didn’t have to be at work until afternoon, so she made her way quietly downstairs. Marcia was in the kitchen, stirring something up, but when she saw Willow, her hands stilled and she looked carefully at her guest.
“I’m not angry with you,” Willow said, hoping she correctly interpreted the look. Marcia’s quick sigh indicated that she probably had.
“I would understand if you were,” the older woman conceded, “but I’m too old to bother with pretending. It would have broken my heart if I thought I’d hurt you.”
Willow was fairly certain she knew how to speak Mrs. Dillon’s language by now. She walked around the bar, into the kitchen, and gave her hostess a tight, genuine hug. “Nothing that’s happened has been your fault,” she said. “I’m still more grateful to you than I will ever be able to express.”
Marcia sniffled a little and wiped her eyes on her sweater. “It’s the other way around, my dear. You’ve been so good for me. For this whole town. I wish…” Whatever she’d been about to say, she shut her mouth quickly and turned back to her mixing bowl.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said instead, “because I’m trying new mystery scones today.”
“I don’t know if I’m hungry, but I’ll always try your scones,” Willow assured her, selecting a mug and turning on the kettle.
“I don’t know what you would like to do, but if you’re not quite up to working today, I can always call Rory and tell her you won’t be in.”
Willow whirled in surprise. “What? Why?”
“Well…” Mrs. Dillon appeared to search f
or the right words. “After last night… I just couldn’t tell… that is… it would be all right if you couldn’t…” She stopped floundering and threw up her hands. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“I’m fine.” Willow pulled her hands into her sleeves and tried to project calmness and certainty. “Rory has nothing to do with what I’m feeling and I won’t leave her shorthanded this close to Christmas.”
“If you’re sure.” Marcia sounded doubtful, but went on mixing scones. “I’ll drive you down this afternoon.”
There was a brief lull while the scones took shape and found their way onto a baking sheet, and Willow poured hot water into her mug. She sniffed the steeping tea and tried to focus on the moment, on the peace and the certainty that was tea and scones and a warm kitchen that smelled of cinnamon.
The oven door shut and Marcia turned to look at Willow. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Willow winced. She should definitely have seen that coming.
“I don’t know,” she admitted truthfully. “But you and Cale have been friends for a long time, and I don’t want to put you in an awkward position. And honestly, I don’t even know how I feel about everything, still less how I should be feeling.”
“What you should be feeling is whatever you are feeling,” Mrs. Dillon said firmly, taking Willow’s arm and steering her inexorably towards the couch. Once they were both seated, she picked up her own mug of tea and gave Willow a stern look. “No one can tell you how to feel about the things that have happened to you.”
Apparently Willow was going to talk about this whether she was ready or not. Which was probably for the best. Sitting and stewing about it on her own wasn’t likely to produce anything besides more uncertainty.
“Did Cale tell you that Marissa is back?” she blurted out.
Marcia’s gaze grew sharp. “No,” she said carefully. “He didn’t. Did you see her?”
“She and Tess were both at Finn’s house last night.”
Marcia’s laugh was short and unamused. “I can just about guess how that went.”
“Can you?” Willow wrapped her arms around her knees. “Because it was all a shock to me. She and Tess were arguing about something, and then she started acting like Cale still belonged to her.” She shivered, even though the house was almost too warm. “She’s tall and beautiful and fashionable. And very sure of herself. You couldn’t find someone less like me if you tried.”
“Why would anyone be trying?” Marcia’s tone was pointed, but her face was innocent as she took a sip of her tea.
“I don’t know,” Willow muttered, frustrated.
“Did Cale give any indication that he wanted her back?”
“No,” Willow allowed, grudgingly. “He couldn’t have made it more clear that he wasn’t interested. At least in front of me.”
“You think he said or did differently while you weren’t looking?”
That was a good question. Did she?
“I don’t know!” she burst out again. “I would have said absolutely not, but then I found out about everything else, and I don’t know what to believe. If he lied to me about the car, lied to me about Seattle, why wouldn’t he lie to me about Marissa? Maybe this whole thing has been an act. It makes more sense to believe that he’s been pretending, than to believe he actually cares about me when he could have someone like Marissa!”
Willow took a deep breath. She hadn’t really thought about what she was going to say before all those words just came flying out. But they were true words, and she couldn’t take them back.
“What are you most angry about, my dear?” Marcia set down her mug and rested a hand on Willow’s knee.
“That I don’t know what to believe,” she confessed in a small voice. “His explanation makes sense. I hate that he lied to me, but once I thought it through, I didn’t blame him for doing it. I wasn’t thinking clearly that night we met. He saw that I was hurt and scared and did everything he could to make sure I was safe.”
“And after that?” Mrs. Dillon probed gently.
“I wish he would have just told me.” Willow sighed and leaned her head back against the couch. “I could have avoided so much fear, so much uncertainty. But again, I think I understand why he did. I don’t agree with his decision, but it makes sense. The truth is, he didn’t trust me any more than I trusted him, just for different reasons.”
“Trust isn’t an easy thing, no matter where we come from,” Mrs. Dillon told her. “And for good reason. While I’ll tell you with absolute certainty that Cale Matthews is one of the best people I’ve ever known, I’ll also tell you that he’s not entirely trustworthy.”
“Then why…”
Mrs. Dillon didn’t even let her finish the question.
“Neither am I, my dear. And neither are you. There is not a single one of us that will not break faith with the ones we love, no doubt more than once in our lives.”
“But…” Willow didn’t know what to say to that.
“If you’re looking for someone, or something, that will never let you down, you’ll look forever.” The older woman’s gaze went distant. “I adored my husband, and he adored me, and we still let each other down, many times.”
“Then is there really nothing better than what my parents had?” Willow asked helplessly. “If we can’t trust anyone, why bother trying to love each other? Why commit yourself to another person if you’ll only get your heart broken?”
“Because heartbreak isn’t all there is,” Mrs. Dillon assured her, a fond smile on her lips. “There’s also learning to forgive, and choosing to trust the hearts of the ones we love, even when their actions aren’t always perfect.”
“But what about when their actions don’t match up with their words? Or when their actions endanger us? Do we just forgive blindly?”
“No.” Marcia leaned forward and grasped Willow’s hand. “Please don’t mistake me, Willow. Hurting someone, doing what your brother did, is always wrong. You should never trust a person who would hit you or steal from you or take advantage of you.”
“Then what’s the difference?”
“Love,” Mrs. Dillon said firmly. “It isn’t just a feeling, you know. Your brother is a terrible person because what he does is out of self-love—his choices will always be about protecting, helping, and caring for himself.”
“And you think Cale is different?”
“I’m not sure that’s something I can answer for you,” Marcia replied. “I only know what I’ve experienced. But over the last five years I’ve spent alone, I’ve seen a lot of Cale, and I can tell you for certain that a self-centered person would never spend hours of his time scouring an old lady’s attic for rats he knows perfectly well don’t exist.”
Willow laughed, even though a larger part of her wanted to cry. She knew Marcia was right. Just as she’d been able to acknowledge that even though she was still angry at Cale, she didn’t doubt his sincerity. Despite everything he’d done, she believed his apology was genuine, and that he was telling the truth. She could find no probable motive for his actions other than what he’d claimed—genuine concern for her safety.
The real problem—and the thing that scared her the most—was much deeper. She knew Cale cared about her, but did he respect her enough to let her make her own choices? She knew she could trust him with her safety, but could she trust him with her heart? Or would he gradually smother her in the name of protection, believing that he could make better decisions for her than she could make for herself?
If he was right, and she had no need to fear reprisals for taking Elliot’s car, then she was free. Free to choose whether or not to stay in Echo Creek. Free to finally follow her own heart. But could she really trust herself to make the right decision?
If she genuinely had a chance to choose love, would she have the courage? Or was she just as afraid of handing someone her heart as she was of handing her brother the power to hurt her?
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. �
��I want to trust him. I want to believe that love is real and happiness is possible. But I’ve seen so many more reasons to walk away and not take the risk.”
Marcia picked up her tea again. “I always used to tell Olivia that the right decision is rarely the easy one, but I’m not sure if that applies in this case. I do believe that there will be a moment where you’ll simply know. Not that you won’t have any doubts, or any fears. Not that it won’t be hard. But you’ll know, and that will be the moment to move forward.”
“I hope you’re right,” Willow said. “Because I can’t imagine feeling less certain than I do now.”
She had no desire to face anyone that day, but she went to work anyway. No one seemed to treat her differently or oddly, except Rory, who hugged her the moment she walked in, then took a step back to look her in the eye.
“I heard,” she said. “About last night at the Becketts’. Are you all right? Do you need me to scratch anyone’s eyes out?”
Willow dredged up a smile that she hoped looked genuine. “Thanks,” she said, “but if he wants her instead of me, I’d rather know that now, rather than later.”
Rory’s gaze sharpened and all humor fled from her face. “Willow, Cale doesn’t want Marissa back. I would stake this entire shop on that. He loves you.”
“He’s never said that,” she reminded Rory, and herself. “And I’m not sure that he trusts me. He kept things from me. Made decisions for me. He apologized, but I’m still not sure what to do about it.”
Rory searched her face, and seemed satisfied with what she found. “You’ll find your way. Cale may have done some stupid things, but I would swear to you that he meant only good.”
“You’re probably right.” Willow didn’t want to argue about it. She just wanted to work and hopefully forget her problems for a few hours. “Are your boys enjoying their break from school?”