For Love of a Cowboy

by Yvonne Lindsay - For Love of a Cowboy

  She wriggled into her skirt, a patchwork of multiple fabrics that had come from her mother’s favorite pieces of clothing, many of them almost threadbare by the time she’d passed away. Willow sensed she’d need the comfort of feeling her mother close to her today. Maybe her mom would bring her more luck than she’d had so far here in Marietta.

  Willow teamed the skirt with a crocheted cotton top that skimmed her midriff and her only footwear, her boots. She’d have to find somewhere to bathe properly soon and somewhere where she could rinse out her underthings. Quick washes at the basin in a ladies’ restroom were all well and good, but she really wished she could have a bath or a shower somewhere soon. Still, one thing at a time. Today she started her new job—hopefully one that would make all the other items she needed more attainable.

  Outside, she eyed the gate again. Getting over it yesterday wearing jeans had been one thing. Doing the same thing in her favorite skirt was quite another. But it was too late to change again now. Hitching the skirt up around her thighs, and trying to hold the excess tucked under one arm, she could only hope that no one would choose that exact moment to drive past. She looked carefully at the police and fire stations just across the road. She’d been lucky enough not to be spotted yesterday; she just had to hope that would hold true for today as well.

  She should have known she was pushing it. Halfway over the gate, her skirt caught on a wire, and despite her best efforts, she was unable to free herself. She dropped her pack to the ground and tried to work the fabric free, her heart tearing a little as she was forced to tug at the fabric and heard it give. With the optimistic hope she’d be able to mend it without it being too obvious, she dropped down to the sidewalk with a thud of her boots.

  “Damn!” she said aloud when she saw the tear in her skirt was bigger than she’d expected.

  “Care to explain what you’re doing, Miss?”

  Willow wheeled around, only to come face to face with a stern-looking man in uniform with a gold star emblazoned on his chest. Her mouth dried, making it impossible to speak. The sheriff bent and hooked up her pack, handing it to her.

  “Yours, I believe?”

  “Thank you, sheriff,” she squeaked as she took the proffered bag.

  “You’re not from around here.”

  He made it a statement, not a question. All Willow could do was shake her head.

  “And you’re climbing out of Dillon’s place, why?”

  “Um, because I slept in?”

  “Slept in what, exactly?”

  “Daisy.” When the sheriff looked none the wiser, she continued. “My VW bus. I slept in there,” she said, pointing through the gate to where Daisy languished in the early morning sunshine.

  “Hunh.” He cast a look at the obviously damaged vehicle. “Dillon aware you’re sleeping in his yard?” One hand rested on his weapon, a fact Willow was suddenly painfully aware of.

  She swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “Why aren’t you staying in one of the places here in town?”

  Hopefully honestly was the best policy. “I haven’t got enough money.”

  “Do I need to book you for vagrancy, Miss…?”

  “Oh, no! And it’s Willow. Willow Phillips. I have a job, at Superstitch’n’s. I start today.”

  “Is that so?”

  He looked like he believed her about as much as Booth Lange had looked thrilled to hear she’d be working with his sister. What was it with the men in this town? If she hadn’t been so certain she’d find her father here, she’d blow this place the second Daisy was fit for the road again. But he was here and, with him, hopefully her future—what was left of it.

  A blue SUV did a U-turn on the street and pulled up alongside them.

  “Morning, Toby,” Ness said cheerfully.

  “Ness,” the sheriff nodded in her direction. “Perhaps you can clear something up for me. This young lady seems to think she works for you, is that right?”

  “She’s starting today, as a matter of fact,” Ness said with a sharp look in Willow’s direction. “Are you making her late on her first day?”

  “No, ma’am. Just more concerned about her climbing over the gate here.”

  “Climbing over the—!” Ness pushed open her door and climbed out of the SUV. “Willow?”

  Willow shifted uncomfortably. If Ness decided not to go ahead with hiring her after this, she’d be out of a job and would have little prospect of finding another in a community this small. And, if the sheriff’s expression was anything to go by, she’d likely be languishing in the town jail before the morning was out.

  “Willow,” Ness coaxed. “Are you sleeping in your van?”

  She nodded and was surprised when Ness hooked an arm through hers, presenting a united front to the sheriff.

  “Don’t worry, Toby. It won’t happen again.”

  Then, before the sheriff could say another word, Ness pushed Willow toward the SUV, told her to get in and then drove her away.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you needed a place to stay?” Ness asked as they turned left at the next block.

  “I had a place to stay. It just wasn’t all that easy to get in and out of it, that’s all.”

  Ness laughed and, unable to help herself when thinking about the ridiculousness of what had just happened, Willow laughed along with her.

  “So, I guess you haven’t had breakfast yet?”

  Willow shook her head.

  “Me either. I was going to eat at the store, but let’s go to Main Street Diner instead. My treat.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Willow protested.

  “I know, but I feel like pancakes this morning. You have to humor a pregnant woman, right?”

  Willow didn’t quite know what to say, except thank you. A short while later they were waiting for their orders. Willow’s stomach contracted as she inhaled the aromas that filled the diner and her mouth watered in anticipation of the breakfast Ness had ordered for both of them.

  “Tell me, Willow. Why are you sleeping in your van?” Ness asked, drawing Willow’s attention from the traffic outside and to the one question she really didn’t want to answer right now.

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m not hurting anyone.”

  “You can’t afford to stay anywhere else, can you?” Ness asked, getting straight to the point.

  “I will be able to soon,” Willow hastened to tell her, keeping her fingers firmly crossed beneath the table and hoping like crazy that she still had a job with Ness.

  “There’s a partially furnished apartment above the store. I lived there before Rob and I got married. I left some things behind, including a bed, when we moved into our own place. I think you should stay there. In fact, I insist.”

  Willow felt unexpected tears burn at the back of her eyes. “Oh no, I can’t accept that.”

  “Why not? You need somewhere to stay and I have somewhere that’s suitable. You’ll need to use the kitchenette downstairs but aside from that you’ll have everything else you need in the apartment. And,” Ness smiled, “At least you’ll never be late for work, right?”

  A laugh fought its way past the lump in Willow’s throat. “Fine, I accept. But I don’t feel right accepting accommodation and a wage from you at the store. How about we work it as an exchange? I do my hours for you in the store and, if you’re agreeable, maybe run a few evening classes on how to hand-dye yarn and knit socks, et cetera, and in exchange I get to use the apartment.”

  Again she crossed her fingers. If Ness accepted a barter agreement, it would mean she could avoid the sticky issue of the lack of a green card or social security number. Things that Ness would have been asking for when they worked on the paperwork that loomed large this morning.

  “That doesn’t seem fair. You need money to get by,” Ness argued gently.

  “I can manage on what I have, if I’m careful. And, when the fair starts, if you’re happy for me to sell some of my yarn from your booth, I’ll be able to meet my bill for the re
pairs to Daisy as well.”

  Ness nodded. “Okay, done!”

  A thought occurred to Willow. “Your brother won’t be happy.”

  “You leave my brother to me,” Ness replied with a smile and began to dig into the stack of pancakes that had just been put in front of her. “This is between you and me and that’s all that matters.”

  Willow smiled in return, but deep down she couldn’t help feeling that it wouldn’t be quite as simple as that.

  *

  In town for the third time in as many days, Booth stopped at Tanner’s Garage to refill the gas tank in his truck and check on the situation with the hippie bus. He was none too pleased when Dillon informed him that it would be several days before the parts arrived and then several more before the thing was back on the road again. He had a fine head of steam on him and a truly uncomfortable feeling twisting his gut by the time he parked out front of Superstitch’n’s. Through the window he could see Willow behind the counter, smiling as she served a customer.

  His gut twisted tighter.

  Booth counted to ten. Not enough. Not even counting to one hundred would help calm that roiling sense that something bad was going to happen and that it began and ended with Willow Phillips. She moved from behind the counter and he caught a clearer glimpse of her—caught the hint of skin exposed by the hemline of the string top she wore and the swirl of material as her long skirt hugged her thighs when she turned. And damn if she wasn’t wearing a bra—again.

  Bam, hard-on.

  He’d never been turned on while he was mad before and he wasn’t enjoying it now. Booth prided himself on his control these days. Sure, he’d been a hothead as a teenager, had experienced the occasional run-in with the local police—much to his uncle’s fury and his aunt’s deep disappointment—but he wasn’t that guy anymore. He thought first now, acted second. Although another look at Willow was enough to see him get down from the cab of his truck and slam the door—hard enough to earn the notice of a few passersby as well as a startled look from the object of his attention. Ignoring the questioning glances from the sidewalk, he opened the store door for a departing customer then strode inside.

  Willow looked nervous when she saw him. Good, he thought. She should.

  “Still here?” he asked, unnecessarily.

  “As you can see,” she answered, lifting her dainty chin and staring him straight in the eye.

  “Where’s Ness?”

  “She’s upstairs moving a few of her things.”

  “Moving stuff?”

  “Nothing heavy. No need to panic. She’s just taking some of her old clothes to the thrift store later. Things she hadn’t moved out before.”

  Booth’s eyes narrowed. Why would Ness be doing that now? The unpalatable answer came as Ness came through the curtain at the back of the store.

  “There you go, Willow. I’ve emptied those drawers for you. Oh—!” She broke off as she saw Booth standing, glowering at her. “I wasn’t expecting you in town again so soon.”

  “Why does Willow need those drawers emptied?” he said, coming forward to relieve her of the bag of clothes she carried.

  “So she can put her own things in there, of course.”

  Ness’s blithe answer did nothing to loosen the tension coiled inside him.

  “And why would she be doing that?” Even as he asked the question he knew the answer before Ness could verbalize it. “Oh no, Ness, you haven’t.”

  “Yes, I have and before you lose your temper over it let me remind you again, this is my store and that’s my apartment upstairs. I’m allowed to employ who I want and shelter who I want, too.”

  The fact she chose the word “shelter” made him stop in his tracks. He repeated it to her and didn’t argue when she took his arm and led him to the very back of the store where Willow wouldn’t hear them.

  “She’s been sleeping in her van and climbing out of Dillon’s yard in the morning before he gets in to work. The sheriff caught her this morning. I rescued her before he decided to lock her up. Honestly, Booth, the girl needs someone to look out for her, not burn her up with a look like you keep doing every time you’re in the same space as she is.”

  “I knew this would happen. What are you thinking? You know nothing about her and you’ve gone and given her a job and somewhere to live. She’ll be moving into your house next,” he hissed in return.

  Ness gave him a look that said he’d overstepped the mark. “I don’t know when you became so uncharitable, Booth, but this is my business. If you don’t like it, you can confine your visits to Sunday dinners.”

  His fingers clenched into fists of frustration and he forced them to relax again, one by one. It helped, slightly. “She’s taking advantage of you.”

  “No, she’s not. She’s helping me out. Besides, I need the rooms upstairs aired out for when the baby comes. You know I planned to put a nursery up there so I can bring Rob Junior in to work with me. She’s actually doing me a favor.”

  “And when the baby comes? Where will she go then?”

  Ness gave him a pitying look. “You really think she’s going to stay around? Be honest. She probably doesn’t stay anywhere long and for that reason alone she’s harmless. She’s here for the fair, to sell some of her yarn, meet her dad and to get her van fixed and back on the road again. There’s nothing sinister in that, now, is there?”

  Booth cast a look to the front of the store where Willow was color-matching fabric for a customer over in the quilting section. “Meet her dad, did you say? Who is he?”

  “She hasn’t said, but he must be local if she’s here, right?”

  “If you say so,” he growled. “But I’ll be keeping my eye on her anyway.”

  “Just don’t scare her away,” Ness said softly. “I need the help and I wasn’t exactly overrun with applicants when I put the help wanted sign in the window.”

  Booth inclined his head slightly. It was as far as he was prepared to go to acknowledge his sister’s request. He realized he was still holding the bag of old clothes.

  “You want me to drop these by the thrift store?” he offered.

  “Sure, if it’s on your way.”

  “No problem. And, Ness, I know you have a heart bigger than the Montana sky, but please, be careful, huh?”

  “I am, always. What is it about her that makes you dislike her so much anyway?”

  “I dunno, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I will,” he promised before bending to kiss his sister on the cheek and head out of the store.

  As he passed through, he gave Willow a stern stare. For some reason the idea of “putting his finger on it,” so to speak, had a great deal more to do with a totally unreasonable desire to put a finger on her. More than a finger. With a frustrated growl he strode past and headed out to his truck and back to work where he should have been all morning. It wasn’t until he pulled in through the arch that led to the KD Ranch that he realized he still had Ness’s bag of clothes on the seat beside him.

  Damn Willow Phillips and those cornflower blue eyes of hers. She’d totally addled his wits, and if that wasn’t another reason not to trust her then he didn’t know what was.

  Five

  “’Bye, and thanks for coming today. I’ll see you again on Tuesday night! And remember, don’t stick your yarn with your needles!”

  Willow waved off the last of the new Sock Knitting Circle attendees and locked the front door of Superstitch’n’s behind her. She heaved a sigh of exhaustion. Surely looking after a group of toddlers would have been easier than riding herd on the women who’d each attempted to outdo one another with gossip and achievements.

  Today had been her first day opening the store by herself and she’d taken the trust Ness had placed in her very seriously. She’d dressed down for the occasion in just her jeans and a flowing top with V-shaped lace inserts down the front. And she’d tied her hair back in a ponytail, rather than her usual braids. If she hadn’t been mistaken, even Carol Bingley had given her an approvi
ng nod as she’d arrived just after lunchtime and settled in to rule the gossip nest.

  Willow thought longingly of the cozy little apartment upstairs. She wanted nothing more than to make her way up the narrow staircase and flop down on the iron bed in the room that overlooked the street. But there was cleaning up to do and the store to ready for Monday’s business.

  As she collected plates and mugs and washed and dried them, she thought about how much her life had changed in this past week. The rustic wide plank floors and the white and dove gray interior of the apartment had quickly become a peaceful haven at the end of surprisingly busy days—and it was surprisingly spacious. She couldn’t ever remember living in a permanent home before. Her mother’s house-bus, a converted coach that had been aging even when she bought it, had been an eccentric combination of transportation and cramped living. It had limped along New Zealand’s highways with a tenacity that had outlasted its owner.

  A sharp pang of loss hit her fair and square in the chest as she remembered selling the bus to one of her mother’s longtime friends. A part of her had felt as if she should keep it—the last tenuous link to the woman who’d raised her with a liberal hand and a heart full of love. But Willow had needed the money for this journey.

  She leaned wearily against the kitchen countertop after putting away the last of the dishes and wiping down the counter. She could hardly believe she’d already been here in Marietta a whole week and she still hadn’t done anything about finding her father. It was why she’d come all this way, and yet she’d allowed her purpose to be derailed by a need to suddenly conform and fit in to this world her father belonged to. People here were friendly, there was no doubt about it, and the sense of community was strong. But would that mean they’d close ranks at the idea of a stranger asking questions about one of their own?

  She thought again of the group of women who’d been here today. Despite their barely veiled rivalry, they had respect for one another—each having their own place in Marietta, one way or another. But no matter how politely they treated her, Willow understood she was very definitely an outsider. Even so, they’d buoyed her along on their wave of activity and the group had been noisy and gossipy and everything Willow had never really been a part of with the transient lifestyle she’d led with her mom.