“Does your mother mention who he was?”
“Yeah, she does. I wrote to him when she died but, as you can see, all the letters came back to me.”
She delved into the drawer again and pulled out a fistful of envelopes. Envelopes that bore an all-too-familiar name on the front of them.
Kyle Donovan.
Eight
Anger filled him as if his mind was a large black cauldron bubbling over a range fire. He bit back the denial he wanted to shout at her and dug deep for the calm he needed right now.
“Are you sure you got the right man?”
“It’s right here, in her journal. Of course I’m sure. She mentions him every single day she was here, right up until she left again.”
As much as he tried to fight it, the anger kept rolling in. Darker and meaner in each successive wave. Anger at Willow’s mom, at Willow and most of all at his uncle for being the kind of dirty dog who cheated on his wife.
Willow carefully wrapped the journal again and tucked it and the envelopes back in the drawer.
“Have you heard of him?” she asked. “I’ve asked a few people, but you’re all a pretty close-mouthed bunch around here, aren’t you?”
He bit back an ironic laugh. Close-mouthed until you asked the right person, he thought. All it would take was for Willow to ask the right kind of person, someone like Carol Bingley for example, and she’d know everything about his uncle Kyle, all the way down to his shoe size.
“We protect what’s ours,” he bit out.
Willow gave a laugh that lacked the right note of humor. “Are you saying he needs protecting from me?”
Uncle Kyle might not, but Aunt Emmie damn sure did. Finding out about Willow would kill her. She’d had her first heart attack five years ago, hard on the heels of that last fight he’d had at the Wolf Den. He’d vowed he’d never put her through that kind of anxiety again. The doctors had warned her to avoid undue stress and the kind of stress Willow would bring to her life was at the top of the scale as far as Booth was concerned.
“Look, are you sure you want to do this? Meet your father? He might not be what you want him to be.”
Booth knew full well that Kyle Donovan was not father-of-the-year material. He was hard and demanding and extracted his pound of flesh on a daily basis. Discovering he was father to a woman like Willow, someone who’d obviously grown up without structure or responsibility and who even now followed a path purely on a whim, wouldn’t sit well with him. No wonder he’d returned those letters unopened when they’d arrived at the post office.
“Of course I want to meet him. All my life I’ve looked forward to this, to having even just one day to spend with him. To ask him all the questions I’ve always wanted answers to.”
“That’s not the point. This thing with your mom and him, it happened a long time ago. Life has moved on. Hell,” he shoved a hand through his hair, “even your mother moved on. Pretty quickly I might add.”
Willow looked hurt. “Please don’t bring her into this. He left her and she was forced to return home without speaking to him again.”
“Don’t do it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Incredulity threaded through her voice.
“Don’t do it. People will end up getting hurt.”
Willow narrowed her eyes. “You talk as if you know something you’re not telling me. Do you know my father?”
Booth ignored her. “What do you want from him anyway?”
“His support. That’s all.”
His support? No doubt she thought since he was a rancher that he was rolling in money. Truth was most of a rancher’s wealth lay in the land he owned and his reputation for farming it. That was certainly the case for his uncle. As hard as the man was, he was respected for his hard work and dependability. Did she think she could tap into that? Have a bite at her share of what she obviously thought he owed her?
“We don’t take too kindly to folk being fleeced for their money around here,” he warned.
“Who said anything about money?”
He snorted. “You did, although you fudged around it by calling it ‘support.’ Let’s face it. You don’t have any money—you don’t even have enough to put food in your refrigerator. Of course you’re after some!”
“That’s none of your business,” she insisted, pulling her wrap tightly about her body as if she could make herself smaller somehow, less the object of his anger.
It made no difference. What she wanted was not good for any of his family and he’d be damned if he’d see her hurt his aunt.
“I want you out of here. I’ll settle your debt at Tanner’s Garage in the morning. You can get back in that jalopy and get gone by lunchtime.”
*
Willow looked at him in shock. Only a few short hours ago they’d been lovers and now he wanted her to quit town? Leave before the fair? Before she could meet her father?
“I don’t want your money.”
“But you want your father’s?” he demanded. “The support you believe he owes you? What’s that going to work out to be? Twenty-six years at God knows how much a year?”
He had it all wrong. It wasn’t about the money—it had never been about money. Ever. She and her mom had never had much, but they’d always gotten by. With what she still had to face in her future, money would make little to no difference at all. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. She couldn’t decide if she was more hurt or angry about his accusations and she sure as heck wasn’t about to dignify them with an acknowledgement.
“Get out,” she said quietly. “Go on, leave.”
He stood and jammed his hat on his head and stared down at her on the bed. The bed that even now carried the scent of their lovemaking. The pillow that still bore the indentation of his head.
“This isn’t over,” he snarled.
“We definitely are,” she snapped right back. “Lock the door behind you.”
He turned and stalked through the apartment and she shivered as she heard his booted feet thunder down the stairs and the door slam behind him as he let himself out, then heard the angry roar of his truck as he left the alley.
Willow sank back into her pillows, feeling all the fight ooze right out of her, leaving exhaustion in its place. She gathered their plates, hers still bearing half her sandwich, and took them downstairs. After tipping her leftovers into the trash—even though it went against her grain to waste food—she washed the plates, then dried and put them away.
What now?
Would Booth go to her father and tell him that she was looking for him? Would he put his own twisted spin on things and make it all about money, as he had tonight? Tears burned at the back of her eyes but she tilted her face up to stare at the ceiling and steadfastly refused to let them fall.
She thought about the packet of returned letters. Every single one of them unopened. Over the last few months, receiving the letters back had only served to harden her determination to find her father. To meet the man who’d swept her mother’s heart into his hands and held it there forever more, whether he knew it or not. The man who’d contributed half of Willow’s DNA. Didn’t she have that right? Of course she did.
No matter what Booth Lange thought about her, or her reasons for finding her father, he had no right to try and stop her. Nor did he have any justification to tell her father about her before she could personally speak with Kyle Donovan. The last thing she needed was Booth’s warped view of her polluting their first meeting together.
She would meet Kyle Donovan no matter what Booth wanted. She had to know if she had his support through making what was going to be the hardest decision in her life. Needed to know. Because without it, she didn’t know what she was going to do next.
*
August fifth, the day before opening of the County Fair, came around swiftly, keeping both Willow and Ness super busy in the days leading up to it. Willow had her own section in the booth where she could sell the hand-dyed yarns she’d brought from home, and the bal
ance of the space would be for stock and knitted garments and socks for sale.
She was glad she’d be the one manning it. Ness had ballooned in the past week and was struggling with swollen feet and tiredness.
“Why don’t you close the store during the fair, or at least reduce your hours?” Willow suggested while they took a break together one morning in the nook where the craft classes were held.
“I thought about that,” Ness said with a sigh, “but there will be so many more people here in town during the fair that I’d be crazy not to capitalize on it. Walk-ins are bound to increase.”
The bell went out front as someone came in the store and Ness began to struggle to her feet.
“You stay there and put your feet up a little longer,” Willow told her. “I’ll take care of it.”
She pasted a smile on her face and made her way to the front, only to come to a halt when she saw Booth standing at the counter. Her heart skipped a beat before settling into a rapid rhythm. They hadn’t so much as exchanged a single word since she’d ordered him out of her apartment. Even so, she hadn’t quite been able to shake the memories of that night from her mind, and they’d revisited her at the most inopportune times this past week or so.
Beneath the tie-dyed T-shirt Willow wore over her cut-off shorts, she felt her nipples bead into tight points. The memory of his fingers teasing her sensitive skin burned even now. Her eyes were automatically drawn to his hands, to those long deft fingers that had played her body as if she were a fine instrument. An instrument that came to throbbing life just being in the same airspace as he was.
She fought to remind herself of how they’d parted. Of the words that could never be unsaid between them. Of how he’d jumped to the wrong conclusions about her so swiftly. Conclusions that still stung deep inside.
“Can I help you with anything?” she asked. “Ness is resting right now.”
A dark frown crossed Booth’s face. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
Willow held his gaze, waiting for him to state his business. It didn’t take long for him to get to the point. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, drew out a set of keys and held them toward her.
“These are yours.”
Willow tentatively took the keys that dangled from his fingers, careful to avoid touching him in any way. “The keys to Daisy? How did you—?”
“The VW’s all fixed and paid for. You can leave any time you want.” The implication was clear—any time you want, as in right now.
How dare he pay her bill and how dare he attempt to send her packing again! She had a little put aside from selling her mother’s house-bus and with what she hoped to fetch for her yarn and the socks she’d knitted up she would have been able to meet the balance of the account she owed at the garage.
“How much do I owe you?” Willow said through clenched teeth, struggling to keep the wave of temper that had swiftly billowed through her under control.
“Nothing. And now there’s nothing holding you here.”
A sharp pain pierced her chest. Did he think so little of her that he thought she’d turn and leave, just because he’d settled what she owed?
“Except my responsibility to Ness and the small matter of meeting with my father. Pretty good reasons for staying, don’t you think?”
She should have known better than to bait him. His voice was low and lethal when he spoke again.
“I will take care of my sister; in fact, I already have someone lined up to help her here at the store. As to your father, you have no proof and before you cause more trouble than you’re worth, I strongly suggest you leave and don’t ever come back.”
“And who is going to make me?” she retorted scathingly, goaded by his dictatorial attitude. “You? Don’t make me laugh.”
She spun on her heel and started to walk away, only to be turned around so quickly it made her head swim. She strained back against his hold but he wasn’t letting go. In fact, he pulled her closer and brought his face level with hers.
“Stay away from Kyle Donovan,” he said, a warning clear in his tone.
“Or what? You’re going to threaten me now?” She forced a laugh from inside a chest that suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.
“Booth? Is that you?” Ness came through from the back room. “I thought I heard your voice.”
Booth dropped his hand from Willow so fast she staggered a little.
“Sure, just checking on my favorite sister. You’re looking…well,” he said with a forced cheerfulness that didn’t fool Willow for a second.
Beneath that caring exterior she could still see the flames of his anger at her licking around the edges.
“I’ll go and finish packing the boxes for the fair,” she said, eager to put some distance between them.
“Thanks, Willow. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Ness said with a weary smile.
Willow resisted the urge to throw a triumphant look Booth’s way, settling for a reassurance to her boss instead.
“I’m here for you all the way, Ness. Don’t worry, I’m not leaving any time soon.”
She made her way out to the tiny stockroom where she and Ness had been working earlier, and ran through the checklist one more time. Finally satisfied she had sufficient stock of yarn, needles, patterns and craft kits for the first day, she sealed up the boxes ready to take to Ness’s SUV parked out back. Willow had just hefted the first one when she felt an uncomfortable tingle of awareness down her spine. Booth.
Before she could say or do anything, he’d taken the unwieldy box from her arms.
“I can manage just fine,” she protested.
“Ness asked me to help you,” he answered, heading for the back door. “Unlike some people, I do as I’m told.”
Willow flung a fulminating glance at his retreating back. Not to be outdone by him, she lifted the next cardboard box and followed in his wake. At the SUV, he took the box from her and stacked it in the back of the car.
“How many more?” he asked.
“Four more and then there are my bags of yarn upstairs.”
“Your yarn? I thought the stall was for Ness’s stuff.”
“She’s very kindly let me have some space in her booth.”
Willow lifted her chin and stared at him. Defying him to challenge her right to have her stock in the booth at all.
“Don’t take advantage of her,” he responded, glowering back at her.
“I’m not. I’m well aware of her kindness and I appreciate it. Clearly you skipped that gene,” Willow sniped in return.
She pressed her lips together. Determined not to waste another word on this man. Even so, it still hurt that he thought she was the kind of person who’d rip Ness off somehow. The sooner she earned out the money she now owed him for the repairs on Daisy, the better. Then she wouldn’t be beholden to him in any way, shape or form.
When he returned inside to get the rest of the boxes, she shot upstairs to get her bags and called out her goodbyes to Ness.
“I’ll be back later this afternoon,” she said as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“You need some help to lay this all out?” Booth waited by the back door.
“Why are you being so helpful all of a sudden?” Willow asked, suspicious of his motives.
“Perhaps I feel the need to keep an eye on you.”
Willow met his gaze, saw the banked heat behind his gray stare. “Afraid I’ll skim the cash box or run away with Ness’s stock?” she asked flippantly, then instantly regretted it. Of course that’s what he thought. His opinion of her was painfully clear. She was only out for one thing. “Forget I said that,” she muttered and pushed past him to the driver’s side of the SUV.
“Get around the other side, I’m driving you,” Booth said as he crowded behind her in the narrow alley.
“What? Now you’re afraid I’ll steal the car or something?” Willow replied indignantly.
“Or something.”
They wer
e at a stalemate—Willow, standing just inside the open door, Booth, blocking her path. She couldn’t help it. Just being in close proximity with him like this fired an acute awareness of him. Of his heat. Of his strength. Of what they’d shared together.
“Look,” she started. “I’m a good person. Ness trusts me. Why can’t you?”
“I promised Ness I’d bring her car back while you set up. I don’t like her being stranded here without her car.”
What he said made sense, but Willow couldn’t help feeling it had more to do with his distrust of her than anything else.
“Fine,” she muttered and took a step forward. He didn’t move. “Could you get out of my way, please?”
She heard a softly spoken curse then sensed movement as he bracketed her against the car with his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice suddenly muffled as he kissed her.
Willow couldn’t help it, she kissed him back—with all the frustration that had been building inside her all week, with all the anger and the hurt he’d provoked in her and with all the desire she still couldn’t deny, despite everything they’d said to one another. When he straightened, she deliberately wiped her mouth and hastened to have the first word. “Good, now you’ve got that out of the way, can we go?”
“Don’t kid yourself that you didn’t enjoy that,” Booth answered.
With that, he swung into the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed, leaving Willow to scramble around the SUV to the passenger side.
“A gentleman would have opened the door for me,” she said as she settled herself in her seat.
Booth sighed heavily and started the engine. “When it comes to you, I’m no gentleman. It would pay for you to remember that.”
Nine
Booth adjusted the controls to the Cessna 172 as he completed another lazy circle to gain height over the fairgrounds. Any minute now, the three jumpers he’d brought up with him would be launching themselves out to free-fall with smoke trails flaring, completing lazy corkscrews on their way down before opening their chutes and landing in the grounds as part of the opening. Why anyone in their right mind would jump out of a perfectly good airplane was totally beyond him, but then Griffin Hyatt and his associates had done all kinds of crazy-ass things Booth had no inclination to try.
For Love of a Cowboy Page 8