The Lost Daughter of Pigeon Hollow

by Inglath Cooper

  A truck rolled by outside the barn, breaking the silence. Willa sat up suddenly, smoothed her hands across her skirt.

  “That’s Jake,” Owen said, the words rough at the edges. “He must have gone out somewhere tonight.”

  Willa ran a hand through her hair and planted an elbow on her knee. “I should get back,” she said, her voice not sounding like her own.

  He straightened. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. But I should go,” she whispered softly, then stood abruptly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  “Willa—”

  She moved to the door, not trusting herself to answer.

  He put their Coke bottles away, then flicked off the light.

  They left the barn and walked without speaking back to the house. Owen opened the front door, and they stepped inside the foyer.

  He leaned against the side of an enormous old grandfather clock, arms folded across his chest. “Wanna tell me what happened just now?”

  She stood at the foot of the staircase. “Have you ever had the feeling that maybe something is just too good to be true? This whole thing, my father, you—”

  “I’m an optimist,” he said. “I believe in good.”

  He walked over to the stairs then, standing close, his face inches from hers. He kissed her again, and there was promise at its edges, fragile, but there all the same.

  * * *

  CLINE ROLLED INTO THE FOYER the moment Willa went upstairs.

  He raised an eyebrow, looked impressed. “So that’s what happened to Pamela?”

  Owen headed for the living room. “It’s not like that.”

  “Like what then?” Cline asked, following.

  Owen sat down in a chair next to the fireplace, dropped his head back against the cushion, palms behind his neck. “Of all the times in my life I could have met a woman like her, why now?”

  “Why not now? You need a wife. All the better if you happen to be hot for her.”

  Owen gave his brother a look. “Not quite that simple.”

  “It should be.”

  “Oh, yeah, we’ve known each other a little more than a week, and I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  “People who’ve known each other twenty-four hours fly to Vegas and get married by Elvis. Weirder things have happened.”

  Owen looked his brother in the eye. “It’s not a big deal if the farm goes to you.”

  Cline held up both hands. “Whoa. You love this place. And I’m not planning on being here to run it.”

  Owen sighed and ran a palm over his face.

  “It’s your life in the balance,” Cline said. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to marry someone you aren’t in love with. But, Willa? She’s not like Pamela.”

  “I know,” Owen said. Willa? She wasn’t like anyone he’d ever known.

  * * *

  WILLA TOOK A STACK of journals down to the office on Saturday morning, planning to spend the day there.

  It was hard to concentrate though when she couldn’t stop thinking about last night. About kissing Owen.

  That she was attracted to him, she could not deny. The kind of attraction that fogged the mirror of common sense until the shape of reason was too distorted to recognize.

  And last night on that couch with Owen, she had very nearly let herself ignore the caution lights blaring all around her. The main one, of course, being Owen’s inheritance problem.

  Pamela’s voice echoed now in her thoughts. Are you thinking this little heiress from Hicksville can get you out of your bind?

  Maybe Pamela had asked the question out of sheer vindictiveness, but then again, Willa had her own questions about whether Owen would ever have noticed a woman like her had he not been doing a friend a favor.

  She had her own history to blame for her self-doubts. But disappointment of the magnitude she had known did not create the desire for a repeat performance.

  And so, she had pulled back last night and put some walls in place. Even though leaving had been the last thing she’d wanted.

  Just after noon, a light knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” Willa said.

  Natalie stepped into the room, her blond hair loose today. She carried a small box.

  Sam went to greet her, nails clicking on the hardwood floor.

  Natalie rubbed his ear, then looked at Willa. “I found a few more journals,” she said. “I was cleaning out Charles’s desk this morning. I’m not sure where they fit into what you’ve already read, but I thought you might want them.”

  “Thank you,” Willa said, crossing the floor to take the box from her. “And thank you again for last night, Natalie. It was incredibly generous of you.”

  “You’re more than welcome. But it wasn’t really. I’m trying to learn from my husband’s mistakes. I know now that he spent so many years wishing he had known you. I also know it caused him a great deal of pain. I think in the end, it’s the things we don’t do that leave us with the most regret.”

  Willa pressed her hands together, considered the truth behind the words. To date, it had certainly been accurate in her own life.

  “You and Owen,” Natalie said. “Is there something between you?”

  A few seconds passed before she said, “Friendship, I hope.”

  “Ah.” Natalie smiled. “Maybe my intuition is getting a little rusty in its old age, but I would have guessed at more.”

  “Owen is—”

  “A terrific young man,” Natalie inserted.

  “In a complicated situation,” Willa finished.

  “Granted. But I think your father would tell you that opportunities don’t often come around a second time.”

  For a long time after Natalie left, Willa thought about that and the fact that last night she had chosen to see Owen as a risk. But sometimes, depending on the angle, maybe that was the same thing as a possibility.

  * * *

  KATIE LET HERSELF out the back door of the house and headed for the barn. The sun was already warm on her shoulders, and she looked forward to the day ahead.

  It was like that here. She woke up excited to see what would happen next.

  Jake had promised to let her give one of the horses a bath today. He’d already taught her how to pull a mane, trim whiskers and ears, comb out a tail without damaging it.

  She wondered how she could be the same person she’d been in Pigeon Hollow. When she thought about all the energy she had put into being bad, shame heated her skin.

  “Hey, Katie!”

  She swung around. Cline waved from the raised window of his bedroom.

  “Hey, there’s a party tonight. Parents off premises.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wanna go?”

  Katie smiled. “I should check my calendar first.”

  He smiled back. “If it’s clear, we’ll leave at six.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  The window slid closed, and he was gone.

  Katie stood for a moment, enjoying the warm sun on her face. She took off at a run for the barn then, still smiling.

  * * *

  MIDAFTERNOON, a white envelope appeared beneath the office door.

  Willa opened it, pulling out a single card.

  Will you please have dinner with me tonight? If so, we’ll leave at five o’clock. Check your answer below.

  Yes

  No

  Return under door.

  She reread the note. Ran a finger across the words.

  A risk.

  Or a possibility.

  She’d lived most of her adult life in the center of the trampoline, refusing to get anywhere near the edges. She knew what it felt like to bounce too high and end up on the ground.

  But some part of her had grown tired of always playing it safe.

  So here it was. She could be a chicken for the rest of her life. Or test those boundaries.

  She went back to the desk for a pen. And checked Yes. Yes.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 
A NOTE TAPED to her bedroom door read: Wear something casual.

  Intrigued, Willa dressed in jeans and a light blue sleeveless blouse. It was simple with a fitted cut, and Judy had once said the color did nice things for her eyes.

  She took some extra time blow-drying her hair with a big roller brush, leaving it loose at her shoulders. She slid her feet into chunky black sandals, then applied a light pink lipstick to her lips.

  Sam sat just outside the bathroom door, watching her. She turned, waved a hand at her efforts. “Too much?”

  His ears perked up in acknowledgment of the question. He lay down then and closed his eyes.

  “You’re no help,” she said. “Are you pouting because I said you couldn’t come along?”

  He cracked an eye at her.

  “And don’t try to pretend Louisa’s not giving you cookies every time you give her one of those looks. I know better.”

  “Willa?”

  She stuck her head out of the bathroom, found Katie standing just inside the bedroom door. “Hey. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Wow. You look great,” Katie said.

  Willa brushed a self-conscious hand across her jeans. “Thanks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just dinner with Owen. No big deal.”

  “No big deal. I think it’s great,” Katie said, looking pleased.

  Willa started to downplay the evening again, but stopped herself. “Actually, I’m looking forward to it.”

  “It’s about time you had a real date.”

  “I don’t know if this—”

  “It will be if you let it.”

  “Hey, who’s the big sister here?” Willa teased.

  Katie smiled, and in that moment, it was the way it used to be between them. Sisters. Just that.

  “Cline invited me to a party tonight,” Katie said. “All right if I go?”

  Willa’s gaze widened. Had Katie really just asked her permission? “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

  “Cool.” She turned for the door, then swung back. “Hey, Willa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have fun, okay?”

  Willa raised a hand, swallowing hard. “You, too.”

  * * *

  OWEN STOOD IN THE FOYER, the smile on his face the kind of smile that could, without question, lead to big, big trouble.

  Willa stopped at the foot of the stairs, acknowledged her own susceptibility to it. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?”

  “You like surprises?”

  “I do,” she said.

  “Good. Then I’d like to surprise you.”

  They walked past the Range Rover in the driveway and headed to the barn where he packed their stuff up in the back of an old green Dodge pickup. Owen came around and opened her door.

  The second surprise came when he drove away from the main road, toward one of the pastures behind the barn. He opened the gate, pulled through, then got out to shut it before driving on.

  They drove for a half mile, went through another gate, and then hit a narrow dirt road that wound through a wooded area, before beginning an ascent up a fairly steep mountain.

  Owen glanced at her. “We call her the Old Goat.”

  “The truck or the eating establishment you’re taking me to?”

  He laughed. “The truck.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “She’s reliable.”

  Willa glanced out her window at the drop-off just over the shoulder. She inched away from the door. “And by now I’m guessing there’s no restaurant at the top of this mountain.”

  He grinned. “I promised you dinner. I intend to keep my word.”

  They drove for another twenty minutes, the old truck’s engine growling its way up the steep incline. The drive was beautiful, winding through hardwood trees that dappled the road with evening shade. At the top, the road leveled out, wound on for another quarter mile or so, then came to an abrupt end.

  In front of them stood a weathered log cabin, the late afternoon sun glinting off its metal roof. A porch ran the width of the structure, wooden swings hanging on each end. To the left of the cabin lay the most beautiful pond she had ever seen. A group of white, orange-bill ducks glided across its center. At the edge of the cabin yard, a dock jutted out into the water.

  Owen pulled the truck to the end of the dirt road. “Maison de Bonne Cuisine.”

  “Are we the first to arrive?” she asked, her tone teasing.

  “We’ve booked the place for the evening.”

  “Um,” she said. “You’re in tight with the maître d’?”

  He smiled a knee-weakening smile. “You could say that.”

  “You’re determined not to stick with my original appraisal of you.”

  “Oh, yeah, squash-playing, cigar-smoking, man about town?”

  She winced. “Sorry.”

  Owen laughed. “I’m pleased beyond words to have disappointed you.”

  He got out then, came around and opened her door. She slid to the ground, bumping up against him. He righted her with a steady hand, and they held each other’s gaze for a moment, something electric popping between them.

  He reached in the truck’s bed, pulled out a picnic basket and a thick hand-sewn quilt, then waved her toward the front porch. The door was unlocked, and they stepped inside to a large open area. The kitchen sat on the right, dated refrigerator and stove positioned side by side. A living area held a couch and two chairs arranged around a dry-stack rock fireplace.

  A lamp burned on an end table. “I came up earlier to check things out,” Owen said. “No one’s been here in a while.”

  “When it’s not doubling as a restaurant, what do you use it for?”

  He put the basket on the table, dropped the quilt onto a ladder-back chair. “I used to bring Cline up for campouts. We’d fish and hike. He loved coming up here.” A shadow crossed his face. “I don’t think he’d want to come anymore.”

  “Have you asked him?” Willa’s voice was soft with sympathy.

  Owen shook his head. “I’ve wanted to, but—”

  Willa heard the defeat in his voice, wished for a way to erase the pain behind it.

  “Okay,” he said, “let’s get this evening started. Ladies’ room right through there. Meet you outside by the dock?”

  She nodded and headed for the narrow hall he’d directed her to.

  A few minutes later, she stepped outside, the sun already starting to set.

  Owen stood on the dock, an old-fashioned wooden rowboat tied to the side.

  “Your chariot awaits,” he said.

  “When you aim to surprise, you don’t miss the mark.”

  He held her hand while she stepped down into the boat, his grip warm and firm. She took a seat on one end, Owen took the other. He picked up a set of oars and started rowing, the motions sure and strong, as if it were something he had learned long ago.

  Willa’s eyes went to the contours of his shoulders, the give and take of muscles used to challenge. She forced her gaze elsewhere.

  A pair of deer stood at the water’s edge, taking an evening drink. Spotting them, they darted away. “It’s beautiful here,” she said.

  Owen stopped the boat in the center of the pond, reached behind him and pulled out a bottle of white wine. From a plastic cooler, he removed two glasses, the sides frosty cold.

  “I think you were right,” she said. “This has to be the best place in town.”

  He smiled, popped the cork and poured her a glass. He poured one for himself, then tapped the rim against hers. They looked at each other all the while, some not-so-subtle currents resonating between them.

  “I’ve never brought anyone else here,” he said.

  She glanced down at her glass, then met his gaze with a soft smile. “I’m glad,” she said.

  * * *

  THE SUN HAD NEARLY RETIRED for the day, dusk laying strips of shadow across the pond.

  Willa set down her wineglass, and reaching
for the oars, began rowing.

  “I’m impressed,” Owen said.

  “4-H camp.”

  “And some innate skill,” he said while she continued to row with long, sure strokes to the far end of the pond. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Maybe it had been a crazy idea, coming here. There were certainly more impressive places he could have taken her.

  He had never believed that there could really be one right woman for him. That he could look at her and just know it.

  But sitting across from Willa in the old wooden boat, the truth of it was clear as day. He had met her. Felt the click. So it was true, after all.

  * * *

  GUYS HAD NEVER made Katie nervous.

  That was her role. She’d always been the one to take a certain amount of pleasure in knowing she could shake up the opposite sex.

  So what was the deal with all the butterflies in her stomach now?

  She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, ran a brush through her hair again, then finally pulled it back in a ponytail. They were going to a party. No big deal. No point in acting like it was.

  A few minutes later, she found Cline outside by the van waiting for her.

  He smiled when she walked up. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “How lame is this party going to be?”

  “I think someone’s bringing a new backgammon board. The Monopoly’s always good, too.”

  Katie laughed. She stood by her door while he got himself into the minivan. It was hard to stand back and not help him. But that was the last thing he would have wanted, and she respected him for it.

  Once they’d reached the main road, he glanced at her. “So did you go out a lot at home?”

  “I pretty much majored in it. Do you? Go out a lot?”

  Cline lifted one hand from the wheel. “I don’t exactly fit the mold.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s kind of hard to be cool at parties when you arrive in a butane-blue Dodge Caravan and then get out in a wheelchair.”

  The words were said without self-pity, but Katie heard the underlying seriousness. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

  He shot her a look.

  She angled herself in the seat, hands splayed. “Here’s what I see when I look at you. Great-looking. Cool clothes. Smart. Ten.”

  “And what about the van?” he asked with a smile.