“Maybe,” Laurel said. “I certainly haven’t made any progress with that since I came back to Willow Valley. I’m way overdue to stop feeling sorry for myself, dwelling on what happened. Let’s change the subject. Was there anything interesting in the newspaper?”
“Dove wrote a lovely article about the autumn leaves we’re enjoying and how they never fail to appear each year like a promise from nature that is always kept. Our Dove is such a talented writer.”
“Yes,” Laurel said, nodding. “Yes, she really is. I also think the rugs, blankets, shawls and what have you that she weaves on her loom are the most gorgeous ones in the shops here. They certainly sell well.”
“Indeed they do,” Jane said, then drained her cup. “Oh, there was a short paragraph regarding the fact that there was another robbery in one of the summer homes. Whoever is doing this knows exactly which houses are not lived in year-round. That indicates it’s someone who lives in Willow Valley or on the rez. That’s rather chilling when you think about it. It’s one of our own.”
Laurel frowned and nodded.
“Ben was quoted as saying,” Jane continued, “that he and his deputies will be increasing the patrols around those homes and that he won’t rest until the person—or persons—are apprehended.” She paused. “So tell me, Laurel Jane Windsong, are you going to cut that gorgeous hair of yours or not?”
Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all the way to my waist when it isn’t braided. I don’t think a single thick braid worn day after day is very sophisticated for someone of twenty-seven.”
“It is,” Jane said, smiling, “if you’re half Navajo. You have Jimmy’s hair, tawny skin tone and those dark, dark eyes. If it wasn’t for your features being a bit delicate and your being tall and slender, there wouldn’t be any evidence that I had a part in creating you. But anyway, it’s your hair and you should do what pleases you.”
“Oh? The whole town probably knows by now that Ben Skeeter doesn’t feel that way about my hair. The nerve of that man to… Oh, don’t get me started.”
“I think that scene in the café was rather sweet,” Jane said.
“Oh, spare me,” Laurel said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to go freshen up so I’ll be ready to head back to work.”
Jane watched her daughter leave the room, marveling yet again at her beauty.
“Oh, Jimmy,” she whispered, “our baby girl is so troubled, so unhappy, and I don’t know what to do to help her.”
As a breathtaking sunset streaked across the sky, Ben strolled along the sidewalk of the main street of town, his last self-appointed duty before ending his shift for the day.
Seven local citizens so far had asked him if he planned to eat dinner at the Windsong Café, something he very rarely did, preferring to prepare something for himself at home after a busy day. He’d also received some smug smiles and raised eyebrows from half a dozen of the shop owners who had made it a point to come to the door of their stores as he’d gone by on his patrol.
Oh, yeah, he thought, the story of the ridiculous scene with Laurel regarding whether or not she should cut her hair had definitely spread like wildfire. There was nothing he could do but say nothing and wait it out until the next bit of juicy gossip took its place.
Ben slowed his step even more as he went past the old-fashioned ice cream parlor.
Man, oh, man, he thought, he and Laurel had spent countless hours in that place eating hot-fudge sundaes and talking about their plans for the future. They had been so young, so sure that everything would go just the way they were laying it out, their hopes and dreams connecting like a jigsaw puzzle that created a fantastic picture.
But then Laurel had decided she wanted more than he could offer, more than his love and the life they were to share in Willow Valley after they were married. Everything had fallen apart as though an invisible hand had reached out and flung the pieces of the puzzle into oblivion.
In the years after she left he’d tried to make a new puzzle, but there were always pieces missing. It was never truly whole again without Laurel in his life. He had learned to go on as things were, slowly but surely, but now Laurel was back and…
Ben stopped suddenly as he looked down to see a boy about five years old staring up at him with wide eyes.
“Hi,” Ben said. “Where’s your mom, kiddo?”
“In that store,” the boy said, pointing to the one next to the ice cream parlor. “Are you a real Indian?”
Ben nodded. “Yep. I’m a Navajo.”
“Wow. Is that a real gun?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. How come you gots a gun instead of a bow and arrow?” the child said.
“Well,” Ben said, smiling, “because my bow and arrow doesn’t fit in this holster I’m wearing. I have to settle for a gun.”
“Wow,” the boy said. “Do you shoot bad guys?”
“Only if I have to,” Ben said. “Are you a bad guy?”
“Me?” the child said, his eyes widening even more. “No. No. I’m good. Honest.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Jacob,” a woman said, hurrying out of the shop, “I told you not to leave the store. Don’t ever do that again.” She looked up at Ben. “I’m terribly sorry. One minute he was there and the next…”
“He’s a real Indian, Mom,” Jacob said. “He shoots bad guys with his gun ’cause his bow and arrow doesn’t fit in that holster thing.”
“Wow,” Ben said, chuckling.
The woman smiled. “Thank you for the patience with my son. I do apologize if he said anything to offend you.”
“Not at all,” Ben said.
“Good,” the mother said. “Come on, Jacob.”
Ben watched as the pair went on down the sidewalk, the mother still lecturing the inquisitive child about staying close to her.
Cute kid, Ben thought, tugging his Stetson lower on his forehead. He and Laurel had talked about the children they’d have. Two for sure, maybe more. Yeah, they’d daydreamed about a lot of things, all part of the life they would share together. What a joke.
“Aw, hell, forget it,” Ben muttered. “It’s time to go home.”
Ben lived in an A-frame house on two acres of wooded land on the edge of town next to the reservation. The house was set well back from the road, and the entire front of the structure was windows, affording a spectacular view of nature’s bounty.
The inside was open and airy with a river-rock fireplace against one wall banked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a half wall dividing the living room from the kitchen, an eating area, small bathroom and laundry room.
The upstairs had a balcony overlooking the downstairs and two large bedrooms with a connecting bath. The second bedroom was an office of sorts, with a computer and more book shelves.
The furniture throughout was big, comfortable and rustic. The gleaming hardwood floors had several large Navajo rugs, and one of Dove Clearwater’s woven creations adorned one wall. Scattered among the multitude of books on the shelves were Navajo pots and baskets, all made by people he knew on the rez.
Ben entered the house from the covered garage that led to the kitchen. He went upstairs, changed into jeans and a faded sweatshirt, locked his gun in the metal box on his closet shelf then headed back to the kitchen to find something for dinner.
A short time later he sat at the table and ate a plate-sized omelet filled with ham chunks, green and red peppers, cheese and onions and topped with a generous serving of hot salsa. A tall glass of ice water stood at the ready above the plate.
After eating, he cleaned the kitchen, then settled into his favorite recliner to watch the evening news on television, which failed to hold his attention.
Laurel had never seen this house, he mused, glancing around. What would she think of it? Would she be able to envision herself living here? Or had he decorated with too much of a guy-thing touch to make her feel at ease? Well, that was easy enough to fix. Add some girl-thing doodads, or whatever, to make it evid
ent that a woman was in residence, too.
He’d drawn endless pictures of this dream house while he and Laurel were still in high school, sharing them all with her. They’d decided together which bedroom would be theirs and…
“Damn it, Skeeter,” Ben said, smacking the arm of the chair. “Why are you going there? Why are you doing this? And why in the hell are you talking to yourself?”
Ben dragged both hands down his face, then rested his head on the back of the recliner.
Change the mental subject, he ordered himself. Now. Do not think about Laurel Windsong. Think about…yes, the robberies at the vacant summer homes.
He’d phoned the sheriffs over in Flagstaff and Prescott on the off chance they were dealing with the same type of crime wave. Both men had said things were quiet on those fronts. It had been a long shot anyway, would have meant that a very sophisticated group was casing an extremely large area of the state to establish which homes were empty during the fall and winter.
No, he thought, this was his problem and whoever was doing it was from Willow Valley or the rez. As much as he hated the truth of that fact, that was the way it was. They were taking things that were easily moved. Televisions, VCRs and DVD players, computers, hunting rifles and ammunition, even microwave ovens.
Why? The stuff wasn’t worth much when sold in a dark alley somewhere. It was big risk for small return, which indicated that it was probably kids, teenagers who were bored and out for a thrill that would mess up their futures when he caught them.
And he would catch them, no doubt about it.
He was, Ben knew, bouncing back and forth between thinking it was one person pulling this off and several who were urging each other on. Whichever was the case, they would make a mistake and he would get them. Oh, yeah, he’d get ’em.
And then tears would flow and hopes for the future would be shattered and lives disrupted for all time.
A sudden image of Laurel appeared in crystal clarity in Ben’s mind.
“Yeah, well,” he said wearily, “there’s a lot of that going around. Decisions are made and pretty puzzles get ruined with no way to put them back together again.” He paused. “And, damn it, I’m talking to myself again.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should get a dog.”
Laurel stomped into the busy kitchen at the Windsong Café and crossed the room to stand next to her mother, who was frying hamburgers and steaks on a large grill.
“One more person,” Laurel said, planting her hands on her hips. “If just one more person asks me if I’m going to cut my hair, I’m going to scream the roof down.”
Jane smiled as she flipped hamburgers over with the ease of many years of experience.
“You knew it would happen tonight, sweetheart,” she said, glancing at Laurel. “I would think you’d have prepared yourself for the fun and games.”
“I thought I had, but this is really ridiculous,” Laurel said.
“No,” Jane said, laughing, “this is Willow Valley. Some things don’t change. The love of juicy gossip is one of those. The locals have waited four months for something—anything—to take place between you and Ben, and it finally did. I’m sure he’s getting the same nonsense thrown at him as you are.”
“He has it coming,” Laurel said. “He’s the one who opened his big mouth. And I still don’t understand why he did it in the first place.”
“Don’t you?” Jane said, giving her daughter a meaningful look.
“Goodbye,” Laurel said, walking away. “I’m not discussing this further. I have customers to keep happy.”
“Goodbye,” Jane called, laughing again. “Or rather, hagoonee, to show off my expertise in speaking Navajo.”
May, who was a short, plump woman in her early sixties, took a pie from one of the ovens and set it on a cooling rack.
“Laurel is all in a dither, isn’t she?” she said, smiling.
“Yes,” Jane said, turning over several steaks on the grill. “Oh, I do wish she and Ben could work out their differences, but ten years is a very long time.”
“Not when it comes to love.” May laughed. “Jane, remember when we’d take the babies to the park? We’d spread out a blanket and watch them wiggle and reach for each other. There was Laurel, Ben, Dove and my Joseph. Cute as buttons, every one of them. My goodness, how the years have flown by, haven’t they?”
“Yes, they certainly have,” Jane said as she served up the hamburgers and steaks.
She carried the plates and red baskets to the pickup ledge in several trips, called for the waitresses waiting for the orders and returned to look at May again.
“Think about it, May,” she said. “My Jimmy is gone and so are his parents and mine. Dove’s folks were killed in that tragic accident so many years ago. Ben lost his mother and father in that flash flood.”
“And Joseph’s father flew the coop before Joey was even born.” May shook her head. “I’m glad we don’t have crystal balls to see into the future or we’d wonder what the point of it all is. Well, Joey is happily married and spoils his two kids rotten, and I’m grateful for that.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me yet why Laurel suddenly came home from Virginia.”
“I’m sorry, May,” Jane said. “I promised her I wouldn’t say a word.”
“That’s fine. I can wait until she’s ready. There’s a sadness in her eyes, though, that breaks my heart, and I don’t believe Ben Skeeter has been truly content since Laurel left all those years ago. And Dove? Oh, bless her heart. She had such plans to go to college and study journalism and ended up staying on the rez to raise her twin sisters and her brother. Seventeen years old, she was, and put aside all her dreams to care for those youngsters after their parents were killed.”
“Dove has done a fantastic job with her siblings,” Jane said, preparing hamburger patties. “Wren is married and has a baby. Robin is studying nursing over in Flagstaff. Eagle is a senior in high school this year. Once he graduates, it will be Dove’s turn to live her life the way she wants to. Finally.”
“But will she?” May said, pouring corn-bread ingredients into a large bowl. “Dove is very organized and set in her ways. I suppose she had to be to take care of those kids, but I can’t help but wonder if she might just keep on as she is after Eagle graduates. You know, live on the rez in that little house where she grew up, write for the paper now and again, make her rugs and what have you to support herself. I don’t believe change will come easy to Dove now.”
Jane shook her head. “Oh, wouldn’t that be a shame if Dove… Goodness, I don’t even want to think about that happening.”
“I felt the same way about you after Jimmy died,” May said.
“What?” Jane said, looking over at her dear friend.
“I was so hoping that in time you’d marry again, have more babies. But here you are doing exactly the same as when Jimmy was standing next to you. He wouldn’t have wanted you to be lonely, Jane, you know that.”
“I’m not lonely,” Jane said. “I’m very satisfied with my life the way it is.” She shook her head. “I just had this conversation with Laurel. What is this? Let’s-marry-off-Jane-Nelson-Windsong week?”
May laughed. “Whatever works.”
“Oh, hush.”
“Just one more thing,” May said.
“Hmm?”
“Is Laurel going to cut her hair?”
Late that night Laurel showered, washed the hair that was the topic of conversation then sat on her bed in her pajamas and brushed it in long, steady strokes. She drew her fingers through it as she recalled Ben’s words spoken in the café.
Your hair is so beautiful, so silky and…I remember how it felt when I…
She knew exactly what Ben remembered, Laurel thought. After they made love, she’d nestle close to his body and he’d sift his fingers through her hair, watching it fall free, then repeating the motion over and over, never seeming to tire of it.
Sudden heat coursed through Laurel, then pulsed low and hot within her as viv
id images of lovemaking shared with Ben taunted her. She moved off the bed and began to pace restlessly around the small room, pulling the brush roughly through her hair.
She couldn’t stay in Willow Valley, she thought frantically. She had to leave, put distance between herself and Ben Skeeter. But after what had happened in Virginia, where could she go? What would she do with her life? She adored this pretty little town and the people in it, had always thought she’d live out her days here with Ben and their children. But…
“Oh, God,” Laurel said, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “What am I going to do?”
Chapter Three
“I swear, Dove Clearwater,” Laurel said, “if I actually catch a fish on the end of this line and that slimy thing comes flying up here, I’m gone. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. I came out here to the rez to have a relaxing Sunday afternoon with you, remember?”
“Fishing is relaxing,” Dove said. “We’re sitting on this nice grass, the water and sky are a lovely shade of blue, the leaves on the tree are gorgeous, it’s a crisp fall day. It’s your attitude that’s not with the program.”
“You’ve got that straight,” Laurel said, laughing.
“Well, we could always go back to the house and I’ll cut your hair for you.”
“Ohhh, don’t start with me,” Laurel said with a groan. “I’m trying to forget that fiasco with Ben at the café yesterday.”
“In my opinion, not that you asked,” Dove said, “you two were long overdue to talk to each other like normal people. The stony-silence thing ever since you came back to Willow Valley was ridiculous.”
A Wedding in Willow Valley (Willow Valley Women) Page 3