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Sources say the will left by his father, Harrison Miller, provides that if he is not engaged by his thirty-third birthday—some ten days from now—Winding Creek Farm and all its subsequent holdings will revert to his younger brother, Cline Miller.
Owen clicked out of the file, disgust hitting him in the gut. He moved the cursor to Instant Messaging and typed in:
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
Cline answered a couple of seconds later:
The entertainment value is huge, you have to admit.
Owen pictured his brother, seated in front of the laptop, and a wave of affection flooded through him.
For you, I suppose.
So, have you found her?
Who?
Your new wife.
I’m not looking for one.
Just pick out one and get it over with.
Like shopping for a new tie?
The noose-around-your-neck association does not go unappreciated.
Hmm.
BTW, Pamela called. Again. Have I heard from you? Asked with notable irritation, I might add, leading me to think she hasn’t heard from you.
I’ll call her.
Good. Unless you find another prospect first.
Bye, Cline.
See ya.
Owen logged off, leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. Cline’s question wasn’t exactly out of left field. Why hadn’t he asked Pamela? She expected it, and probably had a right to. They’d been going out for a year. Her expectations weren’t unreasonable, considering his position.
When his father died three years ago, Owen had never thought the will provision would actually interfere with his life. It had seemed more of an annoyance, although totally in character, that his father would continue to pull strings, even from the grave.
Maybe Owen had assumed he would be engaged or married by this point, anyway. At least that he would have met someone who made him want to be. But here he was. Time nearly up.
Not married.
He glanced at the phone. He really should call Pamela.
But then there was the red flag. He should call her. Later. He’d call her later.
IT WAS THE PERFECT DAY to be at the lake.
Katie considered pretty much any day perfect if it involved skipping school.
Maybe the principal would eventually give up and just kick her out, putting an end to her useless arguments with Willa. A girl could dream.
A jam box sat at one corner of the dock, D-12 blasting. She could feel the throb of it through the backs of her calves. Beside her, Eddie lay staring at the sky, holding a joint between his thumb and index finger, his expression dreamy. He took another long pull. “God, that’s good stuff,” he said, his voice raspy with smoke. He passed it to her.
She took a small puff, then handed it back to him.
He laid it on the dock, turned on his side and propped up on his elbow. She looked at him through half-open eyes. He was hot, in a rebel-with-a-cause kind of way. Eddie’s cause was whatever pleased him at the moment. A few weeks ago, it had been the hammerhead shark tattoo now etched into his right bicep.
For now, it was her.
He touched her face. “Come here.”
She complied, not so much because she wanted to, but because being with Eddie fueled her need to reach for whatever it was she thought would piss Willa off the most.
For now, that was Eddie.
He leaned over and kissed her, heavy duty from the get-go. She followed him for a few moments, and he pushed her back onto the dock, half lying across her. He picked up the pace of the kissing, the lower half of his body moving in suggestion.
Her bikini top slipped. She turned her head, pulling the bathing suit back in place. “Easy, okay?”
“What? You don’t want to?”
Katie raised up on an elbow, dropped her head back and blew out a sigh.
“You’ve been a real drag all day. Maybe I should have brought someone a little more fun out here.”
“Maybe you should have.”
Eddie put a hand on her thigh, massaged the muscle, his touch experienced. “Hey, I didn’t want to bring anybody else. So what’s the deal?”
Katie sighed. “My sister. She’s such a pain in the ass.”
“She riding you again?”
“Only about everything.”
“What’s her problem? She’s pretty hot-looking for an old girl.”
She gave him a look. “Twenty-eight is hardly old.”
“You two sure are different.”
“That a compliment or insult?”
“Neither. Just seeing her down at the Top Shelf, she acts a lot older than she looks.”
“She’s been like that ever since Mom died.”
Eddie shrugged. “Why don’t you just check out of there?”
“And what? Live out of my backpack?”
“Move in with me.”
Katie frowned. “And your four other roommates?”
Eddie brushed the back of his hand against the side of her breast. “Hey, I’ve got my own bed. That’s all we need.”
“You are such a jerk.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid. I start acting like Joe Nice Guy, you’ll ditch me for sure.”
At least he knew her.
Katie stood, shucked off her blue-jean shorts, and made a clean dive into the lake.
Eddie followed. He came up gasping. “Man, it’s cold!”
“Weenie.”
He kissed her again. “I mean it,” he said. “Think about it. Move in with us. We’ll have a big time.”
She looked at him for a moment, and then said, “I’ll think about it.”
IT FELT LIKE A REPEAT of the night before. And far too many others in recent weeks.
Willa sat on the living room couch, hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, a table lamp the only light. Sam was curled up beside her, his head on her leg. A novel lay open on her lap, but she had no idea what she’d read in the last five pages.
She glanced at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room. Eleven.
The front door opened. Katie walked through the foyer and headed up the stairs.
“The principal called,” Willa said quietly.
Katie stopped on the second step. “Save it, okay?”
“So what should I do, Katie?” Willa asked in an even voice. “Just let you mess up your life for good?”
“It’s not your life to mess up. You’re doing a pretty good job with your own.”
Willa’s grip on the cup tightened. She pressed a finger to her forehead. “How did we get here, Katie?”
“I’m not your responsibility, Willa,” Katie said, the words a few degrees softer. “I can take care of myself.”
“Is that it, then? Do you think I should let you quit school? Hang out with guys who are going to lead you down the road to nowhere?”
“I’m not as dumb as you think I am.”
Willa stood and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “That’s not what I think at all. I think you’re smart, beautiful and at a very confusing time in your life. But, Katie, the choices you make now are going to affect your future in ways you can’t begin to see from here.”
“Like the choices you’ve made, Willa?” She tore up the stairs then, throwing out behind her, “At least I’m out there playing the game.”
WILLA DROVE KATIE TO SCHOOL the next morning. Neither spoke the entire way. Katie kept her headset on, the beat of the music pounding like a muted jackhammer.
Willa pulled up at the high school’s main entrance. Students loitered around the front steps. “You’ll go by the principal’s office, Katie?”
“Sure thing.”
“Two more absences, and you’re going to fail your classes this semester.”
“That would be a disaster,” Katie said, sounding mildly bored. She got out of the Wagoneer and strolled toward the front entrance, stopping to talk with a trio of defiant-looking teenagers wearing nose rings complemented by varying degrees of purple hair.
Katie had never seemed farther away.
AT THE TOP SHELF, Willa pulled into an empty space beside Judy’s old Citation. If possible, it was more of a rattletrap than her own. She got out and waited for Judy who slid out of the car, then slammed the driver’s door. The door failed to catch, so she opened it and closed it again.
The sleeve of her white sweater slid up with the movement. An ugly purple bruise encircled her wrist.
Willa touched her arm. “Hey. What’s that?”
Judy avoided Willa’s gaze. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Judy—”
Judy held up a hand, smiling a little too broadly. “Uh-uh. This problem’s not going on your shoulders.”
They walked across the parking lot to the diner entrance, both quiet.
“Are you all right, Judy?” Willa finally asked softly.
Judy smiled an of-course smile. “Yes.”
“I really am worried about you.”
“Don’t be.”
“How can I not?”
“You know, if they measured worry in a person’s blood the way they measure cholesterol and triglycerides, you’d be on the operating table.”
“Judy. I’m serious.”
“So am I. I’m fine. And we’re talking about you, anyway. Now let’s hear about those circles under your eyes.”
Willa gave in for now. “I don’t know what to do with her anymore. It seems like the more I say, the worse things get.”
“Maybe it’s time to let her fall,” Judy reasoned. “My mama always said she could tell me all day long what a bump on the head was going to feel like, but until my own noggin hit the pavement, there was no way I would ever believe her.”
Willa smiled, pushing through the front door of the diner. Clara Hibber, one of the other waitresses, opened up every morning so Willa could take Katie to school.
Clara waved from behind the counter. Willa waved back, then looked at Judy. “She’s just so angry. I wish I knew why.”
“When you’re sixteen, it doesn’t matter,” Judy said. “Anger is just another hormone. You feel justified. But if anybody should be angry, it’s you. You got to be a mother at twenty-one without any of the fun that comes with arriving at that happy state.”
“I don’t regret what I’ve done for Katie. She’s my sister.”
“I know you don’t. But for seven years now, you’ve been living the life of your mother. Taking over this place after she died. You didn’t get the chance to be young. Take it from me, the years fly by, and you wake up one day looking at a big sign with Too Late written in big, bold letters.”
Willa put a hand on Judy’s shoulder. “If that’s your subtle way of saying I need a man, I haven’t seen anything out there worth missing a night with a good book.”
The diner door opened. The man from yesterday walked in, taking the same table as before. Both Willa and Judy stared for a moment. He looked up. They both got busy shuffling menus and stacking coffee cups.
“That’s what I call amazing timing,” Judy said.
“Just take his order.”
Judy grabbed a pad, handed it to Willa, then bolted, whispering over her shoulder, “Ladies’ room.”
“Judy—”
But she was already out of sight. Willa stared after her, made a mental payback note, then walked over to the table.
The man glanced up.
“What would you like?” she asked, trying not to stare. He was unbelievably good-looking. Dark hair contrasted by light blue eyes. The kind of mouth a woman’s gaze could not help being drawn to.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
“Eggs and bacon are always a sure thing. Pancakes, too, but you don’t look like a guy who eats a lot of starch.”
“Eggs and bacon, then. But add a pancake, too. I’m feeling like a walk on the wild side.”
Willa scribbled the order on her pad, a small smile touching her mouth. “And to drink?”
“Coffee.”
She nodded. “Your order will be out in a few minutes.”
Judy was back from the ladies’ room when Willa got to the front counter. “What did he say?”
“Eggs and bacon. Add a pancake.”
Judy snorted. “I really am starting to worry about you. A man like that walks in here, and you don’t even flirt with him.”
“I said he looked like he doesn’t eat a lot of starch. Does that qualify?”
“Struck instant lust in his heart, I’m sure.”
Willa smiled, poured coffee in a cup, then carried it to the man’s table. He looked up, and she noticed how blue his eyes were. Magnetic, really. She wanted to look longer, but she jerked her gaze away and set the coffee down. “Your food will be right out.”
He stood, stuck out his hand. “Owen Miller,” he said.
“Willa.” She cleared her throat. “Addison.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Dinner? Ah, thank you, but I—” She waved a hand at the diner. “I’m here until pretty late.”
“Late is okay.”
She stood there, tapping a thumb against the coffeepot. “I take it you’re passing through?”
“Can’t deny that.”
“What would be the point?”
“Conversation?”
For a moment, Willa actually considered it. He was gorgeous, and she was tempted. But her life already had enough complications without pursuing something that would end up going nowhere. She’d already done nowhere. She shook her head. “Thank you for the invitation,” she said, “but no.”
NO.
He hadn’t expected rejection. It was the first time in his life he’d ever been turned down by a woman. The thought was completed with no particular amazement; it just wasn’t something he was used to. And so, he wasn’t exactly sure how to react to it.
Owen took the front porch steps to the bed-and-breakfast two at a time.
Mrs. Ross smiled when he came through the door. “Morning, Mr. Miller.”
“Good morning. Do you know what time the Top Shelf closes in the evening, Mrs. Ross?”
The woman gave him a knowing look. “You must have taken a liking to Willa Addison’s food. They close at nine.”
“Thank you.” He hesitated and then said, “What can you tell me about her?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Enough to figure out how to get her to go to dinner with me.”
Mrs. Ross chuckled. “Don’t know that it’ll do any good. Got a load of responsibility with that young sister of hers.”
The phone rang. Mrs. Ross reached for it. Owen thanked her and headed up the stairs.
“Young man!” she called out.
He dropped back down a few steps. “Yes?”
“There is one thing I remember about her as a little girl.”
“What’s that?”
“She loved strawberries.”
CHAPTER THREE
HE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH outside the diner when Willa closed up that evening. One leg crossed over a thigh, an arm draped across the back of the bench. Beside him sat a basket of strawberries.
He was the kind of man who made women stop and stare.
Willa stopped and stared.
“I was told you had a fondness for these,” he said, picking up the basket and holding it out in one hand.
She started forward with a jolt, tripping on a raised edge in the sidewalk, the library books in her arms cascading to the ground.
He stood instantly, retrieved the books, scanning the covers of each as he handed them to her. “Fitzgerald. Tolstoy. Alternative medicine. Interesting mix.”
She eyed him carefully, taking the books from him. “Thanks.”
“I asked Mrs. Ross at the B and B how I might talk you into going to dinner with me. She said strawberries would be worth a try.”
Growing up, Willa had picked berries from the patch in Mrs. Ross’s backyard every spring. Buckets full, which Willa’s mama had put in the freezer for pies and ice cream. “That was nice of you.”
“Was she right?”
Willa hesitated. She really shouldn’t. She didn’t know him. He was passing through. He didn’t look like a criminal—quite the opposite, in fact—but then what did that mean? Ted Bundy had been the boy next door with a cast on his leg.
“We can go somewhere public,” he added, his voice low and insistent enough to weaken her resistance. “I’ll meet you there if that’s better. You name the place.”
Clearly, he knew his way around women. She shot a glance at the Range Rover parked at the curb. A man like this in Pigeon Hollow? There had to be a catch.
“Are you married?” she asked, failing to keep the suspicion out of her voice.
His eyes widened. “No.”
“May I see your left hand?”
He held it out. She looked at the ring finger, then turned his hand over and glanced at the other side. No telltale mark where a ring had been removed.
“Trust issues?” he asked.
“Let’s just say you wouldn’t be the first man to misplace his wedding band.”
He smiled. “Hmm. It’s the bad guys that—”
“Give the good guys a bad name.” Common sense told her she should go home. But Judy would never let her forget it. And besides, what did she have better to do than wait for Katie to bust her curfew again? Just a few moments ago, she’d felt weary to her heels, dreading the inevitable confrontation. Delaying it suddenly had enormous appeal.
“Now?” she asked, surprising herself.
He brightened. “Now would be great.”
“There’s a place over off 260.”
“I’ll follow you,” he said, looking just pleased enough to make her heart beat a little faster.
ON THE WAY, WILLA USED her cell phone to call Judy.
Judy’s disbelieving shriek pierced her eardrum. “You’re meeting him for dinner? I can’t believe it.”
“He brought me strawberries. I thought I’d better let someone know where I am in case he turns out to be an ax murderer.”
Judy laughed. “Yeah, I read the story in yesterday’s paper. Well-to-do hunk terrorizing small-town diner owners with poison strawberries.”
“It could happen.”
“You read too many books. What are you wearing?”
“Black pants and a white blouse. The same thing I wore to work.”
“Unbutton a button.”
“Judy!”
“It’s called sex appeal, honey. You’re allowed.”
“Thanks,” Willa said, laughing, “but I’ll keep my buttons buttoned.”
“Odds preparation, that’s all. Like dropping another five for lottery tickets on the way out of the store.”
“The lottery’s a scam.”
“You’re hopeless. You’ll call me as soon as you get home?”
“I will.” Willa clicked off, then hit the stored button for her home number and got the machine. She left Katie a message, told her she would be home later. They needed to talk.
Maybe by then, Willa would figure out what to say.
THE HOOT ’N’ HOLLER DREW a crowd every Friday night for buy-one-get-one-free pitchers of Budweiser and waffle fries.
Willa chose the place because it was one of the liveliest around and not the kind of spot for which she could be accused of harboring any romantic notions.
Even from the parking lot, the noise level required a raised voice. Willa got out and stood beside the Wagoneer. Owen pulled in beside her, the Range Rover making her jalopy of a vehicle look like a third runner-up beauty contestant.
He threw a glance at the front of the building, basically concrete blocks with a roof on it. A big neon sign blinked the name of the establishment in bold orange. “Interesting,” he said.
“Not exactly an architectural wonder. But keep in mind the old book-by-its-cover adage.”
“Now I’m really curious.” He ushered her forward with a wave. “After you.”
At the entrance, he held the door for her, and yes, okay, she noticed. Her last few dates—few and far between as they were—had left her all but certain the pool of available men in this county had forgotten any courtesies their mothers had taught them where women were concerned.
The place was nearly full. A country-and-western band took up the far right corner of the room, the lead singer a frosting-kit-era blonde in a mini-skirt that redefined mini. She crooned a familiar Reba hit. Smoke hung like a veil over the main room. Peanut shells littered the floor.
The only available table sat a little too close to the band, making conversation next to impossible.
Again, Owen held her chair, waited for her to sit. Again, Willa was impressed. Maybe Judy was right. Maybe she did need to get out more if all it took to wow her was a surface show of manners. Pretty soon, she’d be unbuttoning buttons.
He sat down across from her. “Great place,” he said.
“You think?” she shouted.
The band hit the last note of the song and promised to be back in fifteen minutes. A jukebox started up at a volume that did not rattle the eardrums.
“Did you think I’d run when I saw the monster trucks parked outside?”
“I thought the local color might test your resolve.”
He smiled. “Did I pass?”
“So far.”
“Good.”
The waitress arrived with their beer and waffle fries. He poured her a glass from the icy pitcher, then handed her a plate, waited as she put some fries on it. He filled his own glass, loaded his plate and dug in.
She stared.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Is something wrong?”
“I—no. You just don’t seem like the waffle-fries type.”
He took a sip of his beer. “So what do you think my type is?”
She shrugged, buying time.
He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “No, really. Go ahead.”
She wrapped both hands around her glass, giving it some consideration. “Let’s see. You play some sport like squash. Or maybe golf. You have a connection to the horse-racing industry. You drink port and smoke skinny cigars.”
Owen laughed, a real laugh that came from somewhere deep inside him. “You got one of them right anyway. How’d you figure out the horse connection?”
“We get a lot of that passing through here.” She smiled. “And you’ve got a decal on the back of your truck.”
He grinned. “My turn.”
Willa wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear the conclusions he’d drawn about her so far.
“So noted you’re a reader,” he said. “You think TV is the drain through which all modern intelligence is leaking. NPR is secretly programmed on your FM dial. You normally frown on the kind of food sitting in front of us.” He hesitated, rubbed his chin, then added, “There’s some reason why you’re not married. Some obligation you’re meeting because a woman like you should have been snatched up long ago. And you’ve already assigned me a spot in your Okay, so I was right about him file. How did I do?”
She studied him through narrowed eyes. “Did Judy put you up to this?”
He laughed again, one elbow on the table. “Fairly well, I take it.”
The band started up with a sudden blast.
Owen leaned over close to her ear. “Since talking is out of the question, how about a dance?”
No was the obvious answer. Again, passing through. Clearly, a one-night thing. And she wasn’t a one-night kind of girl.
Intrigued, though? That, she had to admit.
One dance. What could it hurt?
There was a crowd on the parquet floor, making closeness essential. He was a good dancer; she noticed as much right away. Not like he’d had lessons or anything. He just moved with the kind of fluid ease that said the rhythm came naturally.
The frosted-blond singer belted out another Top 40 hit with a lively beat, her gaze set on Owen. Laser set.
Willa didn’t think it was her imagination that the woman’s hips gyrated with more deliberation every time Owen glanced at the stage.
She couldn’t resist. She leaned in and with a straight face, said, “I can duck out. Leave her a clear playing field.”
“Do, and I’ll stage a food-poisoning picket outside your diner.”
“Low.”
He smiled. And it hit Willa then that they were flirting with each other. Or maybe she had flirted with him, and he had flirted back. Whatever the sequence of it, she was enjoying herself. Imagine that.
THEY FINISHED THAT SET, and while the band took another break, Willa excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.
Owen watched her disappear around the corner. What was he doing? He was supposed to give her the letter. That was all.