“Why did you come running home, Laurel?

You’re back in town, making me want you until I ache, making me relive all the memories of what we shared, and you’re keeping so many damn secrets it’s a wonder you can even function.”

“I…”

“Well, I know one truth about you, Laurel Windsong,” Ben said, a rough edge to his voice as he gripped her shoulders. “When I kissed you by the lake, you responded to me, totally, absolutely, holding nothing back. You desire me as much as I do you. And that is a fact. There’s no secret about it, Laurel.”

And with that, Ben pulled her close and captured her mouth with his in a searing kiss.

A Wedding in Willow Valley
Joan Elliott Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

is the author of over one hundred books. When she isn’t writing, Joan enjoys reading, needlework, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. She has all-grown-up daughters, as well as a young daughter, Autumn, who is in elementary school. Joan, Autumn and a five-pound poodle named Willow live in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

For Phyllis

Good friend, good neighbor

and

the best cookie-baker

in the west!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

Sheriff Ben Skeeter turned onto the main street of Willow Valley in his patrol car after driving by several of the summer homes that had been closed up for the winter.

He drove slowly, nodding at familiar people who waved in greeting and seeing the busy foot traffic of the visitors who had come to the small northern Arizona town to enjoy the splendor of the acres of brilliant, multicolored autumn leaves on the trees.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened and his heart seemed to skip a beat as he saw Laurel Windsong walking along the sidewalk toward the Windsong Café.

He had not, Ben knew, been prepared for Laurel to suddenly return to town four months ago and start working with her mother at the café. Her presence had thrown him off-kilter, had caused him to suffer through a multitude of tossing-and-turning nights as memories from the past slammed into his mind hour after hour.

If anyone knew why Laurel was back and how long she was staying, they sure weren’t talking. He’d come right out and asked Dove Clearwater, Laurel’s best friend, for the explanation, and she had told him that Laurel had simply said she was between jobs and didn’t have any definite plans yet. Dove had confided that she thought something was troubling Laurel but had no intention of pressing her about it. Damn.

As Ben approached the café, he slid a glance in Laurel’s direction and saw her unlock the front door and enter.

Laurel Windsong, he thought. God, she was beautiful. The years had treated her well. The pain of her betrayal had diminished some over the ten years she’d been gone, and he often went weeks at a time without thinking about her, remembering what they’d shared, remembering all the plans they’d made for their future together, remembering the night she said she was leaving.

Yeah, his emotional wounds had been healing slowly. And then she arrived unannounced in Willow Valley, stepped behind the counter at the Windsong Café with an order pad in her hand and acted as though she had never left in the first place. He’d been flung back in time and felt raw and wounded again as well as exhausted from lack of sleep.

He’d been doing his best to avoid Laurel, and when he saw her, he didn’t look directly into those incredible dark eyes of hers. He had nothing he wanted to say to her because it had all been said ten years before. He just wanted her to pack up and leave again, get out of Willow Valley and not come back.

Because while she was here, there was nowhere for him to hide from the truth that was ripping him to shreds.

He was still in love with Laurel Windsong.

Ben smacked the steering wheel with the heel of one hand and clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ached.

He’d arrest Laurel for disturbing his peace of mind, he thought. He’d toss her in jail, tell her she had twenty-four hours to get out of town or he’d throw away the key to the cell.

“There you go, Skeeter,” he muttered as he shook his head. “That’s really mature, rational thinking.”

Ben reached the edge of town, turned around and drove back, his practiced eye sweeping over all for any sign of trouble brewing.

There were a lot of strangers in town already this Saturday, and no doubt more were on the way to see the autumn leaves. It was good for the business owners. It was constant vigilance for him and his deputies.

The tourists kept him very busy, and to top it off he was dealing with a rash of break-ins at the presently unoccupied summer homes. Carefully selected houses had been targeted, and the knot in his gut told him that meant it was someone from Willow Valley or the reservation at the edge of town pulling off those robberies.

There were a thousand people living in Willow Valley and the same number on the rez. Somewhere in the midst of them, someone had turned on his own people—and that made Ben rip-roaring angry.

Ben’s stomach rumbled, and a quick look at his watch told him it was lunchtime.

Maybe he’d go home and see what he could throw together for a meal, he mused. Or get some fast food that would sit like a brick in his stomach the rest of the afternoon. He could settle for some of those dinky sandwiches that didn’t even have any crust on them at the bed-and-breakfast.

No, damn it, he wanted a good-tasting, nourishing lunch, and the best place to get that was the Windsong Café. He’d just ignore Ms. Laurel Windsong, as he usually did when he ate there, and enjoy the food. Fine. That’s how he’d handled her being back since she’d popped into town, and he would keep right on doing it.

No problem.

As long as he didn’t look at her too long.

As long as he didn’t envision freeing her silken hair from that long braid she wore by drawing his fingers through it and watching it slide over his hands like an ebony waterfall.

As long as he didn’t relive the exquisite memories of making love with Laurel and hearing her whisper his name and declare her love for him.

As long as he ignored the fact that she’d stolen his heart many, many years ago and he didn’t have a clue as to how to get it back.

Ben pulled into a parking place down the block from the café, radioed in that he was going to lunch but would be carrying his handheld if he was needed, then grabbed his tan Stetson that matched the rest of his uniform from the passenger seat of the patrol car.

A few moments later he was striding toward the Windsong Café, a muscle ticking in his tightly clenched jaw.

Laurel frowned as Ben Skeeter entered the café. She turned immediately to see if any of her orders were ready to be picked up, despite the fact she’d done that two seconds before.

Darn the man, she thought. Doesn’t he ever have any leftovers in his refrigerator at home he could eat for lunch? Or get an urge for fast food, like the rest of the population? Oh, no, not Ben. He had to show up here at the Windsong Café day after day and cause her heart to race and memories to assault her.

Ben. Oh, Ben, Laurel thought, still not moving. There was a time when they had shared everything—hopes, dreams, secrets, plans for the future, their hearts, minds, bodies, the very essence of who they were. They’d been so much in love, so connected that they’d envisioned themselves as one entity.

But that was then, and this was now, and since she’d arrived back in Willow Valley they’d attempted to avoid each other. When they did meet, they were polite, exchanged brief greetings, but never made eye contact. They were strangers now, separated by ten years and shattered dreams. She would continue to keep her distance from Ben just as she’d done since she’d come home.

There was just one thing wrong with that grand plan, she thought dismally.

She was still deeply in love with Benjamin Skeeter.

Ben sat in the first booth and swept his gaze over the café. It had the same motif as it had when Jimmy and Jane Windsong had opened for business years before. It had red vinyl booths along the front to afford a view out the windows, stools at the counter and wooden tables in the space beyond. An old-fashioned jukebox was against the far wall, and plastic-coated menus were nestled between metal napkin holders and the salt and pepper shakers.

It wasn’t fancy. Never had been. But it was homey, inviting. The food was down-home cooking—hamburgers and fries served in red plastic baskets, meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy, chili and corn bread, pot roast and vegetables and other offerings that a person might have enjoyed at their mother’s or grandmother’s table.

Lush plants hung in woven baskets suspended from the ceiling by nearly invisible wires. The wall where the jukebox stood also boasted an enormous corkboard where pictures drawn by children were held in place by pushpins. Visitors as well as local kids were invited to add to the ever-changing display, and crayons and paper were available on the tables.

“Hey, Sheriff,” someone called.

“Hey, Cadillac. What brings you into town?”

“I need me some feed for my goats,” Cadillac said from where he sat on a stool at the counter. “Figure I’ll have me some of Missy Windsong’s meat loaf while I’m here.”

“Good thinking,” Ben said. “Things quiet on the rez?”

Cadillac shrugged and turned back to his lunch, and Ben knew that was the end of the conversation. When Navajos were done talking, they were done. Where they stopped speaking in an interchange didn’t always make sense, but that was just the way it was. Always had been, always would be.

Good ole Cadillac, Ben mused. No one knew his age, and his weathered face said he could be anywhere between forty and sixty. Whatever his last name was, it had been so long since it had been used he doubted anyone remembered what it was, maybe even Cadillac himself.

He was a little slow in the thinking department and loved gossip more than breathing, it seemed. But he had a heart of gold, would give a man the shirt off his back if he figured that guy needed it more than he did.

“Lunch?”

Ben glanced up to see Laurel standing next to the table with a pad and pencil in her hands.

“Hamburger, fries, coffee,” Ben said, shifting his gaze to the tabletop. “Please.”

Laurel wrote on the pad, spun around and hurried away.

There were, Ben thought, about ten people staring at him at this point to see if this was the day that more than a lunch choice would be communicated between him and Laurel Windsong. Ever since she’d come home, people who knew Ben and Laurel’s history had been watching and waiting for something—anything—to happen between them.

But nothing ever did.

And nothing ever would.

What they’d had together was over, long gone, smashed to smithereens the day that Laurel left Willow Valley for Virginia. Why she was back all of a sudden, he didn’t know, but it had nothing to do with him. She’d stopped loving him ten years before, and maybe someday he’d figure out how in the hell to stop loving her.

Laurel clipped the paper with Ben’s order onto the revolving metal circle at the top of the pass-through window between the kitchen and the main section of the café.

Darn, darn, darn, she fumed as she refilled Cadillac’s coffee mug. It had happened again. Just because she’d asked Ben Skeeter what he wanted for lunch, just because she had been so close to him, could smell that unique fresh-air aroma of his, see the thick black hair she used to run her fingers through when they… Just because Ben existed, for crying out loud, her heart had gone crazy and her hands had trembled slightly when she’d clipped the order slip into place.

Ben was tall for a Navajo, she mused, just over six feet, and filled out that uniform to perfection, the tan material accentuating his tawny skin and dark hair. His chiseled features with high cheekbones, straight blade of a nose and oh-so-kissable lips were a study in masculinity personified.

This had to stop, Laurel thought. If Ben ever became aware of the reaction she still had to being in close proximity to him, she’d be totally mortified. Being near her certainly didn’t bother him, that was for sure. Granted, he didn’t meet her gaze, but that was because he still hated her for leaving Willow Valley ten years ago.

His voice was flat when he spoke to her, even sounded rather bored when he ordered his lunch, and he didn’t bother with the simplest social questions of how she was doing, or her opinion of the weather.

No, she was nothing more to Ben Skeeter than a bad memory. If it wasn’t for the fact that he truly enjoyed the food at the Windsong Café he probably wouldn’t even come in there. Ten years had thoroughly erased any feelings he had for her.

A woman in her early thirties entered the café and called a greeting to Laurel, bringing her from her tangled thoughts. The attractive woman took the booth in front of Ben’s and scrutinized the menu as Laurel came around the counter, zoomed past Ben without a glance and stopped at the second booth.

“Hi, Marilyn,” Laurel said. “It’s so nice to see you. How’s business at the beauty shop?”

“Busy, busy,” Marilyn said. “My feet are killing me already and it’s only lunchtime. I decided to have a Windsong special to fortify myself for the afternoon instead of the yogurt I brought from home.” She looked at the menu again. “Mmm. What do I want? Here we go. A BLT on whole-wheat toast and a glass of milk. Oh, dear, don’t tell me that May baked some goodies.”

Laurel smiled. “Okay, I won’t inform you that May made fresh cherry pie, pumpkin with whipped cream and an apple cobbler to die for. Those words will not pass my sealed lips.”

“You’re cruel,” Marilyn said, laughing. “I haven’t been able to resist May’s cobbler since I moved here, as evidenced by the width of my hips. I’ll have some, of course.”

“Got it,” Laurel said, writing on the pad. “And there’s nothing wrong with the width of your hips, Ms. Montgomery.” She paused. “Marilyn, I’m trying to decide if I should cut my hair.”

“No,” Ben said sharply, before he was even aware that he had spoken.

Laurel’s head snapped around to stare at Ben in shock at the same moment that Marilyn shifted in the booth to look at him, and Cadillac spun on his stool with the same intention. Jane Windsong was just placing Ben’s order in its red plastic basket on the pass-through ledge, and her hand halted in midair. Three other men next to Cadillac at the counter dipped their heads to steal a peek at Sheriff Skeeter.

“Oh? You don’t think Laurel should cut her hair, Ben?” Marilyn said, a delighted twinkle dancing in her eyes.

A trickle of sweat ran down Ben’s chest, and he immediately thought of ten places he’d rather be than sitting in that booth in the Windsong Café with half the world staring at him and waiting eagerly for his answer.

“Well…um…” he said. “Laurel is very visible here at the café because she works out front, not in the kitchen. Visitors expect to see Native Americans when they come to Willow Valley, and her hair…contributes…to the…um…image. I was simply reacting to what she said from a…practical, business standpoint.”

“Ah,” Marilyn said, then faked a cough to cover a burst of laughter as she turned back around in the booth.

“Why don’t I believe that?” Cadillac mumbled, shaking his head.

“That young man’s nose is going to grow,” Jane said under her breath, finally placing the red basket on the ledge. “Laurel,” she called, “Ben’s order is up.”

“Dandy,” Laurel said, stomping over to get it. She brought it to Ben’s table and plunked it in front of him. “Here. I’ll get your coffee.”

“Thanks,” Ben said, reaching for a napkin.

Laurel left, then returned with a mug and the coffeepot, bending over slightly as she filled Ben’s mug.

“What on earth is your problem?” she whispered. “You just embarrassed me to death, Ben Skeeter. My hair is none of your concern.”

“I didn’t mean to speak out loud,” he said, his voice hushed. “I was as surprised as you were that I said…” He snatched up the ketchup bottle that was at the end of the table, took off the lid and shook the bottle over the fries. “You’re not really considering cutting your hair, are you, Laurel?”

“Maybe,” Laurel said, lifting her chin. “Maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Don’t do it, Laurel,” Ben said, looking directly into her dark eyes. “Your hair is so beautiful, so silky and… I remember how it felt when I…” He cleared his throat and switched his gaze to his lunch. “Aw, hell, I just dumped half a bottle of ketchup on these fries.”

Laurel opened her mouth to say something snappy regarding adding an extra charge to Ben’s bill for the extravagant use of the ketchup, but immediately realized she had absolutely no air in her lungs to let her speak.

She rushed behind the counter, put the coffeepot back where it belonged, then was amazed that she remembered to clip Marilyn’s order into place. When she turned again, Cadillac and the three men next to him were all grinning at her.

“What!” she said none too quietly.

“Gotta go get me some goat feed,” Cadillac said, sliding off his stool.

“Me, too,” the man next to him said.

“You don’t got no goats, Billy,” Cadillac said.

“Oh,” Billy said. “I’ll watch you buy feed for yours, then.”

“’Kay,” Cadillac said, dropping some money on the counter.

The other two men decided quickly that they’d tag along for the inspiring trip of watching Cadillac buy goat feed. None of them waited for their change or looked at Sheriff Skeeter as they beat a very hasty retreat from the Windsong Café.

Ben sighed and began to scrape some of the ketchup off his fries with a fork. The bottom of the hamburger bun was now soaked with ketchup, so he resorted to eating the demolished meal with a knife and fork rather than attempt to pick up the burger.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was really hungry, Ben thought, he’d hightail it out of here. Man, what a jerk he’d made of himself. He had just engaged in the first one-on-one conversation he’d had with Laurel since she’d returned to Willow Valley and he’d come across as a complete idiot.

But, man, the mere image in his mind of Laurel cutting off that gorgeous silky hair of hers had rattled him. His drill-sergeant sounding “No” had popped right out of his mouth and… Oh, jeez.

Then Laurel had bent over and whispered at him, fury radiating in those fathomless dark eyes of hers. She wore the same light floral cologne she’d always used, and when she’d looked directly into his eyes it had taken every bit of willpower he had not to slide his hand to the back of her neck, bring her lips to his and…

Ben shifted in the booth as heat rocketed through his body, and he looked around quickly to be certain no one was watching him.

Cadillac and his cronies were no doubt down at the feed store, he thought dismally, relating what had happened at the Windsong Café between the sheriff and Laurel and cackling with pleasure to be the ones to spread the gossip. The tourists in the café had no idea what had transpired. But the locals? He didn’t even want to think about it.

Ben finished what he could salvage of his lunch, placed money on the table then picked up his Stetson and his handheld from next to him in the booth. He slid out, turned and bumped squarely into Laurel, who was carrying Marilyn’s lunch. He gripped one of Laurel’s shoulders with his free hand to steady her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not releasing his hold on her. “I didn’t see you there. Did anything spill? No, it looks fine.” He nodded. “Good. Okay.”

“May I pass, please?” Laurel said, looking at a button in the middle of Ben’s shirt.

“In a minute,” he said, his hand still on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you about the hair-cutting business. I was way out of line.”

“Yes, you were, Sheriff Skeeter. Marilyn is waiting for her lunch.”

Ben placed his Stetson on his head, the handheld under his arm, took the plate and glass of milk from Laurel, then turned and delivered them to a startled Marilyn.

“Enjoy your lunch,” Ben said, then went back to where a stunned Laurel was still standing. “Do you or do you not accept my apology for speaking out of turn about you cutting your hair?”

“No, I don’t,” Laurel said, planting her hands on her hips, “because Cadillac and his buddies are going to have a field day with what happened in here. The whole thing is going to be blown way out of proportion by the time it gets passed from person to person.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And to add to the mix,” Laurel continued, “if I cut my hair, it will appear that I’m throwing a tantrum because you said I shouldn’t. If I don’t cut it, it will be perceived that Laurel Windsong is doing what Ben Skeeter told her to, obedient thing that she is.”

Ben grimaced.

“I could take a couple inches off your hair, Laurel,” Marilyn said from where she was sitting. “That might muddle the minds of the general populace of locals. You got a haircut, sort of, but then again, you didn’t. So? How’s that?”

“I’ll give it some thought,” Laurel said.

“Eat your lunch, Marilyn,” Ben said, frowning.

Marilyn laughed. “You’re getting crabby, Ben Skeeter. You’re the one who caused this whole fiasco. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

Ben’s handheld squawked, and he nearly hugged it for ending the conversation.

“Gotta go,” he said. “See ya.”

As Ben hurried out the door, Laurel watched him go, then began to clear the dishes from the booth where he’d been sitting.

“Well, it took four months or so, Laurel,” Marilyn said, “but you and Ben finally said more than three or four words to each other. Interesting. Very interesting.”

“Eat your lunch, Marilyn,” Laurel snapped, which caused the owner of the beauty shop to dissolve in laughter.

To Laurel’s amazement, the following hours went quickly and she was actually able to blank her mind due to the fact that they were extremely busy at the café. She and the other two waitresses hustled back and forth. Jane and her assistants in the kitchen never stopped preparing meals as well as afternoon snacks of May’s homemade pastries.

During the lull before the dinner crowd began to appear all the tables and the counter were given a scrubbing, the floor was swept, salt and pepper shakers filled, and on and on.

It was only when Laurel had to replace the ketchup bottle that Ben had nearly emptied onto his lunch that the entire episode began to replay, frame by frame, in her mind.

Ben didn’t want her to cut her hair, she mused as she checked the supply of napkins in the metal holders. He’d even said that her hair was beautiful and that he could remember how it had felt when…

Laurel sank onto a stool at the counter, plunked her elbow on top and rested her chin in her palm as she stared into space.

Goodness, she thought, this was so confusing. Why should Ben care one way or another what she did with her hair? And why had he been able to remember so quickly how it had felt when… This didn’t make sense at all. Ben Skeeter despised her, saw her as the person who had broken his heart by breaking her promises. So why…

“You look deep in thought,” Jane said, sliding onto the stool next to her daughter. “We’ve been so busy we haven’t had a second to talk all day. Are you all right after your…encounter, shall we say, with Ben?”

Laurel sighed. “I guess so. The whole thing was…confusing. That’s the word my mind keeps coming back to because it describes it the best. Confusing.” She paused. “Thank goodness that the majority of the customers today were tourists and I didn’t have to deal with the locals staring at me like a bug under a microscope.”

“That will come,” Jane said, laughing. “People have been watching you and Ben ever since you came home, and something finally happened between the two of you. Ben Skeeter definitely does not want Laurel Windsong to cut her hair. I imagine that news flash has been delivered through town and out to the rez by now.”

“Great,” Laurel said glumly. “What would we do without Cadillac? We have him, so we ought to do away with telephones.”

“All you can do is hope some fresh gossip comes along very quickly,” Jane said. “Like…oh, I don’t know…someone robs the bank.”

“Not going to happen,” Laurel said.

“Nope,” Jane said. “You’re just going to have to grin and bear this until people get tired of talking about it.” She stared into space. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when Ben hollered that you were not to cut your hair. That man certainly has a strong opinion on the subject, doesn’t he?”

“Mother,” Laurel said, sitting up straight on the stool, “you’re doing what everyone else is doing by now. You’re speculating about what happened and enjoying every minute of it. Shame on you. Where is your loyalty to your only child?”

“Well, honey,” Jane said, smiling, “you must admit it was quite a show.”

“It was a confusing show, that’s what it was,” Laurel said, sliding off the stool. “And I don’t wish to discuss it further, thank you very much.”

“Yes, dear. I understand,” Jane said. “Well, I’m going home for a while and put my feet up before it’s time for the dinner crowd. Everything is under control here. Do you want to come with me?”

“No, I feel edgy, restless,” Laurel said. “I think I’ll go for a walk and—oh, that’s brilliant. If I stroll down the sidewalk, everyone will pounce on me. Yes, Mother, I’ll drive home with you. And once I get there, I’m going to hide in my closet.”

Chapter Two

At the small house where Jane and Jimmy Windsong had lived during their entire marriage, Jane decided to walk down the block and check on an elderly woman neighbor who had been a bit under the weather.

Laurel wandered into her bedroom, slipped off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, hoping to take a nap for no other reason than it would give her a reprieve from replaying in her mind yet again what had happened with Ben at the café.

After staring at the ceiling for fifteen minutes, she sighed, gave up the attempt and sat up on the edge of the bed to look out the window facing the tiny backyard. A playful breeze chased a colorful autumn leaf across the expanse, swirled it around then picked it up and carried it away to yet unknown adventures.

Ten years ago, Laurel thought, she had been like that leaf. She’d left the familiar, this bedroom in the home where she’d grown up, the charming town of Willow Valley, her mother, friends and…and Ben. She’d traveled across the country to Virginia to attend the college that had awarded her a scholarship, obtained her degree then begun her career as a high school psychologist.

She’d been brimming with optimism and enthusiasm, had been convinced that she was going to accomplish great things, help the troubled youths entrusted to her care, make a difference in their lives. She would unravel their confusion, untangle their problems, bring smiles to the frowning faces of those who sought her out.

Laurel shook her head and wrapped her hands around her elbows as she continued to stare out the window.

Such lofty dreams and goals she’d had, she thought. She’d ignored the yearning for those she loved in Willow Valley, the chilling homesickness that had woken her in the night to stare into the darkness, feeling so alone.

The lack of money had not allowed her to come home often during the years she was away. But when she had returned for visits, she’d savored every moment, wrapped the memories of her time here around her like a warm, comforting blanket. She’d spent hours with her best friend, Dove Clearwater, talked long into the night with her mother, gone for walks among the tall pine trees with Grandfather, listening intently to every word of his quietly spoken wisdom.

But she hadn’t spoken to Ben Skeeter.

They had not had a private conversation in over ten years…until today at the Windsong Café.

Ten years, Laurel mused, watching a squirrel chattering to another one in the backyard. Ten years had gone by, and here she sat in the bedroom of her youth, having come—no, run—home four months ago to seek solace like a trembling child in the arms of her mother. Jane Windsong was the only person in Willow Valley who knew what had happened in Virginia.

She hadn’t even told Dove or Grandfather why she had returned so suddenly. But because they cherished the ways of the Dinet, the People, the Navajos, neither would pressure her for an explanation. Their beliefs stated that if they asked her the question four times, she was honor-bound to tell the truth, but neither would do that. She was so grateful for that, because she just couldn’t bear to tell them that she had… No.

Laurel got to her feet.

She was thinking too much again, she admonished herself, dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed and depressing herself. She had to quit this pity-party nonsense she kept indulging in, start distancing herself emotionally from what had taken place in Virginia and move forward with her life.

Forward? Toward what? she thought as she walked across the small room. To a future working side by side with her mother at the Windsong Café? Her mother seemed perfectly happy with her existence as it was, but…

“Oh, stop thinking, Laurel Windsong,” she said aloud, with a cluck of self-disgust. “Just turn off your mind and shut up.”

She went down the short hallway, through the medium size living room and on to the kitchen, where she found her mother sitting at the table with a cup of tea and the evening newspaper.

“Hi,” Laurel said. “How’s Mrs. Henderson feeling?”

Jane smiled. “She was on her way out the door to play canasta. Claimed she was as good as new.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Laurel said, sitting down opposite her mother. “May I ask you something?”

Jane set the newspaper aside. “Of course.”

“Dad died when I was sixteen,” Laurel said. “During all these years you’ve been alone have you ever considered the possibility of marrying again? You’re only forty-six years old, Mother, which means you’re facing many, many years yet on your own. Wouldn’t you like someone to share your life with?”

“My goodness,” Jane said. “Where is this subject coming from?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I try to envision my own future and it’s just a foggy mess. Then my mind bounces around and I think about you. I was just wondering if you’re as happy and contented with your existence as you appear to be.”

Jane laughed. “Ah, my daughter the psychologist is attempting to delve into my mind. Well, good luck with that, my sweet girl. But to answer your questions… Yes, I am very contented and happy. As far as marrying again? No. That will never happen.

“Jimmy Windsong won my heart when I was fifteen years old, Laurel, and he still possesses it even though he isn’t here with me. He’s the only man I have ever—will ever—love. I married him at eighteen, had you at nineteen, started the Windsong Café with him and there I’ll be until I’m old and creaky.

“The love I shared with your father was so rare and beautiful, Laurel. It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I’d never have anything like it again. Since I’m not willing to settle for less, I have no intention of ever remarrying. I believed that you and Ben had that same kind of love, but… Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was very insensitive on my part.”

“That’s all right,” Laurel said quietly. “I thought Ben and I had something special, too, but I was wrong. I wanted to go to college, but he refused to understand that, to wait for me.

“You know what happened. He gave me an ultimatum. Stay here in Willow Valley while he went to the police academy in Phoenix, then marry him when he returned or we were done, finished, over. And that was that. Laurel Windsong and Ben Skeeter did not have the kind of love that Jane Nelson and Jimmy Windsong did. Not even close.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Jane said.

“Mother, facts are facts. I was determined to go to college and Ben… Never mind. I keep doing this. I keep dwelling on the past and I’m driving myself crazy. It’s my future I should be thinking about. What on earth am I going to do with my life? Please don’t take offense, but I don’t see myself being fulfilled by working with you at the café year after year after year.”

“Of course you don’t,” Jane said. “That café wasn’t your dream, it was your father’s and mine. You’re just stopping off there at the moment until you get things settled in your mind. You’re still healing from what happened in Virginia, Laurel. Be patient. Be kind to yourself. Take one day at a time for now and wait for the inner peace to start to blossom within you. It will come.”

“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 evident 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 vivid 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?”

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