11. Willa
ELEVEN
Willa
I’d lived in Briar Hill for four years, but I’d never actually seen the town.
My arrival had been…well, pretty scary, actually. My papa and a few other men from our homestead had loaded me into a van, the windows tinted. I said goodbye to my sisters. The next day, I’d woken up at the Daley Homestead and met my husband.
Shepherd Daley…forty years my senior, with three other wives and five children, two of them older than me.
I tried very hard not to think about Mr. Daley as we climbed into Forrest’s truck and drove down the gravel driveway…his hand wrapped around mine, holding me tight. I held him back, glad he was there and also wondering why I’d asked to do this.
“You good?” Forrest asked as the gate came into sight. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I said. “I really do. It’s just…”
He nodded, not making me finish the sentence. “I’ll be there with you every step of the way. And the folks at the diner—they know our family. You’re safe. I swear.”
We drove past the gate.
I kept breathing.
“The Daleys aren’t exactly popular in Briar Hill,” he said as the gravel turned to asphalt and the trees cleared. “Never have been. We’ve…a few of us have worried for a long time about what was going on out there.”
“So they won’t like me?” I asked quietly.
“No!” he said, eyes darting over. “No, no…that’s not what I mean.”
“But I’m a Daley.”
“You’re not,” he said. “You were put there at sixteen by men who didn’t ask you what you wanted. That’s not the same thing.”
I looked at our joined hands.
“We don’t have to tell anyone anything,” he said. “You’re Willa. You’re staying at the ranch. That’s all anybody needs to know.”
“And what if I want to tell them?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Then you tell them. You tell everyone…or just a few people. From now on, you don’t do anything you don’t want to.”
I took a deep breath…and it was like I was filling my lungs for the first time since we’d left the cottage.
“You good?” he asked.
I smiled at him. “Yeah. I think I actually am.”
It didn’t take long to get to the Creekside Diner, where Forrest pulled into a spot on the street. There was a patio with a few brave folks bold enough to deal with the heat; most were seated inside, though I could see a few open tables through the window.
And…it was strange. I knew what a diner looked like. I’d seen pictures. I’d picked it up over time, I was sure I’d seen them on a TV or in books, read about it in my novels.
But I’d never been inside a diner.
My stomach growled.
“If you hadn’t been kissing me silly you wouldn’t be so hungry,” Forrest teased.
I frowned. “I thought you were taking responsibility for the eggs.”
“The eggs were my fault,” he said. “The kissing was mutual.”
“You started it.”
“Actually you started it,” he said. “Two weeks ago.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, and got out of the truck.
I was still smiling when he came around and opened my door. It made me less afraid of being out in the open; he took my hand, helped me out, then we walked up to the diner door together. I kept my hand in his…he didn’t seem to mind it.
He only let go of me to open the door and usher me through.
It smelled like coffee and bacon and syrup inside, like more sugar than I’d ever had growing up. I stopped just inside and looked around, Forrest right behind me.
“If there’s any point when you want to leave, you just let me know,” he murmured under his breath. “Marlena’s always willing to let me pay next time I come in.”
“Marlena?”
“She runs the place,” Forrest said. “Stetson’s mom, actually—old family friend.”
A woman appeared as if she’d been summoned, dark hair streaked with silver, wearing an apron over a floral print red dress. She smiled, taking in Forrest’s familiar face…her smile widening when she caught the fact that we were holding hands.
All of a sudden, this was real.
People knew about us…knew he was mine and I was his.
It was strange and perfect.
“Well howdy stranger,” she said, grinning. She was wearing red lipstick, pretty…but I could absolutely tell that Stetson was her son. “Two this morning?”
Forrest’s cheeks flushed and he smiled back at her. “Yup.”
“Haven’t seen you around, sugar,” she said. “New in town?”
“Yes,” I offered. “I mean…not exactly.”
I didn’t have to tell her anything; we were only here for breakfast.
But for some reason, I decided the only possible route was radical honesty.
“I live in town, just never really been um…in town?”
Marlena’s eyes darted to Forrest, then back to me. She took a step closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Willa,” I said softly.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Forrest is a good boy, but if you’re in any trouble—”
I reached out to grasp her hand. “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m…I’m from the Daley homestead?”
Marlena’s eyes slid to Forrest, brows up. “Ah,” she said. Then—to me again: “You know your people have been askin’ around town for you. No one’s said a word, but…I’ll give you the heads-up if I see ‘em.”
I blinked quickly, resisting the urge to cry.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
She patted my hand.
“And breakfast is on me today,” she said, then gestured at the two of us. “Come on, kids. I’ll get you all set up.”
She sat us in a perfect booth—window seat behind enough trees to provide shade and privacy—and brought coffee without asking. A pitcher of cream came next, then some sugar. I ordered a stack of pancakes and a side of bacon; I’d been smelling the syrup since we walked in and I couldn’t resist.
Marlena suggested adding strawberries.
I naturally accepted.
Forrest leaned back in the booth with his coffee, the hint of a smile on his lips.
I cocked my head. “What are you smiling about?”
“You look happy,” he said.
“So do you.”
“I am.”
It was strange to hear him say it so plainly; I’d watched him, gotten to know him over the past weeks…and he’d always had this little bit of sadness to him. Right now, though, he really did look like he was actually happy.
I bit my lip. “So last night…made you happy?”
“Spending time with you makes me happy.”
I blushed. “Can we do it again tonight?”
He reached across the table. “I’ll give you anything you want, Willa.”
Heat moved through me at that, and I looked down at the table—mostly because if I kept looking at him I was going to do something embarrassing in public.
Climb in his lap, maybe?
“Careful,” I warned. “I want an awful lot of things.”
“I know.” His thumb moved across my knuckles. “Feel free to make me a list.”
I could feel my cheeks heat.
I wanted to go home right now.
But Marlena was coming back with our breakfast—the pancakes beautifully dressed up with a spread of strawberries and a cone of whipped cream. Forrest had gotten an omelette, and he opened up his silverware to dig in.
“All set here?” Marlena asked. “Anything else I can get you?”
I swallowed hard, not sure if what I was about to do was a good idea.
But I did it anyway, because that was what I seemed to be doing all the time now.
“Do you think I would be able to get a job here?” I said.
Forrest stopped what he was doing.
Marlena’s brows rose.
“I just—if I’m going to stay, I’ll need a job—”
“You’re free to stay on the ranch as long as you want,” Forrest said, but Marlena was nodding.
“Honey, I am more than happy to make a place for you here, even if it’s just a few hours a week,” she said. “Get you on the payroll because a girl deserves her own paycheck if she wants it, Forrest.”
I laughed under my breath. Forrest raised his hands in surrender.
“Didn’t mean any harm,” he said.
"We'll sort out the paperwork when we sort it out," Marlena said, waving a hand. "You show up Monday, seven AM, I'll show you the ropes.”
I looked between her and Forrest. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Marlena said. “And sweetheart—you don’t have to look to him for permission. You shouldn’t let anyone tell you what to do. Not anymore. Now…enjoy your pancakes.”
I watched Marlena go, then looked back at Forrest.
"I think I just got a job," I said.
He picked up his fork. "Guess you're staying at least until Monday."
I laughed, and he smiled at me over his omelette, easy and warm. Outside the window Briar Hill went about its Tuesday and the coffee stayed hot.
I ate every single strawberry on my plate.