Chapter Thirteen
Friday morning dawned just like every other morning since she’d been back—a little gray, a little dreary, cold rain drizzling from the sky. Willow didn’t mind. She could smell spring in the air—a mixture of grass and sunshine and better things to come.
She hoped.
The week had been difficult. Lots of drama. Lots of people with lots of opinions about what should happen to Phoebe and Miracle.
Of course, the only opinion that mattered when it came to the baby was Alison’s. She and her team had met. They’d discussed options, and they decided to proceed with the original plan. Willow would bring Miracle home tonight. She’d be keeping her until the family court date. A month from now.
Which was fine.
She was prepared. She had the nursery set up, the drawers stocked with baby supplies. She had cases of the formula the hospital had recommended. She didn’t have the breast milk that Phoebe had pumped and stored in the freezer at her house.
Poor kid.
She’d been released from the hospital and allowed to return home. She hadn’t been allowed to see the baby. As far as Willow had been told, she wouldn’t be allowed. Not until the criminal case against her was closed. The fact that her husband had run off and left her to deal with things on her own . . . It sucked, but there wasn’t anything Willow could do about it. She’d been asked to keep her distance. Alison didn’t want sympathy for the young woman to cloud Willow’s judgment and make her do something stupid.
“You get too close to her, and you’ll start feeling sorry for her, and then you might end up doing something stupid.” Those had been her exact words.
Obviously, she didn’t know Willow very well. She never let her emotions rule her decisions, and she didn’t do stupid things because of them.
“Except for this,” she muttered, tossing her latest batch of fudge in the Dumpster—disposable pan and all.
At least she’d been smart about that.
No more chopping cement-like fudge from Granddad’s good pans. She was using tinfoil ones. Byron had noticed, of course, but he hadn’t said a word. He’d probably also noticed the disappearance and reappearance of hundreds of dollars’ worth of ingredients.
Thank goodness she hadn’t been in a financial hole when she’d arrived. Her fudge-making failures would have put her in the poor house. As it was, she’d reordered from suppliers twice in the past week.
She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.
At least everything else was going well. She’d perfected old-fashioned marshmallows, mint chocolate bars, and about three dozen other recipes that she’d known how to make once upon a time, and now knew how to make again.
It was the just the fudge she was struggling with.
Her archnemesis.
“Because you don’t believe in the magic of it now.”
That’s what Jax had said.
Jax.
She hadn’t seen him since their trip to the hospital. He’d driven her back to the shop, walked her to the door, said good night, and walked away.
She’d known that she probably wasn’t going to see him again. Not in the shop, anyway. Not in her apartment or his car or the hospital. Not any place that they might be alone together. They’d shared too much, and that wasn’t comfortable for either of them. So, staying away from each other? It was for the best. They both had their demons, and they’d been fighting them alone for a long time. It didn’t seem natural to share the burden.
She thought she might want to, though. She thought she just might be willing to take a chance on what she’d seen in Jax’s eyes, what she’d felt in his tender kisses.
The problem was, he didn’t seem willing to take a chance on her.
She walked back into the shop, grabbed fresh ingredients, and started the fudge all over again. Everything else was ready for the day. Byron would be in at seven. He’d open the doors at nine. They’d follow the same routine he’d been following for decades—serving customers, making chocolate, serving more customers. Always with a smile. That’s what customers expected. Great chocolate. Great service. Willow had been doing everything she could to follow her grandfather’s example. She might not be able to make the fudge, but she sure as heck could smile.
Even on the bad days.
Even when the fiftieth batch of fudge hadn’t worked out, and she’d woken up screaming from the nightmare. Even when the hall seemed just as dark as ever and the shadowy corners seemed filled with danger. Even then, she smiled.
A key scraped in the lock and she pasted the damn smile on her face, sure that her grandfather was on his way in. To her surprise, Janelle was there. Hair damp, face makeup free. No mascara. No lipstick. No dress or heels or skirt and jacket.
She wore yoga pants, a fitted T-shirt, a down vest and . . .
Running shoes?
It couldn’t be, but it was. They were right there on her feet—black and teal sneakers that matched her vest.
“Mom?” she asked, and then felt like an idiot.
Of course it was her mother.
Just not the mother she was used to seeing.
“Who else would have a key to the door and walk in at this time of the morning?”
“Byron?”
“He’s never in until seven. It’s only six thirty.”
True, but still . . .
Janelle in Chocolate Haven? Wearing running gear?
“What are you doing out so early?”
“I finished my run and was heading back to the house when I saw the lights. I thought I’d pop in and see if you needed a hand.”
“An extra hand is always good. I’m just starting a batch of peanut butter fudge.” And I’m hoping to heaven you know how to make it, because I sure as heck don’t.
“Peanut butter? That was your father’s favorite.”
“I remember.”
“He loved to add marshmallow to it. Just a little. Do you make it that way?”
“I haven’t yet.”
“Well, let me just wash up, and then I’ll show you how he did it. If my muscles don’t cramp up on me first. Running isn’t as easy as it used to be.”
“I didn’t realize you were ever a runner.”
“Oh. I was. When I was younger. I gave it up when I met your father. We were so busy making a life together, I didn’t have time for it. Of course, back then, I didn’t have so many worries. Now . . .”
“You worry about everything?”
“Of course. I’ve got three beautiful daughters, and I want their lives to be perfect.”
“You know that’s not going to happen, right?”
“Hope springs eternal, honey.” She sighed, measuring out chocolate and peanut butter and a scoop of marshmallow fluff. “Noah says . . .” Her voice trailed off and she blushed.
Blushed.
Janelle Lamont—the Realtor voted most likely to make a deal, the widow who’d never shown any interest in dating after her husband’s death, the mother who’d walked into PTA meetings like she owned the school—was blushing.
“Noah Story?” Willow guessed. He’d taught high school years ago, moved away, and had just recently returned.
“That’s right.” She’d turned on the burner and was stirring the ingredients as if her life depended on it.
“You two hang out a lot?”
“Actually, he’s my running partner.”
“Could you have been any more nonchalant about the fact that you go running with a very nice-looking man?”
“It’s not a big deal. We were having dinner together one night—”
“You had dinner together?”
“I do have a social life, Willow.”
“I know. I just didn’t think you socialized with men.” That sounded just about stupid, so she pressed her lips together and handed Janelle the vanilla.
“Noah and I go way back. We were friends in high school. Anyway, we were having dinner together, and he told me that I’m too tense. He said I worry too much, and it was going to take a toll on my health if I didn’t start burning off some of my anxiety. He’s coaching football at the high school now, and he runs every morning to stay in shape for it.”
“So . . . you decided to go running with him?”
“It took me a while to get on board with the idea, but eventually he wore me down. Now we run three mornings a week.”
“Do Adeline and Brenna know this?”
“Why would they?”
“Because you’re their mother, and you’re going out with an old high school flame.”
“I didn’t say he was an old flame. I said we were friends.” But her blush had deepened. “I also didn’t say we were going out.”
“You went to dinner, and you run together three times a week,” she pointed out, surprised and a little . . .
What?
Not upset.
Unsettled?
“That doesn’t mean we’re going out. It just means we enjoy each other’s company. Besides . . .” She poured the fudge into a pan. “We’re both too busy for relationships.”
For people who were too busy, they sure did seem to be spending a lot of time together.
Willow decided not to point that out. She didn’t want to embarrass Janelle, and she didn’t want to make her feel defensive. “You still might want to mention it to the girls, Mom. People talk and—”
“I know.” That was it. Two words. But there was something in them that made Willow take a closer look at her mother’s face.
She looked younger without makeup. Softer. She also looked upset, the commas that bracketed her mouth a little deeper, her eyes shadowed.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“I need to ask you something, Willow, and I want you to be completely honest with me.” She’d started another batch of fudge, was working through the recipe with ease.
Apparently, Willow really was the only Lamont without the magic touch.
“I’ll try.” Because if her mother had seen the twenty-thousand-dollar check, if she’d heard about it from Brenna or from Jax, if she asked questions about that, honesty might not be part of the discussion.
“No. Really. I need you to tell me the truth. Am I . . . difficult to talk to? Hard to confide in? Am I someone who people just don’t . . . open up to?”
Those were questions she wasn’t expecting. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll take it from your lack of response that I am,” Janelle said, pouring dark chocolate morsels into the fudge base with grim determination.
“I didn’t say that. I’m just wondering why you’re asking.”
“I ran into Millicent yesterday.”
“If she told you you’re difficult to talk to, I think it’s safe to say you can ignore her.”
“I don’t care what she thinks, and that’s not what she said. She said . . .” She glanced at the door, then into the hallway, lowering her voice as she continued. “Did you know that Miracle’s mother was cleaning Millicent’s house? I guess she’d been hired as the housekeeper and was nearly a live-in.”
“I’d heard that.”
“And you also know she’s sick and can’t work.”
Not a question, but Willow nodded. “Yes.”
“That wasn’t working for Millicent. You know how she is—everything beautiful and over-the-top. She likes her house to shine every minute of every day. So, of course, she hired someone else to come in until her regular housekeeper recovered.”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with your question, Mom.”
“She hired Angel.”
Angel? Brenna and River’s loudest, brashest guest?
“But . . . she’s already working at the diner.”
“She wanted a second income. She does have the baby to support. And since she’s young and seems to have an unlimited amount of energy, I don’t think having two jobs will do her any harm.”
“Maybe not.” The fact was, Angel was young. She was also a hard worker. She was a good mother. If she had one major fault, it was that she liked to talk. About things. About people. About private matters that were better left unspoken. If she’d overheard Brenna telling River about the baby . . .
God! Had she told Millicent?
If she had, the entire town had probably heard the news by now.
“I’m sure you’re right. She’ll be just fine,” she said, trying desperately to reroute the conversation to something that wasn’t going to leave Janelle with hurt feelings and ruffled feathers.
“We’ll help her out if she isn’t. That’s how our town is, but that’s not what this conversation is about.”
“No?” Willow grabbed butter from the walk-in and got busy cutting it into tablespoon-sized pieces. She wasn’t sure if they needed it, but she absolutely knew she didn’t want to look her mother in the eyes when she asked about the pregnancy.
And that was coming. She could feel it like a gale-force wind. So, yeah . . . butter cut into chunks, big bars of chocolate broken into smaller ones. Anything to keep her head down.
“Angel told Millicent something, and she told me.”
“Sounds like gossip.”
“It is.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t repeat it.”
“It was about River and Brenna.”
“Mom—”
“Brenna’s pregnant. Don’t tell me you didn’t know, because I’m sure she told you.”
“There were extenuating circumstances.”
“So she did. And I’m sure Adeline knows. Angel knew, so Millicent found out. It seems to me, the entire town knew about Brenna’s pregnancy before I did.”
“Angel must have overheard, Mom. I know Brenna was planning to tell you after she told River.”
“She told you girls first? Before she told her husband? Now I feel even more left out.”
“You weren’t left out.”
“I was just not told? Same thing, Willow. Obviously, I am difficult to talk to. My own daughter doesn’t dare confide in me,” she murmured.
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You know it. How much have you told me about what happened with Ken? How much did Brenna say about what Dan had done? Cheating on her, stealing from her?”
“We just don’t want you to worry.”
“Well, that just makes me worry more.” She poured more fudge and turned to face Willow. “I love you girls, but Noah is right.”
Noah.
Again.
Interesting.
“I need to have my own life. One that isn’t tied so closely to you girls’ accomplishments.”
“Mom—”
“It’s true, Willow. I’ve spent the past few decades trying to make sure you girls had happy, successful lives. But really, all I did was put a wedge between us. You were all fine without my input. You’ll continue to be fine, because you’re wonderful, hardworking people. Just like your father.”
“And you.”
She smiled. “I do work hard, and Noah says I should play hard too. He says that I should let down my hair sometimes, have some fun, enjoy these years when my girls are grown and doing great and I’m still young enough to hike and explore and visit exotic places.”
That was three times now that she’d mentioned Noah, and Willow wasn’t naïve enough to think it didn’t matter.
“He’s right. You’ve worked hard. You’ve sacrificed a lot to make sure we had good lives. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun now.”
“Yes. Well, he’s been saying that for months. Just like running, though, it took me a while to agree. But yesterday? After I heard my own daughter didn’t want to tell me she was pregnant? I called Deanna Witt. She’s a travel agent, you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“She is, and she’s been begging me to go on a cruise with her for five years.”
“You’re going on a cruise?!”
“An Alaskan cruise at the end of May. She’s already booked it.”
“Mom! That’s wonderful!”
“It will be. Noah was right about me needing to take some time for myself. Maybe while I’m on the cruise, I can figure out what I’ve done wrong that Brenna . . .” She shrugged, pouring pecan-studded fudge into a pan.
“She didn’t mean to hurt you.” That, Willow knew, was the truth. Brenna and Janelle butted heads a lot, but neither would ever do something to knowingly hurt the other.
“You know that saying, ‘Hurt people hurt people’? I spent a lot of time thinking about that last night and wondering what I’d done to hurt Brenna. Because that’s the only explanation I can think of for being kept in the dark. I hurt her, and she feels like she can’t trust me.”
“Mom—”
“It’s okay, Willow. Really. It was a catalyst for a good change, right? Me on a cruise? Can you imagine?”
“You’re going to have the time of your life.” She dropped the butter into a bowl, told herself not to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue.
She asked anyway, because she really wanted to know. “Will Noah be there?”
“Where?”
“On the cruise?”
“Of course not. I’m way too old for that sort of thing.”
“You’re not even close to old, Mom.” She kissed Janelle’s cheek and was rewarded with a smile.
“Honey, I’m fifty-six, and I’m feeling every bit of that, but thanks.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “I’ve got to go. I’m showing a property in an hour, and I can’t show up dressed like this.”
“You could.”
“Not if I want to impress the client. He’s looking at some retail space, and he has plenty of money to make it into the pub he’s thinking of opening.”
“In town?”
“Where else?”
“I didn’t realize there was retail space available.”
“There is. Right on the corner of Main and Wesley. That brick building that used to be a bead shop.”
“It closed?”
“Not enough people in town are interested in crafts. There will be a lot more interested in good pub food. Now, I really do have to leave. I’ve got a full schedule today, but tomorrow my day is wide open. I’ll stop by in the morning to see how you and Miracle are getting along. Unless . . . you’ve got someone else coming to help out?”
“Just the nurse, but I’d be happy to have an experienced mother there.”
“An experienced mother whose daughters don’t tell her anything.”
“We do, Mom. The thing is—”
“She can explain. Or not. When she’s ready. Do me a favor. Don’t tell her I know. I don’t want her to think that I’m upset.”
“You are upset.”
“I don’t want her to think it. She’s pregnant. The last thing she needs to worry about are my feelings.”
“I won’t tell her.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” She walked outside and closed the door, and Willow was alone in the kitchen, three pans of beautiful fudge sitting on the counter, her mother’s words still ringing in her ears.
“I’m too old for that sort of thing.”
But of course she wasn’t. Willow could see it in her face and in her eyes.
Byron wasn’t, either.
Willow’s siblings weren’t.
Willow seemed like the lone holdout, the one Lamont destined to always be too old for that sort of thing. She’d sure as heck felt like it when she and Ken were together—already settled in like a couple who’d been married for sixty years. That wouldn’t have been so bad if there’d still been fun times doing interesting things together. All there had been were long nights watching ball games or talking sports or rehashing their busy days and crazy schedules. They’d made dinners for each other and talked politics or weather or work while they ate. It had all been so . . . nice. No arguments. No disagreements. Plenty of compromise. But she hadn’t needed Ken, and he hadn’t needed her.
Which was fine.
It was easy.
It might be what some people wanted.
But Willow? When she’d listened to her mother talk about the way Noah challenged her to be her best self and dared her to try new things, she knew exactly why it had been so easy to walk away from the only long-term relationship she’d ever been in.
“Enough,” she grumbled, grabbing a cutter and pressing it into the peanut butter fudge. The cuts were clean, the fudge beautiful. Janelle had managed what Willow could not.
And not just with the fudge.
She frowned, cutting the second and the third batch.
She was happy for her mother. She was happy for her siblings, for her grandfather, for every love-besotted person in town. She was happy for herself, too, because she could have stayed with Ken. She could have accepted the mediocre relationship and called it good. She could have continued pretending that what they had was enough. She could have spent the next fifty years returning to a silent house, a silent partner, a guy who was more interested in the television than he was in her.
She could have.
She hadn’t.
And she was ecstatic to be free, to have no obligations, to go home to the silence and not have to struggle to fill it.
She dropped the dirty pot into the sink and filled it with water, knowing damn well she was lying.
Truth? She’d gotten a glimpse of what that sort of thing really was. She’d felt it in the gentleness of Jax’s hands, the heat of his lips, the warmth of his breath against her cheek. She’d heard it in every word he’d said to her, all the little secrets they’d shared, all the big ones.
Dot.
His sister’s name.
She’d been thinking about that a lot these past few days. Every time she went to the hospital, every time she held Miracle, she thought about Jax holding his baby sister while she died. That was the kind of thing a person never got over. She understood that. Just like she understood why he’d stayed away.
Yeah.
She understood, but she’d still thought about calling him a dozen times. She’d talked herself out of it, because she didn’t want to start something that would only break both of their hearts.
It would. How could it not? They were both a little broken.
But sometimes broken things were the most beautiful.
And he was.
She glanced at the phone, tempted again. By him, and by the thought of what they might have together.
That’s all it was, though—a pretty little daydream that wasn’t doing a darn thing for either of them.
She scowled, dragging more ingredients from the pantry and starting the fudge all over again.
* * *
Aunt Vera had a hankering for fudge.
At least that’s what she’d been saying every other minute of every other day since Sunday. Jax had ignored her. He knew matchmaking when he saw it, and he’d seen it plenty when it came to his aunt. She’d been trying to set him up with daughters of friends, granddaughters of friends, cousins of friends, and acquaintances of friends since he’d moved back.
Now she wanted to set him up with Willow.
Usually, her efforts amused him.
Not today.
Today, he was tired. He’d worked graveyard and then attended a preliminary hearing for Phoebe Tanner. She’d had a court-appointed attorney with her and had sat silently through the proceedings. She’d been wearing another homemade dress, her hair pulled back in a long braid that made her look like a middle-school kid. He wanted to see her as the villain in the story, but she’d looked more like a victim. By the time he’d left the courthouse and made the hour-long drive to town, he’d been ready to call it quits for the day, but Aunt Vera had begged him to stop for dinner, so there he was, sitting at the dining room table, shoving meat loaf in his mouth and hoping to God he didn’t fall asleep in his mashed potatoes.
“If I just had a small piece of fudge,” his aunt was saying, her eyes big behind thick-lensed glasses, her short hair fluffing around her head. “Just a little one, mind you, I’d feel like the meal was complete.”
“It’s seven. The shop closed an hour ago,” he pointed out.
“Oh, I know that. I placed my order a couple of hours ago. Just one little piece of fudge and then a pound of brittle for you and Jim.” She stood, bustling to the stove and scooping more potatoes onto her plate. She was a tiny thing. Barely five feet and just under a hundred pounds. She ate like a linebacker, though. As a matter of fact, the only time Jax had ever seen his aunt skip a meal was when Uncle Jim had been in the hospital.
“I may have to skip that for tonight. I have a lot of work to do on the house, and I’m planning to go straight there. No stops after this.” Jax loved his aunt, but he wasn’t going to Chocolate Haven to pick up chocolates. Not anytime, but especially not when the place was closed.
He’d already gotten too close to Willow.
He’d already let his thoughts go in directions they shouldn’t. The last thing he needed, the last thing he should want was to be alone with her.
“No worries. Byron said he’d have the order delivered.”
“He’s stopping by?” Jim looked up from the plate of food he’d been picking at. He’d once been a big guy. Huge muscles and broad shoulders. Now he was a shell of himself—thin and weak, but still madly in love with his wife and completely determined to do everything he’d once been able to.
“Not tonight. Someone else is bringing the order.”
“Should I ask who?” Jax asked, carrying his plate to the sink.
“Oh . . . probably one of the girls.”
“One that you specifically requested?”
“Why would I do something like that?” she hedged, her cheeks red.
“Because you’ve got a desperate need to see me married off, and there’s only one Lamont sister who is still available?”
“I’ll have you know that Byron suggested Willow bring the candy. Who was I to argue with the shop owner?”
“Aunt Vera, I love you to pieces, but your matchmaking efforts are never going to work.”
“I’m not matchmaking, and even if I were, what would be wrong with that? You’re thirty-one. A wonderful, handsome, successful young man, and you deserve to have a woman in your life who appreciates that.”
“I do have one in my life.” He finished washing his plate and set it in the drying rack.
“Really? Why didn’t you tell us before?” She grabbed Jim’s hand, her eyes wide with happiness. “Did you hear that, Jim? He’s finally found someone! Who is she, Jax? Anyone we know?”
“That’s a pretty good possibility. Since she’s you.”
Jim laughed. “Good one, kid!”
“Good one? It was horrible. Getting my hopes up like that, only to dash them!” Vera said, but she was smiling, and Jax knew he’d amused and pleased her.
Good. Because he was about to displease her.
He was leaving.
Before Willow arrived.
If that made him a coward, so be it. He knew his strengths, and he knew his limitations. He also knew damn well that he couldn’t keep spending time with Willow and not fall for her.
Hell! He’d probably already fallen.
He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, kissed Vera’s cheek. “I need to get home. Thanks for a fantastic dinner.”
“But . . . you haven’t had dessert!”
“You can have my share.”
“But Jax, really! You and Willow would be perfect together.”
“I know you mean well, but I’m not looking for anyone to be perfect with,” he said gently, because she did mean well.
She just didn’t understand.
Honestly, there’d been a few nights this week when he hadn’t understood either. Intellectually, he knew that there was a greater chance of Willow’s getting struck by lightning than there was of her being targeted and killed because of Jax’s job.
In his heart, though, deep down in that pain-filled empty spot that had once held his parents and his siblings, he was still afraid to risk it.
He opened the door, ready to inhale cold fresh air and let it wipe away the scent of blood and death and fear. He smelled . . . chocolate. Rum-soaked cherries.
Willow.
She’d just reached the top of the porch stairs, and she stopped there, her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure.
She didn’t say anything, just smiled, holding up a cream-colored box.
“Fudge,” she said. “Peanut brittle. And six Bitter Cherry Bonbons.”
She handed him the box, her fingers brushing his. And just that touch was enough to drive every thought out of his head, every worry from his heart.
He should have told her that. Right then. While they were standing on the porch, the quiet sounds of small-town life drifting around them. While he was looking into her eyes and into her face, and thinking that he could have studied both forever and still not learned enough.
“The bonbons?” She spoke into the silence. “I made them just for you. Tell your uncle and aunt I said hello, okay? See you around.”
Then she turned and headed back down the stairs, her wool coat billowing out, her oversize purse slapping against her side, her hair bouncing against her collar. All of her focused on walking away.
And all of Jax was focused on not going after her.