2

 

“Why do you keep defending him?” Ryder asked when they’d settled into Ali’s car. Resentment ripped him to shreds and he struggled to remember the Bible verse, Ecclesiastes 7:8, Mama Stallings had shared with him so long ago.

“Patience is better than pride.”

But, Mama Stallings was gone, forever. The loss left a cold, dark cavern in his gut. His mind reeled, but none of the thoughts merged to become anything coherent.

Mama Stallings is gone…

“Defending who?” Ali’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Larder.”

“John?”

“Am I speaking a foreign language?” Ryder gazed out the window. The foothills of the Smokies, draped in a blanket of kudzu that seemed to devour the lush landscape like an invincible green monster, soared against a sky that was just becoming alive with hints of a magenta-orange swirl. He drank in the vivid colors, awed after so many months spent in a desert-brown landscape. At his military post, the only green for miles was growing on food left out in the heat for too long. “I asked, in English, why do you keep defending him?”

Ali tugged a pair of sunglasses from a holder on the visor and propped them over the bridge of her nose. A hand smoothed her blonde hair before tucking a strand behind one ear as she merged onto the highway. Traffic was light as it was barely six o’clock. But even at this early hour, after a night spent tending to Mama Stallings and the grief that accompanied her loss, Ali’s beauty shined. “John asked me to marry him.”

Ryder choked on his gum. For a moment, all he could do was cough, his eyes tearing as sunlight burned over the horizon. Finally, painfully, the words came. He worked to hold his voice light and steady. “And you said no, right?”

“Why do you care what I said?” Ali’s glossed lips pursed as she switched on the radio. Classical music drifted through the cab. “Our ship sailed a long time ago, Ryder, and you never even left the dock.”

“But, I wanted to.” How could he explain that he’d left to protect her…from him, from what he’d become?

“Wanting something and taking action are oceans apart.”

“So, you’d just settle for a loser like Larder?”

“A life with John would not be settling.” She lifted her chin, skimmed her hair back once again with fingers that were perfectly manicured. It was shorter now, and straight. She looked polished and efficient and had lost the carefree, sun-kissed look he remembered so fondly. Her eyes, once a shimmery, laughing green, were all business. “He’s going to be police chief.”

“So I heard.”

“He has goals…and ambitions.”

“So do I.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Besides, he’s an egocentric tyrant.”

“How would you know? You’ve been gone—”

“I know how long I’ve been gone. That’s beside the point.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“I’m…” What was he? Ryder clamped his mouth shut. Another of Mama Stallings’s favorites, James 1:19, came to mind.

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.”

Ryder drew a long, heated breath. He was certainly being tested now. A cursory glance at Ali’s hands on the steering wheel told him she wasn’t wearing a ring—at least not on that finger. He’d always loved her hands…the long delicate fingers that skimmed over piano keys with the ease of someone who enjoyed the gift of music.

And, he hadn’t been gone so long that he forgot her stubborn streak. A challenge—an argument—would only make her want whatever they were at odds about that much more. So, he changed the subject.

“You’re running Willow Inn now?”

“Yes. I bought it last year.”

“From your parents?”

“They were ready to sell, and I wanted it free and clear. They retired to Arizona. After what happened to Josh…well, they just couldn’t seem to find their rhythm again. So they decided to pull up stakes, move on.”

“Away from here? From you?”

“It only hurt for a little while. I’ve…adjusted.”

The pulse at her clenched jaw told him otherwise. She’d always been close to her parents, and knowing he was partly to blame for the rift stung. He reached for her hand, tucked it gently in his, and was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t resist. “I’m planning to stay for a while, Ali, so I’ll need a room at the inn if you have one available.”

She gulped hard, her gaze glued to the road. “You’re in luck. It’s slow this time of year, so I think I can manage.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and tugged in a way he found familiar. “But, I thought you came to see Mama Stallings.” She suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights as her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ryder. I mean—”

“I came to see you, too, Ali.” He leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek gently, repeating Mama Stallings’s wise words. “It’s time.”

Ali gulped and brushed away a tear as it slipped down one cheek. “I know you loved her so.”

“She was good to me when no one else cared to give me the time of day.” He brushed a thumb along her jawline, gathering another stray tear. “No one else except you.”

“Please, Ryder.” She shifted in the seat. “I can’t concentrate on the road.”

He grinned. “I still have that effect on you, don’t I?”

“It’s the glare.” She adjusted her sunglasses. “What happened to your leg?”

Ryder grimaced. She might as well have doused him in ice water. “Slight run-in with artillery.” Stiffness nipped and he massaged the muscle along his thigh, feeling the familiar ridge of scar beneath the fabric of his jeans. “It’s nothing.”

“In my meager experience, no run-in with artillery is ever slight.”

Ryder bit his tongue. No use in inciting a full-blown argument. As they neared the lake, the landscape smoothed and gentled. A hush enveloped them, back-dropped by a piano melody streaming from the radio. The air sweetened with the scent of hyacinth that bloomed along the water’s edge. Ryder knew how much Ali loved the scent; when they were kids she often cut the flowers and wove them into her hair.

“It’s still beautiful,” Ryder murmured as he lowered the passenger window. A warm spring breeze rushed through the sedan’s cab. “Just as I remember.”

“You expected different?” Ali brushed tears from her cheeks as they turned onto the long, winding drive that led to the inn.

“It’s been a while.” Ryder sucked down a breath. The road was no longer packed gravel, but had been black-topped. Bradford pears that Ali’s dad had planted years before grew tall and rounded, forming a generous canopy of white blooms along the pavement. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“You may be surprised by the things that have changed around here…and those that haven’t.”

Ryder chewed on that a moment, swallowed hard as he wondered just how much she had changed.

“There’s the inn.” As Ali motioned, her lips curved into a smile. Light danced in her almond-shaped eyes. There was no denying—she loved the place.

Willow Inn rose like a sentinel nestled atop a cove along the prettiest inlet of the quiet lake, bordered by woods he and Ali had spent hours exploring as kids. Graceful willows danced along the lakeside, their wispy arms swaying in a breeze that kissed and caressed.

“What happened to all the flowers—the rock gardens and the koi pond?” Though the building itself appeared to be meticulously-maintained, the grounds, once exploding with a plethora of flower beds, were barren and lifeless.

“A vicious storm blew through last summer. It felled several trees and tore up a lot of the grounds. You know I didn’t inherit my dad’s green thumb. Let’s just say it’s been a challenge to restore the gardens. I really need to hire someone, but money’s a bit tight right now.”

“I could help with that.” Already, the cogs were turning. “I know a thing or two about landscaping.”

“There’s no need, Ryder.” Ali shook her head stiffly. “You have your own business to take care of. Mama Stallings—”

Ryder didn’t want to think about that—not yet. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he’d never see Mama again, never share her timely words of wisdom. He didn’t want to remember the way the sweet but opinionated woman had taken him in and cared for him, fed him and comforted him while his dad got lost in an endless string of benders. No, Ryder didn’t want to think about how he’d never hear her gentle, coaxing voice again when he showed up on her doorstep exhausted and scared. He’d never again devour crispy chicken she fried especially for him when hunger gnawed his belly like a sewer rat. “It won’t be the same without your folks here.”

“You’ll get used to it. I have.”

“They still blame me, don’t they?”

“They never blamed you for what happened, Ryder.” Ali shook her head. “There’s no one to blame. It just…happened.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Remembering her brother’s funeral and the grief that accompanied it, Ryder had a hard time clearing the lump from his throat to continue. “Honestly, Ali?”

She kept her gaze trained to the road, her shoulders stiff. Her silence was all the answer Ryder needed. He twined his fingers with hers once again, held on as if his life—his entire future—depended on it.

“I’m so sorry.”

 

****

 

Ali sighed as she shoved open the front door of the inn and crossed the threshold. Stepping into the Willow Inn was like being enfolded in a warm embrace. She never grew tired of the peace that surrounded her here. Even when every guest room was filled and her to-do list overflowed, she felt content. She inhaled the scent of hyacinth from dried blooms scattered in decorative bowls along the entrance way and smiled.

Home. The inn was, and always would be, her home. The thought nestled along her heart, comforting as she wove her way behind the check-in desk and gathered a set of keys from the lock box tucked on a shelf beneath the guest register. She tossed the keys to Ryder.

“Take the room on the third floor. It’s the only one on that level and has its own bath, so you can enjoy your privacy.”

He snagged the keys, jangled them. “I remember where everything is.”

“Right.” She nodded, suddenly remembering how they’d played countless hours of Hide-and-Seek here, even as teenagers. Ryder had always discovered the best hiding places, and she’d never grown weary of searching for him. “I’ll bet you’re hungry, too.”

“You could say that.” The gleam in his eye told her he was hungry in more ways than she cared to imagine. “Missed dinner last night, thanks to your…beau.”

“I’ll have breakfast ready in half an hour. You’re welcome to join the guests.”

“I may just do that.” He paused, grinned so the dimple along his jaw popped. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He turned away and Ali waited until she heard his boots on the wooden stairs. Shaking her head, she strode toward the kitchen.

Seven years and he calls out of the blue, and then shows up on the doorstep with nothing more than an overnight bag? What’s up with that?

Alison gathered pans and utensils from cabinets and drawers. She hurried to scramble eggs and get bacon frying. She kneaded dough she’d prepared the night before, slicing it into fluffy buttermilk biscuits on a greased pan. She slipped the pan into the oven and stirred thick, white gravy laden with generous chunks of sausage that warmed in a chafing dish on the dining room buffet.

Good thing the guest list was light—merely two couples. The newlyweds would check out this morning, while a retired pair was booked through the weekend.

Bacon crackled in the frying pan while Ali’s belly grumbled at the mouth-watering aroma. She pressed the power button on the coffeemaker and the machine belched and spat, filling the carafe with a flavorful French-vanilla.

Ali’s gaze wandered to a row of windows that ran the entire length of the dining room beyond. If the weather held, she’d throw them open and let the spring breeze carry its crisp, sweet scent of pine through the inn. She loved to watch the cream-colored sheers billow as the wind swirled and danced around them.

Ryder was home.

As quickly as it had come, Ali’s appetite fled. A hand slipped to her cheek, touching the place where he’d gently kissed her. With a lightning flash of horror, Ali realized she’d missed him—a lot. A lifetime of feelings built on a treasured friendship that flourished into love, rushed over her like a swollen river.

What was she supposed to do with the emotion?

Bacon grease spattered and popped, giving her an answer—file it for later. There was too much work to tend to now. She couldn’t think about anything besides what came next—breakfast for her guests.

Ali returned to the shiny commercial-grade stove. It was one of the reasons money was tight—she’d remodeled the aging kitchen. A double convection oven and walk-in pantry-style refrigerator made food preparation a pleasure she couldn’t resist, while maple cabinets added a stylish flair. She’d always loved to cook, and the guests gave her all the excuse she needed.

She scooped cheese-drizzled scrambled eggs into the chafing dish to the right of the gravy, while the biscuits, now perfectly-browned, were tumbled into a dish to the left. Last, Ali added crisp bacon to the final chafing dish and stepped back, satisfied. The rich aroma was sure to lure guests down to the dining room soon enough.

In the meantime, she poured herself a much-needed cup of coffee and sipped, sighing as she tidied an assortment of jams and flavored butters, sugars and creamers, all tucked neatly into decorative wicker baskets to one side of the buffet.

“You must like to see a man beg.”

Startled, Alison turned to find Ryder in the doorway, one jean-clad hip pressed against the jamb while his height filled the frame.

“What do you mean?” Her voice stuttered and she covered her surprise by turning from him and yanking open the refrigerator door. Cool air stung her flushed cheeks as she retrieved a pair of chilled pitchers filled with orange juice and milk. “I’m just doing what I’ve done every morning since taking over here—making breakfast for the guests.”

“Coffee…bacon.” Ryder ambled over to the buffet and lifted the lid of a chafing dish. “Is this your mom’s gravy recipe?”

“It is.”

“Oh…” He pressed a hand to his chiseled belly as a rumble erupted. “I’m willing to drop to my knees right now.”

She bobbled the pitchers, would have shattered the crystal if Ryder hadn’t stepped forward to rescue them. He set them on the counter.

“Are you OK?” He tucked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head back. “Your cheeks are awfully flushed.”

She dipped her head. “It’s hot in here.”

“Yes, it is.” He winked.

“Grab a plate, Ryder.” Ali wiped her damp palms on her slacks. “Have some breakfast. There’s plenty to go around.”