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“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.”
