“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.”
3
Ryder felt like an interloper as he sat in Mama Stallings’s room at the retirement village later that morning, sorting carefully through her things. She’d talked to him briefly once, years ago, about her final wishes.
“
When I’m called home, Ryder, take care of things for me. I’ve left instructions. Here’s the key to the lock box where they can be found.”
He’d been eighteen at the time, barely graduated from high school, and the idea of losing her was beyond what he could bear. So his first reaction was to brush off her words.
“Don’t be silly, Mama. You’re going to live forever.”
But she’d have none of that. She’d placed a bony hand on both of his cheeks, her gaze demanding his full attention.
“Be serious for a moment, Ryder.
Listen to me carefully. This is important.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her tone left no room for argument. He’d sobered long enough to listen, then he’d taken the key she offered and tucked it carefully into his wallet, assuring her,
“Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll take care of things.”
She’d ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek, and even now, Ryder recalled the rose-scented powder that seemed to follow her like a cloud. She must have been old even then, yet Ryder never thought of her in such a way. She’d had more energy—and a sharper tongue—than most twenty year olds he knew. She kept him straight, held him accountable, when no one else could or even cared to. She demanded his respect and he gave it to her, because she gave him what he longed for more than anything—respect in return.
She was the only one in Willow Lake—along with Ali—who ever called him by his given name. To everyone else he was Hawk; a nickname earned for two reasons—because his surname was Hawkins and because he was the fastest runner in his school…so fast people said he appeared to fly over the ground. Like a Hawk. Even his teachers dismissed his given name.
And the gift of speed came in handy on more occasions than he could count—running from his father’s drunken wrath, pursuing those who dared to taunt, and, later on, sometimes running from the law.
And from Willow Lake…and Ali.
Well, he was done running. Like it or not, he’d come home—to stay.
Ryder unearthed the lock box, tucked neatly among a library of large-print books on the very top shelf of one overloaded bookcase. It was smaller than he’d imagined, but heavy. How Mama Stallings had managed to place it way up there he couldn’t begin to fathom.
He set the gray steel on her cluttered roll-top desk and studied it a moment before retrieving the key from his wallet and slipping it into the lock.
The box held three items—a sealed envelope that Ryder imagined contained a letter outlining her final wishes, a bank statement, and a four-by-six color photo. He took up the photo and gasped at the image burned into shiny paper.
Decked in a maroon and gold graduation robe—the signature colors of Willow Creek High—he stood with his arm draped around Ali’s waist, beaming. The two were flanked by friends Mason and Josie, Brody and Catherine, and Hunter, whose dark eyes glanced away from the camera, as if searching for a wish along the horizon. Oh, they were so young and innocent—well, maybe not innocent. Ryder hadn’t been innocent since the day he was old enough to remember the door slamming as his mother took off. He’d seen too much, heard too much to ever be called such a thing. But he’d been young—they all had—for sure. Turning the photo over, he saw a note in Mama Stallings’s signature scrawl.
Ryder, remember the friendship…the love you once shared.
Ryder nodded absently. He remembered. Oh, how he remembered. Ali’s fair skin was sun-kissed, her hair swaying in endless waves along her slim waist. He’d always loved her hair…the silky feel and the way it seemed to shimmer beneath warm sunlight as they swam together in the lake. It was a bit shorter now, but still just as lovely. Ryder’s gut tumbled, and he forced the thought aside.
The photo was almost painful to look at. They’d had so much to look forward to—an unending highway of adventure—and their smiles told the story of carefree summer days ahead, of boundless dreams and wishes.
In their eyes, Ryder saw no hint of the tragedy that would soon devastate a lifetime of friendship…and steal the love that he and Ali had once shared. Ryder wondered what had happened to each of them. Maybe Ali knew…and maybe he would ask, eventually.