Willow in Bloom Page 10

  “Not exactly.” Willow tasted her soup and tried not to breathe too deeply as the odor of warm tuna fish wafted to her. “He doesn’t even remember me,” she confessed.

  Jenna stopped short of raising half her sandwich to her mouth, and her expression reflected both curiosity and alarm. “He doesn’t remember you?”

  “I know. It sounds bad, doesn’t it? But there’s actually a medical explanation for it.” Willow told her about the rodeo accident and Tyler’s amnesia.

  “I know from a neuropsychology class I took in nursing school that the memory functions of the brain can be complicated. Does he have any other problems that way?” her friend asked worriedly.

  “I don’t think so. I believe the only other problem he has is that he gets really severe headaches.”

  Jenna frowned once more. “So you met him in Tulsa and had your fling with him, and now he’s moved to Black Arrow and you’re seeing him again, but he doesn’t know he even met you before, let alone that the two of you had a fling in Tulsa?”

  “Right. And I’m kind of glad he doesn’t.”

  “Why?” It sounded as if Jenna really couldn’t believe that.

  “Because in Tulsa he didn’t even know my right name. Becky has always called me Wyla, and that was how she introduced me to Tyler. And that night Wyla was a whole lot different than the real me. I decided that if Tyler can’t remember Wyla I might as well use that to my advantage and see if I can get him to like Willow.”

  “So you do want him to like you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  What Willow didn’t want was to look at the oil that glistened on the surface of the melted cheese that dripped out of the side of that tuna sandwich, and when she did she felt her stomach do its now-familiar lurch.

  She took a long drink of water to wash back her gorge and raised her gaze to Jenna’s face again.

  But this time Jenna’s expression was different. This time Willow had the sense that her friend had realized more than she wanted her to.

  “Are you okay?” Jenna asked, sounding more like a nurse now than a friend.

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t look well all of a sudden. Is something about this food bothering you?”

  “Tuna. I’m not big on it.”

  “Since when? I’ve seen you eat tuna before.”

  “The soup is good, though,” Willow said, rather than answer Jenna’s question. “Want a bite?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Instead Jenna studied her intently for a moment before she said, “Carl has been reporting to Bram that he thinks something’s wrong with your health.”

  “So I hear,” Willow said, as if it were ridiculous.

  “And Bram said you told him you’d had a touch of the flu. I was going to ask you about that. But now that I think about what Carl told Bram…”

  Time seemed to stand still for Willow. Not only was Jenna a woman, but she was a nurse, too. She was trained to pay attention to symptoms and what they meant. And Willow suddenly felt as if she had Pregnant written in neon across her forehead.

  Maybe she wasn’t too far off, because Jenna’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and she leaned across the table to whisper, “Are you pregnant?”

  Willow didn’t know what to do. She was torn between panic that her secret was out even to that extent, and the deep need to not carry that secret alone anymore.

  And given that and the fact that she’d already trusted Jenna as far as she had, she finally went the rest of the way and nodded her head. Just once. And almost imperceptibly.

  “Oh, wow,” Jenna breathed. “And this guy is the fa—”

  “Shh!” Willow glanced covertly from side to side to make sure no one might have overheard. Then she stared hard at Jenna and said, “Remember, you promised. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “I know. I won’t. But Willow…”

  “I know. It’s a mess.”

  “And he doesn’t remember…anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  It seemed to take Jenna a moment to digest this news and its repercussions, because she just stared into the distance with a perplexed expression on her face. Then she refocused her attention on Willow.

  “Are you hoping that spending time with him will make him remember you?”

  Jenna had always been very perceptive. “Eventually, yes, that would probably help.”

  “Probably help?”

  “Okay, it would help a lot. But since things are the way they are now, I’d rather he didn’t remember me right away. At least not before he’s gotten to know me as myself.”

  Jenna’s brow wrinkled in bewilderment. “This really is—”

  “A mess. I know it only too well. I’m just trying to work it out.”

  “Do you think he likes you? The way he did in Tulsa?”

  Willow shrugged. “I made the first couple of moves—I personally delivered his credit account acceptance and volunteered to help him pick out furniture. But it was his idea to go out last night. And tonight I’m going to his house for dinner—his idea, too.”

  “That’s good. And have there been any more…flings?”

  “No,” Willow said, as if it were the furthest thing from her mind when, in fact, each night since Tyler had walked back into her life she’d tossed and turned with the craving to do just that. And it certainly wasn’t getting easier since he’d kissed her. The kiss had been like a sample to whet the appetite, leaving her wanting so much more…

  “Since you’ve been spending this time together has he seemed to remember you at all?” Jenna asked, breaking into Willow’s wandering thoughts.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “What if he never does? Will you tell him? About Tulsa and about this?” Jenna’s eyes dropped to Willow’s waist.

  “I don’t know. I’m just playing everything by ear right now.”

  “What about the baby?” Jenna only mouthed the last word.

  “What about it?”

  “Do you want it? Are you prepared to raise it alone?”

  “Yes, I want it. It was a huge shock, of course. And at first I was just freaked out. But when I got a little more used to the idea I knew I couldn’t do anything else.”

  “And if you have to raise it alone?” Jenna repeated.

  Willow’s stomach lurched again, but this time nausea and tuna melts had nothing to do with it. “I guess that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Do you want this guy to offer to marry you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Willow said quickly, her tone edged with panic at just the thought. “Right now I’m only thinking about getting to a point where maybe I can tell Tyler. If I decide I want to. I haven’t thought beyond that.” Which was true. It was all too easy to think beyond the simple kiss they’d shared since he’d been in Black Arrow. But to think beyond telling him they’d met in Tulsa and that as a result of it she was pregnant? That was a leap too big for her to make just yet.

  “And your brothers,” Jenna said ominously, as if she’d just remembered that complication.

  “My brothers,” Willow echoed, with an equal dose of dread.

  “That could be bad.”

  “There’s no could be about it. It will be bad.”

  The look on Jenna’s face let Willow know her friend agreed. “I’ll do whatever I can with Bram,” she offered, but she didn’t sound convinced that anything she might do would help.

  “Thanks. But remember, for now he can’t know anything. Not anything.”

  “Don’t worry, I know that. This Tyler guy might not live through the wrath of the Colton brothers if they knew what was really going on. And we want to give him at least the chance to step up and do the right thing. If that’s what you want,” Jenna was quick to add. “But no matter what, you know I’ll do whatever I can to help if you need me.”

  “Thanks,” Willow said again, hoping she wouldn’t need her friend’s help and that everything would work itself out.

  One way
or another.

  Chris Isaak music was playing again when Willow arrived at Tyler’s place after work that evening. After work and a quick dash up to her apartment to shower and change her clothes.

  Willow could see Tyler coming down the stairs inside just as she was climbing the porch steps, since the front door was open and she could see through the screen. Bare feet first. Big, perfectly arched feet that turned out slightly and seemed more intimate a sight than she should be having of him in spite of what they’d shared two months before.

  Then came his long, jean-clad legs and hips, and more skin. He didn’t have a shirt on! Willow’s mouth went instantly dry at the view of his flat stomach rising into the broad V of his muscular chest and shoulders.

  “Hi,” she said in a hurry when he neared the bottom step. His head was down as he dried his hair with a towel, so he hadn’t seen her. But she was afraid that might change in an instant and he’d catch her gawking at him.

  Up came his chin at the sound of her voice. His hands stopped rubbing abruptly, and the surprise on his handsome, whisker-shadowed face was replaced with a smile that radiated pleasure, without a bit of embarrassment that he’d been found half-dressed.

  “There’s my traveling pie maker!” he said with a grin as he came to the screen.

  “I was just about to knock.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have heard it over the music, anyway. Come on in,” he invited, pushing the screen open for her.

  He smelled of soap and shampoo as she passed in front of him, carrying the paper grocery sack full of the things she needed for the pie.

  “Am I too early?” she asked.

  “Nah. I’m running late. Once I got started picking fruit I hated to stop. I haven’t even done any peeling yet, but I thought I could do that while you put the crust together or whatever you do before you need the apples.”

  “Okay.”

  He had draped the towel around his neck and was hanging on to the ends with each hand before he remembered his manners. “Here, what was I thinkin’. Let me take that bag,” he said, reaching for it.

  “It isn’t heavy,” Willow assured him.

  But he took it anyway, indulging in a long look at her when he had.

  “I feel ashamed to have you baking pie lookin’ so good,” he said then, referring to the light-blue sundress she had on.

  Willow had worried that it might be not quite right for what they had planned. But knowing she wouldn’t be seeing anyone else—especially her brothers—had made her feel more free to wear the first dress she’d worn in Black Arrow since the Easter Sunday she was eleven.

  “It’s cool. I thought that would be a good idea if I was going to be in the kitchen with the oven on on a ninety-degree day.”

  “Makes sense to me,” he said with a slight nod of his handsome head.

  Then, after another moment of gazing at her appreciatively, he seemed to notice the music that was still blaring.

  “Let me turn this down.”

  He went into the living room, taking the sack with him, and lowered the volume on his stereo.

  “I like Chris Isaak, too,” Willow said when she’d followed him into the other room and the sound was low enough for him to hear her.

  “I was actually never a big fan before, but something about it since the accident has been so appealing I play it all the time now.”

  That struck a note with Willow. The night they’d spent together in Tulsa, Chris Isaak music had been playing loudly enough in the room next door for them to hear it through the walls. Willow had thought of it as wonderful background music. But when she’d heard it coming from Tyler’s stereo the other day, it hadn’t occurred to her that somewhere in Tyler’s subconscious he might be connecting the music to their night together.

  To her, maybe.

  And if he was, then his newfound fondness for it was a positive sign….

  “Want to get to work, or sit and enjoy the music until I finish shaving and dressing?” he asked then.

  “I can get to work.”

  “You’re the boss,” he assured her, pointing his chin in the direction of the kitchen.

  Willow led the way, finding a whole bushel of apples waiting for her on the kitchen table she’d helped him choose.

  “I don’t think we need quite this many,” she informed him with a laugh.

  “I was thinking you might want to take the rest home. Pass them out to your friends or customers or something. I have about twenty more bushels in the barn that I don’t know what I’m going to do with, and there’s still more on the trees.”

  “Mrs. Harris was known for her apple every-things—pies, bread, cakes, butter, sauce. I guess now we know why.”

  “Maybe I’ll have to see if I can get them sold at the grocery store.”

  Tyler put the bag on the table and lowered the bushel basket to one of the four kitchen chairs. As he did, Willow was treated to the tensing muscles of his incredible naked back. It sent a ripple of something sensual and very feminine through her, and she recalled Jenna’s question at lunch about whether they’d had any more flings. Willow wanted to have one right now!

  But she tamped down the idea and dragged her eyes upward just as he turned to face her again.

  “Can I get you a glass of iced tea to start?”

  “Iced tea sounds good. But why don’t you go on with what you need to do and I’ll pour it myself?” Because the sooner he put on a shirt, the better.

  “If you’re sure,” he agreed. “Glasses are in the cupboard above and to the left of the sink. Tea’s in the fridge. You can pour two glasses and I’ll be back before the ice melts.”

  “Okay.” And maybe in the meantime she could get herself under control.

  He had to pass by her to leave the kitchen and as he did he paused to give her the once-over again, this time giving some extra study to her hair. She’d pulled it into a clip at her crown to keep it out of her face, out of the pie, and to keep her neck cool.

  Tyler seemed to like it, because he tweaked a curl and murmured, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Then he impulsively kissed her bare shoulder.

  The sensual ripple of moments before turned all glittery and gold, and left Willow in a haze of delight as Tyler left the kitchen.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself when she was alone. Moving to the cupboard, she found two glasses, then headed to the refrigerator for iced tea.

  True to his word, Tyler was back again while cubes still bobbed in his glass. His clean hair was freshly spiked; his face was free of five o’clock shadow. He had on a white T-shirt tucked into his jeans, and a hint of aftershave added a heady sensuousness to the previous scent of soap and shampoo.

  But Willow reminded herself that being seduced by the way he looked and the way he smelled was not on tonight’s agenda, and she tried to ignore the effects he was having on her.

  She had begun to cut butter into the flour when Tyler joined her at the table to peel the apples.

  They worked well together, exchanging small talk as they got the pie together and into the oven. Then they put steaks on the barbecue in the backyard and tossed a salad to go with them.

  Willow was mildly surprised by how smoothly it all went. By how easily they settled into compatible conversation about Black Arrow and its citizens, about apples and trees and Tyler’s plans for herding cattle rather than horses, about starting up a small dairy and having his brother join him in business when Brick was ready to leave rodeoing behind, too.

  Before she knew it, dinner was done, the mess was cleaned and they’d eaten pie—only one slice for her but two for Tyler—and he was suggesting they sit on the porch to watch the sunset.

  Willow didn’t have to think twice about accepting, because she was nowhere near ready to say good-night to him. Instead she agreed that sounded like a good idea, and out they went onto the porch.

  There was a single chair she could have chosen to sit on, but instead she went directly to the porch swing, w
hich hung by chains from the roof above.

  She didn’t know whether Tyler would join her there or not, and decided it was probably better if he didn’t, because as the evening progressed she was finding him more and more appealing, more and more attractive, more and more irresistible.

  But when he did join her on the swing—sitting close enough to her that his thigh ran the length of hers—she was inordinately pleased.

  They were just in time, too, because the sun was setting in a mellow, cotton-candy glow.

  They watched in relative silence, and that was nice, too. But when full darkness had fallen Willow began to wonder if she should say good-night and go home then. Even though she still didn’t want to.

  Maybe Tyler read her mind, because just as she was about to suggest it he angled himself in the swing so he could look at her, leaving an arm along the swing back so he could fiddle with a strand of her hair. And any notion she’d had of ending the evening was chased away.

  “If you listen real close you’ll hear the symphony that came with this place,” he said then.

  “You have your own private symphony?” Willow asked, playing along.

  “Yes, ma’am. Ducks in the mornings and frogs in the evenings. Listen.”

  Willow had been so intent on the sunset, on having Tyler close beside her, on the heat and the sense of power that emanated from him, that she hadn’t been paying attention to the sounds around them. But once she did she heard just what Tyler had been talking about—a rhythmic croaking in the distance.

  It made her think of beer commercials, and she laughed. “Not too melodic.”

  Tyler smiled his lopsided grin, putting that single dimple into his cheek. “Would you like music instead? I turned it off so we could talk, but I could turn it on again.”

  “No, this is nice.” And she didn’t want to lose his company for even a moment.

  “I knew a girl once who had a thing for frogs,” he said then.

  “That sounds very kinky.”

  He laughed. “No, I mean she just collected frogs. She had a couple of real ones, plus she had frog figurines and carvings and stuffed animals. She had frogs on her coffee mugs and on a T-shirt. She even had frog-print pajamas.”