Whispers at Willow Lake Read online

  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.

  He set the photo aside and reached for the envelope. Slipping a finger beneath the flap, he tore the paper carefully and tugged the note away from its binding. Paper rustled as he unfolded the letter and skimmed carefully-penned words.

  Dear Ryder,

  If you’re reading this, I’ve gone on to my Heavenly Father. Please don’t grieve for me; I’m more than fine now. I don’t want a fancy to-do. Simply bury me next to my husband. You never knew Jacob, but you would have loved him and he most certainly would have adored you, as well.

  You are the son I always hoped for—prayed for—Ryder. God blessed me with you when I’d all but given up. I know you think I saved you but, I must confess, the truth is that you saved me.

  Your life has been filled with closed doors, but there are windows waiting to be opened. Throw them wide to let in fresh air and sunshine. You cannot change the past, but your entire future waits. Embrace it, Ryder, and be richly blessed.

  As my dear Jacob went on to his Heavenly rest before me, and you are my only son (yes…you are that and so much more, Ryder), I leave all my worldly possessions to you. All I ask is that you remember where you came from and keep sight of where you long to go, and, along the way, pay this blessing forward.

  Listen to your heart, Ryder, and seek His will. In this way, you will find what you are searching for and the path He desires for you. Remember…His will, not yours.

  I love you, Son. Godspeed.

  Mama

  Ryder swiped tears from his eyes as he refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope. She’d called him by name—at least half-a-dozen times. He’d used what she’d taught him, had taken all her words of wisdom to heart, and he’d made something of himself over the past several years—something she would be so proud of. But now, she’d never know the whole story…the ending to what she’d so generously helped him begin.

  Tears smoldered in his eyes as he set the envelope aside and reached for the bank statement. She’d scrawled a message on a sticky note attached to the final page.

  I’m proud of you, son.

  One look at the bottom line and Ryder c
hoked. The room went dark as optic stars danced and the instructions from her letter resonated.

  All I ask is that you…pay the blessing forward.

  Ryder sank back in the desk chair and covered his face with his hands. His lips moved in the slightest whisper of a prayer. “Lord, help me to do the right thing…to follow the plan You have for me.”

  A sense of peace enveloped him. The stars cleared, and his pulse calmed. The knot in his gut loosened as he rose from the chair.

  Without a second thought, it was clear what he must do next.

  ****

  Ali smoothed the satin sheets over the bed in the honeymoon suite. The young couple had checked out an hour ago while the retired pair had gone into town to hunt antiques at Then and Again. The house was quiet, allowing her time to think.

  Ryder had come home to Willow Lake—and to her.

  “Alison?” Maci’s voice startled her as she fluffed a generous down comforter over the queen-sized bed. “Hello?”

  “I’m in the honeymoon suite, Mace.”

  Heels clacked along the stairs as Maci made her way to the second floor. She flounced through the doorway and flopped onto the edge of the freshly-made bed.

  “Hey there.” Her cinnamon hair danced like a cloud of curls along her back and a signature, flowing rayon skirt skimmed her calves. Her powder-peach T-shirt was adorned with eyelet lace and small, faux pearls. Tall and lithe, with clear, porcelain skin, she might have been a ballerina. But music was her passion—as star violinist for the Willow Lake Symphony. A love of classical music was what had ignited her and Ali’s friendship soon after Maci arrived in town three years ago.

  “Hey, yourself.” Alison fluffed a silk throw pillow, placed it with half-a-dozen others along the carved mahogany headboard. “What’s up?”

  “Are you OK?”

  “Sure. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s all over town, Ali. Ryder’s come home.” Maci fingered the butterfly pendant at her collar. “You’ve spoken of him so often, how the two of you shared something before your brother—”

  “That was a long time ago, Mace. It’s water under the bridge.” Alison straightened the knickknacks on the bedside table. “Besides, we both know I don’t have the corner on broken hearts.”

  “True.” Maci stood and wrapped her arms over her midsection as she crossed toward a window overlooking the forest beyond. “Has Ryder been here?”

  “He’s renting a room. Third floor.”

  “And you’re OK with that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged and spun back, the skirt billowing at her calves. “If it were me, it would be too hard. I guess I just assumed…”

  “Is that what everyone in town is doing? Assuming?”

  “I don’t know. I just overheard Sergeant Larder talking about how he’d arrested Ryder, hauled him into the station for a suspended license—”

  “It was expired, not suspended.” Alison smoothed the comforter where Maci had settled. “And that’s no one’s business but Ryder’s. John shouldn’t be discussing it in public. It’s—well, it’s unprofessional.”

  “Oh, Ali.” Maci crossed back to her, fluttering about the room like a leaf caught on a breeze. Ali wondered how she managed to sit long enough to practice her violin or to counsel patients at the music-therapy practice she’d established. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m just…confused.”

  “And that’s perfectly understandable.” Maci sighed. “Look, Ali, you’ve shared that Ryder hurt you once—badly—and I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  “I’m fine, Mace. I’ll be fine.” Alison gathered soiled sheets and headed toward the laundry room, reminding herself that Maci was only trying to help. Her easygoing manner and quiet strength, coupled with genuine concern and boundless energy, were what had drawn Alison to her in the first place. “How are the concert rehearsals coming?”

  “Great. We kick off the summer series next weekend, with an outdoor concert at the band shell. Will you come?”

  “I’ll think about it…maybe.” She enjoyed music on the radio and having Maci play for guests at the inn. Even a night at the concert hall, with its beautiful sound, was a treat to be savored. But the outdoor band shell, where the breeze whispered with memories that tugged at her heart, was just more than she could handle.

  “The weather’s supposed to be perfect. And there’s going to be fireworks after the concert. You should be there. Take a break and just have some fun.” Maci smiled, and the grin was contagious. “How long has it been since you took a night off?”

  “Too long, I guess.”

  “Maybe Ryder would enjoy the concert, too.”

  “He used to enjoy listening to me play the piano.” They’d spent hours together in the great room while she entertained guests at her parents’ bidding. “He took me to the outdoor symphony on my eighteenth birthday. We had a good time.” It had been more than good. Beneath the starlit sky, with the moon veiled in whispers of clouds and a warm summer breeze resplendent with hints of lilac and mown grass, Ryder had slipped her a small box wrapped in a soft pink bow. Inside she found his birthday gift for her…a silver charm bracelet that must have cost his entire summer’s pay. A tiny piano, the lone charm, dangled from the woven band.

  “To remember tonight,” he’d whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “We’ll add to it as time passes…lots and lots of charms. There are so many things I want to do with you.”

  They’d shared a kiss filled with the promises of all to come.

  A few weeks later, Josh was dead.

  “Did he say why he finally came home?” Maci’s voice drew Ali back.

  “Mama Stallings, for starters.”

  “Oh, right. I heard about that, too. She was such a nice woman. It’s so sad.”

  “Ryder’s at the retirement village now. He’s planning her memorial. It will be a small gathering, but I’d like you to come if you can.”

  “Of course I’ll attend.” Maci paused flitting about the room once more to wrap her arms around Ali. “I know she was special to you, as well.”

  “I tried to be there for her, in Ryder’s absence. I hope I did OK.”

  “Ali, with your gigantic heart it’s a safe bet that you did way more than OK.” Maci took the load of laundry from Ali’s arms. “I’ve got another hour until rehearsal. After we dump this load in the washer, do you have time for a cup of coffee? I’d like to drop by this summer to play for your guests. Maybe we can take a look at the calendar and see what works.”

  “Sure.” Alison nodded, pleased with Maci’s suggestion. Along with being the star violinist for the Willow Lake Symphony, Maci was also a respected music therapist. In the four years since she’d set up residency in Willow Lake, she’d tackled some pretty tough cases, helping numerous kids overcome trauma. She stayed busy, so her offer spoke volumes for the depth of their friendship. “I just made a fresh pot of hazelnut, along with a batch of blueberry scones.”

  “Your scones are my biggest weakness.” Maci paused at the laundry room to dump the sheets into the washer. She tossed in a spring rain-scented detergent capsule and closed the washer lid. Then she slung an arm across Ali’s shoulders and squeezed, grinning so her denim-blue eyes sparkled. “Swish, swish…let’s go.”

  4

  “Ryder, what are you doing?” Alison asked as she strode down the cobblestone path. “Get out of the dirt.”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” Ryder sat back on his haunches and gazed up at her. Though it was barely seven in the morning, the May sun was warm on his back through a soiled navy T-shirt, and a bandanna wrapped around his forehead absorbed sweat before it dripped into his eyes. His leg was stiff where a scar still healed along his thigh, but he shook it off. The knees of his ripped jeans were splattered with mud.

  “Aren’t you a bit too old to be playing in the dirt?”

  “I happe
n to like the dirt.” He’d spent enough time in the barren desert. Besides, he needed something to take his mind off things—off the fact that Mama Stallings had been laid to rest two days ago beside her Jacob, and that half the town—OK, to be honest all of the town—had Ryder on its radar. Even a quick trip to the home improvement store yesterday afternoon had incited a litany of speculation from Old Man Jenkins. The past had risen to meet Ryder with a vengeance. “You could offer me a glass of water, though. It’s hot out here.”

  “What’s all that river rock for?” Ali pointed with a manicured finger. “And the mulch? Where did you get that truck and those plants?”

  “I bought the truck. Can’t haul things without a truck.”

  “What about your motorcycle?”

  “Romeo still hasn’t released it from the impound.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Yeah, you do that.”

  “I will.” She scanned the length of the side yard. “I still don’t fully understand what’s going on here, Ryder.”

  “Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version: I’m repairing your flowerbeds.”

  “I don’t want you to repair my flowerbeds.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.” She stomped one foot, deliciously clad in less-than-sensible red stiletto-heeled pumps that matched a flowered skirt. Seams hugged in all the right places while a hint of calf peeked from beneath the hem. How did she get any work done around the inn, dressed like that? Ryder wasn’t sure if the sweat that trickled down his back was caused by the rise in mercury or his eyeful of her. “Don’t tell me what I want, Ryder. Go wash up. I’ve made breakfast.”

  “Breakfast can wait.” He knelt again, dumped a magnolia into the hole he’d just finished digging. “This plant is hardy. You can’t destroy it if you tried, Ali.” He grinned and reached for a thermos. “And don’t worry about that glass of water. I brought my own.”