Inglath Cooper - The Lost Daughter Of Pigeon Hollow

Owen took the front porch steps to the bed-and-breakfast two at a time.

Mrs. Ross smiled when he came through the door. “Morning, Mr. Miller.”

“Good morning. Do you know what time the Top Shelf closes in the evening, Mrs. Ross?”

The woman gave him a knowing look. “You must have taken a liking to Willa Addison’s food. They close at nine.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated and then said, “What can you tell me about her?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Enough to figure out how to get her to go to dinner with me.”

Mrs. Ross chuckled. “Don’t know that it’ll do any good. Got a load of responsibility with that young sister of hers.”

The phone rang. Mrs. Ross reached for it. Owen thanked her and headed up the stairs.

“Young man!” she called out.

He dropped back down a few steps. “Yes?”

“There is one thing I remember about her as a little girl.”

“What’s that?”

“She loved strawberries.”

HE WAS SITTING ON A BENCH outside the diner when Willa closed up that evening. One leg crossed over a thigh, an arm draped across the back of the bench. Beside him sat a basket of strawberries.

He was the kind of man who made women stop and stare.

Willa stopped and stared.

“I was told you had a fondness for these,” he said, picking up the basket and holding it out in one hand.

She started forward with a jolt, tripping on a raised edge in the sidewalk, the library books in her arms cascading to the ground.

He stood instantly, retrieved the books, scanning the covers of each as he handed them to her. “Fitzgerald. Tolstoy. Alternative medicine. Interesting mix.”

She eyed him carefully, taking the books from him. “Thanks.”

“I asked Mrs. Ross at the B and B how I might talk you into going to dinner with me. She said strawberries would be worth a try.”

Growing up, Willa had picked berries from the patch in Mrs. Ross’s backyard every spring. Buckets full, which Willa’s mama had put in the freezer for pies and ice cream. “That was nice of you.”

“Was she right?”

Willa hesitated. She really shouldn’t. She didn’t know him. He was passing through. He didn’t look like a criminal—quite the opposite, in fact—but then what did that mean? Ted Bundy had been the boy next door with a cast on his leg.

“We can go somewhere public,” he added, his voice low and insistent enough to weaken her resistance. “I’ll meet you there if that’s better. You name the place.”

Clearly, he knew his way around women. She shot a glance at the Range Rover parked at the curb. A man like this in Pigeon Hollow? There had to be a catch.

“Are you married?” she asked, failing to keep the suspicion out of her voice.

His eyes widened. “No.”

“May I see your left hand?”

He held it out. She looked at the ring finger, then turned his hand over and glanced at the other side. No telltale mark where a ring had been removed.

“Trust issues?” he asked.

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t be the first man to misplace his wedding band.”

He smiled. “Hmm. It’s the bad guys that—”

“Give the good guys a bad name.” Common sense told her she should go home. But Judy would never let her forget it. And besides, what did she have better to do than wait for Katie to bust her curfew again? Just a few moments ago, she’d felt weary to her heels, dreading the inevitable confrontation. Delaying it suddenly had enormous appeal.

“Now?” she asked, surprising herself.

He brightened. “Now would be great.”

“There’s a place over off 260.”

“I’ll follow you,” he said, looking just pleased enough to make her heart beat a little faster.

ON THE WAY, WILLA USED her cell phone to call Judy.

Judy’s disbelieving shriek pierced her eardrum. “You’re meeting him for dinner? I can’t believe it.”

“He brought me strawberries. I thought I’d better let someone know where I am in case he turns out to be an ax murderer.”

Judy laughed. “Yeah, I read the story in yesterday’s paper. Well-to-do hunk terrorizing small-town diner owners with poison strawberries.”

“It could happen.”

“You read too many books. What are you wearing?”

“Black pants and a white blouse. The same thing I wore to work.”

“Unbutton a button.”

“Judy!”

“It’s called sex appeal, honey. You’re allowed.”

“Thanks,” Willa said, laughing, “but I’ll keep my buttons buttoned.”

“Odds preparation, that’s all. Like dropping another five for lottery tickets on the way out of the store.”

“The lottery’s a scam.”

“You’re hopeless. You’ll call me as soon as you get home?”

“I will.” Willa clicked off, then hit the stored button for her home number and got the machine. She left Katie a message, told her she would be home later. They needed to talk.

Maybe by then, Willa would figure out what to say.

THE HOOT ’N’ HOLLER DREW a crowd every Friday night for buy-one-get-one-free pitchers of Budweiser and waffle fries.

Willa chose the place because it was one of the liveliest around and not the kind of spot for which she could be accused of harboring any romantic notions.

Even from the parking lot, the noise level required a raised voice. Willa got out and stood beside the Wagoneer. Owen pulled in beside her, the Range Rover making her jalopy of a vehicle look like a third runner-up beauty contestant.

He threw a glance at the front of the building, basically concrete blocks with a roof on it. A big neon sign blinked the name of the establishment in bold orange. “Interesting,” he said.

“Not exactly an architectural wonder. But keep in mind the old book-by-its-cover adage.”

“Now I’m really curious.” He ushered her forward with a wave. “After you.”

At the entrance, he held the door for her, and yes, okay, she noticed. Her last few dates—few and far between as they were—had left her all but certain the pool of available men in this county had forgotten any courtesies their mothers had taught them where women were concerned.

The place was nearly full. A country-and-western band took up the far right corner of the room, the lead singer a frosting-kit-era blonde in a mini-skirt that redefined mini. She crooned a familiar Reba hit. Smoke hung like a veil over the main room. Peanut shells littered the floor.

The only available table sat a little too close to the band, making conversation next to impossible.

Again, Owen held her chair, waited for her to sit. Again, Willa was impressed. Maybe Judy was right. Maybe she did need to get out more if all it took to wow her was a surface show of manners. Pretty soon, she’d be unbuttoning buttons.

He sat down across from her. “Great place,” he said.

“You think?” she shouted.