A Wedding In Willow Valley. Joan Elliott Pickart
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eagerly for his answer.
“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