Willow Spring

By Jeannine Van Eperen

Now that Willow Spring lay just five miles down the narrow, two-lane highway, Alana wondered if her reason had deserted her when she'd packed her bags and decided to take this journey. Isn't it often said, you can't go back? What did she expect to find except old memories better laid to rest? Perhaps that was it. Going back might lay to rest feeling that kept returning. Nothing can change the past. Is that what she wanted to do? Change the past? Ridiculous!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
• Release date: Aug 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9781593748302

Book preview

Chapter 1

Now that Willow Spring lay just five miles down the narrow, two-lane highway, Alana wondered if her reason had deserted her when she had packed her bags, and decided to take this journey.

Isn’t it often said, you can’t go back? she questioned herself.

What did she expect to find, except old memories better laid to rest? Perhaps that was it. Going back might put to rest feelings that kept returning. Nothing can change the past. Is that what she wanted to do? Change the past? Ridiculous. Yes, plain ridiculous. She glanced at the small not quite carbon copy of her who sat on the car seat next to her. No, she didn’t want to change anything.

As Alana sped along, passing sights that hadn’t changed in eight years, the hot sun beat down, glaring on the pavement, causing mirages. She smiled at Melanie, her seven-year-old daughter. We’re almost there, Mellie.

Melanie turned serious eyes from the rolling hills and sparse forest to look at her mother.

Different from Seattle, isn’t it? Alana asked, and the child soberly nodded.

What was she doing? Uprooting her daughter, taking her from the only home she knew. Was she right to return? Was it right to satisfy a whim?

She’d forgotten how hot a Texas summer could be. After living in Seattle for six years, could she adjust again to the Texas climate? And what about the closeness of the community of Willow Spring? Could she adjust to that?

It’s not as if you were run out of town. No tar and feathers. No, you just weren’t good enough for the country club set. Hadn’t Wilford Everly III made that perfectly clear? Not good enough for the country club and not good enough for his son. Alana sighed. She knew there were some things about Willow Spring she would never tolerate. The Everly family for one. They were the driving force that had persuaded her to leave, yet somehow, brought her back to the place of her birth.

When I was your age, we didn’t have air-conditioning in our car, Alana said to her daughter. Too much silence caused her to remember too much, too soon. The scenery, the green rolling hills held too many memories. Better not to dwell on the past, on a past relationship with Bill Everly. That relationship was finished, just as her life with Jared had ended.

I bet you can’t imagine riding in an old clunker with the windows open, the wind blowing in, and still feeling stifling hot.

I like it when you tell me about when you were a girl, Mommie.

Soon we’ll be in my old hometown, and I’ll tell you all about the place. I’ll even show you my old home, if it’s still standing.

You’ve been gone a long time.

Eight years.

Longer than I am old.

Alana laughed. That’s exactly right. She shook her head. Her daughter sounded much older than her years. Melanie needed friends her own age; friends like Martha Reynolds had been to her. They’d been inseparable. Is it possible her old best friend still lived in Willow Spring?

A highway marker proclaimed, Willow Spring. Population 5,298. Smaller than the number of inhabitants eight years ago. Well, it was minus at least three—she, her mother and her father. With a sigh, Alana slowed her car to thirty as the highway now became Main Street. A tire hit a large pothole, and Alana and Melanie bounced about.

Some things never change, Alana said with a laugh. I think that hole was there eight years ago. She frowned as her car wobbled out of kilter. Great. I think something’s out of whack.

What’s outta whack, Mommie?

The car doesn’t seem to be driving right. Do you notice it?

Melanie nodded her head solemnly. It’s kinda bumpy.

Exactly. After we find a place to stay, we’ll have to find a mechanic. I don’t remember if the town had a garage. Of course, I never had a car of my own back then.

Phone Grandpa. Maybe he remembers.

Yes. We’ll phone Seattle anyway, and let Grandma and Grandpa know we arrived safely. Alana pulled her car to the side of the road and parked under the drooping branches of a cottonwood tree. After eight years, she needed to get her bearings. The place still appeared quiet. Main Street still circled around the town plaza. Going to the right it was Main Street, and to the left it became Main Circle. The bandstand still sat in the center, but looked shabbier than she remembered. The grass appeared more brown than green, but the wrought iron benches under cottonwoods and elms were the same. The statue of Sam Houston still continued to be the gathering place for pigeons. The plaza’s caretaker stood before the statue, hosing it down.

Grandma and Grandpa used to own a small restaurant on the other side of the plaza. We’ll drive over and see if it’s still there.

Now they have a big restaurant, Melanie said proudly.

Yes, they do, but when I was your age and until I grew up, they ran a little place here called Cottonwood Café. I worked there, too, after school and during the summer.

Alana drove slowly, as they both took in the sights. The bank was still on the corner, but Wrights Department Store had been boarded up, as was the five-and-dime, and the small movie theater looked derelict, though a marquee sign proclaimed a Batman movie playing on Saturday and Wednesday. The Cottonwood Café was no longer the Cottonwood, but bore the name Elmer’s Grill. Alana maneuvered her Mercedes into a space in front of the Ace Hardware Store next to the grill.

Time for lunch, little girl, Alana said with a smile and opened her door.

Hot, dry air promptly invaded the cool car interior. After years of the temperate Seattle summer, Alana was unprepared for the searing heat. Had it always been so warm? She walked around the car, opened Melanie’s door and waited for the child to clamber out.

Melanie held her arms out to the side, letting the hot Texas sun glaze her skin. Umm, I like this. It feels so warm and wonderful. She turned around. It’s so brown and gold and pretty.

Alana smiled. What to her looked shabby, to her daughter looked inviting. That was good, for they may be staying here. True, she had carved out a reputation in Seattle as an excellent hostess, but without Jared, her life seemed empty, almost purposeless. Dear Jared. Dear, dead Jared. For a year now, she had floated along aimlessly, doing what was expected of her, but lonely. Then she got the urge to go home—not home, but her old home, the town of her youth. Why did she need to come back here? She put her hand above her eyes, shielding them from the sun’s glare. She looked around and knew she was here because she had to be. A compulsion drove her. Perhaps, too, she needed time away from the place of her happiness and then her sadness.

Alana took Melanie’s small hand and led her into the café. At after one in the afternoon, only three locals still lingered. They glanced in her direction with mild curiosity, but without recognition. Yet Alana remembered them. Horace Crammer owned the hardware store. Blake Reynolds was editor of the Weekly Chronicle, and Wesley Kraft, the town’s carpenter.

The man behind the lunch counter was unknown to her, but he gave her a friendly smile. Take your pick, ladies.

Thanks. Alana couldn’t resist saying, in general, Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Trudie and John Baxter’s daughter, Alana.

Little Alana…well, I’ll be hog-swaddled, Horace said, blinking in disbelief. All grown up and still pretty as a picture. Is this your little one?

Alana smiled. Yes, Mr. Crammer. This is Melanie.

How’re your folks? Blake Reynolds asked pleasantly. Are they with you?

They’re fine, Mr. Reynolds, running a restaurant in Seattle, and no, they aren’t with us.

It’s been a long time, Blake Reynolds said. What brings you to town?

Alana shrugged. Vacation. Wanted to show Melanie where I grew up.

I’d heard you married. He walked over to the booth Alana and Melanie took and smiled down at her. Drop over and see me before you go, y’hear?

I will.

Martha’s still in town, Mr. Reynolds added. I know she’ll want to see you. She married the Miller boy...Stu. Remember him?

Alana smiled. Big football hero! How could I forget?

The proprietor came over to the booth. Wesley just told me your folks used ta own this place.

That’s right. Ran it for years until about seven, eight years ago. I worked here after school.

Better waitress than you’ll ever make, Elmer, Mr. Kraft said with a wink. Always remembered to keep my coffee cup full and hot.

Alana ordered sandwiches for Melanie and herself, then asked, Where’s the best place to stay in town now?

Remember Mother Tucker’s Rooms? Wesley asked. She’s added on and has a couple of cabins right next to her rooming house. Just go down Main to Ninth Street.

Oh, yes, I remember, Alana said with a reminiscent smile. Is there a garage in town? I hit a big pothole as I came into town and I think I damaged something.

Yeah, we got a place, Horace Crammer said. The Town Pump filling station does some repair work, but if they can’t help you, you’ll have to go into Fredericksburg or maybe even Kerrville.

I’ll give the Town Pump a try first.

You do that, Horace said with an enigmatic smile on his face.

After eating and when they were back in the car, Alana asked, Well, Melanie, what shall we do first? Find a room or have the car looked at?

Can’t we find a room? I’m tired of drivin’. Maybe… The girl raised her eyes to her mother, and looking hopeful said, Maybe I could stay in the room an’ watch TV.

I can’t leave you alone, baby.

Aw, Mommie, Melanie whined.

We have been traveling a long time, all the way from Seattle, but we’ll stay put for a while. Since you are all tuckered out, then it’s off to Mother Tucker’s with us.

Melanie giggled. Tuckered and Tucker’s. That’s funny, Mommie.

Alana raised an eyebrow and glanced at her little girl. You didn’t know your mother was a comedian, huh? Alana grinned, happy to see Melanie laughing and acting more like a seven-year-old for a change. As I remember, Mrs. Tucker’s a real nice lady. One of my friends used to clean rooms for her during the summer.

But you worked at that restaurant.

Yes, dear, I did.

Grandma an’ Grandpa have a nicer place now, Melanie said with pride in her voice.

Alana parked at the area marked registration, and she and Melanie got out of the car and walked into the white frame original building Alana remembered.

A plump, grey-haired woman stood behind the counter. Howdy! Welcome to Tuckers.

I’d like a kitchenette cabin, Alana said.

Just you and the little one? Muriel Tucker asked.

Yes. I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying.

Couple days or a couple weeks, Muriel said. It’s available until you check out. She stared at Alana. You look kinda familiar, dearie.

With a laugh, Alana said, My folks used to run the Cottonwood Café.

Before she could continue, Muriel chuckled. You do look a mite like Trudie. How’s your mom doing?

She and Dad are fine, still working hard, though not as hard as they did here.

But ain’t you a sight for sore eyes. Little Alana, all grown up with a little one of her own. She reached under the counter. I keeps some licorice here jest for pretty little girls. Want some, honey?

Melanie glanced at her mother and then accepted the candy.

Say thank you, Melanie.

Thank you, the child parroted. Can’t I stay here while you go to fix the car, Mommie?

Alana frowned. We’ve been over that, darling.

She can sit in here with me, Alana, Muriel said. Poor mite looks tired to me, but maybe not too tired to keep me company.

If it’s not an imposition, Alana began.

Land sakes, no. She can help me fold wash cloths.

Alana considered Muriel’s suggestion for a moment. All right. As soon as we unload the car, I’ll bring her back. I do appreciate your offering, Mrs. Tucker. Alana took Melanie by the hand and they settled into a small kitchenette cabin next to Mrs. Tucker’s Rooming House.

The motel was small, but the largest of the five single cabins that made up Tucker’s Motel was vacant and perfect for Alana’s needs. In addition to a bedroom with two beds, a bathroom with tub and shower, there was a combination sitting room, kitchen-dining area.

After phoning her parents back in Seattle, she decided she’d better have her car looked at right away. She cursed her luck that it was Friday and the Mercedes might be laid up over the weekend.

Are you sure you won’t go with me? Alana asked.

The girl shook her head. I wanna help Mrs. Tucker.

I suppose it’ll be all right. Mrs. Tucker is nice, isn’t she? I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. I may have to leave the car and walk back.

Alana took Melanie back to Mrs. Tucker, kissed her daughter and left. Melanie was such a good child, almost too good. Alana knew Melanie missed her father. They had been close, and with Jared gone, the child was retreating more within herself. Perhaps that sufficed as good enough reason to uproot the girl. A change of scene might be beneficial to both of them. Alana didn’t know what she expected to find in Willow Spring. Many of her friends must have left years ago, and nothing could bring back the innocent, youthful past.

As she slowly drove through town, memories flooded her mind. It was right over there by the bandstand, one night when she was fifteen, she received her first tentative kiss. She smiled at the memory. And over there on Seventh Street, she had hurt her knee after she fell from her bike while performing a daredevil trick. Most of her memories of the place were happy.

Only when she thought of the Everly family did her memories become painful. Did they still own the ranch at the edge of town? The advertisement she’d read back in Seattle sounded so much like the place. That’s really what had brought her back to her roots, the advertisement. Something deep inside her had propelled her into action, brought her and Melanie to Willow Spring. The ranch of the ad. Was it the right ranch? Soon, she’d know. Her reason to live in Seattle was gone and since she was a tot she’d wanted to live on a ranch, have her own horse. Now, she could afford it, and it would be good for Melanie. Life in the country. Sunshine. Cats and dogs. Horses. All the things to make a child happy.

Life on a ranch near a small town seemed best. It had been hard leaving her parents in Seattle, but recently they, too, had been talking of moving back to Texas. They weren’t thinking of returning to Willow Spring, but of selling out in Seattle and opening a place in Dallas or San Antonio. She hoped they would.

With Bill Everly no longer in Willow Spring, it seemed the perfect place to settle down. Years ago, her mother had shown her a newspaper clipping noting Wilfred Bill Everly IV of Atlanta. The article and photograph was burned into her memory. If the Everly Ranch was for sale, then the elder Everlys must have decided to leave as well. Even if they chose to stay near Willow Spring, she was a grownup now, and she’d not allow anyone to push her around ever again.

Though Wilfred Everly III had caused her plenty of anguish, she couldn’t blame him for everything. She couldn’t blame him for her losing Jared, but if not for Mr. Everly, she might never have met Jared, never married him, and she would not now hurt so very much.

When she had kissed him goodbye that morning a year ago, she’d never thought her marriage was at an end. It was all the fault of that woman. Damn her! Damn her to hell.

No, don’t think of her and don’t think of Jared. That part of your life is finished, just as you once thought your life here in Willow Spring finished, but you can return to Willow Spring. You can never return to Jared.

For a split second she remembered running down the hospital corridor, the fear, the dread, and then the awful news. She tried to make her mind a blank and then concentrated on the present not the past.

She pulled into the Town Pump. No one came out to help her, so she got out of her car and walked around a bit while waiting. Could the place already be closed for the weekend? Alana glanced at her watch and saw it was almost five o’clock. Small Texas towns often closed up early. She walked around to the side and saw one of the garage doors stood open. As she neared the entrance, she heard a muffled curse.

Anyone here? she called.

After a grunt, a deep voice said, Just a second.

She looked back into the work area and saw feet sticking out from under an automobile, and soon a grease-smeared man slid out. He stood up, wiped his hands on his trousers and then looked at her.

Alana?

It was only one word, only her name, but it had the impact of a ton of dynamite going off in her head and all around her. Her eyes opened wide as she drank in the sight of Bill Everly. It didn’t matter that his hair was tousled, his clothes grease-streaked, and that his chin and cheeks bore a day’s stubble. It was he, and even after eight years, he had the power to turn her knees to rubber.

His dark blue eyes had rounded as if he’d seen a ghost. "Alana. It is you."

She wet her lips, found her voice, and whispered, Bill.

I’d shake your hand, but as you can see, I’m covered with grease. He looked at her with a beguiling crooked smile.

She longed to reach out to touch him, to kiss the dimple in his cheek as she once had, to run into his arms. His sleeves were rolled up and she could tell his arms were still muscular, his chest still broad, and lower he was still slim-hipped. If he pulled her into his arms and crushed her to him, she’d not care if her dress were ruined with grease.

It’s been a long time. He took a step closer.

Yes. I—I didn’t expect to see you. She took a step back.

He laughed. What you didn’t expect is to see me working as a mechanic at the Town Pump. He shrugged. Things change.

Alana didn’t know what to say. The last person she’d expected to see working as an automobile mechanic was Wilford Everly IV. Hadn’t his father told her Bill was going to be an engineer, in an exciting career constructing bridges and dams? Running his own company? She wasn’t good enough to fit in with Bill’s plans. She’d only drag him down, his father had said. Bitterness flooded her being. She hated Wilford Everly III, but she loved—used to love, she amended—his son.

What can I do for you? he asked, as Alana stood there studying him.

What?

Why are you here?

Vacation, she mumbled.

You came to see me?

She shook her head. I didn’t know you were here. I was told you had left.

But I returned.

She shook her head. She couldn’t think straight. She looked at his wide, soft mouth and remembered hot, passionate, stolen kisses. Somehow, she had to get hold of herself, had to think straight, couldn’t let him know how the sight of him affected her.

My car, she finally got out. It’s not acting right. I hit a pothole as I drove into town, and…and…

I’ll take a look at it. Most of the garage’s business is a result of that pothole. I told the town council, they ought to have it fixed, but Mack Guthrie, the owner of this place, disagrees. He smiled at Alana. Let me clean up a bit and I’ll take a look.

With a nod, she turned and went back to her car, opened the door and practically fell onto the seat. Bill’s here. Bill’s here. Her heart was singing and her pulse racing. She had to calm down. The past was past.

Presently Bill joined her by the car. He had cleaned up, put on fresh trousers and shirt, combed his hair, and, except for a small smudge at the side of his mouth, showed none of the remnants of his under-the-car work.

Alana longed to touch the smudge, to wipe it away with her fingers, to wet it with her tongue. Stop it, Alana.

Well, we’ll see what’s the matter. Bill opened the car door wider. Slide over, and we’ll take it for a little spin.

She slid across the seat, feeling the heat of the leather against her legs and back.

You don’t live down here, he said, eying the rich upholstery.

How do you know?

Leather’s too hot during the summer.

I’ve been living in Seattle.

Nice country, I hear.

Cooler than here. Greener, too.

He raised her hand off of the seat.

She shivered at his touch and hoped he didn’t notice. But he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes took in her hand.

He touched her wedding ring. I heard you got married.

Yes. Didn’t you?

Almost. He shrugged his broad shoulders, then started the car’s engine and said, without looking at her, It didn’t work out.

I’m sorry. What a liar I am. I’m not a bit sorry. Alana studied his profile as they drove around the block. He looked the same—same rugged good looks, same long, dark lashes, the small scar on his chin—yes, he was the same, only now a mature man, no longer a callow youth.

I hope you’re not in a hurry to leave town. I think your wheel’s bent.

Can you fix it?

Sure, but the shop’s closing now, and I don’t work on weekends. Can’t get to it until probably Tuesday or Wednesday.

That long? Alana sighed. She planned to be in town at least that long, maybe forever if she bought the ranch, but hated to be without her car.

You in a hurry to get outta here?

No, it’s not that. I just don’t know how I’ll manage without wheels.

It’s a small town, and if memory serves me right, you never had a car. He looked out the window and then back at her appraisingly. I can drive you or lend you my car if it would help.

I don’t want to be a bother.

His eyes flashed. You’ve always been a bother. Why did you do it? Why didn’t you wait?

Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. She shook her head. What does it matter now?

Why’d you have to break down in this town? he asked savagely as he pulled off the street and slammed on the brakes in front of the garage.

Chapter 2

As soon as the car stopped, both got out and stood facing each other with the