Wishes at Willow Lake (4 page)

“Doesn’t look that way to me. Looks like you have just enough left to serve me. I’ll take a meatball sub to go.” Simms turned away from the counter and took another step toward the booth, his teeth bared like a yappy Chihuahua. “How ya doin’ Josephine?”

“I’m fine. Busy…”

“So I see.” He slipped into the seat across from them, not bothering to remove his coat. He swiped the sleeves, brushing melted snowflakes over Mason’s sketch. “I stopped by the bookstore to see if you needed an escort home, but you were gone.”

“Because I’m here.” Josie reached for a napkin from the table dispenser and dabbed the mottled paper. “Having dinner.”

“What’s that?” He snatched Mason’s drawing from Josie’s fingers. “Planning to go forward with your shop expansion, Josephine, and you didn’t consult me?”

“Why should I?” Her heart raced, and she struggled to hold an even tone as her temper flared. “I didn’t know I had to.”

“It would be wise…and prudent.” Simms angled to address Mason. “I hear you’re a big shot builder down in Atlanta now.”

Mason scooted closer to Josie, his arm a welcomed shelter. “News travels fast.”

“Your mama sure would be proud. Too bad she’s not here to see you in all your glory. It’s a shame, the last thing she ever knew of you before dying from that horrible cancer was a senseless arrest—petty theft, of all things. Must have broken her heart to watch the cops haul you from your house, handcuffed like a common criminal, and to find your mug-shot in the arrest column of the Willow Lake Gazette.”

“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Simms.”

“And then the boy—Josh MacLaren—falling to his death.” Simms failed to heed Mason’s warning as he clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Too bad you couldn’t save him.”

“I said—”

“Mason, no.” Josie reached for Mason’s hand as it clutched into a fist. “Don’t,” she murmured. “He’s not worth it.”

Simms sneered boldly, revealing a set of teeth badly in need of dental work. “You’d best go back where you came from, Donovan, and leave well enough alone.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I came from here.” Mason’s voice was a low growl. His shoulders tensed beneath Josie’s touch. “And I’m not going anywhere. So, keep your distance from Josie and from Posts and Pages or you’ll be dealing with me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s whatever you want to make it.” Mason’s gaze narrowed and held until Simms’s dropped away. “Our discussion is finished, so you can leave now. Thanks for the warm welcome.”

4

Unable to sleep, Mason crossed the spacious room he’d reserved at Willow Inn and opened the window blinds. He gazed into the night, his nerves raw with rage that had coursed through him at the deli. Just like that, he’d returned to his old ways. If Josie hadn’t restrained him, he’d have pounded Simms to a bloody pulp.

And he’d most likely ended up sleeping off the consequences of his actions in a jail cell—again. It had happened once and Mason swore, with God’s help, he’d never again travel down that treacherous road.

Simms was right about one thing—Mason was home again. Despite the flashpoint of rage, he felt a calm settle in his bones. God had brought him back to Willow Lake for a reason, but why?

Josie had a lot to do with it—and not just her sudden and unexpected call. His abrupt departure years ago had left their friendship dangling like the loose laces on a pair of beat-up tennis shoes. It was time to tie up the ends, tuck things back into place. He’d driven Josie home after they’d shared dinner at the deli, although she insisted she could walk the few blocks to her house as she did every evening after she locked up the shop. Despite her anemic protests, he’d escorted her to the front door of her small, homey cottage. Their goodnight brought on an overwhelming sense of longing to pull her close and protect.

He didn’t want to leave her.

Wind gusted, drawing Mason back as it rattled the window pane. The churning sky mimicked a storm brewing in the pit of his belly. Angry clouds dumped snow over the bluffs, causing Willow Lake to shimmer like an intermittent strobe beneath slight breaks along the distant horizon. The storm was a doozie, all right, just as Dom had predicted. If the pace held true, they might have two feet blanketing the ground by morning.

No use trying to find any shut-eye with his nerves humming. Mason reached for his cell phone, checked the time. Barely midnight. Maybe Josie was having trouble sleeping, as well?

He scrolled through his call log for her number, hardly fathoming that barely a dozen or so hours had passed since he’d received her call that morning and left Jules in charge of things in Atlanta. Finding the number, he jabbed the call button before sensibility had the opportunity to overcome absurdity.

Like the delicious coffee Josie served at Posts and Pages, he craved her company.

The call connected and soon her voice, husky with sleep, drifted over the line. “Is that you, Mason? Are you OK?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He assumed she’d checked Caller ID before picking up. “It’s late. I woke you.” He leaned against the window frame, his gaze settling on the high outcropping of rocks that rose along the water’s edge. Josh had stumbled from there so many summers ago, though the heartbreaking memory of his death seemed like just yesterday. “I shouldn’t have called. I’ll hang up and you can go back to sleep.”

“No!” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m awake now. I want to talk.”

“OK…if you’re sure.”

“I am. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, a chill kissing his bare feet as they pressed against the hardwood floor. Again, his gaze drifted to the rocks. “Do you remember that afternoon…when Josh fell?”

“Oh, Mason, of course I remember.” Josie’s voice hitched, tugging at his heart. “I’ll never forget it. It was awful…terrible.”

“I tried to save him.”

“We all did.”

“It just wasn’t good enough.”

“You mustn’t think that way.”

“I did my best.”

“I know that. He was just too far gone.”

“Right.” Resigned, Mason massaged his stubbled jaw, yawning. “There’s something else I need to say.”

“Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry I stole those roses from your parents’ floral shop.”

“Oh, Mason…” She paused, hesitated. “It was awful for Stewart to bring that up tonight. He never should have. It’s in the past—done. My parents shouldn’t have pressed charges in the first place. They freaked out, and then felt awful for causing such a fuss when they found out why you did it.”

“I was wrong to take something that wasn’t mine.”

“Don’t continue to beat yourself up over it, Mason. You loved your mom. I did, too. And she adored yellow roses.”

“Your parents delivered six dozen of them to her in the hospital when they learned how close she was…to the end.”

“I remember.”

“And another six dozen were delivered to drape Mom’s casket, when the time came. It was one of the nicest things anyone ever did for her…for me.”

“Oh, Mason, I know you miss her.” Tears thickened Josie’s voice. “And my parents ask about you from time to time. They live in Portland now. Dad got transferred there a few years ago. They still come to visit a couple times a year. I haven’t known what to tell them…about you. But now, all that’s changed.”

“They were good to me, despite what happened. I’ll always remember that.”

“I know.” Josie’s voice softened. “You should try to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Do you still have that book of poems…the one you used to recite from while we walked along the lake shore?”

“Robert Frost? Yes, I still have it.”

“Can you read me the one about the woods and the two paths?”

“
The Road Not Taken
?”

“Yes, that one.”

“Let me see…”

He heard a rustle along the phone line, and then a crash ensued as something toppled to the floor on Josie’s end before she returned to him, breathless.

“Here it is.”

“Wait.” Mason eased over to the bed and settled in as moonlight bathed the room in a shadow of reflected snowfall. “OK. I’m ready. Read to me.”

“Here we go…” Her voice, soothing as a gentle whisper, took him back to a more carefree time…before his mom got sick and he knew with certainty that his dad had taken off to explore the other side of the fence for good.

“Are you there?” Josie murmured as the poem ended.

“Mmm hmm…That’s as nice as I remember.” Mason eased onto his side, cradling the phone against one ear. “Do you ever think about what might have been…if you’d taken the other path?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Us, Josie…if we’d taken a path together.”

“I didn’t know there was an us.”

“Perhaps…on another road…”

“I think you’re overtired.” Across the line, the book slammed shut. “You should get some sleep, Mason, and I should, as well. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

“They’re pretty clear to me, now.”

“That’s the sleep-fog talking.” Her voice was laced with caution.

How badly had he hurt her? The very thought stabbed his heart.

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“You hang up,” he said firmly, “but this conversation’s not over. I’ll be by in the morning to get you.”

“I’ll be at Posts and Pages early. I have loads of work to do.”

“If this snow holds out, no one will be shopping for books tomorrow—or the next day, either.”

“It’s the end of the month. There’s inventory and ordering to contend with, housekeeping and event-planning.”

“Sounds like a full plate. I’ll come by to help. It will give me a chance to tweak the expansion plans, as well.”

“Mason—”

“Catch some Z’s.” He rolled over and burrowed into his pillow. “After the work is done, you’ll need energy for sledding and perhaps a good, old-fashioned snowball fight.”

“But you can’t. I can’t—”

“Remember what you told me the night I shared with you that I have dyslexia and how hard it is for me to decipher the written word, that I just didn’t think I could manage to comprehend information crammed in the plethora of technical books needed to make it through architectural classes?”

“No, I—”

“‘Stop making excuses. You can and you will.’” He took on a falsetto tone, mimicking the stern tone of her voice at the time. “That’s what you said, and I took it to heart. Now, I share the same advice with you. I’ll see you in the morning but, for now, good night, Josie. I’m going to sleep.”

“Mason, wait—”

He disconnected, a smile tugging at his lips as his heart rate eased to a steady thump and his eyes drifted blissfully closed. The only thing that could make this night better was Josie nestled at his side, snow-light spilling across her smooth, tanned skin as they laughed and shared memories.

But, with God as his Counselor, he’d share such a relationship with her only under one condition…a road less traveled by many but sweet, indeed.

And, tomorrow he’d lace up his boots, dust off the proverbial map, and start hiking.

****

Oh, the man was infuriating! How was it that Mason strode back into her life and, in the course of twelve meager hours, turned her world upside down once again?

Josie filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stovetop to boil. A cup of tea was in order. She padded across the shadowy kitchen to peer into the snow-dappled night. Beyond a small patio was the flower garden she loved to tend during warm summer days. Now, nestled among the snow-kissed evergreen bushes sat a nondescript mound, dormant with frost. Yet she almost smelled the sweet scent of yellow roses that lay beneath a growing blanket of white. She’d planted the fragrant bush soon after she’d moved into the house two years ago—as a small token in memory of Mason’s mom.

Mrs. Donovan had loved yellow roses, and Mason’s father certainly hadn’t stepped up to the plate to satisfy that love. Again, Josie wondered how it was possible that Mason resembled his father so closely, yet mirrored his mother’s giving heart.

She mentally slapped herself as the tea kettle shrieked. Mason did have one thing in common with his dad—he’d run from Willow Lake…and the memories that haunted him. His father had never returned. Would Mason, when all was said and done, follow in his father’s final footsteps and leave Willow Lake for good?

Josie poured boiling water into an oversized stoneware mug, dousing a bag of peppermint tea. Letting the ground leaves steep, she settled at the kitchen table and reached for the leather bound book of poetry given to her by her father on her thirteenth birthday. Mason had always admired
The Road Less Traveled
, but her favorite was
Nothing Gold Can Stay
.

She wished she could remain in the gold, but the struggles of daily life had a way of tarnishing things, turning them bland and ordinary.

She removed the teabag from the water and stirred in a spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream before taking a sip, testing the flavor. With a satisfied sigh, she wrapped her hand around the mug and eased back in the chair.

“
I know the plans I have for you.”
Jeremiah 29:11 whispered as she stroked the fingers of her right hand along the book’s battered cover.
“Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Could a future with Mason be different, better…more gold than she ever imagined?

5

“You’d better brew a double pot of that amazing coffee.” Mason scratched his head as he surveyed the mess of boxes along the floor of the stockroom. They created a bigger storm than the snow that continued to drop from the sky in fat, sloppy plops outside. “This may take a while.”

“I told you so.” Josie used a box cutter to release the contents of another carton. She was dressed in jeans tucked into cute polka dotted rubber snow boots and a perky yellow cable knit sweater that showed off her dusky skin and cobalt-blue eyes. “And the coffee’s already perked.”

“Great. Perfect.” Mason tamped down his pulse and focused on the issue at hand—overstock. It seemed like a never-ending stream. “Where are you gonna put all this stuff?”