Willow frowned at the strange reaction. “What is it?”
“Ah, nothing. Just thought of something else I have to do before the wedding, that’s all.”
Another wrong answer, but before Willow could comment on it, Joe stepped into her line of sight. “Are we eating again?” He raised his voice through the closed window.
Tess opened her door. “I need to pick something up for Caleb for dinner. You might want to check with Rome, see if he wants anything before you head back.”
“Might take the edge off his snarl factor.” Scott nodded his approval at Joe’s side, already dialing. “Especially if they have any of those apple pies.”
Chapter Eleven
Leaving Tess and Scott to pick up food, Willow donned her coat and made her way across the street, Joe trailing several feet behind, his dark eyes flat as he scanned the area for any danger. She wanted to sigh in exasperation, but considering how high the stakes were, she kept her mouth shut. It could be worse. She could be stuck in the cabin, day and night, slowly going out of her mind with boredom.
The old man looked up when she stopped, his eyes clear and steady on hers. He didn’t smile in welcome, nor did he snarl in disgust. He just watched her. Silent.
“May I sit?” Willow asked, all polite pleasantry.
A bushy white brow shot high and he cocked his head, as if studying a new species of insect pinned to a board. She refused to be intimidated and merely returned his look with an innocent expression. Sometimes the eyes she thought too big for her face came in handy.
An eternity later the man grunted. “You may.”
The bench might be free from snow, but the wood was hard as a rock and so cold she barely refrained from hopping back up when her butt hit it. She inched to the edge in an attempt to keep the minimum amount of cold from seeping into her jeans. “Tess told me you’re Henry Hawkins. My name is Willow.”
“I know who you are.”
“Oh.” The gruff tone was far from friendly—she had been warned, after all—but the words were a surprise. Did everyone in town know who she was and why she was here? How wierd.
Silence reigned and Willow struggled to think of something to say other than some lame comment on the weather. The overcast skies and dying sun only made it seem much colder than it was and despite the soft breeze that teased the short tendrils of her hair, it was actually nice out. Even so, she shoved her hands between her thighs, more to keep from fidgeting than for warmth.
Remaining quiet, she craned her neck to see Joe make his way to the window display of a hardware store. She wondered what had caught his attention when Henry spoke, his voice rough and broken, as if he didn’t use it much.
“I knew a dancer once. Beautiful, so frail looking, yet with a spine of steel. Graceful, every step she took. So easy on the eyes.”
Willow’s heart melted. Maybe a love lost, and that was why he was alone?
Until his next comment caused her to sputter in protest. “You’re the same, but not graceful. Nope. You’re too stiff.”
Her back went ramrod straight. “I am too graceful.” At his unwavering look, her shoulders slumped just a little. “Well, I was once.”
Henry gave a sharp nod. “Will again.” Then he cackled, the course sound grating on Willow’s hears. “Willow. Will. Will again.”
Okaaay. Maybe it was time to leave. Tess hadn’t said anything about the man’s elevator not reaching the top floor.
She was about to get off the bench and run for Joe when footsteps crunched in the snow behind her. From the way the little hairs on her body stood up in awareness and the flash of heat that churned low in her belly, Willow had a pretty good idea to whom those steps belonged. It was unnerving, the way her senses become increasingly acute when Ben was near.
A warm hand cupped her nape, the intimate touch sending tongues of fire to lick at her core. Though on the opposite side of the bench, his body, and his other hand which rested prominently on the top rail of the bench, filled her peripheral vision. The possessive act subtly yet firmly placed a barrier between her and Henry.
“Hey,” Ben said very softly.
She’d gone utterly still, all the better to absorb the feel of his skin on hers, the hold a stamp of ownership. She should rebel, shrug free, claim her independence.
Then again, maybe she was overreacting. It was just a simple touch.
“Hey, yourself.” Tilting her head up and to the side exposed her throat, and Ben took advantage, stroking the uneven pulse that picked up speed with every pass of his thumb. Liquid heat pooled in her belly under the caress and her nipples pebbled, as if begging for the same attention.