Willow in Bloom Read Online Free PDF Page A

change her clothes.
    Only as she stood in her closet, trying to figure out what to change into that might give Tyler a hint as to who she was, did it occur to her that all of her things were basically the same—jeans and tops.
    She had a couple of pairs of slacks she wore to church, and a plain, simple black dress that she wore with a matching jacket to funerals and, without the jacket, to weddings. But that was about it. And because she knew she’d feel overdressed if she wore her Sunday slacks—besides the fact that it would no doubt raise eyebrows and questions if anyone who knew her saw her—the closest she could come to Wyla-wear was a red V-neck T-shirt with a clean pair of jeans.
    She did unbraid her hair, though, brushing it and letting it fall free the way she’d worn it that night. And although lip gloss was all she owned in the way of makeup, she made a mental note to buy herself a few cosmetics as soon as possible to aid her cause.
    Then she locked up the apartment and used the outside stairs to go down to her old blue pickup truck, wishing she had a better, sexier vehicle, too.
    But there wasn’t anything to be done about it, and so she climbed behind the wheel, started the engine and pulled away from the curb, feeling more anxious than she could ever remember having felt before.
    Willow was familiar with all the farms and ranches around Black Arrow. It had been her job at the Feed and Grain to make deliveries after school as soon as she’d been old enough to drive. So she knew exactly where she was going.
    The former Harris place was south of town about four miles. She’d gone all through school with the Harrises’ only child, Samantha. But she and Willow hadn’t been friends. Samantha had been a very girly girl—worlds apart from tomboy Willow.
    As she turned off the main road onto the private drive she could see the house in the distance. It was a two-story frame, painted white and trimmed in black, with a steep black roof.
    The house had a nice front porch—that was what Willow had always liked best about it. The porch was bordered with a spindled railing that looked beautiful at Christmas, decorated with lights and evergreen boughs.
    But August was not the time for that, and other than a wicker rocker and a chair swing hanging from chains, the porch itself was littered with several moving boxes apparently waiting to be thrown out.
    No lights shone through the windows, but since it was only seven o’clock and there was still an abundance of summer daylight, Willow didn’t think that was a sign that no one was home. Besides, there was a big white truck parked in the drive, so she assumed Tyler was there.
    She parked beside the truck and cut her engine, taking a deep breath to bolster her courage and wishing—as she had so many times since June—that things hadn’t taken the turn they had.
    But wishing didn’t make any of it go away, so she picked up the file she’d brought with her as her excuse, and got out of the truck to climb the five steps onto the porch.
    The front door was open, and through the screen door she could hear music playing. Softly.
    She recognized the singer. Chris Isaak. He was one of her favorites, and she hoped that maybe he was one of Tyler’s favorites, too, and the fact that they shared similar musical tastes was a good sign.
    She knocked on the screen’s frame, feeling her tension level increase with each rap.
    Nothing stirred in response. Chris Isaak just went on singing about the wicked things people do.
    Maybe she hadn’t knocked loud enough to be heard over the music. She tried again with more force.
    â€œHold on,” she heard Tyler call, his unmistakable baritone sounding as if it were coming from the living room to the right of the front door.
    Then he came into sight from that direction.
    He had on a white T-shirt, a pair of jeans with a tear in the knee, and he was in his stocking