A Wedding In Willow Valley. Joan Elliott Pickart

a foggy mess. Then my mind bounces around and I think about you. I was just wondering if you’re as happy and contented with your existence as you appear to be.”

      Jane laughed. “Ah, my daughter the psychologist is attempting to delve into my mind. Well, good luck with that, my sweet girl. But to answer your questions… Yes, I am very contented and happy. As far as marrying again? No. That will never happen.

      “Jimmy Windsong won my heart when I was fifteen years old, Laurel, and he still possesses it even though he isn’t here with me. He’s the only man I have ever—will ever—love. I married him at eighteen, had you at nineteen, started the Windsong Café with him and there I’ll be until I’m old and creaky.

      “The love I shared with your father was so rare and beautiful, Laurel. It was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I’d never have anything like it again. Since I’m not willing to settle for less, I have no intention of ever remarrying. I believed that you and Ben had that same kind of love, but… Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was very insensitive on my part.”

      “That’s all right,” Laurel said quietly. “I thought Ben and I had something special, too, but I was wrong. I wanted to go to college, but he refused to understand that, to wait for me.

      “You know what happened. He gave me an ultimatum. Stay here in Willow Valley while he went to the police academy in Phoenix, then marry him when he returned or we were done, finished, over. And that was that. Laurel Windsong and Ben Skeeter did not have the kind of love that Jane Nelson and Jimmy Windsong did. Not even close.”

      “Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Jane said.

      “Mother, facts are facts. I was determined to go to college and Ben… Never mind. I keep doing this. I keep dwelling on the past and I’m driving myself crazy. It’s my future I should be thinking about. What on earth am I going to do with my life? Please don’t take offense, but I don’t see myself being fulfilled by working with you at the café year after year after year.”

      “Of course you don’t,” Jane said. “That café wasn’t your dream, it was your father’s and mine. You’re just stopping off there at the moment until you get things settled in your mind. You’re still healing from what happened in Virginia, Laurel. Be patient. Be kind to yourself. Take one day at a time for now and wait for the inner peace to start to blossom within you. It will come.”

      “Maybe,” Laurel said. “I certainly haven’t made any progress with that since I came back to Willow Valley. I’m way overdue to stop feeling sorry for myself, dwelling on what happened. Let’s change the subject. Was there anything interesting in the newspaper?”

      “Dove wrote a lovely article about the autumn leaves we’re enjoying and how they never fail to appear each year like a promise from nature that is always kept. Our Dove is such a talented writer.”

      “Yes,” Laurel said, nodding. “Yes, she really is. I also think the rugs, blankets, shawls and what have you that she weaves on her loom are the most gorgeous ones in the shops here. They certainly sell well.”

      “Indeed they do,” Jane said, then drained her cup. “Oh, there was a short paragraph regarding the fact that there was another robbery in one of the summer homes. Whoever is doing this knows exactly which houses are not lived in year-round. That indicates it’s someone who lives in Willow Valley or on the rez. That’s rather chilling when you think about it. It’s one of our own.”

      Laurel frowned and nodded.

      “Ben was quoted as saying,” Jane continued, “that he and his deputies will be increasing the patrols around those homes and that he won’t rest until the person—or persons—are apprehended.” She paused. “So tell me, Laurel Jane Windsong, are you going to cut that gorgeous hair of yours or not?”

      Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all the way to my waist when it isn’t braided. I don’t think a single thick braid worn day after day is very sophisticated for someone of twenty-seven.”

      “It is,” Jane said, smiling, “if you’re half Navajo. You have Jimmy’s hair, tawny skin tone and those dark, dark eyes. If it wasn’t for your features being a bit delicate and your being tall and slender, there wouldn’t be any evidence that I had a part in creating you. But anyway, it’s your hair and you should do what pleases you.”

      “Oh? The whole town probably knows by now that Ben Skeeter doesn’t feel that way about my hair. The nerve of that man to… Oh, don’t get me started.”

      “I think that scene in the café was rather sweet,” Jane said.

      “Oh, spare me,” Laurel said, getting to her feet. “I’m going to go freshen up so I’ll be ready to head back to work.”

      Jane watched her daughter leave the room, marveling yet again at her beauty.

      “Oh, Jimmy,” she whispered, “our baby girl is so troubled, so unhappy, and I don’t know what to do to help her.”

      As a breathtaking sunset streaked across the sky, Ben strolled along the sidewalk of the main street of town, his last self-appointed duty before ending his shift for the day.

      Seven local citizens so far had asked him if he planned to eat dinner at the Windsong Café, something he very rarely did, preferring to prepare something for himself at home after a busy day. He’d also received some smug smiles and raised eyebrows from half a dozen of the shop owners who had made it a point to come to the door of their stores as he’d gone by on his patrol.

      Oh, yeah, he thought, the story of the ridiculous scene with Laurel regarding whether or not she should cut her hair had definitely spread like wildfire. There was nothing he could do but say nothing and wait it out until the next bit of juicy gossip took its place.

      Ben slowed his step even more as he went past the old-fashioned ice cream parlor.

      Man, oh, man, he thought, he and Laurel had spent countless hours in that place eating hot-fudge sundaes and talking about their plans for the future. They had been so young, so sure that everything would go just the way they were laying it out, their hopes and dreams connecting like a jigsaw puzzle that created a fantastic picture.

      But then Laurel had decided she wanted more than he could offer, more than his love and the life they were to share in Willow Valley after they were married. Everything had fallen apart as though an invisible hand had reached out and flung the pieces of the puzzle into oblivion.

      In the years after she left he’d tried to make a new puzzle, but there were always pieces missing. It was never truly whole again without Laurel in his life. He had learned to go on as things were, slowly but surely, but now Laurel was back and…

      Ben stopped suddenly as he looked down to see a boy about five years old staring up at him with wide eyes.

      “Hi,” Ben said. “Where’s your mom, kiddo?”

      “In that store,” the boy said, pointing to the one next to the ice cream parlor. “Are you a real Indian?”

      Ben nodded. “Yep. I’m a Navajo.”

      “Wow. Is that a real gun?”

      “Yep.”

      “Wow. How come you gots a gun instead of a bow and arrow?” the child said.

      “Well,” Ben said, smiling, “because my bow and arrow doesn’t fit in this holster I’m wearing. I have to settle for a gun.”

      “Wow,” the boy said. “Do you shoot bad guys?”

      “Only if I have to,” Ben said. “Are you a bad guy?”

      “Me?” the child said, his eyes widening even more. “No. No. I’m good. Honest.”

      “I’m glad to hear that.”

      “Jacob,” a woman said, hurrying out of the shop, “I told you not to leave the store. Don’t ever do that again.” She looked