The Willowdale Short Story Collection Read online

  The Willowdale Romance

  Short Story Collection

  Volume 1

  By Lisa Scott

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by Lisa Scott

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this short story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  A Fine How De Do

  A Little Hanky Panky

  A Perfect Setup

  A Fine How-De-Do

  By

  Lisa Scott

  Smashwords Edition

  © 2012 Lisa Scott Macdonough

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this short story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  “A Fine How-De-Do”

  by Lisa Scott

  After two days of driving, one night in a nasty hotel, and five so-so meals in dingy cafes, Tonya Garcia finally smiled when she saw the sign announcing “Welcome to Willowdale, North Carolina.” Then she frowned. “Population 1,200,” she read out loud, drumming her fingers on the wheel. She swore under her breath. “1,200,” she repeated slowly.

  Well, she knew it was gonna be a small town. But still. Twelve hundred people probably lived on her block back in New York City. Maybe even in her apartment building.

  She let out a long, controlled sigh and pulled her car along the side of the road to give herself a moment. Uprooting your entire world wasn’t something a girl did every day. Her heart thundered in her chest and her hands flexed on the steering wheel. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down.

  It’s not like she’d thrown a dart to choose where to start over; she’d thrown three. One landed in Oak Bluff, Illinois. The other had landed in the Gulf of Mexico near an offshore oil rig. Certainly not a huge demand for a hair stylist there—those guys wore helmets all the time, right? After some research between Oak Bluff and Willowdale, she’d learned Willowdale only had one barber serving the whole community. She had no idea what the women in town did for hairstyling and was afraid to find out. Were they all walking around with horrible ‘dos? Or wearing braids and ball caps? Did they even use styling wax? She shuddered. But with four salons in Oak Bluff, Willowdale seemed like an untapped market—and a great place for a brand new start. Something in her heart just told her it was the right place.

  However, there she was, pulled alongside the two-lane road, thinking Nonna might have been right all those years when she said Tonya was impulsive. Certainly she wasn’t the only woman who’d signed up to be a makeup and a jewelry party rep—at the same time. It’d seemed brilliant, selling both products in one blow. Three parties into it, she decided she wasn’t the sales type; she was more the buying type. Live and learn. And no way was she the only person who’d decided to move four states away after spending her whole life on the same street. She popped open the glove box and reached for the list she’d made for just such a moment of doubt.

  Smoothing out the crumpled sheet—she’d balled it up and thrown it across the motel room the night before—she started reading aloud. “Top Ten Reasons to Leave Marcus and New York City.” She cleared her throat. “Number one. You are a strong woman eager for adventure without the shackles of a controlling man.” She nodded to herself. It was true, even if she had been afraid to try rock climbing at her gym. One person’s adventure was another’s torture, plus no one needed to see her butt from that angle.

  “Number two, Marcus is a jerk with skinny legs who never appreciated you.” Her next boyfriend should have a fine set of thick, muscular legs, so that at least if he didn’t appreciate her either, she’d have something nice to look at and squeeze from time to time. She shook the thought away. She was done falling for men just because they were good-looking. Good looks had blinded her to all of Marcus’s faults. And Tony’s before him. And who could forget Carlos? She must have a defective gene that made her hone in on hot jerks. Nope, her next boyfriend wouldn’t be a looker. But he would have nice legs. Not that she’d be searching for another man anytime soon. Moving to Willowdale was about a new life for her; not a new guy to mess with her head and break her heart.

  She continued reading. “Number Three. Men who want to spend four thousand dollars of your Nonna’s estate to enter a fantasy football league are not worth sticking around for.” She clenched her teeth remembering the argument they’d had over that—and his request for money to get matching Giants’ tattoos. Seriously? Her inheritance would be gone in less than a year if she stayed with him. Without a doubt, she reminded herself.

  Which led to number four. “Even without him, your money will last longer and go further in a small town.” Right? Right.

  “Number five—you can finally get a dog.” A big dog, not a purse pooch. She didn’t want a pet that could be killed if she stumbled home in the dark after a night of partying. Hmm. She wondered what kind of party scene they had in a town of 1,200. She waved off the idea as something to worry about later. Surely, there were other twenty-six year olds in a population of 1,200 looking for a good time.

  “Number six,” she continued, tapping her finger against the paper, “life is too short to live in the same zip code.” She liked that one enough to turn into a bumper sticker. Writing greeting cards and bumper stickers was her little side business that was sure to take off—just as soon as someone bought one of her ideas or she printed them out herself.

  “Number seven.” She took a shaky breath, hoping number seven would convince her, because she wasn’t feeling it yet. “People in small towns are always friendly and will welcome you with open arms.” Because really, how often did someone from the city move to a place like Willowdale? She’d probably be a celebrity here.

  Okay, another deep breath. She wrinkled her nose; her car smelled like stale French fries. She rolled down her window, sucked in a lungful of mountain air—choking on the freshness of it—and continued. “Number eight, if Mama took off and left when you were a baby, you’ve probably got some wanderlust in you, too.” Hell, Mama and her twin, Aunt Lucy, had both ditched their babies and took off for Vegas when they were eighteen. Luckily, Nonna didn’t have that gene, because she was the only one left to raise Tonya and her cousin, Inez. But it was possible that wandering was in Tonya’s blood, too, and you can’t fight your genes. That’s what Nonna always told her about Mama. And who knew what her daddy had contributed to the DNA stew. Mama had never revealed his name. Just as well. He was probably a jerk anyway, and she suspected he was white because Tonya wasn’t a beautiful latte brown like Mama. She was more like tea with one too many creams.

  Tonya twirled one of her long, curly tendrils around her finger and read on. “Number nine: however, unlike Mama, you are not abandoning anyone. You’re a grown woman who can do as she pleases. This is no big deal.” She sat up a little straighter in the seat of her recently purchased red Mustang, feeling a bit better. “It’s no big deal,” she repeated, faking the thick New York accent Nonna had worked so hard to eliminate in her granddaughters. Nonna had raised them real strict, hoping they wouldn’t end up like their mo
thers. But that hadn’t kept Tonya out of beds or backseats—again, the genes rule—but at least she’d been smart enough to insist on condoms. So that was something.

  She tipped up her chin as she read the last item on the list. “And number ten. New York is too sad without Nonna and Inez never liked you anyways.” So there. She wasn’t just moving, she was moving on. Ooh, that could be another good bumper sticker. She rooted around the glove box for a pen, and jotted the phrase at the bottom of the paper, then stuffed it in her purse.

  “Okay, I am officially ready for my new start.” Rifling through her purse, she fished out a few necessities. She pumped a spritz of perfume on her wrist, slicked on a coat of lip gloss, and dabbed polish on the tips of her nails where the paint was just starting to chip. Had to make a good impression on her first day in town.

  “Willlowdale, here I come.” She nodded. “Hi, I’m from Willowdale,” she practiced saying. “How do you do?” Or would it be howdy? How-de-do or Hi, ya’ll? She pulled back on the road and zoomed under a railroad trestle, eager to find out. And that’s when a cop car appeared, lights swirling and siren wailing.

  “Shee-it,” she mumbled, like the word had two syllables, just like she imagined they’d pronounce it down south. Number one reason you should’ve stayed in New York? You’re not the best driver.

  But Nonna always said she was cute and that fact had saved her behind more than once; maybe it would work today. Wiggling her rump in her seat, she got ready to flirt her way out of a ticket.

  The first thing she saw when the officer approached her car was his nice, thick thighs. Now that’s what I’m talking about. And when he bent down and lowered his glasses, it was all she could do not to whistle. No harm in looking. She lifted a shoulder, knowing it would press her breasts together—not like the girls needed the boost, they certainly held their own and would probably get her out of this jam, but the move looked seductive, she imagined. She looked up at the cop and smiled. “What’s the problem, officer?” She made her voice sound soft and sweet.

  He did not smile back. “It’s Chief. Chief Larsen. License and registration, please.”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Did I do something wrong?”

  He stood up, widened his stance, and put his hands on his hips. “We’ll talk about that after you give me your license and registration.”

  Biting her lip, she fished out her license. But which card was the registration? This was her first car, and they’d given her all sorts of paperwork with it. “Here’s my license,” she handed it over. “Clearly, from looking at the picture, I’ve made a few bad hair decisions over the years, but it looks much better now, right?” She could still smooth this over. Damn. Flirting to get out of a ticket should have been part of the driver’s test. She dug through her purse some more, pawing past lipstick tubes and breath mints. “And the registration.” She pulled out a card and handed it to him, her fingers brushing his.

  He took the card and looked at it. “This is your insurance.”

  She bit her lip. “Sorry. I got my license when I was sixteen, but this is my first car. Just bought it.” Babbling when she was nervous had to be one of her worst traits; eating an entire bag of chips in one sitting was another. She found an official-looking piece of paper and handed that to him.

  He sighed. “This is your title. It should be kept in a safe place at home, not in your car. If someone steals your car, they could forge the title and sell it as their own and then you’re out of luck.” His southern accent was light and would’ve been sexy if he were seducing her instead of scolding her.

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “I don’t exactly have a home right now. I’m moving to Willowdale from New York City. I just got into town.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Moving here? To Willowdale? Is that so? Once I get your registration, I can write up the ticket for speeding and you can be on your merry way.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Is this how you treat people new to town?”

  “The ones who break our rules? Yes.”

  She yanked another card out of her wallet and handed it to him.

  “Good. That’s your registration. Be right back.” He returned to his car and Tonya wondered if she should hightail it back to the big apple.

  Then she straightened her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. No, she wouldn’t be deterred by the first setback. She’d come too far to leave so soon. Plus she was out of change for the tolls. Marcus had said she’d come crawling back, and that would not happen. It wouldn’t; it couldn’t.

  The cop was back, handing over her things—and a ticket. “Let me know if you need a tour of the town. I’d be happy to be your escort.”

  The idea set a tingle zinging down to her toes; until she remembered the man was handing her a speeding ticket. Jerk. “I’ll take a pass. Who knows if I’d be distracted and roll through a stop sign?” She yanked the ticket from him and their fingers brushed, delivering an unexpected jolt. That stupid, defective, hot-jerk gene is always on duty.

  He tipped his hat. “Well then, since you’re moving here,” he said with a smirk, “I’m sure I’ll see you driving safely around town, Miss Garcia. Welcome to Willowdale.”

  She was ready to rattle of an impressive New York insult, when she bit her tongue; his hair looked like it was due for a trim. “Have a nice day, Chief Larsen. Look for my new hair salon that’ll be opening soon.”

  His smile fell and he froze. “Oh, no. Now that’s a bad idea. You can’t open a salon here.”

  She pressed her eyes shut and forced a smile. “We’ll see about that.” He couldn’t give her a ticket for opening a new shop, could he?

  She waited for him to go back to his cruiser and drive off. Staring up at the ceiling of the car, she knew she’d laugh about this some day.

  Just not today.

  ***

  Rolling down Main Street, she noted its lack of traffic lights. Well, at least there was no chance of blowing through a red light. Not having lined up an apartment yet, she found the town’s one and only motel and pulled into the Be Wright Inn parking lot. Once she got settled in, she could find a storefront, hopefully with an apartment above.

  Pushing open the front door, she saw an old woman sitting on a stool fanning herself and sipping a drink. A soap opera blared on a small TV behind the counter.

  Tonya cleared her throat. “I’d like to rent a room for a while, I’m—”

  The woman’s finger shot up. “One minute, doll.”

  “But I need—”

  “Shh! She going to ‘fess up about having his brother’s baby.”

  With a sigh, Tonya folded her arms and tapped her foot. Was this the universe telling her to head for Illinois instead? Or maybe that oil rig?

  The woman leaned forward in her seat, watching. Then she groaned and flipped off the TV. “They always keep ya hanging, don’t they?” She shook her head and slid off the stool. “But I can’t miss All My Loving. I’ve sent them three dozen emails asking them to get Crystal back together with Chase, but nooo, she’s still with that dippy Troy.” She sighed. “Never mind. I’ll keep writing.” She shook her head like she’d been talking about a child who never showed up for the holidays as promised. “Now how can I help you?”

  Tonya drummed her fingers on the chipped linoleum counter. “I’m moving to Willowdale and need to rent a room while I look for an apartment and a place to set up my beauty shop.”

  The woman’s smile disappeared. “Oh, no, no, no. We don’t need a beauty parlor in Willowdale.” Shaking her head, she took a step back. “No, ma’am, we surely don’t.” She pulled a few dead fronds off a spider plant sitting on the counter, refusing to look at Tonya.

  Tonya leaned against the counter. “But you do. I did some investigating before I came here, and you’ve got one barbershop in town. That’s it. What do you ladies do to keep your hair looking so fine?”

  A smile flickered across the woman’s face, then she brought out that frown again. “We go to Bill the Barber
of course.”

  “Bill the Barber sets your hair in those curls?”

  The woman patted her hair, then plucked a pen from a mason jar on the counter with her short, chubby fingers. “Never you mind how I get my hair done. It’s looks damn fine and that’s all that matters. Now will it be smoking or non-smoking?”

  “Non-smoking. Do you rent by the week?”

  “Sure do. I’m Faye Jenkins, by the way.”

  “Tonya Garcia.” They shook hands.

  “How is it you’re moving to Willowdale? The only people who move here are the ones who left, couldn’t make it anywhere else, and decided to come back.” She looked up, waiting for an answer.

  Sharing her dartboard strategy didn’t seem like the best idea. She shrugged. “Just needed a new start, you know? Seemed like a nice place.” She handed over her credit card.

  “Don’t know I would’ve picked this town as a starting-over spot. Short tempers and long memories in a small town like this.” She arched a heavily penciled eyebrow.

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “Might be. Just so long as you don’t open that beauty shop.”

  ***

  Tonya went to her room, flipped on the air conditioner, and flopped on the bed. She reached for the balled-up list in her purse, then tossed it aside. It’d take a top one hundred list to convince her now that this had been a good idea. “Nonna, why did you have to die?” She closed her eyes and let out the tears she’d been holding back ever since the doctors had called from the emergency room. The stroke had snuck up out of nowhere. Nonna had been forty-four when Tonya’s mother and sister left their babies behind. Twenty-four years later at age sixty-eight, Nonna had low cholesterol, perfect blood pressure, and a spring to her step. Not a whisper of bad health surrounded her, but a stroke took her anyhow. Tonya wished she had somebody to blame.