“To what?” She countered quickly and I faltered. She crossed her arms over her chest, squaring against me in a power pose that was in such a striking contrast to her otherwise calm demeanor, I couldn't help but feel the energy rippling off of her and filling up my space everywhere.
“The right to saunter in here with your smart mouth and stupid fucking clacky shoes and tell me anything about my life.” I paused and her lips pursed with pinched annoyance. “And next time?”
“Next time?”
“Bigger,” I ordered.
“Bigger?”
“A fuck of a lot bigger. This is nice, but when I said one of everything I meant it, you kinda shorted me.”
“Shorted you?”
“This wimpy vase hasn't met my expectations at all. In fact, I'd like to leave a review about the service.”
“The service?” Her voice lowered an octave, anger replacing the annoyance. Her cheeks turned from soft cherry pink to a vibrant shade of poppy.
“What'd you say the name of your little establishment was?”
“Th-The Flower Patch.” Her words were barely audible now, and I could practically see her fluttering heartbeat behind the thin skin of her throat.
I gulped, stepping closer and nailing her with my hardened gaze.
“Unless you meant to deliver the rest of my order tomorrow?” I peeled another hundred off of the stack in my wallet. “Will this cover it?”
Her wavering hands took the bill and she swallowed, eyes cast over my shoulder to the workbench with her bouquet behind me, before going up to the worn wooden beams of my old workshop ceiling. “You want me to come back tomorrow?”
“Unless you want to come back up tonight, but sunset comes earlier than you'd think up here, I'd hate for you to get stuck on one of those S curves after dark. Can't tell you how many people I've found huddled in their cars after sun sets, or even worse once the snow flies. Those open cliffs are deadly during the winter storms.”
“Deadly.” She nodded almost imperceptibly before suddenly spinning on her pointy little shoe and clicking her way out of my shop. I followed, hot on her heels and into the open air. This woman was a vision even in the dark, but by the light of day, she was sent from Heaven.
I shook those thoughts from my head, wanting to land one last sucker punch before she tore out of my life again. “And what's your name? For the review—I'd call you precious petal but I want to be a little more accurate when I speak to the level of customer service at The Flower Patch.”
She turned and straightened her spine, thrusting out her chin before catching my gaze and replying, “Maybe tomorrow's flower theme should be the...the grumpy asshole! And I'll be sure to sign the card All My Hate, Poppy O'Henry.”
And then my blood turned to ice.
Poppy O'Henry.
Captain O'Henry's daughter.
My mortal enemy.
CHAPTER FOUR
Poppy
“Fuck him.” Outright anger shook my hands as I clutched the steering wheel, backing down his stupid steep driveway. “He can shove tomorrow up his ass.”
I wasn’t even a third of the way down the ridge when I’d decided exactly what flowers would be in Maverick Wright’s next arrangement. Every dead flower out of the garbage can. I gunned my engine around another curve, my blood boiling as I realized my dad had been right all of these years.
Some people were just lowdown, good-for-nothing, moral cretins. And Maverick Wright was at the top of that list, but I wasn’t too proud to take his money. I didn’t know and didn’t give a shit what he wanted all the damn flowers for, but I would continue to take his cash with a smile on my face, and clutching my steering wheel the entire way home.
I punched the radio in search of a station, only to find the service in this godforsaken no man’s land had let me down. I froze when a soft mist landed on my windshield as the road opened up to the bare cliff’s edge. I slowed, careful to take the turns extra slowly as I came around one of the tightest corners before it opened into the famous sunflower field. I tapped my fingers on the wheel, thinking a man must really love sunflowers if he was willing to plant a field that big every year.
By the time I was down the ridge and pulling into the parking lot of The Flower Patch, the mist had turned to a constant drizzle. I slipped into the shop and began pulling all of the sunflowers I had available. I paused as I looked in the garbage can, more tempted than I cared to admit to fish a few of the faded roses out, but instead, I found an elegant black vase—the most masculine thing I could find—and began filling it to the brim with shades of sunflower.
I tucked small red ones into the bright yellow, highlighted it with shades of sunset orange and deep blood-red. The bouquet was beautiful by all standards, too pretty for him, that was the truth, but the arrangement was so tall it practically dominated the small flower shop counter. No way could he complain about the size this time around.
Eyes on the fading light outside, I retraced my tracks, tucking the sunflowers into the car and starting my engine to point myself back up the ridge and Maverick Wright. I didn’t know if I had it in me to face the dominating force of a man again, but I wanted to keep the lights on another month, so brave the beast I would.
My tiny car climbed up Lovers Ridge again, my bald tires spinning once on a curve because the mist and rain had left the edges of the road eroding. I groaned, thinking how stupid it’d been to drive up here just to deliver him the biggest, ugliest bouquet I could muster, when really I was only putting my own life in danger.
I passed the sunflower field, glad I’d at least picked out mostly dark and dreadful for a dark and dreadful man. The big fat heads hung heavy on the stalks, and turned away from the setting sun now, they just looked more pathetic than inspiring photo opportunities. I shook my head, thinking some people were just better left alone.
As I turned the final corner and turned the steep hill up to his driveway, heavy evergreens loomed. They dominated the driveway and my vision just like the man that lived beyond them. I said a silent prayer that the gravel of the road wouldn’t wash out while I was up delivering this dumb order. It would be just my luck that I’d get stranded on the top of a mountain with a caveman. I didn’t have time for it, which is why getting in and getting out was my only priority.
I pulled to a slow stop in the same spot I’d parked before, cautiously coming around the edge of my car as my eyes scanned the workshop I’d found him in earlier, and what looked to be a hand-hewn log cabin beyond. It was ironic, really, he had the most beautiful view in Cherry Falls, but he carried storm clouds around with him all day.
Just as I unbuckled the sunflowers from the passenger seat and turned with the armful in my hands, I saw a small window upstairs light up, filling with steam a moment later. “Shit.”
If I had to guess, that tiny window looked like a bathroom, and the big man inside of it had probably just stepped into the shower. I took in the pristine silence, inhaled the pine-scented air and let the mist off the bay roll over my cheeks. This place was serene, probably not bad at all outside of the company.
“Here goes nothing.” I took the steps quietly, approaching the cabin door, ready to knock and run, leaving the flowers on the doorstep, when the sound of music washed over me. An older song I’d heard my dad listen to a thousand times, one he always stopped on when it came on the radio. The sappy chorus, sweet and slow and crooning about being the inspiration for everything felt ironic.
I tapped on the door softly, surprised when it opened easily. My eyebrows shot up, my feet walking ahead of me as I crossed the threshold and came into the homey, almost warm household. “Hello?”
My eyes tracked around the space, registering the curling stairway that led to a loft. Jon Secada crooned on about love and being together; I was enamored with Maverick Wright’s life in front of me. I took another few steps into the kitchen and set the vase of flowers on the nearby table. Something smelled delicious, bubbling softly from the stove, and pictures de
corated the walls. A flagstone fireplace dominated one wall in the living room, but a wall of photos flanking the other side drew me closer. A baby, sleeping sweetly in her dad’s arms, tiny little pink cap on her head that announced the name: Aspen.
My eyes continued to trail through the years, pictures of Maverick and his daughter as she grew on vacation, fishing in canoes, and running through the rows of sunflowers. One picture dominated the mantle, two smiling faces shining out, if I squinted just right I could almost make out the cocky twinkle in the man’s eyes that matched the one I’d seen in Maverick’s earlier that night in his garage.
My fingertips walked across the soft wooden mantle, hovering at the seashell picture frame that contained the happy couple. A sigh of guilt that I’d run this man ragged in my head earlier washed over me. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Can’t for the life of me figure why you helped yourself to my home in the first place.”
My heart stopped at the cold words.
I clamped my lips together, cold terror running down my spine as I spun, eyes on the floor. “Since when did the devil listen to Jon Secada?”
“The devil?” He laughed. “You don't know half of it, little girl.”
“Don’t I, though?” My eyes hardened.
“You don’t know shit,” he hissed, eyes finally seeking out the sunflowers that dominated his small kitchen table. “Why did you bring those?”
“Bring what? The flowers?” I shook my head. “I thought you’d like them, ya know, the field and all.”
“Don’t ever bring me sunflowers.” He yanked the vase off the table and swung the door wide, throwing them full force out on the porch. They crashed on the top step, water splashing and blooms spraying across the steps.
“You’re an asshole, Maverick Wright. And don't ever little girl me again.”
His eyes nailed mine, one eyebrow rising in challenge before he clutched at the door frame and seethed, “It’s dark, you shouldn’t be up here. It’s more dangerous than your immature mind can fathom.”
I gnashed down on my teeth until it hurt, stomping down the steps and kicking the stupid man-vase as I went, the sunflower petals strewn across his steps and front yard like there'd been a wedding.
“Maverick fucking Wright. What a nightmare.”
“Can’t wait to see what kind of shit you bring me tomorrow!”
I nearly choked on his words as they carried on the wind over my shoulder.
“If I never see you again it will be too soon!” I yelled, right before I ducked behind the wheel of my car and slammed the door. “Go to hell, you grump.”
But writing Maverick Wright off wasn’t that easy. The guilt of wandering in his house and spying on his home like I had weighed heavy. I thought of his anger at the sunflowers, the way I’d wanted to choke him senseless when he’d heaved my hard work out the front door. But how much work had I put into it really, beyond five minutes and a few miles on my odometer?
I sighed, taking the first turn too quickly, the wet road causing my tires to spin on the soft edge. I huffed, tightening my hold on the wheel and slowing down as I took my time down the next few turns. I was nearly off the ridge, but when the cliff opened up and a blast of smokey mist and rain hit my car, I veered too far to the right and rammed straight through the shallow ditch and up into the sunflower field.
Fading blooms smooshed against my windshield as my car stalled. “Oh God, no.”
Agitated tears hovered at my eyelids as I slapped at the steering wheel, letting the emotions of the day finally overtake me. Maverick Wright had left me on edge since the minute he’d walked into my shop, and I should have known better than to take him on as a client—he’d gotten into a fist fight with my father, for god sakes.
Since the moment that big brute of a man entered my life, I’d had nothing but problems. I sighed, glancing out of my driver side window to the darkening cliff and bay beyond. It turned out I was the moronic one—my fantasy of Lovers Ridge shattered one sunflower petal at a time.
I sucked in some deep breaths, forcing myself to remember all the good times my dad and I had had up here after Mom left. The divorce had rocked both of our worlds, but I was so young, not even in middle school, when she’d decided life in small-town Cherry Falls wasn’t for her. One day she was baking cookies, the next she was sending me birthday cards once a year from Syn City. And after a while, even those stopped.
I didn’t have a lot of happy family memories of my parents together, but I had a lot of me and my dad up here. On the ridge. And now I was trying damn hard to not let Maverick Wright ruin every one of them.
Fat raindrops opened up on my car then, a downpour starting just as quickly as the mist had. The climate coming off the mountain was treacherous on the best of days, why I’d been stupid enough to come up here just to prove a point was enough to have me kicking myself the rest of the way down the mountain. I twisted the key then, praying the engine would fire back to life.
It didn’t.
“Oh, no,” I cried, forehead on the steering wheel. I thought there was at least one blanket in the back—Dad had taught me to keep my emergency stash stocked in the car at least. Maybe sitting up here among the sunflowers overlooking the bay until morning wouldn’t be so bad. I hadn’t seen sunrise on the ridge since the last time Dad and I had come up here. I was thirteen and by the time we were headed back to civilization that weekend, I knew it would be our last summer.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but there’d been a shift between us. One where I was more concerned about friends than fishing, high school crushes overruled even the best smores.
Maybe I was a little glad to have an excuse to come up Lovers Ridge now, grumpy-pants client or not. Streaks of rain tracked down the windshield, a streak of lightning lit the bay to silver, splashes of black evergreens silhouetted against the damp night air. If I squinted I could almost see the native woman, long flowing dress and dark hair, hovering at the edge. I wondered what kind of thoughts might run through her head before she dove off of the cliff.
Dad used to warn me off the teenagers that partied up here when I was in high school. He said some of them claimed that the native woman had lived, only swan dived into the water and went on to swim another day. I think he was secretly afraid I’d lose my mind and try it myself someday. He’d spent most of his time worrying about me through my childhood, and he still did now.
I thought about calling him, or at least the tow service to get me out of here, but for the moment, it felt good to let life take the wheel and just sit back and enjoy the sunflowers for a minute.
“Well, well, well, look what the storm dragged in.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Maverick
“Need my help, little one?” I yanked her door wide, hauling her into my arms without allowing her a minute to reply first. “Told you the ridge is dangerous, you’re lucky the sunflowers stopped you.”
“Lucky alright,” she sniffed, wiping the rain from her face as I walked her back to my truck. I slid her into the cab, tossing my heavy flannel at her. She wrapped herself in it gratefully. “I'm not sure what happened.”
“Probably flooded yourself out on the puddle going into that last turn, must’ve been going pretty fast to land clear over the ditch.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Sure,” I laughed. “Got what you deserved for coming back here so late when a storm was rolling in.”
“You know—”
“Doesn't matter.” I crawled up into the cab and angled my truck back up the steep corner turn. “That drain ditch will be out through the weekend at least. Shored it up with a French drain just this spring. How fast were you going?”
She puffed out her lips and then rolled her eyes.
A grin cracked my face. “Pretty when you pout, Petal.”
Her dark eyes widened to hubcaps. I tore my gaze away, heart thumping in my chest as I focused on the torrents of rain that washed the windshield.
“So I’m stuck
here then?” she finally said.
I pulled the truck to a stop near the doorstep of my cabin. “Seems so.”
I exited the truck, trying not to think of her when all I could do was think of her. I didn’t like the way she made my chest ache whenever she smiled. I pushed a hand over my face, coming around the nose of my truck and avoiding her gaze as I opened the passenger door for her.
“You like venison stew?”
She didn't reply, forcing me to meet her eyes. She looked...offended.
“I’m not really a red meat kind of girl.”
“What kind of girl are you, exactly?” I tipped my head, gritting my teeth as I mentally counted the four stacks of venison piled in my freezer.
“I like seafood and fish.” Her smile was hopeful.
I nodded, slamming the door behind her and following as she ran up the steps for shelter under the porch roof. “I’ve got a month’s worth of rainbow trout in deep freeze. Aspen usually keeps me stocked with soups and casseroles but she’s been busier at the cafe lately.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She waved me off as we walked into my kitchen. Hot stew bubbled on the counter and filled the house with the scent of venison and thyme and gravy. “It smells great in here, you must be quite a cook.”
“I’ve been a bachelor for two decades. I don’t starve. Aspen is the real talent—takes after her mom—” I halted, the memories still stung.
She froze, eyes trailing around the kitchen. “Your home is beautiful...”
“It’s a work in progress.”
Her eyes dropped to the floorboards, my woodworking tools stacked next to my hunting boots. “You built this place yourself?”
504 Lovers Ridge: A Cherry Falls Romance Book 18 Page 3