by Tara Sheets
Juliette looked at the number across the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized. She picked up her phone, walked into her living room, and flopped onto an overstuffed armchair. “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s me.” Logan’s deep voice seemed to resonate through her entire body.
Pleasure fluttered low in her belly. She really needed to get a grip. It shouldn’t be that big a deal that he called. “How did you get my number?”
“Uncle Ro gave it to me before he left.”
That made sense, since they’d be working together while he was away.
“Have you eaten?” Logan asked.
“No.” The idea of going to dinner with him was so appealing, but she couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Staying focused was her number one priority, and Logan was a distraction she couldn’t afford. Gathering her resolve, Juliette said, “I don’t want to go out.”
“I’m not asking you out.”
“Oh.” A twinge of disappointment. She smothered it.
Luna climbed into her lap, purring.
Juliette stroked the cat’s sleek fur, taking comfort in her small, warm presence.
“Come over,” Logan said. “I’m making dinner, and I need your opinion on something.”
She almost laughed. “If you need help cooking, I’m the last person to ask for advice, I promise you. Unless it’s a salad question. Salads, I can do.”
There was a pause on the other end. “It’s not about cooking. I need your advice about a tree.”
Juliette stopped petting Luna and sat up straighter. “What tree?”
“The old maple tree in my backyard.”
“The one with the treehouse?” It was the biggest maple tree Juliette had ever seen, and older than either of them.
“Yes. I think it might be sick. It was out here long before my grandfather even built his house, but it used to look so much healthier.”
“Well, you were a lot younger the last time you saw it,” Juliette said. “Maybe you just remember it differently.”
“No.” His voice rang with conviction. “I don’t remember it being this brittle. Several branches have fallen off in the wind since I moved in. And the leaves are turning brown up near the top. I was going to ask an arborist to come out and take a look at it, but then I thought of you.”
He thought of me. Happiness swelled inside her, and she fought to ignore it. It was a losing battle.
“You know plants,” he said.
“I do.”
“Will you come and have a look?”
She closed her eyes, momentarily torn. What she wanted to do was run straight over to Logan’s house without even stopping to put on shoes. What she should do was politely decline any and all further interaction with him outside work. But a tree might be sick, and he was asking for her help. They needed her. How could she refuse? “Of course I’ll come.”
A few minutes later, she hurried through the woods drawn by an urgent desire to help. If there was any other desire that moved her swiftly toward Logan’s house, she tried not to think about it. She was going because trees and plants were her “people.” Mother Nature had always been there for her, so Juliette would help in any way she could.
Juliette found solace in the woods, and joy and companionship in plants, flowers, and things that grew from the earth. There was always something new to see and to experience. One of the things she loved most about her special gift was that it tended to be like most things in nature. Unpredictable. There was no precise way of knowing exactly how a spell or potion would turn out. Juliette loved surprises, and the little nuances in her spells and bath products were a constant source of delight. For the most part, they did what they were supposed to, but Mother Nature always kept her on her toes. Hers was wild magic. She knew what different herbs and plants did, but there was always something new to discover. Her own magic was a lot like her garden—an ever-changing source of wonder.
The air was crisp and cool. Juliette pulled her gray cardigan tightly around her as she stepped out of the woods into Logan’s backyard.
The spicy scent of mesquite wafted through the air.
Logan looked up from the barbeque as she approached. His hair was damp and slightly mussed, as though he’d just showered, and he’d changed into clean clothes. Juliette suddenly felt like an outsider peeking into his private life. There was something so intimate about seeing him this way, relaxed and at home, without the pretense of work to define their interaction. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to act. The simple intimacy of the situation blurred the lines she’d so carefully drawn between them.
He pulled two steaks off the grill and set them on a plate. “Hungry?”
“Yes. And no.” She leaned against the porch railing, eyeing the steak. “I’m hungry, but not for that. I’m a vegetarian.”
He furrowed his brow, clearly not impressed with her choice. “Rabbit food, huh?”
She lifted her chin. “Smart people food.”
“Says you.” He was pretending to be appalled, but Juliette caught the glint of humor in his expression.
“Not all people want to eat animals,” she said sternly, trying not to give in to her urge to smile.
Logan gave her a quizzical look. “If we aren’t supposed to eat animals, then why are they made of meat?”
She rolled her eyes. “I bet you had that on a bumper sticker in high school.”
“T-shirt,” he corrected. He turned off the grill and took the plate into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I also made corn on the cob.”
“Good. But can I see the tree first?” Her curiosity about the sick tree overrode hunger pangs.
Logan led her to the center of the huge backyard, where the giant maple stood.
Juliette gazed up at the ancient tree. It was older than anything she knew, even older than many of the evergreens in the woods. She remembered how huge and full of vitality it had always seemed when she was little. The branches seemed to touch the sky, the leaves every brilliant shade of green. Now, the branches were gnarled and brittle. It no longer radiated health, and it was clear something was wrong.
She placed her hand on the bark, feeling its age, its weariness. An immense sadness washed over her. Even though she knew it was part of nature’s ebb and flow, she always grieved when something so old had to go.
Logan was quiet while she ran her hands over the tree, checking the leaves and bending to sift the soil between her fingers.
“Is it dying?” His voice was so low, she almost didn’t hear him.
Juliette looked up to see a flash of bleak hopelessness on Logan’s face. She recognized the look, though she rarely saw it in other people. He truly cared for this tree. It must be the reason he’d checked out those tree books from the library.
“It’s very weak,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “It has blight. Sometimes it happens, even to trees this massive and old.”
Logan’s face remained expressionless, but there was a tightness around his eyes and mouth that Juliette didn’t miss.
“This tree is important to you,” she said.
Logan leaned his head back and gazed into the leafy canopy above them. The sturdy treehouse was just visible through the branches. “It was my grandfather’s favorite tree. He said it was the only friend around who was older than he was. He built the treehouse for me when I was little because . . .” He paused, then shook his head. “Anyway, I just wanted to know if you could tell me what’s wrong with it.”
“Why did he build the treehouse?” Juliette asked. It was important to her, though she had no idea why.
“He said he wanted me and the tree to be friends.” He shook his head. “It’s silly, I know. My grandfather had crazy ideas. He said it was important that we were friends because someday he’d no longer be around, but a tree like this could live for more lifetimes than we could count. And he liked the idea of us still having each other, even after he was gone.”
Juliette closed her eyes. They were the musings of a
tired old man, a man she never even knew. But the sentiment made her throat swell with sadness. “I think I’d have liked your grandfather, if I’d known him,” she said softly.
He ran his hand over the trunk of the tree. “Can you fix it?”
There it was. The question she knew he’d ask. Her heart clenched in her chest because she couldn’t promise what he so obviously wanted.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can.”
He wouldn’t make eye contact. “Why not? Don’t you heal plants or make them grow, or whatever else your magic does?”
She tried to find a way to explain. “With nature, there’s an ebb and flow that’s almost impossible to change. This tree is huge, and ancient.”
“My uncle told me you could heal sick plants.” He seemed restless, as though he didn’t want to accept the inevitable.
“I can, but there’s always a cost. This tree would cost more than I have.”
“What would you need?” he asked solemnly.
Juliette paused. She wasn’t used to explaining the connection she had with nature. She couldn’t even remember the last time someone had asked. It was such a personal thing, but she wanted Logan to understand. “I can make things grow, and heal sick plants if they’re inclined to thrive. But when I do, it draws energy from me. It’s like we share the energy. A little of mine goes into a plant to heal it. Does that make sense?”
He frowned. “So it drains your energy? It makes you sick?”
“No, but it used to. When I was younger and didn’t know my limits, I was always testing what I could do. Once when I was seven years old I tried to bring our Christmas tree back to life after it had dried out at the end of the holiday. I planted it back in the ground and it ended up growing again, but I got so sick afterward. I’d used too much of my own energy to save it. I was ill for a long time and even missed school. I’ve since learned what’s beyond my capabilities.” She caressed the old tree. “I’m afraid this is just too big and too old. Its time has come. Its path is set.”
“What about potions? Can you make something to help it?” Though his tone was carefully controlled, the inflections neutral, Juliette could feel his sadness. “I don’t know. Like plant food, or something?”
“Maybe,” she said. “I might be able to help it for a little while, but I don’t know how long it would last.”
The glimmer of hope in his eyes was brighter than the sun.
She wanted to shield herself from it and pretend it wasn’t there. That way, if she failed to help the tree, he wouldn’t be hurt. “I’ll try, okay? But I can’t promise anything. What I can do is try to keep it from getting worse, but even then it’s difficult to say whether or not a potion would help.”
Logan’s expression was so full of hope, she had to turn away. It was almost painful to see, because that kind of optimism was dangerous. She knew from her own experiences. When you hoped like that, you were vulnerable. Your heart could break.
“Logan, it’s important that you know. With nature . . . some things aren’t meant to last.”
“I understand,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
A sudden gust of wind swirled through the tree’s branches, and Juliette looked up at the treehouse. The large structure was still sturdy, though its sides were weathered and the tree branches had grown up and around it over the years, almost obscuring it from view. The tattered remnants of what had once been a rope ladder were barely visible through the leaves.
“Want to go check it out?” Logan asked.
She grinned and kicked off her rain boots.
“I’ll go get the ladder.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Logan returned with a ladder, but she wasn’t there.
“Juliette?” He peered back into the woods. Maybe she’d changed her mind and gone home.
“Up here.” Her head popped out of the treehouse window, her face aglow with mischief.
“How did you get up there?”
She grinned. “I’m an excellent climber.”
Of course she was. He should’ve known that. Logan set the ladder up and climbed after her. When he reached the top, he found her in the middle of the treehouse floor sitting cross-legged with her skirt bunched around her legs.
He pulled himself inside and stood, though he had to hunch over so his head didn’t hit the ceiling. The weathered floor was scattered with leaves and the wood plank walls were slightly warped with age. A tree branch had grown through the only window, making it seem as though the tree were reclaiming the space for itself. There was an old tin box beside Juliette and a beanbag chair in the corner. The place looked neglected and worn, but Logan’s grandfather had built it well. It was still sturdy after all these years.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” he mused.
“That’s because you’re a giant now,” Juliette said matter-of-factly.
“I am.” Logan sat across from her on the floor. “You should feel sorry for me. It’s hard being so big.”
“It’s actually very roomy in here,” she said, glowing with pleasure. “A person could even sleep here, if they wanted to.”
“Do you?” he asked casually, noting the heightened color in her cheeks. If she said yes, he would move mountains to make it happen. Just the idea of her sleeping in there—in a space so completely personal, a space that belonged just to him—ignited something in his blood, beginning a low, slow burn that felt anything but casual.
Juliette riffled through the tin box, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She was happy in this treehouse. If he’d known how pleased she would be, he’d have invited her up a long time ago. He’d do just about anything to see her looking like this.
She held up a stack of weathered comics in triumph. “I knew it.”
“But you were wrong about Batman,” Logan said. “Those are Spider-Man comics.”
She put them back in the box. “Same thing.”
Logan gasped in mock horror. “Blasphemy.”
She continued her search, lifting out an old flashlight, some baseball cards, and a pack of gum. “Huh.”
“Not as exciting as you’d imagined?”
“Well, it could be worse,” she said impishly. “I haven’t found any gym socks.”
A gust of wind blew through the treehouse window, playing with the tendrils of hair around her face. The sky had grown dark in the twilight, and light rain began to fall.
Logan watched her intently. Every expression on her face was fascinating to him. A sharp yearning rose inside him, and he recognized it for what it was. Desire. He wanted this woman. Everything about her drew him in. Somehow, sitting in his old treehouse with her felt like the most natural thing in the world. It felt right.
A dark curl fell over her eyes. She reached up and smoothed it back. The wind swirled through the open windows, and the lock of hair fell again.
This time, Logan reached out to brush it off her face. He trailed his fingers lightly down the side of her neck, leaning closer. And closer still.
She let him.
He covered her mouth with his, sliding his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he pulled her into his arms.
She let him.
There was no slow build this time. No easing into it. The kiss was instantly hot and carnal. Combustible. Everything in the world seemed to slip away until the only thing left was her. He was drunk on Juliette Holloway. The slick, wet heat of her tongue. The curve of her hips as she straddled him. Her soft, urgent whimper as she pressed closer. And suddenly, it wasn’t enough. They yanked at each other’s clothes. Fabric whisked away. Hands slid against bare skin. They kissed until the last rays of sunlight disappeared and they wore nothing but shadows. When he braced her against his body and lowered her to the floor, a thrill of triumph shot through him.
Because she let him.
* * *
Juliette made her way through the woods as quickly as she could. Her limbs tingled
with the enormity of what had just happened. Her legs felt rubbery, and her toes sloshed around inside her rain boots, adding to her overall feeling of unsteadiness. She felt as if the entire world had gone askew. The rain was falling in earnest now, but she didn’t care. Rain never bothered her the way it did other people. Maybe it was her close connection to nature. Whatever the reason, she reveled in it. Just like she’d reveled in hot treehouse sex with Logan O’Connor.
She stopped to lean against a tree, pressing a hand against her stomach to quell the legions of butterflies battling it out there.
With other men, she’d always enjoyed herself just fine. Sex was nice. Sometimes even good. But keeping an emotional distance was priority one. She never got swept up in anything past the physical experience, and that was just how she wanted it.
But nothing had prepared her for Logan—certainly not any of her fantasies when she was younger. He was always so steady, so calculating and careful. The way he built things to precise, exact measurements. The way he carried himself. Everything about his personality seemed so calm and cool and controlled. But tonight in that treehouse, he’d been like a wild force of nature. He’d been fiercely driven in his pursuit of her pleasure and gloriously unapologetic about what he wanted. The give. The take. It was like being caught in the throes of a magnificent summer storm. She couldn’t have controlled it, even if she’d wanted to. All she could do was hold on. The connection forged between them now was more than just physical; it was deeply personal.
Trembling, Juliette pushed herself off the tree and continued through the woods, trying not to think about what it all meant. She’d lost herself completely with him, gave everything she had, and took everything she wanted. And it had been the greatest, most devastatingly emotional experience of her life.
Now what?
Chapter Twenty
Belle of the Ball was the only bridal shop on Pine Cove Island. It was cool and spacious, with overstuffed seats and a low, mirrored table stacked with bridal magazines. A silver platter of biscotti sat near the magazines, along with a beautiful three-tiered serving dish of French macarons. The store was sleek, elegant, and perfectly comfortable in every way. But Juliette barely noticed.