Painted Petals

by Kassandra Lea

  Clara waited patiently in the doorway, chewing her bottom lip. Much to her surprise the driver left the car running even after putting it in park. A second later Clara recognized the vehicle and her worry flooded back in with an extra dose of fear thrown in for good measure. Out from behind the steering wheel popped Asher’s sister Violet. Violet’s hair matched her name, always had as far as Clara knew. She was what some people called a classic pear shape and an impossibly energetic for a woman who taught classes at the local elementary school.

  “Violet, is everything okay?”

  “Fine,” she called, crossing over to Clara. “Why ever wouldn’t it be?”

  “Asher…”

  A ranch accident. He fell off a horse, got kicked, got hurt doing something foolish with Bowie.

  Violet’s brows knit together. “Last I talked to him everything was dandy.”

  “So you’ve heard from him?” Clara relaxed, but only a little. Was there some reason Asher chose to avoid her attempts to contact him?

  “That brother of mine. I have half a mind…” Violet shook her head. “Look, I just stopped by real quick to invite the two of you for dinner tomorrow night or the day after, whichever works. What do you say? Up to dining with me and the hubby? It’ll give us all a chance to get to know you better.”

  The time Clara had spent with Violet was limited to a lunch Asher arranged to introduce them. It had gone well. Clara felt welcomed by Violet, like she was a sister. After the meal and once they were alone Asher informed her that the whole meal had been Violet’s decision, having wanted very much to meet the lady keeping company with her poor hopeless brother; he swore those were her words. Now here she was extending another invitation with the intent of making Clara part of the family. Would Asher be okay with it?

  “That sounds wonderful, thank you,” Clara accepted. “I’ll give him a call. And I’ll bake dessert, it’s the least I can do.”

  “You’re more than welcome to. It’ll save us from one of Roman’s weird fancy sweets,” Violet giggled, wrinkling her nose. “Last time he tried to feed me flowers and I’m all for flowers, but I prefer they stay in my garden and off my dessert plate.” They shared a chuckle. Surprisingly she gave Clara a quick hug. “Just let me know which day works best for you.”

  “Will do.”

  Clara remained in the doorway until Violet pulled out onto the main road, then she closed and locked the clinic door. She made her way to the back where the kennels were located. Dodger slept peacefully, the pain meds doing their job. His stats looked okay. She checked on the other two patients, a recently neutered cat and a bird with an injured wing. Both were fine, also snoozing in the faint glow of emergency lights. Clara slipped out the backdoor and checked her phone for the umpteenth time. She shook her head. Had she turned into a lovesick teenager instead of a rational adult? There was any number of logical reasons Asher hadn’t gotten back to her yet.

  Relax, everything is fine. You’ll see, you’ll have cooked up a batch of worry over something silly. Just focus on your baking, maybe come up with an idea to help Morty, and decide what to do about Valentine’s Day.

  Clara, accompanied by the crunch of her boots in the snow and the mournful call of an owl, thought it might be nice to get Asher a little something. An inexpensive gift, but one that still showed her appreciation for him. And a card. She knew some people found cards a waste of money. Clara, on the other hand, enjoyed writing her thoughts down, finding it the best way to express her feelings. Buoyed by the idea, she decided to do a little something for Miss Maggie—a little present and a card to express her thanks for the generous friendship and motherly advice.

  Tatters greeted her at the front door, thumping one of his back feet against the floor. Where he suddenly learned this habit was beyond her.

  “Your dinner is on the way.”

  She ditched her boots and jacket at the door, then headed for the kitchen. From one of the top cabinets she retrieved a box of rabbit food and a bag of hay, and placed them on the counter. She mixed them in Tatters’ dish along with a small helping of his favorite vegetables.

  With one rabbit contentedly munching, Clara flicked on the radio. Her favorite country station was playing a new jam by a hot cowboy. She gathered the ingredients needed for sugar cookies, including several Valentine’s related cookie cutters, and got down to work. She stuck the dough in the freezer to chill it fast, turning her focus to a round of cupcakes for Violet’s dinner invitation. Occasionally she sang along to the songs and looked wistfully at her phone every once in a while, wishing she could will it to ring. When the first batch of cupcakes went into the oven, Clara turned off the radio and wandered into the living room to turn on the TV.

  Normally she was a sucker for the romance movies always playing on the Hallmark Channel, but ultimately decided she wanted to watch something other than lovey-dovey flicks. She started going through the channels looking for something interesting when a commercial for a dating site caught her attention. An idea sparked to life in her mind and the next thing Clara knew she was racing for her cell phone. She peeked at the cupcakes while waiting for Morty to pick up.

  “Hello, this is Morty,” he answered.

  For some reason it made Clara want to giggle. “Morty, it’s Clara. Listen, I’ve got the perfect idea for an adoption campaign.” She laid it out for him, growing more excited with each passing second. She could see it all coming together and promised to bring him a plan in the next day or two. She wanted to execute her plan as soon as possible. “What do you think?”

  “Has anyone told you that you’re a genius, Clara? I think this might be just what they need.”

  She asked after Biscuit before ending the call. The stove beeped, its timing perfect. She pulled the cupcakes out. They looked delicious and would look even yummier with pink and red swirl frosting, a couple candy hearts stuck on top. Next up, rolling out the cookie dough and getting some of them cooked. Her stomach growled. Clara eyed the clock. Still silence on Asher’s end.

  “Looks like dinner for one,” Clara grumbled to Tatters, who was stretched out on the kitchen floor, his belly no doubt full. “Should I just nuke a pizza or…”

  Recalling her long-forgotten soup, likely to have been stashed in the mini fridge Miss Maggie had stuck under the reception desk, sounded like the way to go, especially since it gave her a chance to look in on Dodger.

  “You keep an eye on things,” she instructed Tatters. “If you-know-who shows up, give him a thump for me.”

  She grabbed her keys and headed out into the night, loneliness starting to creep in.

  Chapter 8

  Little did Clara realize Asher saw her make the trek to the clinic, cruising slowly by her place. His original intention was to pull in and surprise her, but instead he kept going and headed for home, not entirely pleased with the way he felt.

  Turn around you fool, go to her, tell her the truth, get it done and over with it. Lies and secrets only lead to pain. I never want to be the cause of her hurt, her tears. So why am I still driving? Why am I acting like a coward? Clara is a rational woman, she’ll understand, give her a chance to hear me out. I haven’t done anything wrong. Technically.

  About a mile down the road he slammed on his brakes, the truck sliding a few inches across the slushy blacktop. It was the glimpse of the moon that did him in, that big glowing orb in the sky. It brought to mind their evening in the field just days ago and Asher was flooded with an overwhelming sense of love, if one could call it that.

  Yanking open the glove box Asher rooted around for any scrap of paper he could find, pleased to fish out a yellow receipt from the feed store. A card might have been nicer, even a piece of notebook paper. This, however got the job done. With a pen he always kept clipped to the visor, Asher simply wrote what came to mind.

  Satisfied, at least to some degree, he folded the note and placed it on the passenger seat. A quick U-turn brought him back to Clara’s place. He eyed the clinic hoping she was still inside,
wanting to leave the note and scoot, still unsure of how to broach the subject of his ex.

  You’re thinking too much about a minor issue. And yet…

  Asher failed to identify the source of his misgivings. He put it out of his mind, darting across her yard and sticking the note in the middle of the wreath on her front door. Then he left, casting one more glance in the direction of the clinic.

  * * * *

  “A little more to the left,” Asher called as he directed Bowie. His friend angled the wheels of the pickup truck just enough to get the trailer backed into the right place. ”Alright, you’re good. Let’s get this unloaded. I’ve got other things to do.”

  Asher lowered the tailgate of the trailer, which was stacked deep with hay. His night had been restless and the last thing he wanted to do was stack bales, but Bowie needed his help. What kind of friend turned down another in a time of need? Besides, in the thick of winter, ranchers had to stick together if they hoped to get by with as minimal loss as possible. It also helped that Bowie agreed to help him with any fence repairs and how could he pass on that?

  “Might this something else have anything to do with Shasta’s return?” inquired Bowie as he climbed out of his truck. At the mention of the blond bombshell Asher flinched, nearly dropping the bale he held.

  “Where did you hear about that?”

  “Seriously? You live in a small town. Unless you planned on hiding her in your basement she was going to be seen. The woman is kind of hard to miss, all things considered.”

  Asher placed the hay bale alongside the depleted pile in the barn. He shrugged. “So, she’s back.”

  “You were seen with her last night.” Was that an unspoken accusation in Bowie’s tone?

  Asher grabbed another bale, opting to stay quiet. It worked for a couple of minutes, the two of them stacking the bales in silence. Asher should have known it wouldn’t last. He was on his way back to the trailer when Bowie stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Are things okay with you and Clara, ‘cause last time we talked—”

  “Things are fine,” Asher interrupted, yanking free of Bowie’s hold.

  “Not buying it,” Bowie said.

  “Let it go, please.”

  Standing on the trailer among the hay Bowie gazed down upon him. “You’re my best friend, Asher, and I’m going to say this because I know I can get away with it. You are a fucking idiot. Clara is an amazing woman and if you mess this up…Also, did you ever stop to think that maybe the rest of us have grown to like her, too? Breaking her heart might be enough to chase her off.”

  Asher grunted, returning to silence and falling into thought. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that someone caught him out with Shasta, but the whole affair was innocent, a friend helping a friend. When were people going to learn to keep their noses out of his business? Then again, to be fair, if there was nothing to hide, why was he keeping it from Clara? Why did he avoid her yesterday? Sure, he planned on stopping by on his way home to stop in and see her, but then he saw her crossing from her house to the clinic and kept going. The right thing to do would have been to pull into the lot and draw her into his embrace, plant a kiss on those velvety lips, feel her arms wrap around his waist or maybe his neck…

  He sighed, dropping a bale. “Bowie.”

  “Yeah, I knew it was only a matter of time until you saw things my way.”

  “I should have said something.”

  It’s going to be too little too late at this rate.

  “There’s still time,” Bowie pointed out, practically throwing a bale at Asher. “Tell her. Forget about helping me. I can finish up here. You need to get out there, run by the clinic, and have a talk with Clara. Otherwise, she’s likely to find out about Shasta from someone else and they’ll let the cat out of the bag, perhaps thinking you’ve already had the talk with Clara, and you know what happens then?” He didn’t wait for Asher to answer. “You’ve hurt her. She gets mad. The whole thing blows up in your face.”

  Asher adjusted his hat. “And here I am taking relationship advice from a man who one day is proud to be the cowboy Casanova of the town and the next wants to settle down.”

  “Uh huh,” Bowie shook his head. “This conversation is about you.” He poked Asher in the chest. “I’ve spoken the truth and you know it. Listen Asher, if you love Clara this is the right way to do things. Be honest. Let her in. Secrets and lies, they break trust.”

  Bowie spoke the truth, lobbing it at Asher like a line drive. They finished up the load, emptying the trailer. From there they made their way into the kitchen, seeking to find something to quench their thirst as well as the hunger they’d worked up. Asher was happy to find the flow of conversation switched from the matter of relationships to whether or not Bowie had made any decision about his future business plans. Bowie claimed to have laid in bed all night trying to come up with an answer that made him happy, that felt right, and failing. Asher refused to believe Bowie wasted perfectly good sleeping hours to do some thinking, resulting in a friendly punch to the shoulder. Chowing down on cold chicken from the previous day, they swapped a few stories about town matters and the upcoming fair and rodeo season. One of the bigger livestock auctions would also be coming up in a few months. Asher wanted to check out the horses while Bowie made an offhand remark about taking some of his stock up to sell. For the first time Asher began to worry that maybe Bowie was looking to get out of ranching altogether.

  But Bowie was a cowboy through and through. He was born that way; the land ran in his blood.

  “Have you come up with an idea for Valentine’s?”

  “Hm?”

  Bowie crunched his can. “I just mean, with Shasta back in town you might want to consider having a special night with Clara.”

  “Are we back on this again?” Asher grumbled, rolling his eyes. He took his plate over to the sink, giving it a quick rinse. He tossed his empty soda can in the recycling bin. “I think I’ll head home. I need to check on the horses, do paperwork. Give me a call if you find a way to get past my relationship issues.”

  “Just trying to help you out,” Bowie said, following Asher as headed for the front door. “I can tell you love Clara. Losing her…” He shook his head, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

  Asher yanked open the door and had to catch Shasta as she stumbled forward, having been ready to knock. She fell into him and his mind went back to another night when a similar event happened, but that time he caught Clara, managing to get a whiff of her shampoo as she tried ungracefully to untangle herself from his arms. Shasta, on the other hand, turned out to be elegant and poised, extracting herself from his embrace. In the process, Shasta made sure he got the full advantage of her body. The giggle she let out was flirty and as far as Asher was concerned, inappropriate. As soon as she was standing on her own Asher took a step back, putting distance between them, especially since Bowie was watching.

  “Shasta,” Bowie said, his tone calm yet spiced with a warning.

  She flipped her hair casually behind her shoulder. “Nice to see you again, Bowie.”

  “What brings you by?”

  Asher licked his lips, wishing he could muster some composure. Why did he always get flustered when Shasta was around? After how she treated him, the way she tossed him aside. Everything Bowie said about talking to Clara played through his mind. More than ever he wanted to see her, to hear her laugh, to take her hand in his own, their fingers entwining.

  “I have to go,” Asher managed to choke out.

  Shasta pouted, a look that might have worked on other men, but the power it used to have on him was long gone, and with that realization Asher relaxed. Since arriving at home to find her waiting, he’d struggled with the mix of emotions, worried that he would discover he still loved her and was willing to take her back with open arms. Now he knew better. Those desires were gone. There was only one woman he wanted.

  “Well, I stopped by your place and when I found you gone I decid
ed to check here,” Shasta was saying. She fished an object out of her coat pocket. “You left this in my truck last night.”

  It was his phone.

  He yanked it out of her hand and went to step around her, but she leaned in, whispering in his ear, “I added my number, just in case.”

  Asher’s jaw tightened. He yet again stepped away from her, turning his focus to Bowie. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah.” Bowie was mad, there was no denying it.

  Asher didn’t waste another minute. He ducked out into the cool air, drawing in a deep breath. He kept going until he was safely ensconced in his truck with the doors locked. Shasta lingered inside, standing in the doorway watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. Asher started the engine, turned around, and headed down the driveway. When he reached the street, he paused, pulling up his phone to find a few more missed texts from Clara. Had Shasta read them and if so, why had she practically thrown herself at him? He pulled up her number and hit the call button. He hadn’t realized his phone was missing until that morning and he figured he left it in his truck or dropped it while he was working, something he’d done previously.

  The phone rang and rang.

  He hung up.

  Asher turned his truck toward her clinic, thinking it might help to pop in on her, pull her aside for a private conversation. She needed to hear from him that everything with Shasta was officially over and the business deal they’d put together was off. Of course, he was going to have to inform Shasta of that later, that she was going to have to find a new place to board her horse and to stop coming around his place. They were done.