Lilacs for Laura
Page 1
Lilacs For Laura
Lilacs For Laura
Laura James froze in her tracks.
Good heavens, was that Brett Mitchell in the gazebo? Back in high school, every girl in Crystal Falls had a crush on him. He graduated a year ahead of her, in her sister’s class, and had left for college.
Handsome as ever in a uniform shirt and jeans, he wolfed down a sandwich. Laura hadn’t expected him to return to Crystal Falls, especially not with a father like his.
She heard a noise behind her, and a sudden, sharp pain pinched her behind. With a shout, she leapt into the air and whirled around.
An open black beak jabbed at her.
“Ahhhh!” She flailed her arms at the oversized bird. It headed for her sandwich. Laura swung her purse at a wing. The swan dodged flying makeup and keys.
“Awwwk!” With beady eyes aimed for attack, its long white neck thrust toward her.
Laura threw her purse at the bird and turned to run. The swan bit her butt again. She yelped and ran, looking back as it nipped at her heels.
Suddenly she hit a wall of hard flesh. Strong arms lifted her off the ground. She spun around and landed with Brett Mitchell between her and the swan.
His nearness took her breath away.
Lilacs For Laura
Kudos for Dianne Miley
“I am hooked!!! I love it. I have not read this type of book in a long time because they all seem the same. So this is quite good. It is like nothing I have ever read before.”
~ Nancy , a reader in Memphis, Tennessee
Lilacs For Laura
Lilacs for Laura
The Crystal Falls Series, Book 1
by
Dianne Miley
Lilacs For Laura
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Lilacs for Laura: The Crystal Falls Series, Book 1
COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Dianne Miley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2008
Print ISBN 1-60154-333-6
Published in the United States of America
Lilacs For Laura
Dedication
This book is dedicated wholeheartedly to God my creator, without whom I would not have been able to write a word!
I also dedicate it to my loving family, my husband Chip, children Nick and Melissa, my mom Anne and my mother-in-law Dorothy, who have all given unfailing support.
Special thanks to my critique partners along the way. Rosemary Althoff, Peggy Musil, Theresa Hall, Michelle Perry, Chris Nolfi, Mary Ann Chulick, Kathy Fuller, and Nancy Plisko have offered invaluable encouragement and advice. Thank you also to Jerry Parker, retired police chief, who answered questions for methodical correctness. Any inaccuracy is due to my own misunderstanding.
Thanks also to my editor, Anne Seymour, who has been both patient and helpful.
Lilacs For Laura
Lilacs For Laura
Chapter 1—Broken Lilacs
An eerie shadow crossed the window of Rosebuds Flower Shop . Laura James looked up from her paperwork with a tingle of alarm.
Only May sunshine peeked in the window, filtering colorful light through the stained glass border of pink roses and green leaves. Yet a sense of impending doom lingered.
How silly. Nothing remotely dangerous ever happened in Crystal Falls. That security was exactly why she loved her small Ohio hometown. Too bad her family heritage wasn’t so secure.
Laura dreamed of taking over the family business someday and building a house next door to her parents. But she couldn’t even pay the bills. She tossed down an invoice for garden items that she’d hoped—even prayed—would bring increased profits.
Apparently, God wasn’t listening. No one bought the water fountain, gazing balls or hand-painted birdhouses that decorated the shop. And the extra bills only made the situation worse.
She lifted a crystal vase overflowing with lilacs and pink cabbage roses and breathed in the fragrance. Her grandfather had planted these lilacs. Heaven forbid if her family lost the farm.
The shadow returned.
The antique door banged open.
Laura jumped. As the bell jangled wildly, the heavy vase slipped from her hands. Crystal shards exploded across the wooden floor. Water splashed her sandaled feet as she stared in disgust.
Her sister’s husband shut the door with a tinkling thud. Lust settled in his dark eyes. Even more than the last time.
Self-conscious of her generous curves, she smoothed droplets from her skirt. Heat crept up her neck, but she glared at Jake Santos and casually tossed her hair over her shoulders.
The look in his eyes frightened her. Stomach churning, she stiffened, refusing to let him see her tremble.
“Grandma brought that vase from England,” she growled. “I can never replace it.” Her rising anger didn’t match the fear.
“That’s too bad.” Too handsome for his own good, he grinned as a strand of ebony hair fell to his forehead, Elvis Presley style. But those eyes never left her.
“Jumpy today, sis?” With a bawdy laugh, he waltzed toward her like he owned the place.
How dare he? At the faint smell of whiskey, Laura backed away, teetering on heels that didn’t solve her height disadvantage. Fighting hysteria, she stumbled to the closet and snatched a broom.
Willing her arms not to shake, she ran it over the edge of one tiny sandal, where a sliver of glass threatened her lavender-polished toes. She banged the dustpan of glass into the wastebasket, hoping a show of anger would mask her panic.
The wooden floor creaked with Jake’s nearing footsteps. The reek of alcohol intensified.
“All alone?” His husky voice hung in the air.
Her mind raced. Her father was home recovering from knee surgery. Her mother wouldn’t be back from deliveries for at least an hour. She was on her own.
Determined to handle this, she propped the broom in a corner and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Can I help you?” She set her jaw.
“Oh yeah, you can help me.” He raised an eyebrow.
His stare made her realize, too late, that crossing her arms created more cleavage where she had too much already. She dropped her arms, digging fingernails into her palms.
Jake slowly surveyed her body. She had forgotten to wear the shapeless apron that made her look fat. How she wished for that cover right now.
“Do you need some flowers or are you just here to ogle the merchandise?” She narrowed her eyes, trying to look fierce.
“Both.” He cocked his head with amusement and moved closer.
Grabbing the broom, she backed up until her elbow banged a wall. She was cornered in the closet.
The vacuum cleaner jutted into her back. Just like the leather armrest pressed into her spine on that starless night eight months ago. Her heart pounded.
Not again. The scene flashed through her mind—a wooden steering wheel, shiny chrome gauges, and tan leather seats. Not tan. Biscuit, Alton had indignantly corrected her. Blond hair fell across his blue eyes. His wet, greedy mouth smelled of sic
kly sweet peppermint. She hated peppermint.
Liquor was worse.
Jake’s silhouette filled the closet doorway. Grinning like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas , he reached for her.
She shrieked, whacking his legs with the broom.
“Ow!” He stumbled backward, rubbing his shins.
She ran for the counter and slid behind it.
“What’s wrong with you, woman?”
“Get out,” she hissed, brandishing the broom like a weapon. Hair stood up on the back of her neck.
Jake laughed. “But I need flowers, and you need business.”
“I said get out!”
“What am I supposed to tell Rachel? That you kicked me out and wouldn’t sell me any flowers? How do I explain that?”
Horror rose like bile in her throat. Her sister could never know about this. Desperate not to let Jake further diminish Rachel’s fragile self-esteem, Laura had to concede.
“What do you want?” she snarled.
“Gimme the usual.” He raised his eyebrow again. Leaning an elbow on the counter, he adjusted his collar to display his hairless bronze chest. She forced herself to look away.
Keeping the broom handy, she half-turned to the cooler behind her. She slid open the glass door. Cool, moist air wafted over her flaming skin as his eyes burned through the fabric of her dress. The invigorating floral scent clashed with Jake’s alcoholic stench.
She chose eleven red roses. The twelfth one pricked her, but she resisted a flinch and swiped away a drop of blood with her thumb. She laid the blooms in a long, thin box with a red bow. “That’ll be $20.00—family rate,” she stated smartly.
“Put it on account. You know the drill.”
“Yeah, I know it all right. What did Rachel find this time—lipstick, a bra, maybe another pair of panties in your car?” She pushed the box across the counter. “And you think red roses make everything okay.”
Hurt glinted in his eyes. “No matter what I do, it’s not good enough. Doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”
She fought a tendency to feel sorry for him. “Yeah, right.”
He frowned. “Your sister doesn’t understand me.”
“She’s not the only one.”
“Come on, Laura,” he pleaded. “You know I love Rachel. But I love you, too.” He came around the counter.
“Get out!” She screeched, reaching for the broom.
The bell jingled and the door creaked open.
Jake startled and quickly retreated. Pressed against the cold glass doors of the cooler, Laura trembled.
“Later, little sister,” he said under his breath. He tucked the box under his arm and smiled at the wide-eyed lady near the door. Weaving between plants and flowers, he regained his swagger along the way.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Hunter,” he greeted the police chief’s wife with an extra dose of charm. His words reverberated off the embossed tin ceiling as he sashayed out the door.
Laura shivered. He loved her too? Surely he wouldn’t have done anything more than kiss her, even if Mrs. Hunter hadn’t walked in. Would he?
****
In a garage on the south side of Crystal Falls, Brett Mitchell climbed under an old Toyota and slipped a pipe over his wrench for leverage. His muscles strained as he pulled the pipe to loosen a broken strut.
Suddenly the rusted bolt let go, smashing his knuckles against the car’s frame. Howling, he dropped the pipe and muttered curses. With a push from one long leg, his creeper sailed out from under the car and he scrambled for the sink.
“Stupid, stupid,” he mumbled to himself as icy water took the edge off the pain. “You always look where your hand is gonna land.” He’d worked fourteen hours a day for the past week, and his common sense had drained right through the soles of his work boots. Closing his eyes, he waited for his hand to numb.
He had to get out of this garage. And out of this town.
A crash, not ten feet away, jolted him. A ball peen hammer bounced on the cement floor before skittering to a standstill.
With a string of curses, Wayne Mitchell thundered toward him. A scowl wrinkled his eyes and creased his forehead.
“What the—” Brett scowled back at his father.
“We’re two days behind and you’re lollygaggin’ at the sink,” Wayne shouted.
“I smashed my hand.”
“Turn off the water and get back to work.”
“When I’m finished, I’m going to lunch.” Brett seethed.
His father’s lips tightened, parched from too many cigarettes. “Fine,” he barked. “Twenty minutes max. We’ve got three more jobs today.”
“Not gonna happen. I don’t even have those struts off yet.”
“It’ll happen if we have to work all night. I promised Saturday morning deliveries, and by God, we’ll make them.” Wayne stared him down with cold, blue eyes. “You’re a young buck, suck it up.” He grunted and stalked away.
Flexing his fingers under the water, Brett wanted to hate him. His knuckles didn’t hurt half as much as his dad’s disapproval.
Brett had worked his way through college for seven long years without one red cent from his father. After graduating a week ago, pleasing his mother had motivated him to come home and make peace. Like that was ever going to happen.
Once he found an engineering job, he’d leave this ho-hum town and its hurtful memories for good.
With two pumps of gritty, orange cleaner, he scrubbed the remaining grease from his hands. He washed his face, combed his hair, and tucked in the uniform shirt his father insisted on. But he stubbornly wore jeans, hating the uniform pants. A glance in the dirty mirror revealed a twenty-six-year-old version of Wayne Mitchell’s face.
Fortunately, the face was all he’d inherited. He’d never be anything like his father.
Brett stood tall and walked out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wayne growled. He opened his black metal lunchbox with beaten-up hands.
“Out.” Brett kept walking.
“In fifteen minutes, we’re back to work,” Wayne yelled.
With a rush of freedom, Brett passed beneath the overhead door into spring sunshine. He jumped into his old Corvette and started the engine with a roar.
Gravel sprayed as he peeled out of the parking lot. Looking back at the customer cars, he saw that only Wayne’s red pickup was bombarded with stone and dust.
As soon as he found a job, he’d leave Crystal Falls in the dust as well.
****
Heels clicking on the winding slate path, Laura passed blooming lilacs on the town square across from Rosebuds . She carried a grilled chicken sandwich from The Parkside Café. Thank goodness her mother had finished deliveries and insisted she take a lunch break. Unable to hide her jangled nerves, Laura had blamed them on the inventory bill. Not that the finances didn’t bother her.
Swans flapped around the pond, squawking for a handout. Too disturbed about Jake, Laura ignored them.
Sadly, she understood how her sister had fallen under his spell. Five years ago, she’d envied Rachel’s attentive, sexy husband. Back then, Laura was flattered by his good-natured flirting. But Jake had crossed the line. And not just with Laura.
Too bad his charm had made cheating so easy. Rachel worked two jobs to support her kids and a cheating, drinking husband.
Laura refused to end up like her sister. She’d been deeply hurt by Alton Moyer, and Ronny Tillman before that. Fool that she was, she’d actually thought Alton would propose to her. Of course she wanted the security of a loving marriage like her parents enjoyed, but fear kept her focused on business. The flower shop wouldn’t break her heart and ruin her life.
She stepped onto the footbridge that crossed Crystal Creek. Relaxing against the cool stones, she became entranced by the rushing falls below. She breathed in the fragrance of budding trees and flourishing moss. Spring sunlight reflected rainbows in the spray as mist refreshed her face and arms.
Scuffling echoed behind her. She
turned to see a huge swan flap its wings as it ambled toward the arching bridge.
“Shoo!” Laura waved a hand at the bird. “Go back to the pond where you belong.”
With a mighty squawk, the bird stalled, seeming to assess the bridge’s safety.
Laura strolled to the other side. Rosy impatiens lined the walkway and ruffled pink tulips bloomed in a circular garden. The paths intersected at a Victorian gazebo. Beneath the cedar shake roof and curly white gingerbread, she could enjoy her lunch in peace and clear her head.
Then she froze in her tracks.
Good heavens, was that Brett Mitchell in the gazebo? Back in high school, every girl in Crystal Falls had a crush on him. He graduated a year ahead of her, in Rachel’s class, and had left for college.
Handsome as ever in a uniform shirt and jeans, he wolfed down a sandwich. Laura hadn’t expected him to return to Crystal Falls, especially not with a father like his.
She heard a noise behind her, and a sudden, sharp pain pinched her behind. With a shout, she leapt into the air and whirled around.
An open black beak jabbed at her.
“Ahhhh!” She flailed her arms at the oversized bird.
It headed for her sandwich.
Laura swung her purse at a wing. The swan dodged flying makeup and keys.
“Awwwk!” With beady eyes aimed for attack, its long white neck thrust toward her.
Laura threw her purse at the bird and turned to run. The swan bit her butt again. She yelped and ran, looking back as it nipped at her heels.
Suddenly, she hit a wall of hard flesh. Strong arms lifted her off the ground. She spun around and landed with Brett Mitchell between her and the swan.
His nearness took her breath away.
“Run!” he commanded. “Get in the gazebo.”
Much as she hated being told what to do, Laura ran. As she stumbled up the gazebo steps, cars honked and pedestrians laughed. Embarrassed, she withdrew under the octagonal roof.
Brett’s angular jaw tightened as he glowered at the animal.
She couldn’t believe that gorgeous man had touched her. Those muscular arms actually lifted her from the ground. Her heart fluttered and her knees turned to jelly. She gripped a support beam.
The bird screeched, wings beating, but Brett never flinched.