Don't Give Me Butterflies

by Tara Sheets

  A deep, masculine chuckle followed her until she lost herself in the crowd.

  She was on the other side of the farmer’s market before she looked in her basket. On the bottom was a folded twenty-dollar bill.

  * * *

  By six o’clock that evening, the farmer’s market vendors were packing up for the day. Kat stood in the Daisy Meadows Pet Rescue booth and unzipped her chicken costume with a tortured sigh. The cool air felt like heaven on her sweaty skin. It was good to finally be free.

  Smitty sucked on a cigarette and dug through the donation basket with her free hand. She held up the twenty-dollar bill. “Who’s the big tipper?”

  “I didn’t catch his name,” Kat said. In fact, she didn’t see Mr. Tall, Dark, and Bothersome again after their first encounter.

  Smitty shoved the donations into a glass jar and screwed the lid shut. “Well, old man Winthrop didn’t donate twenty bucks, that’s for sure. Bessie never got more than a quarter out of him.”

  Kat glanced up from tying her shoes. “Bessie?”

  Smitty’s expression curdled. “The gal who normally works the fair. She up and quit yesterday, which is why we needed a stand-in. And good riddance to her, if you ask me.” She opened a metal box on the table and pulled out several bills. “Here’s your pay. You did all right today.”

  “Thanks.” Kat took the money and stuffed it in her pocket. Not a bad haul for an under-the-table gig.

  Hank crawled out from his sleeping spot behind the tablecloth, tail spinning in joy to see her.

  She scooped him up and kissed him on the head.

  Smitty eyed her closely. “You good with animals?”

  “I’m excellent with animals,” Kat said. “It’s kind of my thing.” And by “thing,” she meant superpower. At least, that’s what she liked to call it. By some freak of nature, she just always knew what animals were feeling, and she could communicate with them. Usually just by touching them, she received visual images of memories or things they were experiencing. But that’s not something she could come right out and say. That was the kind of thing that got you beat up on the playground, or kicked out of a house.

  “I need to hire another receptionist,” Smitty said. “You good with paperwork and office stuff ?”

  “Sure.” Kat pasted an extra-big smile on her face, hoping it would make up for the lie. Organization was not a close friend of hers, but work was money. And money was security. And security was everything. “I’m good with animals, and office stuff.”

  Smitty reached into her bedazzled denim purse, pulled out a business card, and handed it to her. “Come by Monday morning. Eight o’clock sharp. It’s a full-time position, if you want it.”

  Kat glanced at the card with the words DAISY MEADOWS PET RESCUE across the top. This time, her smile was genuine. “Sounds perfect.”

  Chapter Two

  “Room for Rent,” Kat read aloud from her laptop screen later that evening. She was leaning against the headboard of her motel room, scrolling through the Pine Cove Island classified ads. “Looking for someone to share light chores.”

  She glanced down at her dog, Hank, on the coverlet beside her. “That sounds promising, right? I’m fine with light chores.”

  Hank thumped his tail in agreement.

  She grabbed a chip from a bag on the nightstand and continued reading aloud. “Cooking a plus. Daily massage a must. Big tool provided . . .” Kat began to frown and continued reading under her breath. “For more details call X. L. Dickerson.” She made a face and set the laptop aside.

  Hank whined and shook his head.

  “Yeah, that one’s a definite no.” Kat scrubbed her hands over her face. She’d been searching for a cheap room to rent for the past hour. Most of the rooms available were either too expensive or too far away from her new job. She’d purchased an ancient Ford sedan with the last of her savings, but it wasn’t the most reliable commuter vehicle.

  Hank crawled into her lap, and she scratched him under the chin.

  An ad suddenly popped up at the top of the rental list. Kat glanced over at her laptop, reading aloud with hesitation. “Room for Rent. Willowbrook Lavender Farm, 37 Griffin Road. Discount on rent in exchange for light help with barn animals. Prior knowledge a must. All utilities included.”

  Kat sat up straighter. The animal shelter was on Griffin Road. She leaned sideways and typed in the farm’s address on her laptop. It was less than a quarter of a mile away from the shelter. Quickly, she fired off an e-mail asking if the room was still available. Almost immediately, she got a response from an O. Prescott, and within minutes she had a plan to meet the following day to see the room.

  “Hank, this might just work.” Kat shut her laptop. She snuggled under the covers with her dog and whispered, “We live another day.”

  * * *

  On Saturday around noon, Kat parked her car in front of Willowbrook Lavender Farm with mixed feelings.

  The fresh, herbal scent of lavender permeated the air, and the field beyond the house was beautiful. Rows of lavender in varying shades of purple and blue stretched for an acre along the west side of the property. A red barn with white trim stood near the south field, its doors chained shut with a padlock. Outside there was a trailer and a bright green wheelbarrow.

  But the farmhouse had seen better days. It was a dingy white structure with a wraparound porch. The flower boxes on the railing were cracked and empty. The three shallow steps leading to the porch were sagging with age, and the turquoise front door was faded and peeling.

  Next to the house was a detached garage with an apartment above it. Her future living space, if things worked out. She eyed the single window above the garage, hoping the room was decent. For the rental price, she wasn’t expecting much.

  Kat crossed the lawn, trying to shove off the mantle of disappointment settling over her. She had hoped Willowbrook Lavender Farm would be a little more cheerful. Maybe a purple farmhouse with fluffy chickens pecking around in the yard. Come to think of it, there were no barn animals anywhere. Strange, considering that was part of the rental arrangement. Even the fenced paddock beside the house was empty and overgrown with weeds. The place looked abandoned.

  She approached the front door where a silver dragonfly knocker hung at eye level. A mermaid wind chime beside the door danced in the breeze, its cheerful, tinkling sound eerily out of place in the somber atmosphere.

  Kat paused to gather her thoughts, tried to smooth her frizzing curls, then knocked three times.

  A few moments later, the door swung open and a man appeared.

  Her mouth fell open in surprise.

  Mr. Tall, Dark, and Bothersome stood on the threshold. He was younger than she’d first assumed—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. His hair was damp and smoothed back, and he was clean shaven, so the angles of his face were more clearly defined. He wore jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, revealing a glimpse of muscled torso and tanned skin. Kat thought he’d been attractive before, but now he looked downright sinful.

  His gaze traveled over her hair, her clothes, her shoes.

  She shifted self-consciously on her feet. She was wearing an old tank top, shorts, and chunky boots. All her clothes were black, which was a requirement for her last job as part of the working crew on the houseboat. She hadn’t had the time or money to buy new clothes yet. Now, under his scrutiny, she felt inappropriately dressed, which was absurd, considering he barely had a shirt on.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she blurted.

  He lifted a dark brow. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I’m not,” she said quickly. But it wasn’t entirely true. She’d expected a wizened old farmer in overalls with a grandpa smile. Or maybe a little old lady in an apron with lots of cats. Someone sweet and comforting. This man was the exact opposite. He gave her that unsettling, butterflies-in-her-stomach feeling.

  Kat cleared her throat and tried to sound calm, even though she wasn’t. “I just didn’t expect . . .
I mean, you don’t seem like a lavender farm type of person.”

  His expression flickered with bitter amusement. “I won’t argue with that.” He began buttoning his shirt. “You’re early.”

  Kat glanced away. Watching him dress felt almost as intimate as if she were watching him undress. “I was supposed to come at noon, right?” She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the time. Eleven forty. She must have rushed through the morning in her eagerness to see the room. “I didn’t realize how early it was. Do you want me to come back in twenty minutes?”

  “No need.” He finished buttoning his shirt and held out a hand. “I’m Jordan Prescott.”

  “Kat Davenport.” She reached out to shake his hand. It was a simple, everyday gesture, but the sudden skin-on-skin contact made her hyperaware of how big and warm he was, and how close they were standing. She quickly let go. “I thought I was meeting with an O. Prescott.”

  “My grandmother, Opal,” Jordan said. “I posted the ad for her.”

  “You live here with your grandmother?” Another oddity.

  He looked away. “Not for long.”

  Kat suddenly wondered what his story was. Everybody had a story. Some people got the happy Hallmark Channel ones with the parents and the family traditions and the fresh-baked cookies after school. Other people got Les Misérables. But that’s what made them resourceful and self-sufficient and strong. That’s what made them capable of handling whatever life threw their way.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Is your grandmother here?”

  “No. She’s at the community center playing bingo. Or knitting.” He shook his head in dismissal. “Whatever it is, she’ll be back by twelve.”

  Kat nodded in relief. A little old lady who knitted and played bingo made sense. That was the kind of landlord she’d expected. A sinfully attractive, slightly annoying grandson wasn’t part of the plan, but Kat wasn’t going to let that stop her. She needed the room. It was cheap, which was her favorite price, and she had no problem taking care of animals. She had to make this work. Besides, he said he wasn’t going to be there for long.

  “I’m heading out, Jordan,” a sultry female voice said from down the hall.

  A pretty woman in a red dress suit and mile-high stilettos sauntered up beside him. She had sleek, dark hair and lips painted the exact shade of her dress. “Who’s this?”

  “Kat Davenport. She’s here about the room for rent,” Jordan said. “Ms. Davenport, this is Layla Gentry.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Layla mused. “The room above the garage. I forgot about that.” She swept Kat from head to toe in an appraisal so thorough, Kat felt like she was on an auction block. Apparently, Layla decided she wasn’t worth the investment, because she tipped her head in a brief acknowledgment, then promptly dismissed her.

  Layla placed a hand on Jordan’s upper arm and squeezed. “I have to run. Come by my office later.” She brushed past Kat and sailed away on a river of Chanel No. 5.

  “Does she live here, too?” Kat asked.

  “No. She was just doing some work for me.”

  Kat wasn’t going to ask what kind of work. It wasn’t any of her business. He could do whatever he wanted with as many friends as he wanted. All she cared about was having a convenient place to live.

  “Come in.” Jordan stood back and waved her into the house. “I’ll show you around.”

  Kat paused in the doorway. It was dark in the hall, except for a splash of sunlight from a window on the upstairs landing. She stole a glance at Jordan Prescott. Her potential new roommate.

  He was standing half in shadow. An errant sunbeam slanted across his face, which made his eyes appear even brighter and more golden than usual.

  “Are you coming in, or . . . ?”

  She hesitated for a few heartbeats.

  His expression lit with amusement, and his mouth curved into a smile. It wasn’t the sweet, comforting kind of smile one would expect from grandpa farmers and little old cat ladies. It was an enchanted, wicked-prince smile. The kind that could lure a woman into all sorts of delicious trouble, if she were willing.

  “Chickening out?” he asked softly.

  Kat narrowed her eyes. She could think of several good reasons why she might be better off with a different living arrangement. But the Queen of Impulsive Decisions just tossed her hair, stepped over the threshold, and followed the beast into his lair.

  * * *

  Jordan watched Kat Davenport breeze past him, head high, fiery curls tumbling around her shoulders.

  He almost smiled again, which would be more than twice in one day. A miracle. The last thing he’d wanted to do was come back to this godforsaken place. There hadn’t been much to feel good about since his return, but meeting her was proving to be entertaining, if nothing else.

  She was all bravado, and he knew it. Yesterday at the farmer’s market, she’d been hot and bothered, and angry at the world.

  When he first saw her sitting on the hay bale covered in those yellow feathers, he’d wanted to laugh. But the moment she spun around and locked her emerald green eyes on his, he’d felt an instant jolt of... something. He’d never seen her before. She wasn’t someone he could easily forget. She had a beautiful, fallen-angel face. The kind that made a man’s good sense go flying out the window just so he could get closer, even though he knew it might be his undoing. But that’s not what caught him by surprise. Something about the way she stood felt familiar—the tilt of her chin, balled fists, eyes wide and assessing. There was a fierce determination in her that he’d recognized. It had been a long time since he’d seen that kind of grit in someone else. He was so caught by surprise that his knee-jerk reaction had been to tease her. He’d wanted to make her smile, but all he could do was stand there, asking her dumb questions. And then when he’d tried to charm her, that was even worse. No wonder she’d stomped away. He was an idiot.

  Jordan shut the door and followed Kat into the foyer of his family’s farmhouse. She was like a bright flame in the hallway, her beautiful heart-shaped face glowing with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. Jordan got the feeling she charged through life like this—full speed ahead, treating every challenge like a new adventure, even in the face of uncertainty.

  “Whoa,” Kat said, stopping in the foyer in front of the hall table. “This is stunning. What is this?”

  The huge canvas painting was at least five feet by five feet. Brilliant strokes of color were splashed across the center of the canvas in golds and reds and varying shades of brown. Beyond it, stretching from end to end, were rows and rows of compact brushstrokes in every shade of blue and violet and other colors with names he couldn’t remember if he tried.

  Jordan watched her scrutinize the painting up close—the uneven, layered pigments and textured brushstrokes. When a person stood directly in front of it, the painting was a bright jumble of abstract shapes and color. But Jordan knew the intent was to surprise the viewer. It was a secret in plain sight. If she stood back several feet, she might see the truth emerge.

  It was an impression of the farm. The red barn. The fields of lavender stretching beyond the horizon. A bright sunny day. A wheelbarrow. It was a cumulation of warm summer days, where all one could do was sip lavender lemonade and joke about watching the paint dry.

  A familiar ache unfurled inside his chest, grabbing hold of any momentary lightness. It was a reminder of what life on the farm could have been, but never was. A reminder of wishes he’d long since outgrown.

  “It’s a painting,” he managed.

  Kat cocked a hip and threw him a sassy grin. “Thanks for the clarification.” She went back to studying the image, then took a couple of steps back. “I love it. It’s so bright and cheerful. I especially like the detail of the white chickens near the wheelbarrow.”

  “The chickens?”

  “Right here,” Kat said, pointing to blobs of creamy paint beside a slash of geometric earth tones.

  Jordan frowned. He’d n
ever noticed before.

  “It’s amazing how abstract it seems at first,” she continued. “But really it’s the farm and the lavender fields. Who did this? I think I love it.” She flashed him a brilliant smile that did something to the ache in his chest. Whatever it was, he shut it down fast.

  He pointed down the hall. “The kitchen is this way. The room above the garage has a full working bathroom, but no kitchen. If you want to cook anything, you’ll have to use the one in here.”

  She raised her delicate eyebrows, then followed him down the hall to the back of the house.

  The kitchen was small and unremarkable, save for the large window box overlooking the side yard. It used to hold a mishmash of plants and potted flowers, but they were gone now. A lot of things were gone. Aside from a single coffeepot in the corner, the old Formica countertops were bare.

  Jordan suddenly realized how drab it looked. He hadn’t noticed before. But it didn’t matter because it served its purpose, and it only needed to be functional for the time being. None of this would matter in a few months.

  Kat walked into the kitchen, glancing around. “It’s nice.”

  He felt a twinge of guilt. The house he’d grown up in was anything but nice. When his parents lived there, it was a perpetual mess and always in need of repairs. Sometimes there was no heat or electricity because they didn’t pay the bills. It was always cold in winter, he remembered. Always chaotic. And now that they’d left the place, it was even more run-down. They’d been gone over a month before his mother thought to send him a hastily scrawled postcard from Malaysia with the news that they’d retired there.

  A new adventure! she’d written. The house is with your grandmother if you want it. We won’t be returning.

  Jordan ran a hand over the sudden tension on the back of his neck. Once again, he’d have to clean up after their mess. But this would be the last time. All he had to do was fix up the place and make it look presentable enough to sell. That was the plan.

  He watched Kat run her hand over the kitchen counter, as if deep in thought. She probably didn’t like the idea of sharing a kitchen with strangers. He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t like it much, either. Back in Manhattan, he valued his hard-won privacy. The apartment, his driver, even his acquaintances and the women he dated, were all kept at a safe distance. Exactly where he liked them. Living here for the next couple of months with his grandmother, and potentially Kat, was going to be disturbing in more ways than he cared to admit.