She nodded quickly.
I grinned, stepping down the length of the counter to come closer to her again. I plucked the red rose stem from her fingers and grazed the edge of the ruffled petals along her temple, down her jawline, and then dropped slowly down her throat to land at the hollow. I imagined my lips replacing the petals as they caressed her creamy skin.
“Precious petal,” I said under my breath.
“What?” she breathed.
“I want your most precious petals only.” A cocky grin lifted my lips. “I'm sure you're up to the job.”
“Yes, of course, it's just...I don't understand what you're going to do with all of these flowers.”
“Don't worry, they're not for me. My cabin up on the ridge is sparse, I don't need smelly shit cluttering up the space.”
“Oh.” Her eyes were as wide as the petals of the rose when I buried my nose in the base, hoping to find her honeysuckle scent clinging to the delicate blooms, but irritated to find only the sickly-sweet scent of any other rose.
“One other thing.” I passed her the rose and she took it with tentative fingers. “Don't ever bring roses.”
She gulped once before nodding, scratching down on the pad: zero roses. “And your address for delivery?”
“504 Lovers Ridge.” I watched as she wrote my words on the pad, underlining it twice.
“Okay then, I guess I'll have your first delivery for you tomorrow. Is there any theme I should go with this week?”
My eyes tracked up and down her pure features. “Well, since you brought it up, how about deadly love?”
CHAPTER TWO
Poppy
“He sounds batshit bananas,” my best friend, Bela Andrews, laughed over the speaker of my phone.
“I can't even begin to describe it. His body is beastly, like this guy could be Thor in another life, he just needs the shield and sword.”
“He sounds sexy as hell, to be honest.”
I burst into a laugh, Mrs. Clawson's fresh vase of calla lilies for the library nearly toppling as I did. “If you like to date Roman gladiators, maybe. Personally, he scared the shit out of me. That's why I called, in fact, I wanted to bribe you with pizza and hard lemonade in exchange for delivering my last order of the day. His.”
“Hm, the barbarian that ordered flowers? I don't think he wants to see me, Poppy.”
I groaned, sliding the last lily into place to complete the arrangement. “The flowers aren't even for him, he said—”
“Oh, sometimes I swear you are so dense. He probably wants to see you again, this is the best way he guarantees he gets more of you.”
“No, that's definitely not it. He's older, Bela, like a lot older than me.”
“Like how old?”
“Like...Captain O'Henry old.”
“Poppy! You're hot for a guy that's as old as your dad?! You minx, I didn't know you had it in you.”
“Have what in me? Sometimes I think you're the crazy one. Listen, the guy is a beast, a big tall broad manly man-beast. Honestly, he sends shivers of fear through my veins. I don't have a thing for him, I'm afraid of him. There's a difference.”
“Not in some circles.”
I groaned. “Sometimes I wonder how we've been best friends for so long.”
“Because I make you laugh.”
“I just like to let you think you're funny.” I deadpanned and she giggled wildly.
“Thanks for that, buddy. You've been my #1 since we were in diapers, you know I want the best for you.”
“And sometimes you like to see my fail too, let's not forget in fifth grade cafeteria—”
“Yeah, yeah, I like to see you trip and fall over your big feet once in a while, but not in matters of love.”
I sighed, still wondering why we were having this conversation. “So, is that a no then? No delivery, no pizza, no hard lemonade?”
“You know I'm always up for pizza and hard lemonade, but hit me up after you deliver to Mr. Mountain Man.”
“Ugh. You torture me.”
“Maybe you torture yourself, Poppy. I'm sure he's not as bad as you make him sound.”
“You don't even know half of it.”
“You're just dramatic and complicated, life isn't always a Jane Eyre romance, O'Henry.”
“Great, thanks again for the wonderful encouragement. If I don't catch you later, send a search party up to 504 Lovers Ridge, this could be the last time I talk to you before I'm caged in a basement and tortured for an undisclosed amount of time. Take heart, the next time you see my face might be on a missing persons poster.”
I hung up, Bela's cackling laugh haunting me long after I'd cut the line.
I sighed, eyes searching the shop as I wondered what to put in Mr. Wonderful's arrangement. I didn't know if he'd be keeping these for himself, but he had left me with the parting words of a deadly love theme, so I went with my gut and started plucking as many dark flowers as I could. Heavy on the carnations, the customary funeral flower, I also added blood-red mums and giant eggplant lilies. The arrangement took me all of five minutes and it looked fit for the castle of an evil queen.
Perfect for 504 Lovers Ridge.
I gulped, hitting complete on the order on my tablet, before swiping my keys and bundling both arrangements in my delivery box. I'd been so rattled by his presence, swallowing up my shop with his big broad shoulders and barbaric height, I'd forgotten to take down his payment information.
I dragged my feet every step to my small car, wondering if at least I could drop the large vase I'd arranged on the porch and get the hell out of there with a beep and a wave. I groaned, realizing I'd left my purse and tablet in the shop, darting back in to get both of them and then looking through the door as I went.
I had ten minutes to get my act together before I was face to face with the most terrifyingly intriguing man I'd ever met. When he came crashing into my life all fists and blood last night, I should have known better than to bring him back to my shop, but my bleeding heart had won me over. And, I was willing to do anything to get this man out of my dad's hair. The dustups between my dad and Maverick Wright over the years were legend. I had a right to be downright terrified of the man, I'd heard my dad come home enough times grumbling about this antic or that annoying act he'd committed to get under my dad's skin.
Sometimes their hatred even crossed into prank territory—well, on the part of Maverick, anyway. My dad's hands were always handcuffed by the law, ironically. As the Captain of the police department, he took his job of law and order in this town seriously, and Maverick Wright was just one of those people that seemed to buck the order of things by nature.
I'd never really ever gotten a good look at the man until today—their interactions usually when my dad was at work, but last night when I'd heard the yelling outside The Flower Patch, the curiosity had gotten the better of me.
Truth be told, I would have done myself a favor minding my own business. That would've meant no Maverick swallowing up all the space in my shop last night, and no big flower order today. Life, what a double-edged sword it dealt. My dream came true paired with my worst nightmare. What a bitch.
I pulled into the library parking lot, meeting the librarian just as she was looking up outside.
“Afternoon, Poppy. What a beautiful arrangement.” A welcoming smile split her face.
“The lilies looked so beautiful this morning, I couldn't pass them up. They made me think of you.”
“Aw, you always know just what I need. You have a gift, my sweet girl.” She patted my cheek. “Now, where are you off to with that dark and dreary order?” She pointed to the large vase overflowing with dark flowers and seat-belted in my passenger seat.
I laughed. “I think I did a fairly good job then. They're for Maverick Wright up on the ridge.”
Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and I covered my mouth instead of blurting out a laugh.
“Maverick Wright ordered flowers?”
“Sure did. He's now my big
gest client—my largest arrangement every week.”
“Well, how about that. I guess that makes miracles possible then, doesn't it?”
“How do you mean?”
“Maverick doesn't just avoid coming down off the ridge but a few times a year for supplies, he also doesn't invite anyone up there since...well...ever, come to think of it. I haven't heard of a soul being up Lovers Ridge since I've been living here. He only eats what he can hunt or harvest from the land, and trades for fish at the marina once in a while. There's a whole field of sunflowers about halfway up the ridge that he plants every year, and all the high school kids go there for their senior pictures—it's beautiful, but also why I'm surprised you're saying he placed a standing order for fresh flowers—he's got as many wild ones as he could want.”
“Really? My dad used to take me camping up there all the time when I was a kid and I always made him stop at that sunflower field, I had no idea Maverick planted that field—I still think of it in my mind when I can't sleep at night or I'm feeling overwhelmed. Lovers Ridge was always my favorite place to spend weekends with my dad when I was a kid, we'd make hotdogs and smores and he'd tell me ghost stories. My favorite was the native woman that—”
“Jumped off the ridge for love—be careful up there, Poppy, those curves get dark at night and the shadows from the trees along the cliff are deceiving. There's a reason only men like Maverick Wright live up at the ridge—it's not fit for everyone. Watch yourself, with the ridge and the man, they're both dangerous.”
“Are you serious?” The fear I'd felt in his presence last night came crawling back up my spine, causing a trickle of goosebumps on my neck.
“Deadly serious, Poppy. You're too young to be messing around with things like that, keep your head down and get in and get out. Men like that are exciting, but that kind of excitement always comes with a darkness few can carry.”
I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. I swallowed the dry cracked ball in my throat, nodding and thanking her for her order again before going around the front of my car and sliding into the driver's seat. I clutched the wheel, sweaty palms slipping along the leather as I imagined the steep climb up Lovers Ridge, the wide open view it offered of the bay and tiny islands beyond.
It was my favorite part of camping as a kid: that view. Now, the idea of going up to Lovers Ridge suddenly struck terror in my veins.
And here I'd been worried about a simple ghost story.
CHAPTER THREE
Maverick
I snarled as I glanced at the clock, well after five and still no deliveries. “Where the hell is she?”
Winchester, my hunting dog, glanced at me from across the workshop, big puppy eyes seeming to understand my frustration.
“Hello?”
“Shit!” I slammed my thumb with the hammer as I turned. “I mean, in here,” I shouted, flicking on more lights in the shop as I realized sunset came early on this side of the mountain, so the place had probably looked empty. I hadn't gotten much work done on my project today anyway, thoughts of the precious petal on my mind.
“Maverick?” Her voice was quiet, tentative. Hell, she sounded scared. Normally I liked the idea of instilling fear in the people I met, but I winced a little inwardly at the idea of her sweetness being tarnished one bit by all of my ugly.
“Welcome.” I flicked on the dark hallway light that led into the open area of my renovated shop. Her eyes landed on me for the first time and she winced and looked away.
I gulped and swiped at my face, realizing I'd had my head in the engine of a tractor trailer all day and probably looked a fucking sight. Grizzly under the best conditions, downright fucking barbaric under the worst. I swiped a palm over my face and into my short hair before looking at it and realizing I'd probably just spread oil and grease across my cheeks.
Fuck me.
I sighed, realizing I didn't have a goddamn thing to lose now. I stepped forward, reaching out to her for the vase. “Thanks for the flowers.”
“Ugh...” She stepped closer, one dainty pointed pink shoe after another in my greasy shop. She stepped further into the light and I could see the soft rose-pink shade of her dress, soft ties at each shoulder just begging for my teeth to...
I cleared my throat, yanking the vase from her and setting it on the grungy workbench.
“Perfect,” she uttered.
I glanced back at her, catching a note of something off-key. “It is perfect.”
“I thought you said they weren't for you.” She glanced up at me, striking green eyes highlighted under the bright lights of my work space.
“They might be.” I was about to push my hand through my hair again before catching myself. “But I’ll probably bring them to my daughter.”
“Oh,” she rushed, before biting down on her bottom lip.
I shuffled, enjoying her delicate womanly presence in my otherwise dark space too much. It’d been a long time since I'd even let anyone in here, much less...
“I didn't realize you had a daughter.”
“She graduated a few years ago,” I blurted, before kicking myself. I slammed my eyes closed, thinking this was exactly the reason I didn't do things like people very often.
“She did? How old is she? Maybe I know her.”
“No—nevermind,” I cut her off, not used to sharing details of my private life with anyone. Anxiety bunched my shoulders and neck.
“What’s her name? One of my friends is a student teacher at the school.”
“Aspen is twenty-five now, I still think of her as a kid, but she just opened The Pine Cone Cafe in town.”
“Oh, I don’t think I know her. I’m only a year younger though, I would have thought I would have met her in school.”
A year younger? What did it say about me that I found myself attracted to a woman younger than my own grown daughter? I was forty-eight. That made Poppy half my age and a lifetime out of my league.
“Aspen was home-schooled,” I finally replied.
“Oh. Right.” She averted her eyes.
Eager to change the subject, I asked, “So you spent time up here as a kid?”
“It was my favorite place.” Excitement lit her eyes while she spoke. I hated that I was so drawn to her. “My dad always told me the story of the native woman who dove off the ridge—”
“The tourist shops did a real number on that story—heavy on the romance and left out all the real parts.”
“The real parts?” She frowned.
“The story the locals on the ridge tell is that her faithful warrior for the tribe went off to war and she didn't let the mud dry under his moccasins before she was in the teepee with his best friend. When the warrior came home from battle he found them shacked up together and put a boot in the bastard's ass before running off the ridge. Then he found someone who wasn't an asshole and got married and had kids and that's why his first lover jumped off the cliff...because she was an idiot for love. Some call her a victim, but she was the asshole in her own life if you ask me.”
“You know all of this how?” Amusement danced in her pretty leaf-green eyes.
“Born and bred on the ridge, I know these things.” I shrugged.
“Well, I've never heard that version.”
“Well, maybe whoever's been telling you the story all of these years is a sappy asshole too.” My voice was gruff compared to all of her delicateness. The soft angle of her cheekbones, skin a soft shade of petal pink. Petal.
She frowned at the bite in my words. “Maybe you're the asshole.”
“Come again?” I stepped closer, swallowing the space between us.
She sucked in a sharp breath, the tiny way she puffed out her cheeks so indignantly, like a little child denied ice cream for dessert. It made me want to tease her relentlessly. “I said: maybe the story depends on the perspective of the storyteller.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That makes more sense that I expected you to make.”
She shook her head, rolling her eyes to the unfinis
hed ceiling before huffing, “That’ll be ninety dollars, please.”
“Is that all?” I fished a hand in the back pocket of my work jeans and pulled out my wallet. I passed her a crumpled hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
She took it from my grease-stained fingers with slow movements. “Thank you, but I usually ask my recurring customers to set up an automatic electronic payment to make it easier—”
“I don't use electronics.”
“Anything?” She stumbled over the word.
I shook my head. “No credit cards. No electric power out here. Just me and the birds. And Winchester here.” I gestured to the old dog folded up in the corner. “Cash is king, right? Got some fruit that should be comin’ ripe soon, happy to trade you for a bottle of Cherry Falls’ best cherry wine. I prefer to work on a bartering system, only under very special circumstances do I part with my hard-earned cash. I don’t use a bank or checks, and that plastic shit is just a way for Big Brother to keep track of everyone anyway—hell if I want them to know what I spend my money on.”
“You don't want them to know you like flowers?”
I growled. “I don't like flowers.”
“Could have fooled me. I can't wait to find out what happens when the president realizes you're this into a place called The Flower Patch, maybe they'll think you're laundering money, because what kind of mountain man likes flowers this much, right? Unless, you know...”
“You know what?” I ground, growing more annoyed with the way she twisted around me with her words.
“The flower fetish.”
“Flower fetish?” I burst, unable to control the frustration any longer. A chuckle lit from her lips and her eyes lit in delighted joy as she wedged herself under my skin. Granted, it didn't take much, there was a reason I didn’t tangle with people much, things like conversation and communication were lost on me most days. Always had been, and I was fine with that. I'd always gotten more out of being in nature working with my hands than from chit-chat anyway. “Listen, I don't have a damn flower fetish, or any fetish, I'm as average as they come and just because you drove all the way up here, don't give you the right to—”
504 Lovers Ridge: A Cherry Falls Romance Book 18 Page 2
