“Good. Then I am, too.”
* * *
Two hours later, I was in the shed arranging the buckets for delivery to the florists we supplied. I had my own stand at a couple farmer’s markets as well, but the florists were our bread and butter.
What had kept our flower farm afloat and flourishing through the years.
Business blooming.
That and the select events we hosted on the farm. Weddings and showers and celebrations in the meadow beneath the trees surrounded by flowers.
Daddy had started Rolling Wallflowers from a small flowerbed and three rose bushes in his backyard right after he’d come to Dalton and decided it was home. He’d been passing through from Charlotte on his way to Colorado and had fallen in love with a dream.
It’d probably helped that he’d fallen in love with my mama as he’d been passing through, too.
I carried the first bucket to the trailer hitched to the back of my truck—white lilies, as gorgeous as could be.
I went back and forth, loading everything.
Roses of every color.
Sprigs of greenery.
Baby’s breath.
Orchids.
I double-checked my list of orders.
Saul came carrying the two pygmy willows planted in pots.
“Perfect, thank you, Saul.” I brushed the dirt from my hands. “I think that’s it. If you could prune the palms at the back, we have a big order for those goin’ out to Charleston next week. That should be good for the day.”
“Already on my list.”
“You’re always two steps ahead of me, aren’t you?” I said with a slight smile as I shut the doors to the trailer and started to work the metal lock into place. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
He’d been working here for the last year and had quickly become invaluable.
He reached out to help me get it latched. “Ah, I’d say two steps behind.”
I froze when his hand touched mine.
When it lingered.
I stared at his thumb that slowly brushed across the tiny tattoo at the inside of my wrist.
A music note.
Just lookin’ at it made me ache. But that was the thing about taking something on as permanent. It was written on you forever. It didn’t matter if I had the tiny design removed. It would still be marked on me. Scored on my soul.
“I always wanted to ask you about this. Do you play?” he asked, his head tilting to the side. Handsome in his unassuming way. Dark eyes and dark hair.
A quiet kindness in his demeanor.
I knew where his mind had been going of late. The way he’d been lookin’ at me. The way his smile had gotten softer and his stare had grown longer.
Slowly, I tugged my hand away, trying not to be rude, trying not to make a big deal out of him touching me that way, but sure I was doing it, anyway.
An uncomfortable smile wobbled on my mouth.
“No,” I mumbled.
“But you have a music note tattooed on your wrist,” he asked, half confused, half amused.
My trembling lips pressed into a flat line. “I guess it’s just a reminder of how easy it is to get lost in a song.”
I thought maybe he felt the undercurrent. That there was so much more to that statement because he frowned.
Searching through my expression as if it might give him the insight to understand.
Awkwardness hovered in the space between. Finally, he stepped back as if he could burst the bubble of it, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, I guess you better get going.”
“Yeah. I should.”
I fumbled away and into the truck, and I buckled as I watched Saul wander back up the trail into the rows of flowers, shoulders hanging lower than they normally did.
“Shit,” I muttered.
I squeezed my eyes closed as I tried to sort out what had just happened. How I felt about it.
Richard’s face flashed behind my lids.
I squeezed my eyes tighter as if it could purge him from my consciousness.
God. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that he was still there, haunting me like a flaw stamped on my soul.
I was so lost to thinking about it that I shrieked when my phone went off where it sat on the seat beside me. In my blundering, I knocked it to the floor, and I scrambled to pick it up from where it’d fallen onto the floorboards.
My heart took off at a sprint when I saw it was the private investigator calling. I hurried to accept it, pressing it to my ear. “This is Violet Marin.”
“Ms. Marin. It’s David Jacobs with Jacobs & Drow. Did I catch you at a good time?”
“Yes…yes, of course.”
“Great, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your sister. I’ve pulled some basic records, but I need a few more details to really get started.”
Grief billowed through my spirit. Part of me wanted to hang up. Tell him to forget it. That I couldn’t handle any news he might report.
I looked back at the house. At the window with the drapes parted where I knew my mama was inside. Prayin’ for a miracle. I couldn’t be the one to stand in the way of that.
“Yes, any information I have, I’m happy to share. Though I’m not sure I have much information that will help. That’s why I called you.”
I attempted the joke.
It creaked with despair.
“Why don’t you start by telling me about her? Her personality. The things she enjoyed. The things she might have been struggling with leading up to the day she disappeared.”
Emotions spun a web inside me. Anger and love. Hope and regret. The gift she’d given and the peace that she’d stolen.
Everything in the middle of it.
Every loss.
But I guessed she’d been responsible for my greatest joy.
I cleared the roughness from my voice. “We were close for most of our lives…”
Eight
Violet
Eight Years Ago
“I have no interest in goin’ to some bar tonight.”
Violet’s older sister, Liliana, rolled her eyes at her.
“You have no interest?” Lily drawled as if it were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.
“Nope, none,” Violet spouted, returning her attention to the book she was reading where she lay sprawled on her bed.
Or at least she attempted to. Vainly, considering her obnoxious big sister ripped the book from her hands like she were twelve and not twenty-five.
“Hey. What is wrong with you? I was reading that, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Violet scrambled onto her knees in an attempt to grab it.
Her sister dangled it over her head. “What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you? You’re a twenty-two-year-old fuddy-duddy who’d rather sit in her room on a Friday night than go out dancin’. Now that is the real problem. Have I taught you nothing?”
Violet’s brows lifted so high they disappeared beneath her bangs. “Fuddy-duddy? I think it’s you who has the issue.”
Lily waved her off. “It might be the only phrase my boring little sister knows since she’s already halfway to bein’ a spinster.”
Violet scowled at her sister who stalked over to her closet.
Liliana was tall, miles of legs and curves for days. Black hair and eyes the same strange color as Violet and their mother’s. A bombshell. So gorgeous she turned heads wherever she went.
But it was the inside that truly made her shine.
Joyful and real and fun.
The one person Violet could always go to, no matter what. The one she’d looked up to her whole life. The one who’d always helped to give her courage to step out and chase down the things that would bring Violet the most joy.
Violet loved that Lily lived her life the same way.
So full of joy and anticipation.
Violet almost smiled at her from behind because when her sister got something into her head, she was a force to be reckoned with.
>
Violet’s closest friend.
That was until she started to dig through Violet’s closet and tugged something free. Violet sneered at the short denim skirt that landed next to her on her bed. “You are crazy if you think I’m walkin’ out of this house wearing that.”
Lily leaned up against the wall with a smug grin. “So that means you’re goin’? You know you want to,” she sang as she waltzed back across Violet’s room and stretched out her hand for Violet to take it.
Violet blew out a sigh. “Ugh. Fine. But you owe me if I have a terrible time.”
* * *
Forty minutes later, they were ready. Violet’s hair was ironed into shiny, sleek sheets that swished down her back. More makeup on her face than she ever wore, shimmering and sparkling thanks to Liliana doing her the favor. Violet had tossed the skirt right back at her and told her to put it on, while she’d pulled on a modest white sundress with tiny pink flowers and paired it with her favorite pink cowgirl boots.
Pink lip gloss to match.
So bars weren’t her thing.
But making her sister happy was, so she was giggling right along with her when they rushed out of the house to their daddy shoutin’, “You two look too pretty for your own good. Be careful. Call me if you need a ride. Or if one of those cowboys gets too friendly. Better yet, I will chaperone. You know I am the best dancer in town. I will come with you,” he called out as he fumbled toward the door behind them.
Lily giggled as she clung to Violet’s arm and dragged her down the porch steps. “Not tonight, Daddy. We’ll be good. I promise.”
They were both laughing at their poor worried father as they ran for Lily’s car, and Violet realized she was more excited than she’d thought she should be by the time they hit the road and headed for town.
Anticipation rippled through her bloodstream.
She felt it stronger by the time her sister pulled into the big dirt lot in front of the massive saloon known for the best dancing in town. Violet had only been once or twice, but she’d never been when there’d been a live band.
She could feel the energy of it when she stepped out of the car, feeling anxious and excited and alive as they headed for the double doors with their elbows linked together, laughing as they went.
They showed their IDs to the bouncer and paid the cover, and they stepped into the dimly lit bar that was packed wall to wall. The level of voices and music deafening.
A thunder that thudded to an upbeat country song that was being played over the speakers.
They started to weave through the crush, making their way to the large bar in the middle. They ordered margaritas, and when the bartender slid them across to them, they clinked their glasses together.
“To you being thankful I dragged you out of bed on a Friday night,” Lily shouted over the din with a smirk painted over her red lips.
“To maybe having a fun night with my big sister,” Violet teased.
Lily grinned. “What are you talking about? Any night spent with me is the best night.”
Violet shook her head with a laugh, and she let her attention wander over the packs of people gathered around the high-top tables, drinking and letting go of the cares of the day. Her attention drifted to the long line of pool tables on the far side, all the way to the lights flashing around the mechanical bull at the very back.
It was a madhouse.
Freedom flying.
Laughter soaring.
But what really captured her attention was the elevated stage set up to the far right of the cavernous space, a big dance floor surrounded by regular height tables on all sides of it.
Liliana nudged her on the shoulder. “Told you it was gonna be fun. Now come on, Alyssa and Brie have a table up close.”
They started in that direction when a squeal of feedback cut through the clamor, and the DJ boomed over the speaker, “Are you ready for this? It’s time to put your hands together and get your booty on the dance floor…welcome with me, the ones you’ve been waiting for—Carolina George!”
The lights flashed to darkness before they came back on to reveal four people climbing the side steps onto the elevated stage.
People shouted. Cheered. Vied to get closer.
Violet’s heart skipped in this crazy twist of excitement.
She had the urge to do the same.
To push up onto her toes so she could get a better look.
Lily took her by the hand and led her through the throng. Violet was unable to see over the heads as a sweet voice came through the mic, “Hello, Dalton! It’s an honor to be back playin’ in our hometown for a very special show. We are Carolina George. Who’s ready for a little fun tonight?”
More shouts and cheers and stomps of feet, and drumsticks were counting off a beat before the heavy rhythm of an electric guitar came to life like a sizzle through the air.
A shockwave of intensity.
The woman began to sing.
Violet’s spirit lurched, struck by the beauty of what she was hearing.
Unexpected.
Mesmerizing.
Hypnotic.
When she’d heard a local band was playin’, she sure hadn’t anticipated this.
She and her sister finally broke through to the far side of the dance floor where Lily’s friends had a table that had a direct view of the stage.
Violet stumbled in her tracks, coming to a full stop like she’d run face-first into a brick wall.
Gobsmacked.
Her daddy had always taught her to look for the beauty in all things. It was what had sparked her love of growing. Of seeing a seed blooming and unfurling to its full, glorious potential.
But she was sure she hadn’t seen anything quite as beautiful as the man standing on the stage with a guitar strapped over his shoulder, and she knew it for certain when he stepped up to his mic and began to sing along to the chorus.
Voice rough and sensuous.
Hair this mess of brown and dark blonds, longer on the top and cropped at the sides, the longer pieces flopping all over the place. When he tilted his head, the locks fell to brush along the most striking, defined jaw she’d ever seen, cheeks cut in the same severe fashion.
But his lips…his lips were full and lush and pink where they caressed up close to the mic like he was whispering to a lover.
Violet’s heart went pounding an extra beat, her stomach flutterin’ as a rush of butterflies flapped their wings.
He was a little rough and a lot sexy and she was sure she felt her knees knock in a steady drum of want.
A hand was suddenly waving in her face. She jerked her attention to the side to Lily who was laughing at her. “Oh my god. And here I would have thought my baby sister would be the last one to go fangirl on me.”
Frowning, Violet fought the overpowering urge to look back at the stage and instead stared down her sister. “What are you talking about?”
“Um…the fact you’ve got drool running down your chin.”
Violet smacked her sister’s hand away when she reached out to show proof. “I do not. Don’t be ridiculous. I was just checkin’ out who we’re seeing play tonight.”
“Checkin’ out, is right.”
Violet rolled her eyes. Yeah, her and every other girl in the place.
The man had an aura that flooded the air and seeped to the floor.
Overwhelming.
Captivating.
Entrancing.
He had a way that made every person there feel as if he were looking at them, because Violet was sure she could feel him watching her. Watching as she took a seat at the table with Lily’s friends.
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from watching him back.
Because there was no possible way that he was actually staring at her.
No way his gaze was lingering every time it passed over the crowd.
No way the lyrics from the song he sang about aching to get lost in a beautiful girl were meant for her that night.
No way that she wasn’t being completely delusional when she imagined the connection that strung taut between them.
A chord that resonated.
No way.
Their music was this clash of country and rock, an almost-indie vibe that strummed of aching need, a mesh of something seductive and dark mixed with a stunning hope.
She thought it might be the best thing she’d ever heard, and then she had to question if it wasn’t infatuation.
She figured this was exactly how groupies were made.
No, thank you. Not that she could make it through the barricade of women who were right up-front vying for his attention, anyway, even if she wanted to, which she most definitely did not.
Whatever the riot going down in her belly stood for could easily be ignored.
Right?
Still, she itched. Drawn. Her eyes locked on a man she’d never seen before.
Right before the band’s set was coming to an end, she forced herself over to the bar to get refills on their drinks.
Needing a distraction.
A diversion from drooling all over a stranger like some kind of wannabe fangirl, just like her sister had said.
Because seriously, what was wrong with her?
The band shouted goodnight to a thunder of applause.
Turning her back to it, she rested her forearms on the bar and waited for her turn. Canned music started to blare over the speakers again, the DJ striking up the dance floor.
“What can I get for you?” the bartender pretty much mouthed since it was so loud, and Violet popped onto her toes so she could shout her order over the volume.
“A pitcher of margaritas, please.”
That was when she felt the stir beside her, the shift in the air, the awareness that whisked like a flashfire across her skin.
Heart stalling out, she glanced to her left at the man standing beside her.
His tattooed forearms were on the bar, and he grinned soft, eyes the color of a tranquil meadow tracing her face like he’d felt it, too.
“Hi,” he said.
And she whispered, “No way.”
Falling into You Page 8
