The problem is it physicallyhurtsto turn my back on him. He might be Tristan’s mate, but his scent is still imprinted on my brain, calling to me like a literal serpent in my garden. I know he rejected me when I needed him most, and I know he’s a danger to the life I’ve built in the years since, but it seems that biology trumps self-preservation. One sniff, and my needy little heart is dying for more.
I smother a groan as I mount the porch steps, only to hear his boots right behind me. I bustle behind the counter on the excuse of grabbing water from the fridge. Of course, my good manners have to strike again, and I find myself sliding a second bottle his way. “You need to stay hydrated. We don’t have those cooling breezes you get back in LA.”
“San Francisco,” he says quietly, cracking the lid and taking a long drink. “I’ve been based there since college.”
I raise a brow at that, my hands slippery on the damp bottle. “Not UCLA, then.”
Color stains his cheeks and he finally takes off his sunglasses, tucking them into the neck of his shirt. “No. I was at Stanford when we met. And Ellis was-.”
“Getting ready to break hearts on the big screen.”
“I’m sorry, Lily.”
Words I waited a long time to hear, but they do little to calm the heat prickling over my skin. “Why did you lie?”
“I was being… cautious. I thought we had time to get to know each other after your heat.”
I wave a hand to cut him off. Rehashing my heat is most definitely not on the agenda for today. “I guess it’s hard to hide your true identities when you’re dating supermodels and making magazine covers.”
If he hears the accusation in my voice, he doesn’t show it. “That’s just the media machine. It’s not who we are.”
I rub at the ring of condensation my bottle has left on the counter, but I can feel those dark gray eyes boring into me. “Really?”
“If I could do it again, I’d have told you everything, Lily.”
I shrug, but I really don’t want to hear any more of his half-assed apologies. Not until I get over the shock of seeing him, and the fear of why he’s really here.
Snapping the lid back on my water bottle, I slam it down on the counter, harder than I intended. “Do you actually know anything about farming? Or flowers, for that matter?”
He frowns at the change of topic but drops his gaze to the farm map tacked to the counter. “I read a couple of books on horticulture before we moved out here. And I have a ranch in Colorado, if that counts.”
“Do you work it yourself?”
“We have a manager, since we don’t get out there nearly as often as we’d like.”
Which puts him somewhere between a hobby farmer and a weekend rancher. “Well, buying Willow Manor isn’t going to give you more time in Colorado.”
He grunts at the obvious observation and steps towards a corkboard on the wall, covered in business cards and well wishes from happy customers. But his gaze is fixed on a picture of a horse, carefully drawn with the Derwent pencils Rosie bought Leo for his sixth birthday. “Did your son draw this?”
“Leo's really creative,” I reply, my chest clenching now that his name is out there, between us. “Right now, he’s all about baseball and soldiers, but every time he picks up a pencil, he creates something beautiful.”
I’m not sure why I’m sharing these insights with him, but Otley gives me a grateful glance. “He's really talented.”
“If a little inaccurate.” I nod my head at a Polaroid of a horse that’s tacked under the picture. “Hercules was ancient even before he got sick, but Leo loved him so much, he couldn’t bear to draw any of his flaws. He died a year ago, and Leo hasn't ridden since. Barely picked up a pencil, for that matter.”
Otley frowns again. “I’m sorry you both had to experience that.”
“Like I told Tristan, this is a working farm, and Leo knows the score.”
It isn’t true. Leo was heartbroken for weeks and I was devastated that I couldn’t take away his pain. Otley’s gaze lingers, but I’m fresh out of tender moments. I also need to get out of the store before I forget that the June air isn’t supposed to smell like fall leaves and warm cherry cobbler.
“If you really want to help, you can come make some deliveries with me.” I grab the truck keys from under the counter, texting Marion to get one of the field hands to cover the store. It’s less than an hour to closing, and we’ve got good at stretching our team to cover the busiest parts of the day, so I know she’ll make it work. I’m also pleased to see that the truck is already loaded with the afternoon’s deliveries, the invoice sheet propped on the dash. Most of the business is computerized now, but in a town as remote as Knotty Falls, the reception can be patchy, and it never hurts to have a paper copy on hand.
“This should take about an hour,” I tell Otley as he settles in the cab beside me. “These customers are all part of my regular run, so if you want a tour, you’ll have to hire someone else.”
Otley settles his shades on his patrician nose. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already scoped out the places I’m most interested in.”
I bite my tongue on a smart retort and focus on leaving the farm without mowing down any of our customers. When we’re out on the highway, grit and dust swirl up off the road and Otley rolls up the window. The air-conditioning isn’t the best, and I’msuddenly conscious of his scent filling the cab. Within less than a mile, I can taste warm, masculine skin on the back of my tongue, and I’m glad there’s just enough of Logan’s scent hanging in the air to keep me grounded.
