Fuck, this woman needs to go.
I don’t have time to be staring at her. Don’t have time to be fighting with her, either.
My focus needs to be on these flower beds, this soil, and how to make this farm successful so my sister and her son have a place to stay.
That’s how Peter enticed me into considering his proposition. He saw my love for my family and knew I’d do anything for them.
Thinking of those early days, and the way Peter walked me around this farm with such pride as he told me all about his family, his girls—Tally—has me swallowing thickly.
“She’s my wildflower,” he had told me. “Vibrant, with big dreams and a big personality. Easy to love but impossible to keep.”
When I moved into the cottage, he warned me that she might visit now and again. He also warned me to stay away from her. Well, both of them, although Penny had been engaged at the time. I promised him it wouldn’t be an issue. What interest would I have in his young daughter?
Problem is, I’d never seen Tally. I had no idea she’d have the ability to tie me up in this damn knot with only a few words. That she was too gorgeous to look away from.
I roll back my shoulders and stand, walking in the opposite direction of the wicked woman who won’t leave my thoughts. I don’t watch as she continues to stretch.
And I absolutely don’t hum the very same melody of Alex Warren’s “Burning Down” as I march toward the south fields to check on the daffodils.
I made a promise to Peter Darling. And it’s one I intend to keep.
CHAPTER 8
Tally
The ground crackles beneath my feet as I walk across the meadow in search of Walker. We avoided one another yesterday after our run-in during breakfast, but I can’t avoid him forever. After a decent night’s sleep and a warm shower, thanks to Walker’s absence when I returned from my run this morning, I feel renewed. I even liberally applied the white cypress moisturizer I’ve been saving since I splurged on it in Nantucket last year. The sweet smell has me feeling brighter; determined and refreshed.
This is my town. My farm. My house. And I’ve got a job to do.
I will figure out what’s going on, but the only way I can do that is to talk to Walker since my mother won’t answer any of my questions.
Now I just have to find the guy. Though the white farmhouse has always been a focal part of the sprawling ten acres of land, there’s a lot of ground to cover as I search for Walker. I start in the barn near where the weddings are normally held. It’s also where we host the Daffodil Festival, and since that’s just a few weeks away, there’s a decent possibility Walker is over there.
At the entrance to the farm, there’s a long dirt road that cuts two ways. If you go right, you end up at the main house. Take a left, and the path winds through the farm, toward thebarn and the meadows where people pick tulips after the last of our weddings.
Basically, anything my father could think of to create another source of income, he leveraged. This time of year was critical to get us through the summer season, when our farm was already picked over, until we reached fall, when we had revenue from the pumpkin patch and maze. Though if memory serves, the pumpkin patch had gotten smaller since my sister and I graduated from high school. Maintaining the farm is a hell of a lot of work. And since my father did most of it on his own, or with seasonal help from high school kids, things had fallen to the wayside as he’d gotten older.
Another burst of guilt hits me as I pass the old cottages next to the wildflower fields. My father had a dream to fix all these up. As children, Penny and I used to sneak into them and pretend they were our own houses. When I got older, I snuck boys in there, and I’m pretty sure Penny used them to hide away with her books.
I take a few tentative steps onto the wooden porch of the first one and wince as I hear the wood strain under my weight.
“What the hell’re you doing?”
Walker’s bark takes me by surprise and I nearly stumble sideways but catch myself on the door to the cottage. Grasping my chest, I turn around and glare at the man I’d been looking for. “What the hell amIdoing? What about you? Do you routinely go around scaring the hell out of people?”
Walkerwears a baseball cap so it’s hard to see his eyes, but it’s clear he’s glaring at me. And by the way his chest is rising and falling, it’s clear he isn’t thrilled to see me.. His chin is covered in far more scruff than when I first got here, makinghim appear meaner, maybe even dangerous. And his jeans are dirty, like he’s been rolling around in the fields, although his shirt is still clean. The deep green henley compliments his olive complexion, and a shiver runs through my body at the sight of him.
Perhaps I hit my head when I tripped, because I’m blinking like an idiot, fawning over a man I don’t even I like.
“The cottages aren’t safe. Why the hell are you snooping around over here, anyway?”
Oh, this ass.“Snooping? First of all, I was looking for you. Second, I can snoop wherever the hell I want because this ismyproperty.”
He grunts and kicks his Timberland-booted foot into the dirt.
“Well, you found me. What do you want?”
I straighten my back because I will not be railroaded by his attitude. “I’m here to help, and it’s clear there’s a lot of work to be done, so”—I hold up my hands, affecting the most sarcastic offering—“what can I do?”
