“Kind of embarrassing.” He wasn’t getting away with that.
“Those are the best stories.” I rolled over and propped my chin on his shoulder. “Were you drunk?”
“I was at a bachelor party over in Carson. And, yeah, we’d had too much whiskey and were short on sense,” he admitted.
“You regret getting it?” The thought that he might bothered me.
“Not for one minute, darling. But it was tough to sit down the next day.”
I laughed, but felt I had to ask the next question. “Why the flower?”
“Because it was from you.” He tilted his head and his eyes met mine. “I’d carried the picture in my wallet since you left it for me that morning.”
His words stunned me. I had no idea my little picture had been so important to him, especially since he couldn’t have known then what it meant to me—what I’d almost left behind for him instead. “Do you still have it?”
“The picture? No, I ended up in flood waters up to my waist two years ago and it disintegrated.” His tone was regretful.
“Good thing it’s permanently on your butt. I wonder what that says about me. Am I a pain in your ass?” I teased. “I think I have been at times.”
“Never,” he said, so quickly and vehemently that it set my heart racing. He turned toward me, bringing us face-to-face.
“Good to know,” I whispered. “But I’m still curious. Who knows about the tattoo? Just the guys at the party?”
He shook his head. “They were so far gone I doubt anyone remembers it. And, thank God, Jake wasn’t there that night or I’d never have heard the end of it.”
“Because it’s not macho to get a tattoo of a pretty yellow flower?” I asked softly.
“Because he knew I had it in my wallet and knew it was from you.”
“Ah,” I said, understanding. Brian’s twin didn’t want him to be hurt by love. More proof that his family was a thousand times kinder and more caring than mine. “I’ll keep your secret, but I want to show you something.” I got to my feet, pulled on my shorts, and put his Stetson on my head. “Come on, sheriff. Let’s go for a drive.”
NINETEEN
BRIAN
“Turn left at the next crossroad,” she said, directing me.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked as I made the turn. Part of me was anxious to return to Poplar Springs. I’d been out of contact with my deputies for hours. But the rest of me was surprised at how anxious Ididn’tfeel.
For the first time since I became sheriff, I wasn’t worried about what was happening in town. Being with Caitlin was too important to me to fixate on my job when I wasn’t even on duty. I was still processing what she’d said by the lake about falling for me. It was as if my wildest dream had come true.
“Pull off here,” she said, “and park under that cottonwood tree.”
I did as she asked. We got out of the truck and walked through a small stand of trees to a field of yellow wildflowers on the other side of it. I recognized them immediately. They were the same as the one from my tattoo.
“What are they?” I asked, as I studied the flowers. Each bloom was small, only an inch or two across, but all together theylooked like a golden carpet. Colorado offered a variety of types of wildflowers, but I didn’t know the name of this kind.
“I looked them up once. They’re a type of coreopsis called Golden Wave. But to me, they mean freedom and happiness.” She walked into the field and spun around in a circle, completely unguarded for a moment. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her quite like that—unburdened and happy.
“Tell me why,” I encouraged her, wanting to understand better.
“When I was in high school, I used to ride my bike out here, sit in the flowers and draw. It was my place where no one could find me, where nothing mattered but making myself happy,” she said. I understood her need to escape from her family. So this had been her secret spot during those tough years. She paused, her arms dropping to her sides, as she turned her face to the sun. “I haven’t been here since I moved to Austin. I’ve missed it.”
Suddenly I got why she’d drawn the flower for me all those years ago instead of writingI love you. It was her way of inviting me into her world, sharing what was precious to her. I wished I’d understood that then, because maybe…maybe things would have turned out differently for us. But I was starting to believe in second chances.
“I can’t go years without seeing them in bloom again,” she said.
“You should come back more regularly to visit the field,” I said. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Okay, it’s a long drive from Austin. But you could consider seasonal visits. That way, you could see the flowers changing.”
