Wildflower Wedding (3 page)

Reese knew the reason. Good girl Gabby'd been the one he'd always wanted but never really went after. Except for once.

Reese sighed when he remembered. . . .

•   •   •

“Hey, can I give you a ride?” Reese asked when he spotted Gabby walking out of the side door of Cricket Creek High School. He grinned when she looked over her shoulder as if he must be asking someone else.

“Oh, um, I'm . . . fine. Thanks. I enjoy the walk,” she insisted, but she shifted her backpack as if it were too heavy to carry. The damned thing was almost as big as she was.

“Sure you do.” Reese walked around her. “Gimme that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That monster on your back.” Reese grabbed the straps and tugged it off her shoulders. “What in the world do you have in here? Bricks?”

“Books, Reese. We have finals coming up.” When Gabby looked at him her long ponytail slipped over her shoulder. He used to tug it when they were little kids, but right now he had the urge to simply reach over and touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked. She gave his truck a wary glance.

“It runs,” Reese assured her before opening the door and hefting her backpack inside. “Get in, Gabby. It looks like it's gonna rain.”

The rumble of thunder had her nodding. “Okay.”

Reese grinned when she had trouble hoisting herself up onto the seat, but he knew she would freak out if he helped and so he let her deal with it while he walked over to the driver's side. Just after Reese slid behind the wheel, it started pouring, but he was secretly glad because it meant having to go slow and spend more time with Gabby. She seemed nervous, toying with the strap of her backpack.

“So, are you going to the prom?” he asked casually, not even sure why.

She flicked him a glance. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don't have a date.” She lifted one shoulder slightly as if it didn't matter, but Reese could tell that it did. He wasn't much on crap like the lame-ass dances, especially the prom, even though his mother had been bugging him about going. But he'd sure bet Gabby would look pretty in a prom dress. . . .

“Go with me,” Reese found himself saying. His heart pounded while he waited for her answer.

“Right, me go to the prom with . . . you?” She sounded almost angry, but her eyes were filled with an emotion that Reese didn't understand.

“That's the idea.”

“Right,” she scoffed, and then shook her head.

Confused and with an emotion bordering on hurt, Reese turned his concentration back to the pouring rain and drove fast enough to have her holding on to the armrest.

•   •   •

Reese inhaled deeply, shaking off the memory. His mother was right. He wasn't that troubled kid any longer, but would Gabby ever truly believe that? Reese had his doubts. Besides, he was back in Cricket Creek to help his uncle make a success of River Row Pizza and to live near his mother. He really didn't need to be thinking about getting involved with someone right now. But when the image of Gabby smiling at Drew slid into his brain, Reese inhaled a sharp breath. He didn't like the guy and he told himself it was just his protective feelings for her surfacing, but deep down he sure as hell knew better. He was jealous.

But the question was: What was he going to do about it?

A Little Bit Stronger

T
RISH DANIELS PEEKED THROUGH THE RUFFLED CUR
TAINS
of her kitchen window until Anthony Marino and his dog, Digger, jogged down the road and out of sight. “Oh my . . . my. The man has a butt you could bounce quarters off of,” she observed with a sense of wonder. She fanned her face and then inhaled a deep breath. If she timed it right, she'd get to witness his shirtless return from his run down the path through the nearby woods that led to the county park she'd recently discovered. She was a walker, not a jogger, but she suddenly wondered if she shouldn't step up her game.

“Thank you, superhot neighbor,” she whispered. Watching her dark-haired, deliciously muscled tenant reignited her pilot light of lust that had been extinguished the moment she caught her now ex-husband banging the front desk receptionist for Daniel's Cadillac. Trish had burst through the door of Steve's office unannounced, mainly because the receptionist was, um, busy. She'd been happily armed with the exciting news that she'd been hired as a food critic for
Cincinnati Fun and Food Magazine
. And,
well
, there they were . . . on top of Steve's desk going to town. You would have thought one of them would have the sense to lock the door.

Steve had begged Trish for forgiveness, blaming Heather Hooter (yes, that was her name) for seducing him and saying he'd caved in a moment of weakness—all while assuring her that it would never happen again. “Ha!” Trish tipped the lemon wedge into her sweet tea and then snorted at the memory. Sure, Heather must have found middle-aged Steve so simply irresistible that she threw her twenty-five-year-old self at him. Her so-called seduction had nothing to do with the fact that Steve owned a car dealership, the voice inside Trish's head railed in a sarcastic tone. No, nothing at all.

Digging deep into a reserve of forgiveness that Steve had managed to deplete over twenty years of marriage, Trish lasted another six months until a repeat performance had her filing for divorce. When Steve realized that no amount of groveling would win her back, he turned mean, telling her she'd pushed him into Heather Hooter's arms because she'd let herself go. Sadly, Trish believed him until her friend Maggie McMillan talked some sense into her.

“That's ridiculous,” Maggie had said. “Don't believe a word of it! Trish, I hate to say it but could it be that Steve wanted to hold on to your marriage so he wouldn't have to hand over half of everything, specifically half of the dealership?”

“Probably. I just loathe tossing in the towel after investing twenty years of my life,” Trish had tearfully responded. “It sucks so badly.”

“I get that.” Maggie had given her a long look filled with sympathy but support. “I can't tell you how to live your life or what to do. Only you know what's best.” She'd held up her index finger. “But I can tell you this much. After my scare with breast cancer I decided to live life to the fullest and not look back.” Placing her hands on the table, she'd said, “Screw looking back, Trish. Do what you want but don't be afraid to move on.”

“Oh, Maggie, here I am, whining, when you've gone through so much more than me.”

“Trish, I'm not trying to guilt-trip you. But I do know that no matter what you're facing, life is all about attitude.” Maggie had lifted one shoulder. “If I were you, I'd let Steve and his little hussy have the house. You should take the two-family I sold you in Cricket Creek. I'm going to move there and help Tristan develop Whisper's Edge, the lovely little retirement community he bought from my not so nice father.”

“I love that sweet little town, but what would I do?”

“Write!”

At Maggie's suggestion Trish felt a little flag of freedom waving within her reach. She had a degree in journalism, but Steve had never supported her writing career. Looking back, Trish realized it was all about control.
And I let him control me,
she thought, all the way down to taming her natural blond curls into a sleek, flat-ironed chin-length bob and wearing classic but boring clothing.

“Those days are done!”

With a lift of her chin she swept her longer, shoulder-length highlighted curls out of her eyes and padded barefoot over to the fridge to refresh her sweet tea. She'd been to Violet's Vintage Clothing up on Main Street a few days ago and bought flowing bohemian skirts, peasant blouses, and several pairs of jeans. Oh how she loved jeans rather than the khaki slacks that Steve preferred her to wear. Tomorrow she planned to shop at Designs by Diamante, a local jewelry shop that Maggie said had gorgeous chunky bracelets and beaded necklaces. It had taken some time, but she was finally rediscovering her personal style. And it felt so damned good.

But then Trish looked down at the amber liquid in her glass, absently thinking she needed more ice. Lost in thought, she frowned, tried to focus on her glorious newfound freedom, but her mind took her to a place she didn't want to go, opening a door she wanted to slam shut forever.

Why had she been so stupid? Wasted
twenty years
of the prime of her life with a man who didn't give a shit? From countless hours of pondering the question, Trish knew the answer remained complicated. Her marriage had been like a tire with a small leak, deflating slowly, showing signs but ignored until it was totally flat. Hope and determination trumped the sad truth until Trish was finally smacked in the face with a sharp shot of reality: her husband was a lying, cheating, mean jackass.

When hot moisture filled her throat, Trish doused it with a gulp of cold tea, refusing to shed another tear related to that poor excuse of a man. She placed the glass down and inhaled a deep, shaky breath. The divorce had taken the better part of a year since Steve fought her every step of the way, acting as if everything belonged to him because he was the big-ass breadwinner who never allowed her to pursue a career.

Or have a child.

Trish put her hand on her stomach and felt a hollow ache of longing. She'd wanted children, but Steve always asked to put it off and then suddenly it was too late. When she'd learned that Heather the hussy was pregnant, depression hit Trish like a sledgehammer, and for the first time in her life she'd felt the destructive stirrings of rage. She remembered going over to the house to get the last of her possessions and maybe break a few things in the process. Heather had been standing in the front yard watering the lush flower bed Trish had nurtured and grown over the years. She'd felt like grabbing the hose and dousing Heather with water until she cried uncle, but when Heather turned around, revealing the big baby bump, something shifted in Trish's brain. There was a child involved. An innocent child. Whether Heather trapped Steve or the pregnancy had been an accident, the result was the same. The child deserved the best that life had to offer, and in that moment Trish decided to stop fighting and sign the divorce papers. She'd gotten royally screwed, but she didn't care.

All she wanted to be was . . .
done
.

Gripping the edge of the counter, she said, “Don't you dare give that despicable excuse of a human being the power to continue to hurt you. Those days are over.” She pushed back from the counter and mentally picked herself up and brushed herself off. Trish knew it was going to be a process, but little by little, step by step, she was reclaiming the free-spirited, creative woman who had become a mere shell of her former self.

So Trish settled for a lump sum and their two-family rental home, took Maggie's advice, and relocated to Cricket Creek, Kentucky, where life moved a little bit slower. As long as she lived conservatively and made a little money, she'd be fine.

Although her life hadn't gone in the direction she'd expected, the exhilarating rush of freedom from an overbearing jerk was well worth the occasional bouts of loneliness. A table for one really sucked sometimes, but it was a helluva lot better than sharing it with someone who simply didn't care. Plus, she had Maggie, who was a shining example of how you didn't have to become boring at midlife but could actually get better. Her friend was not only busy with her real estate projects but also married to a famous rock star. Sweet Maggie and a rock and roll legend! Life was just crazy. “Why can't something really cool like that happen to me?” she wondered aloud, then shrugged. Hey, who knows, maybe it would? It certainly could.

When she heard Digger's deep bark, she rushed over to the window feeling like a giddy schoolgirl, but hey, she needed to take what she could get. She should really do the adult thing and introduce herself, but as Anthony jogged closer she could see the trickle of sweat sliding down his tanned chest. Oh boy, he had a nice covering of dark hair leading to an enticing line pointing south.

Trish heard a groan and realized the sound had come from her throat. How long had it been since she'd experienced a long, hot kiss? Would she feel the strong arms of a man wrapped around her ever again? “I need to get my groove back,” she said firmly.

Anthony paused at the edge of the patio leading to his rear door, and with his back to Trish he doubled over with his hands on his knees, giving her a very nice view of his very fine butt. She angled her head, admiring the view. She'd bet the farm that sexy Anthony would be a tiger in the sack. After a moment he picked up a tennis ball and tossed it in the air for a very happy Digger.

“This is silly,” Trish mumbled. She was not only his neighbor but his landlord and she really should just open the door, march out there, and introduce herself. She couldn't locate his lease, so all she knew was the name he signed on the rent checks. Steve had initially rented it through Maggie's real estate company, so perhaps Maggie could give her a copy of the lease. She made a mental note to ask her friend. She certainly wasn't about to interact with her ex-husband and ask him for them.

Trish took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She fluffed her hair and actually had her hand on the doorknob when her phone rang. Telling herself the call could be important, she hurried over to answer. Damn, meeting her hot neighbor would have to wait.

Looking at the caller ID, Trish smiled. “Hi, Maggie. What's up?”

“I've got a job for you!”

Trish gripped the phone tighter. Maggie had been pushing her to follow her dreams, but could she really have found her a writing job? “Really? What?”

“Well, our local newspaper, the
Cricket Creek Courier
, had fallen on hard times and was about to fold, but Clyde and Clovis Camden, twin brothers who live in Whisper's Edge, bought it! A few of the Whisper's Edge residents are going to help staff the paper, but they're in need of a reporter for the Life and Travel section, so I suggested you.”

“Oh, that's wonderful, Maggie. Thanks so much.”

“I'll e-mail you where to send your résumé, but I'm pretty certain you'll get the job. If you want it. I know it won't pay much, but it should be fun and perhaps lead to some other freelance work.”

“Oh, I'll get right on it. I'm thrilled!” After ending the call she did a little jig. Sure, the
Cricket Creek Courier
was a small press in a small town, but Trish didn't care. She wanted the job. With determination, she maneuvered her way past boxes that still needed unpacking to her small office where she had set up her computer and printer. This could be the fresh start, the new beginning she desperately needed to turn her life around and find some much deserved joy.

“Who needs a man, right?” she mumbled, but her traitorous thoughts immediately conjured up a vision of her superhot, shirtless neighbor. Trish fanned her face and then grinned. “Apparently, I do.” She'd forgotten to ask Maggie for his lease papers, but she wasn't going to call back and bother her busy friend. Knowing that getting involved with her sexy neighbor wouldn't be the smartest move, she tried to conjure up a visual of . . . somebody,
anybody
other than him. Brad Pitt? George Clooney? Oh, how about bad boy Colin Farrell?
Come on, guys, help a girl out.

Damn, it didn't work.