Then I check out and head home.
On the way, I will myself a thousand different ways to ignore Willow.
I don’t want a repeat of this morning.
Yeah.
Good fucking luck.
The instant I’m home, my eyes whip to her like she’s magnetic, and that’s when I know.
I know how hard I’m about to get whacked by ignoring that manic voice in the back of my head, jumping up and down and screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.
About as hard as I already got smacked by Granny’s words, her plea for me to lay claim to a good woman.
Every damn part of me tingles like a dowsing rod over a geyser.
My body knows it better than my mind: I’ve found one.
As I pull into my long driveway, I see what’s keeping Willow busy today besides staying pretty.
The girls are hauling shovels, and she’s pushing a wheelbarrow around the side of the house.
I park my truck and climb out.
“What are you three up to, now?” I yell, wondering if this is their latest project. They’ve cleaned and reorganized every closet in the house over the past few days.
The girls have always been good helpers and handle their chores well, but Willow’s influence on them is next level. I’m almost expecting them to start busting out hard hats and toolboxes for home remodeling.
“Planting flowers, Daddy!” Avery tells me, beaming with delight.
A bolt of guilt knifes my stomach.
She loves flowers more than oxygen.
I think Avery was born to spend her summers hunting down perfect specimens, picking wild colors fresh off the stem, and then drawing them in her notebooks. My mother used to have flower beds surrounding the house, but over years of half-assed effort and neglect from yours truly, they became overgrown. I let wild grass take over, finding it far easier to just mow everything rather than weed and tend to flowers Avery would love.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Willow says, separating herself from the girls. “Avery was showing me some of her flower drawings and told me they were growing wild along the fence near the short track.”
She’s wearing a pair of my work gloves and reaches up to brush a splash of chestnut hair out of her eyes, leaving a thin streak of dirt on her cheek.
Fuck, I’m ended.
The Army never taught me how to resist being flayed open by one look from a woman too gorgeous for life.
“Don’t mind what?” I ask absentmindedly.
“The flowers, I mean. If we transplant a few closer to the house, they’ll probably grow beautifully. We found a few old stepping stones that were overgrown, too. Looks like they used to separate the yard from the flower beds near the foundation. So far, we’ve found wild roses, irises, and tiger lilies.” She pauses and snickers. “The girls thought the last ones were extra fitting.”
“I’m sure they did,” I say with a growing smile.
“Don’t worry. We only cleared out a small patch near the side of the house so far, so if you don’t like it—”
“I don’t mind, it just sounds like a lot of work in this heat.”
Her blue eyes ignite, pulling me apart by the second. Her hands go to her ample hips, causing a deadly sudden weight in my pants.
“So you’re saying you’re willing to help out?”
Damn. Knowing I’m being duped, I shake my head.
It’s got nothing to do with the ferocious summer heat rays, either, and everything to do with her playfulness.
That shit awakens a part of my anatomy I’ve kept leashed for far too long.
Undaunted, Willow steps closer and touches my bicep with her gloved hand.
“We could use the extra muscle if you’re not busy. Please?”
The teasing tone makes me laugh.
Her touch annihilates my instinct to make up excuses.
“Will do, Willow Wisp. Just let me get the groceries inside first.”
“Great idea.” She gives a knowing nod. “Fresh food to make sure I don’t kill you.”
I flash her a wink before my head pops off.
Hours later, I step out from a break in the shade, delving the shovel deep in the ground and staring at the long line of granite stepping stones we’ve uncovered. My ma’s old path was buried so long I’d totally forgotten about it till now.
Willow works on her hands and knees, using a hand trowel to even out the freshly churned dirt between the stones and the house, clearing stray grass and weeds.
“So you’re a horticulturist, too?” I ask.
She sits down on the ground and looks up at me with a smile that rivals gold.
“No, but my father’s housekeeper is plant crazy. Thanks to Margo, I’ve weeded a whole lot of flower beds in my life, and I know the difference between what to pluck and what to leave growing. You actually have a lot of nice plants still trying to thrive.”
My brows go up. “After all these years? Damn, lady.”
“They’ve just gone dormant, waiting for someone to come along and give them a little TLC.”
Plants, I remind myself. She’s talking about the frigging plants, man.
Not you.
It’s all too easy to forget.
Her upturned face and soft, sweet words make something of mine sprout, that’s for damn sure. Shifting my weight awkwardly, I try to hide the sledgehammer in my pants, angry and throbbing and ready to take her.
A little more rage-digging at the ground sets me right again.
I pull my eyes off her, looking at the girls as they scamper over. They’re just as dirtied up as we are, loving this whole mini-landscaping endeavor.
They’re also sweaty and red in a way that worries me.
“You know you picked the hottest day of the year for this project? I want you both drinking at least four cups of water by supper,” I say.
“H2O break time!” Willow says, climbing to her feet and pulling the thick gloves off.
“Okay!” Sawyer says. “I’ll grab some bottles out of the fridge.”
“What?” Willow asks, shaking her head. “We’re in the middle of the country, aren’t we?”
She walks over and turns on the spigot for the hose with a lingering look back at me, waiting for my input.
“Should be safe. The water’s drawn from old wells running deep underground around here. Go ahead and give ’em a drink,” I call back.
“Gather round, everybody,” she says with a wicked grin.
Then I watch as Willow lets the water run long enough for the hose to push out the hot water from the sun before she dips those heart-shaped lips to the spray for a drink.
“Delicious!” She smiles, wiping her chin.
She’s too right for all the wrong reasons.
I think my blood warms to a hundred and twenty degrees.
Thankfully, she can’t read my filthy mind.
She just holds up the hose with more water burbling out and calls out to us.
“Neeext!”
The girls totter over laughing, and I’m right behind them. They drink their fill from the hose before passing it to me. Just as I bend over to take a drink, the water stops.
Glancing over, I see Willow kinking the hose with her foot like the firestarter she is.
I don’t take the bait, keeping my face back safely from the end. I dagger her with a glare that could make this oven-hot day into January.