Wildflower Road Read online

  Her heart felt as if it grew fingers, pushed through her sternum, and stretched toward him. Her feet shuffled her forward, a slave to her impulses. She stopped on the step beneath him, breaking into his line of sight and personal space. He didn’t back away. She drew in his scent, crisp and clean with a touch of pine. Unsophisticated. Like the scented bodywash from the drugstore. But alluring, nevertheless. She placed a gentle hand above his elbow. “Shane, from the little I know of you, I’d say that it’s her loss.”

  His muscle tensed at her touch, but she didn’t let go.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered, and his arm softened.

  His eyes, deep and dark in the light, latched on to hers with enough intensity to scald her flesh from the inside out. From the way he winced, he might have felt it, too. His lips parted, but he said nothing. He merely swayed toward her, just enough to make her breath catch.

  This was a terrible idea, indeed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For three days, Shane kept to the shadows of the resort. With Chuck’s to-do list in hand, he methodically moved from task to task without rest. A few times, Ryann crashed his solitary confinement. In Cabin Ten, he fixed a splintered log in the wall while she dusted cobwebs with a persistent smile and a nagging hum. Behind Cabin Three, she taught him how to properly chop firewood without losing a foot. Near the resort’s entrance, she joined him in uprooting some nodding thistle, even helping to remove a thorn from his thumb. The nerve.

  Saturday morning, he woke with an aching back and sore shoulders. He rummaged through the gift bag Sage had filled with snacks before he left Ohio. She and her soon-to-be husband, Luke, were his only allies back home. Or maybe they were only trying to get rid of him, just like everyone else. In the mess of drained water bottles, empty chip bags, and beef jerky wrappers, he found the last granola bar. He dipped it in a jar of peanut butter and relished his breakfast, washing it down with gulps of sink water. He couldn’t wait any longer. A grocery store run was looming.

  After a shower, he dressed in his jeans and pulled a plain white T-shirt from the Hanes package, a far cry from the designer shirts Chloe used to buy for him. Why had he balked at Luke’s offer of clothes?

  Stubborn to the core. That’s what good ol’ Father would say. Not that he’d say anything at all. They hadn’t been on good terms before Shane was arrested, so it only made sense that his parents would distance themselves when their one and only son served time for aggravated assault. For them, image was everything.

  Shane tied the laces of his work boots. At least he’d accepted those hand-me-downs. They’d served him well so far—his feet were the only part of him that didn’t hurt. Shane straightened up and shoved his arms into the cheap hooded sweatshirt. Enough self-pity. That kitchen wouldn’t scour itself.

  Several minutes later, inside the café, an older woman launched from her chair at the cash register. “You must be Shane. I’m Shirley Matthews. Welcome!” She rounded the counter and wrapped him in soft warmth.

  Her strawberry hair, woven with gray, was pulled back in a clip. But, like her daughter’s, her hair rejected taming, and wisps tickled his nose. He fought the sneeze and the embrace. But after only a moment, he relaxed. Shirley reminded him of his mother. At least what he remembered of her.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for taking a chance on me.” When his voice threatened to break, Shane chided himself.

  “Don’t say another word about it.” She pulled back and patted his cheek affectionately. “Look at you. Ryann was right.” Shirley’s smile held a touch of mischief. “You look hungry. Are you hungry, dear? I could cook you up some steak ’n eggs if you’d like. What am I saying? You’re the cook! How about you whip me up some breakfast?”

  His mouth watered at the mere mention of it. “I’ve already eaten. Plus, I haven’t stocked the kitchen yet. I plan to get it nice and clean today.”

  “When you’re ready for lunch, give me a shout, and I’ll run to my place and grab what you’ll need. Chuck told me you’ve been working hard while I was gone. We appreciate you. I was going over the books and, well . . .” Shirley looked back at the ledger on the counter. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will. I’ll try to keep it down in there.” Shane nodded to the kitchen.

  “Nonsense.” Shirley waved her hand as if swatting a gnat. “You go on and make as much noise as you’d like.”

  Shane flicked on the lights in the kitchen. One of the fluorescent bulbs flickered and buzzed above his head. Inside, the shadows of a dozen or more long-dead winged insects greeted him. Shane sighed. Step one.

  * * *

  * * *

  The last thing Ryann needed was to see Shane. He’d invaded her resort, her thoughts, and, as of last night, her dreams with his presence. He was like a rash—which is what she would get if she didn’t wash her hands quickly. She had been gathering kindling when that man distracted her, and her hand grazed a pop-up patch of poison ivy. The nerve he had, coming out to take a rest break by the river. Her river.

  She charged to the café to wash, in case any of the plant’s oil touched her skin, pretending not to see him watching her from the corner of her eye. Infuriating. How dare he look so good when she needed to forget he existed? She knew herself too well. Too many thoughts led to a crush. A crush led to all kinds of trouble, she’d learned. She’d need to keep as far away from Shane Olson as this little piece of Montana would allow.

  A few moments later, she dried her hands on a paper towel. Scum sullied her reflection in the mirror. Add it to the list of things to do before Friday. She smoothed her hair, cursing the dry air, then scraped her teeth along her lips until they flushed to a pretty rose color. Oh, for the love, Ryann. He’s only a man.

  She pulled open the door and turned down the narrow hall, nearly slamming into Shane. He gripped her elbows to steady her, and she froze.

  “Hey.” The depth of his single word reverberated through her.

  “Hey.” Less a word and more a breath. Where was her voice?

  His lips parted, and she hung on his next word.

  “Thanks.” He released her elbows and stepped back from her.

  “For what?”

  “For helping me with that thorn yesterday. I realized that I never thanked you.” He held up his thumb and examined it. “It doesn’t even hurt. I would have dug it in deeper. So, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He nodded and excused himself as he squeezed past her. He smelled as if the fresh breeze that followed the river through the mountains had soaked into his clothes and hair. He smelled like her past. He smelled like her future. Warmth flooded the marrow of her bones.

  “Shane.” Her tongue defied her brain’s command to stay silent.

  He turned, the intensity of his stare so strong she had to look elsewhere.

  Finding a crooked picture frame on the wall between them, Ryann straightened it. In it, she was eighteen years old and as pure as the sky above Glacier National Park. Sitting on the open-air tour bus, she cuddled up to Tyler, and he wore a proud smile. She hadn’t known at the time, but in his pocket, he kept a delicate silver ring with a diamond speck. A few hours after that picture was taken, he’d asked her to marry him, to the cheers of their whole senior class. “Are you cleaning the kitchen all day?”

  “Your mom asked me to make her lunch. But other than that, yeah. Just cleaning.” Shane thought a moment. “And a trip to the grocery store.”

  Ryann nodded. “Do you know where the store is?”

  “Your father told me.”

  “Good.”

  Walk away. She willed herself to move her right foot. Then her left.

  “Ryann.”

  She swiveled on her heels. “Yeah?”

  He hadn’t moved. “Your mother brought a couple of steaks over. Would you like me to make you one?”

&nbsp
; Say no.

  A door opened then shut, and bells clanged. The picture frame tilted again. Hopeless.

  “Ry?” Her mother’s melodic voice could have been mistaken for one of the bells.

  “In a minute, Mom,” Ryann called.

  Shane stepped forward and righted the frame this time. She’d been so happy in that picture, with Tyler by her side. She missed having someone who was always there. Yes, God was her rock. Her family was her joy. Her friends? Her crown. But still . . .

  His dark brown eyes returned to hers and lingered. He shrugged his shoulders and bared an easy smile. “What do you say?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Shane glanced through the pass-thru window. Chuck, Shirley, and Ryann had nearly licked their plates clean of the steak with mushroom gravy, fried eggs, and sweet potato hash. The pride that filled his belly was nice, but it didn’t stop the growling in his stomach. Other than a few bites of hash to test the seasoning, every ounce of food landed on the family’s plates.

  Shane filled the sink with hot, soapy water. A short stack of plates slid under his arm, sinking beneath the bubbles. Over his shoulder, he spied Ryann’s eyes. They mesmerized him. Perhaps because of their color—the same as the dried eucalyptus in that wreath Chloe hung on their front door. Or perhaps because of the hope they held as they looked at him, a potential hero.

  “That was possibly the best meal I’ve ever had,” she said.

  “You’re just trying to be nice.” He grabbed a washrag and set to work on the first plate.

  After it was clean, Ryann snatched it and rinsed it with a spray of water from the faucet. “It was delicious. It was perfect timing, too. My mom was on the edge of a breakdown, I think. She showed me the scheduling book. We’re only half-full next weekend. Memorial Day weekend.” She shrugged and wiped the plate with a towel. “Did my dad tell you? We may have to close after this season if things don’t turn around. That’s why you and your fabulous food are such a blessing.”

  “You shouldn’t rely on me.” Shane handed her another plate to rinse.

  “Well, it ain’t up to you, Iowa.” She bumped his hip with hers. “Listen. If you want a break from this place, my friends and I are meeting for dinner at Ollie’s. It’s down on 287. The food isn’t great, but the company is.”

  “Thanks, but I really need to get this kitchen clean.” He placed the last plate on her waiting palms.

  “You know what they say about all work and no play, right?”

  “Are you calling me dull, Ms. Ashcroft?”

  She snickered. “If the cleaning excuse fits.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As he sat on a barstool, Shane’s letter to Chloe burned in his back pocket. After rewriting it three times in as many days, he’d set out earlier to find a post office. But failure had become his trademark. He’d send it Monday. It wasn’t like she was waiting around for it, after all.

  Then, to his surprise, the mom-and-pop grocery store closed earlier than the chain stores in Ohio, and his stomach protested a night without food. Ollie’s was the only restaurant on his way back to the resort.

  While he ate, he kept his head low. Not that anyone here would recognize him. With his dark beard, unstyled hair, and unfashionable clothes, he was a far cry from the young pastor who’d once graced magazine covers and whose sermon webcasts regularly reached thousands.

  The front door opened. Following the cool breeze, Ryann walked in with friends. While the group claimed a table by the jukebox, Ryann perused the restaurant, her gaze landing on him. He nodded and turned back to the NBA game on the screen.

  Ten seconds later, hands wrapped around his bicep, and he nearly spilled his drink.

  Ryann tugged him toward her table. Her hair was wild and loose, falling in long waves over her shoulder. In an emerald lace top, she was stunning. “Come meet my friends.”

  Chloe would have fumed if another woman dared touch his arm, especially if she looked like Ryann. But Chloe wasn’t here.

  He crumpled his napkin on his plate and grabbed his glass. After the year he’d had, who could blame him?

  “Joe, he’s joining us over here,” Ryann called out to the bartender, who nodded. She led Shane through the ever-increasing crowd.

  When they approached the table, Ryann placed a hand on his shoulder. “Guys, this is Shane, our new cook. He’s from Iowa.”

  “Ohio, actually.” Shane feigned a glare, and she winked.

  “Same difference,” a man with a sandy-blond crew cut cracked, leading them all in laughter. His arm hung around a small woman with a brunette bob and stylish glasses. “I’m Drew, and this is my wife, Evie.”

  Across the table, a pretty woman with long blond hair tied in a braid that fell in front of her shoulder reached out her hand. “I’m Jessi, and this is Nick.” She elbowed the man next to her in the ribs.

  Nick held out a fist, which Shane bumped.

  A third man with dark shoulder-length hair sat at the end of the table. His stone-cold stare was similar to the looks he’d received ever since that last day when he’d bounded up the church steps to commit his crime.

  “That’s Thomas,” Ryann said. “Don’t mind him. He’s always in a bad mood these days.”

  Thomas’s gaze dropped to the table. He pushed back his seat, then stood and held out his hand to Shane. “Any friend of Ryann’s is a friend of ours.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Thomas,” Shane said. The handshake was firm and respectful, even if suspicion still swirled in the man’s eyes. Once he’d released Shane’s grip, Thomas reclaimed his seat at the far end.

  “Shane, take my seat.” Ryann pointed to the head of the table.

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “I insist.” Ryann gave his arm a small push.

  Her friends exchanged glances, and Jessi tried to cover a smile with her hand.

  After he took a seat, Ryann pulled a chair from a nearby table and placed it closer to Shane than he was expecting.

  “We heard you just moved here. That is so Ryann—bringing someone out with us on their first Saturday in Montana.” Evie snickered. “She hates for anyone to feel left out.”

  Nick pushed the basket of pretzels in front of Shane. “When we were new to town, she introduced herself while we were sitting right there at that table.”

  “Nick and Jessi were best friends back in Boston. Jessi moved out here to get away from Nick, but he followed her—” Ryann said.

  Nick threw out a pointed finger. “Hey, I did not follow her.”

  “He totally followed her.” Ryann laughed. “They started dating, and now they are getting married in, what? Two months?”

  “Fifty-six days,” Nick said dryly, tipping back his head to face the ceiling. “It’s torture.”

  “Oh, stop being dramatic. You waited twenty-six years. You can wait another eight weeks,” Jessi teased, patting his hand. “Anyway, our relationship was so new that I panicked when we met Ryann. She was so beautiful, and I thought she was flirting with Nick. Then I realized that’s the way she is with everyone.”

  The rest of the table nodded.

  “Remember how I tried to dye my hair that same red color? It was a nightmare!” Jessi shielded her eyes.

  Nick pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Baby, you still looked pretty—even with Ronald McDonald hair.”

  Jessi shoved him away, and he nearly fell from his chair.

  “That’s how we met. She came to my salon for help,” Evie said. She sipped her soda. “But you’re in good company, Jess. Every woman in town has tried and failed to duplicate Ryann’s hair at least once.”

  “You guys, stop.”

  “Oh, you know you’re gorgeous,” Evie said.

  “Well, if I am, I only have God and my momma to thank for it.”

  “I’ll toast to that!” Drew exclai
med, raising his glass. “To God and mommas everywhere!”

  The table cheered. “To God and mommas everywhere!”

  Nick raised his glass again. “And to Iowa or Ohio or whatever state Shane is from! Their loss is our gain.”

  “To Iowa-hio or whatever state Shane is from!” The group cheered the jumble of words, laughing together.

  They ate and shared more in-depth introductions, giving Shane a feel for the group of friends. They seemed harmless—even Thomas, despite his vigilant eye. As the safety director at the local dam, he was probably used to looking out for danger, especially when it came to his friends. It was only when Shane learned that Drew was a cop that he squirmed in his chair.

  Ryann gave Shane the history of the town in a side conversation while the rest of the group ate their food. As she spoke, her eyes danced, and her perfectly sloped nose crinkled with joy. Shane found himself mapping her freckles and noting how her slightly misaligned teeth tapped her lower lip whenever she made the sound of a V.

  “Shane, you aren’t married, are you?” Evie asked.

  “No, I’m . . . divorced. I came here for a fresh start.”

  “I promise to help you make the most of it.” Ryann bumped her shoulder against his.

  “Oh dear.” Evie looked worried. “You don’t have any tattoos, do you? She’s a sucker for men with tattoos.”

  “Evie!” Ryann squealed and covered her face with her hands.

  Everyone else froze, except Thomas, who leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and leering at Shane.

  Oh, why not? Shane removed his sweatshirt, revealing the colorful ink that began at both wrists and disappeared beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt.

  Everyone but Thomas roared with laughter, and Evie patted Ryann on the back.

  “Go ahead and plan the wedding now! Ryann’s a goner!” She wiped tears from her eyes.

  Ryann’s cheeks matched the color of her hair. “Enough!” she yelled, gesturing sharply to bring an end to the topic. Her face hardened. “I do not like tattoos. Except for a rose with my initials along the stem.”