CHAPTER EIGHT – LILY #2
Tristan manages to coax Otley back to earth until he returns with the new ladder and a fancy harness that has Charlie raising his brows in approval.
I feel a little bad about the second-rate equipment I’ve supplied in the past, but remembering what Tristan said about Otley’s love language, I bite back the urge to ask Tristan for the receipts.
Instead, I retreat to the store, restocking the shelves while they finish hanging the shade sails.
It’s hard to stop myself from hovering, but when I finally come out to look over their work, I’m touched to see that they’ve also strung new fairy lights and hung a set of elegant paper lanterns in the branches of the maple tree.
The expense immediately springs to mind, but Tristan just gives me a beaming smile, and I swallow back my pride.
The morning rush starts shortly after, and it’s a good distraction for a while.
Although, it’s not hard to track Tristan and Otley’s movements based on the swiveling heads of my customers.
They pay for their buckets and chat about the weather, but it’s pretty clear they’re far more interested in my new helpers than the flowers.
A group of middle-aged alphas follow Tristan around as he takes more shots of the garden, while a busload of omega co-eds gape at a sweat-sheened Otley like they’ve never witnessed manual labor in the flesh.
Not that I can really blame them for their blushes and giggles. It’s such attractive flesh, his heavy shirt stripped off to reveal acres of tanned muscle dusted in golden hair.
“Lumberjack porn,” Kaysie murmurs in my ear as we watch Otley scamper up the new ladder like an industrious squirrel.
Charlie has dug a few more tools out of the barn, and they’re in the process of replacing our sensor lights, which haven’t been working properly since Leo was in diapers.
“Do you think he’s any good at pouring a latte?
Not that I mind training him up, or anything… .”
“No,” I reply abruptly, earning a quick glance from my best friend. As she takes in my expression, her eyes twinkle knowingly, and I consider biting my tongue in two. “I’m just saying he’s more the outdoorsy type.”
“I’ll say,” she coos, still watching my face. “You don’t get a tan like that by just wheeling and dealing in a boardroom.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
She taps a finger on the side of my mouth. “Then this bit of drool is for the gorgeous photographer who keeps pointing his lens your way?”
I glance at Tristan, who’s grinning at me from behind his camera.
He waves when he catches my eye, and I can’t suppress the bubble of happiness that swells in my belly.
I’ve never really been a fan of getting my picture taken, but every time Tristan looks at me, I find my shoulders snapping back and my fingers itching to fiddle with my hair.
“Oh, girl,” Kaysie sniggers. “You have it so bad.”
“I think you’re the one who’s had too much sun,” I tell her, grabbing a spare bandana from my back pocket and tossing it at her.
This one has big-mouthed frogs all over it, which seems fitting.
“Can you watch the McCauleys for me while I duck into the store? I’m pretty sure Horace is drunk, and I don’t want him peeing on my rose bushes again. ”
Kaysie groans, but hustles their way, while I grab a few supplies from the store. After smoothing my bandana back into place, I head over to where Otley is making the simple act of wiping his brow look like the opening scene of an erotic film.
“Here,” I tell him, thrusting the supplies into his arms.
He’s wearing his mirrored sunglasses again, but he takes them off and blinks at me. “What is it?”
“You’ll get sunburn unless you cover up.”
He stares at the logo on the Rosie’s Blooms polo shirt for so long, I have to assume I’ve insulted him.
I mean, the guy wears Tom Ford boxers – I know, because half the damn town can see his waistband every time he bends over - but his gray eyes look almost soft as he pulls it over his head and smooths the black material down his body.
“Thank you, Lily. That’s very thoughtful. ”
“I sell them in the store,” I tell him, feeling beyond awkward. Now he’s in my clothes – the farm’s clothes – I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from his torso. “I just don’t want you getting sunstroke and falling off the damn ladder.”
“Of course.”
I thrust the water bottle at him, and he chugs half of it before giving a sigh of relief. A droplet has escaped, trickling down the thick column of his neck, and I have to assume that’s why I can’t drag my gaze away, even with half the town watching.
Mine.
Shit. The possessive claim bounces around in my head, no matter how hard I try to shake it away.
When I refocus on Otley, he’s looking at me strangely. “Yes,” he says slowly, plucking at the front of the shirt. “I understand it’s yours, and only on loan.”
Mine? Jesus, did I say that out loud?
I blink at him in panic, then blurt out, “I need to get back to work. Holler if you need anything.”
“’Holler if you need anything’?” Kaysie smirks as she follows me back into the store, leaning over to fan my face. “Girl, I think you’re the one who needs a tall drink of cherry cordial.”
She gives my cherry bandana a smirk, and I bite back a groan as I tug it off, replacing it with a floral one we sell in the store. Did I subconsciously pick the pattern because it reminded me of Otley’s scent? If I did, it’s a truth I’m burying six feet under the compost pile out back.
Kaysie is still cackling as she scoots behind the counter and starts pouring the syrupy cordial into chilled shot glasses.
“How about I take a tray of these out? We can probably sell them for ten dollars a pop and make a killing.” She stands on her toes, peering out the window.
“Yep, there are definitely a lot of thirsty bitches out there.”
“Stop.” I tug on the neck of my tee and look up from the pile of receipts that might as well be written in Chinese. “I’m trying to keep a rational head about all this, and your glee at my expense is not helping.”
“Then do you want me to not tell you that Paige Grubbs is currently dragging your alpha over to her cute little sportscar?”
My alpha? Ugh, why does that sound so good? “What are you talking about?”
Kaysie cranes her neck. “She’s clutching him like he’s the last Prada bag at the Black Friday sales.” She makes a disgusted sound. “Grubby by name, grubby by nature.”
It always struck me as ironic that Paige would call me Dirty Percy given her unfortunate surname, but the woman is not exactly imbued with self-awareness.
“Ugh,” I mutter, looking over Kaysie’s shoulder.
Paige hasn’t just invited Otley to check out her shiny Mustang; she’s hugging his arm to her ample chest and swinging her hips like she’s on the deck of a floundering ship. “Jesus, could she be a little less…?”
“Grabby McGrubbyhands?”
I shake my head, although if it wasn’t for Otley’s name-calling ban, I’d be cheering Kaysie on instead of nudging her towards the door. “Go hydrate our customers before there’s a mass fainting epidemic.”
“Yes, boss.” Her nose ring winks at me as she hefts the tray in expert hands. “And what are you going to do about that hostage situation out there?”
I look grimly out the window as I snatch my floral shears off the counter. “Remind Grabby McGrubbyhands that we don’t tug flowers here; we snip them.”
After all, Otley can’t exactly censure me on name-calling if he’s let himself get bespelled by one of the wicked witches of Knotty Falls.
In the end, I’m saved from doing Paige bodily harm by Tristan, who neatly intercepts the pair.
Words fly between them, and I’m not sure what he says to Otley, but the alpha frowns at Paige, who blushes and mutters something I don’t catch.
He shakes his head and both he and Tristan turn their backs, striding in my direction.
As I meet them near the barn, I can feel the other omega’s glare all the way from the parking lot.
I have to swallow hard to keep the growl out of my voice as I ask, “What did she want?”
Otley doesn’t look impressed. “She said she had an important delivery for you. I told her I’d collect it, so you wouldn’t have to deal with her yourself.”
I raise my brows at him. “Let me guess. No delivery?”
Tristan snorts. “More like she was trying to lure him into her Mustang so she could deliver herself into his lap.”
I make an effort not to grind my teeth. “Well, if you want to go for a joyride with Paige, be my guest.”
Tristan bites his lip, but Otley looks like he’s tasted something sour. “Not if she was offering me the last cherry pie in Idaho.”
Oh.
Well, if he feels that strongly about it…
“Now that we’ve put that issue to bed,” Tristan says with a wide grin, “I happened to notice you have a bunch of archery gear in the barn. Is there any way you could give us a demonstration?”
I look at him curiously. “How do you know it’s mine?”
“I stopped in at Kaysie’s coffee shop yesterday, and she showed me a newspaper article from your high school days.”
“Really?” God knows what else my so-called best friend let slip. “She makes a living from fiction, so I’d only believe about half of what she tells you.”
“But you were the state champion,” Otley murmurs, his intense gaze still glued to my face. “That’s a very impressive achievement, Lily.”
I huff, feeling my cheeks warm. “Thanks. I actually had a scholarship to Sonoma State for track and archery.”
As I lead them into the barn, Otley stiffens, his gaze sharpening in the dim light. “You went to school in California?”
“No. That was the plan, but…” My gaze drifts to Leo’s miniature saddle, and I can’t keep the soft smile off my face. “Turns out, I had other things to focus on.”
Otley stares at the pile of pint-sized memorabilia, while Tristan makes a humming sound and walks over to examine the rack of bows.
I have three; a training bow, a competition one, and a replica Shoshoni weapon, with a set of traditional Plains arrows.
My throat tightens as I realize how long it’s been since I practiced with any of them. “You really want a demonstration?”
Otley turns his frown my way while Tristan gives me another electric smile. “That would be amazing, Lily.”
I think it’s pride that makes me pluck the competition bow from the rack.
It’s a carbon fiber re-curve bow with an adjustable sight, and smells of bamboo and bowstring wax.
I quickly check it over, then grab a bowstringer, my quiver of competition arrows, and my hand and arm guards.
Tristan and Otley have already muscled the practice target away from the wall, but they both pause to look me over. “Good?” I ask them.
“Yes, better than good,” Tristan grins, and I feel my cheeks grow hotter as we head out of the barn.
Despite the depictions of hunters on television, brandishing their weapons as they face down lethal predators, archery is actually a peaceful sport.
Rather than grasping the bow, I cradle it.
My breathing takes on a mechanical precision and my heart settles into a steady beat.
My muscles clench, but only with the anticipation of a clean shot.
Drawing a competitive bow requires more than fifty pounds of force, and the arrow can travel at speeds of over a hundred miles per hour, so everything about the sport needs to be measured and precise.
It still amazes me how quickly I can settle into the right mindset.
Maybe it’s the ritual of putting on my protective gear, or the feel of the string growing taut as I prepare it for my first arrow.
I run my fingers down the shaft, feeling the sun on the back of my neck, and what little breeze there is dancing across my cheeks.
Tristan and Otley have set the target up against the barn and I can feel their eyes on me as I settle into my stance.
I’d once dreamed of doing this in front of Olympic judges, although, even without Leo to derail those plans, I always knew it was a bit of a pipedream.
Doesn’t stop me from enjoying the hell out of this moment, though.
Nock. Draw. Anchor. Aim. Release.
“Wow!” Tristan makes a breathless sound of admiration as the arrow finds its target. When I glance over, his camera lens is pointed my way again. “Bullseye!”
It better be, given the only moderately challenging distance, but I shoot him a small smile. “I’m happy to teach you if you want to learn.”
He lowers his camera and looks flustered for a second. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making it seem easy.”
“Same principles as photography. A good eye, a steady hand, and strong mental focus.”
“Along with perfect form and rigorous practice,” Otley interjects, and I almost drop my bowstringer at the compliment. He hasn’t put his sunglasses back on yet, and the heat in his eyes makes my stomach flip. Does he really like what he sees, even though I’m a sweaty, worn-out mess?
Memories from yesterday flood my mind and I have to clear my parched throat. “Yeah,” I admit. “They’re important, too, but this is just for fun, right?”
Otley continues to stare at me, and I’m not sure if I’m glad or disappointed that we’re having this moment while I’m armed and half the town has descended on my doorstep.
“Well, I’m always up for learning fun new things,” Tristan says lightly, right as his phone starts to ring. He wiggles his brows at me as he digs it out, but as he checks the screen, his face lights up with excitement. “Perfect timing! Ellis just arrived.”
“Ellis?” I’m already in the process of releasing the next arrow and I’m not at all surprised it flies wide, literally missing the side of the barn.