Chapter One
“Where do you want me to put this?” Scott said as he came up behind her.
He was really close … too close. Casey could smell the onions on his breath from the three hot dogs he’d wolfed down forty-five minutes ago.
It had taken her about fifteen minutes to clean up the mess he’d left at the front counter.
Scott was famous for leaving scrunched up wrappers strewn across the counters, shelves, and floor.
It was like it never occurred to him to throw his crap in the several trash cans around the garden shop.
Sucking in a breath, Casey slid to the right and pushed away from the shelf. She gave Scott a sideways glance. He stood there with a bag of potting soil in his hands, his eyes fixed on her chest.
Turning toward him, she said, “Put it with all the other bags you stacked yesterday.”
His gaze slowly worked up to her face, and he took a step toward her. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.”
Bullshit, you creep. Casey gripped the handle of the watering can, fighting every impulse to haul the vessel at him. Without saying another word, she scurried away.
When Owen asked her if she could work at his shop while he was away, she leapt at the chance.
Casey was always looking for a way to make extra money to pay off the debt her ex-husband stuck her with as a parting gift.
She’d always loved gardening, so working at the nursery didn’t feel like a job except when Scott worked the same shift.
Casey tried to laugh at his not-funny-at-all jokes, act interested when he talked about his reptile collection, and pretend that his loud chomping when he ate, which seemed like all the time, didn’t annoy the hell out of her, but the truth was she didn’t get good vibes from him.
Whenever he was around, her intuition lit up like an electrical storm.
It didn’t help that he kept checking her out or finding ways to slither up to her when she was least expecting it.
No matter how she analyzed the dynamics, the guy was a creep and an asshole.
“Jillian’s going to see her mom this weekend,” Scott said, sauntering over to the front counter.
Casey feigned intense interest in the cash register, hoping her co-worker would go away and leave her the hell alone. She was dead tired from working at her main job at the Center Stage Theater and in no mood to deal with him.
“What about getting a burger or pizza on Saturday?”
“Huh?” Casey looked up and noticed that Scott had come behind the counter.
“A pizza or burger.”
“Okay … so…?” She expelled a long breath.
“I said my girlfriend’s going away this weekend, and I thought you and me could grab dinner or something.” A smirk made his dough-boy face appear ridiculous.
“Can’t.”
A frown replaced the smirk. “Why not?”
“Busy.” She pushed the cash register drawer closed.
Before Scott could say anything, the store door opened and a gust of cool air rushed in, carrying a whirl of dried leaves that scudded across the linoleum floor.
Casey glanced over and met a pair of hazel eyes focused solely on her.
She sucked in a slow breath as she took the handsome stranger in: tall and lean, wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans that hugged narrow hips and long legs.
His warm brown hair had hints of gold tones, and it was pulled back in a ponytail.
Her eyes skimmed over the colorful ink images painted on his strong arms.
“Whaddya need?” Scott’s voice pulled her attention away from the customer.
Ignoring Scott, the man’s gaze drifted to her waist then slowly up to her breasts. “Lemme have twenty bags of Irongate redwood mulch,” he said, looking back into her eyes.
“This is shit, man,” Scott muttered under his breath as he stalked away. “You take care of this guy.”
“I haven’t seen you before,” the customer continued, rocking back on his boot heels as he kept his eyes trained on her.
“I’m kinda new.”
“Oh, yeah?” His voice was deep with a tinge of rasp.
Casey broke eye contact with him. The guy had bad boy vibes written all over him, not to mention an air of confidence so big it filled the whole store. She wouldn’t be surprised if the dude had a motorcycle. A Harley for sure.
“We have redwood mulch. Pioneer’s a great brand. We have Eden as well.”
“Irongate’s the one I like. Twenty bags.”
“Irongate’s been recalled.”
“No, it hasn’t. I just bought it last week.”
“Maybe somewhere else, but we took the bags off the shelf a couple of weeks ago. Mold, fungus, and some of the colored mulch had contaminants like formaldehyde, aluminum, and arsenic. That stuff’s nasty and not good for the soil or the plants. It causes soil erosion and—”
“Look, sweetheart, I don’t need you to educate me on mulch. I also don’t need you to tell me where I bought the last supply. So be a good girl and get me twenty bags of Irongate mulch.”
For a few seconds Casey stood staring at him, not quite computing what he’d said and then a brief flash of anger rankled over her skin. What a condescending jerk.
Leaning against the back counter, she pointed at an aisle behind him and said, “Aisle six. Go for it.” She pulled out the inventory binder and pretended to be engrossed in the section on landscaping tools, all the while very much aware of his hard stare boring into her.
Refusing to indulge him, she kept her gaze on the photo of a lawn aerator.
A deep chuckle washed over her, and she gritted her teeth and looked up, watching him swagger down the aisle in a way that suggested raw sensuality. He looked over his shoulder, and before she could glance away, he winked at her, a bemused smile twitching on his lips.
Casey felt her cheeks grow warm and hated that he saw it too. She closed the binder, threw it back on the shelf under the counter, and gazed out the window as she turned her back to the rest of the store, trying to cool down her temper.
Leaves skittered across the parking lot and the tree branches swayed slightly in the wind.
Watching the squirrels jump from tree to tree calmed her, and she chastised herself for letting a complete stranger get under her skin.
She’d been to enough therapy sessions to know how to block the negativity when someone was throwing it at her.
Casey’s ex-husband had been a master at throwing crap at her then acting like it was her fault because she overreacted.
Gaslighting. That’s what her therapist had called it.
But it was different with her ex because they had a relationship, and he was the first and only man she’d ever loved.
So why was she letting this guy, albeit a good-looking, sexy one, get under her skin?
“Are you gonna ring me up or not?”
The sound of his voice pissed her off. Take two deep breaths. He’s a jerk and jerks piss women off. It’s simple.
“I don’t have all day. I have a job I’m doing.”
Casey turned around and her gaze swept over a large bag of Eden mulch. “So you took my suggestion.” She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her lips.
His eyes narrowed. “That’s all you have on the shelves. Where the fuck is Owen anyway?”
“He had a family emergency out of town.”
“I didn’t know he had family outside of Pinewood Springs.”
“He does.” The beep of the price gun filled the silence between them. “Cash or credit?”
“When’s Owen coming back?” he said, inserting a credit card into the machine.
“I don’t know. You want a receipt?”
“Yeah. You gonna be workin’ here until he comes back?”
“That’s the plan.” She handed him the receipt.
“How do you know Owen?”
Irritation pricked at the temples of her forehead. “A friend of a friend. Do you want anything else?”
“Nah. I can see that I get under your skin, so I’m messin’ with you.” He laughed.
“Childish and a jerk—that’s a winning combination. Don’t you think you better get to your job and let me do mine?” Satisfaction spread over Casey when she saw a muscle tick in his jaw.
Without saying a word, he pushed the flat cart piled high with bags of mulch out of the nursery.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he stacked the bags onto the back of a blue long bed pickup.
After wheeling the flat cart into the store, he walked to the truck, swung into the driver’s seat, and took off without a backward glance.
Casey shook her head. “Why is it that macho men can dish it out but not take it from a woman? They’re all alike,” she muttered under her breath as she glanced at the copy of the receipt. Chase Kendrick.
“Did that guy buy anything?”
Casey had forgotten all about Scott. “Forty bags of mulch.”
“I thought he wanted twenty.”
She shrugged. “It’s not my job to question the customers about their purchases.”
“He thought he was so fucking cool. Those guys all do. Do you think he’s cool?”
A small sigh escaped from her lips. “What are we in high school? I didn’t think anything about him. He’s a customer, just like the two who just walked in. Why don’t you see if they need any help?”
“You don’t have to bite my head off. I just wondered if you thought he was cool.”
“Again, I didn’t pay any attention to him.” I’m such a liar.
“Whatever.” Scott ambled toward the patrons.
Chase Kendrick. It doesn’t really fit him.
What did that mean when people said a name didn’t fit someone?
Hell if she knew, but she didn’t think the guy looked like a Chase Kendrick.
And most women would’ve found him attractive and sexy.
So what did that mean? Nothing. There was no way she’d ever get mixed up with someone like him.
Her ex-hubby had cured her fascination with the bad boy rebel type.
They were great in novels and movies, but in real life? No damn way.
Casey shoved the receipt into the strongbox and snapped the lid shut.
Absolutely, no damn way.