2. Willow
Chapter 2
Willow
M y brush moves in broad, confident strokes as the sky-blue color spreads across the canvas like a living thing. Meanwhile, I lose myself, the colors and textures absorbing all my focus.
Each stroke breathes life into the Sierra Nevada mountains and every sweep of my hand brings the snow-capped peaks to life as the world outside fades away.
Lana’s laughter breaks through my focus when she stands and holds up a painting of little handprints in reds and yellows. “Mama, look!”
As warmth floods my chest, I smile and check out her creation up close. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Just like you.”
Lana beams and returns to smearing paint with careless joy. She looks so much like her father. Her happiness is contagious, and there’s a strong bond between us. It’s a golden thread that ties us together in this high-tech log house we call home.
The massive house, situated just outside the town of Blushing Creek in the Sierra Nevada, is a masterful blend of rustic charm and modern technology.
From the outside, it’s a traditional log cabin with weathered wooden logs, a stone chimney, and a wrap-around veranda that offers stunning views of the surrounding mountains.
Inside, the home has innovative technology in every space. It’s an ideal environment for creativity and productivity.
I pull in a breath as I relax in my chair and take a sip of iced tea. This is the life. I live for these moments, when it’s just me and Lana enjoying the freedom of creation.
The art studio room door swings open, and Hunter’s dominating figure fills the doorway, his broad shoulders stretched taut against the fabric of his crisp, white t-shirt. Army green cargo pants hug his muscular legs, a testament to his strength and capabilities.
“Willow. I’m heading out for my night watch shift.” Hunter’s ocean blue eyes survey the room before settling on Lana and me. The furrow of his brows and the tightness of his jaw is a telltale sign of his protective nature towards us. “Lock up after I leave. There’s been talk of an outsider in town.”
My lips press together. I know exactly who he’s talking about, but I play dumb and ask for more details. “Hmm. Who’s in town?”
Hunter arches a masculine brow. “Just be careful.”
With a last look, he leaves, and Lana runs off to play in her room.
I return to my painting, but tension spreads across my arms and my brush stops for a fraction of a second.
He’s talking about Tristan.
How does his security team already know about him?
My pulse quickens, the familiar ache of the past stirring deep within me. Tristan always had a way of making waves and turning heads, but I never imagined he’d show up in Blushing Creek, of all places.
This town was supposed to be my sanctuary, a place where I could leave the memories behind and bury the heartache. But with just one look at him, it’s all rushing back—every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, and every moment I had tried to forget.
I can’t afford to get lost in the past. Not again. Not when I’ve fought so hard to move forward and build a life for myself. No, I won’t let him unravel everything I’ve built. I can’t.
Yet, the tremor in my hand tells me it might already be too late.
A knock on the door startles me, and I freeze as my paint brush halts mid-stroke. Setting the brush down, I walk to the door. When I open it and see Tristan standing there, my breath hitches.
Tristan stands on the deck, his dark hair whipped by the wind into messy waves, adding to his statuesque appearance.
His black button-down shirt and dark jeans cling to his muscular frame, accentuating the same strength and confidence I saw earlier in town.
The sleek black sports car behind him only adds to his alluring aura, making him stand out like a gem in the rough. No wonder he’s the talk of the town.
Butterflies roll through my stomach as his name emanates from my lips in a breathless exhalation. “Tristan.”
As he steps closer, heat radiates from his body while his powerful hand brushes against my cheek, igniting a tingling sensation that penetrates my entire being.
His deep amber eyes lock on to mine. “Willow.”
A faint scent of cologne and woodsy aftershave wafts from him, mixing with the crisp evening air that seeps in through the open door. The scent is comforting, like a warm embrace.
I step out onto the porch and ease the screen shut behind me. “Why are you here?”
His broad shoulders fall slightly as he exhales. “Come on, Willow. Do you have to ask?”
A powerful chemical attraction roams between us and it’s as if the past had never left. It’s far too strong. I bite my lower lip. “I do. Especially when I don’t recall having shared my address with you.”
His vision drops to the floor before he purses his lips. “The paintings. They’re yours.”
While my heartbeat kicks up a notch, I cross my arms over my chest. Everything in me wants to tell him the truth—that I’d sent the paintings down to Vegas hoping he would remember me, but he doesn’t need to know that right now. Nodding, I confirm it. “Yes. They’re mine.”
His eyes blaze with pain. “Why did you run away from me and then torture me with your art?”
Heat courses through my torso, making me want to close the distance between us. My eyes dart away, unable to bear the intensity of our connection for another minute.
I lift my fingertips to my temples and massage the tension. When I’d heard of a wealthy buyer in Vegas willing to pay top dollar for my pieces, I knew it could only be him. In fact, I had known all along that he would find my work. But apparently, he never fully figured out it was me. Until now.
My mouth tightens as my mind races to figure out how to defend my behavior, but I come up empty. “I only wanted to sell the artwork in the city. How was I to know you’d buy them?”
He steps closer, arching a single brow. “Your art is twisted and beautiful. Just like you.”
Breaking eye contact, I gather courage to apologize for the way our relationship ended. Finally, I face him. “You deserved so much better than how I handled things. Leaving like that, with no explanation...” My voice trails off.
His nostrils flare before he stiffens and turns away. “Do you know what it was like?” His words are bitter, each syllable sharp. “Waking up one morning to an empty bed? No note, nothing. You just disappeared.”
I draw in a shallow breath. “I thought a clean break would be easier, but I could have been wrong.”
He makes a slight growl in his throat. “Did you leave me because of him ?”
My brain races to think of who he could mean. I haven’t glanced at another man since him. My face crumples. “Who are we talking about?”
His jaw ticks. “Earlier today, you were with a man.”
A thrill runs through me at his possessive tendencies. He’s always been the jealous type, and that turns me on, unfortunately.
A slight smile curves the edge of my lips. “That’s Hunter.”
“Is he …” His voice becomes thick with emotion. “Is he the …”
“Tristan.” A small laugh bubbles up as I clamp my lips together and relish his jealous reaction. Finally, I lay it on him. “Hunter is my brother.”
His shoulders relax before he closes his eyelids and resets himself. “Okay then.” His jaw sets. “Your daughter. How old is she?”
Sweat pricks under my arms, my eyes darting from him to a window view of the inside of the house. I half-smile to ease my nerves. “What is this, a game of twenty questions?”
He doesn’t smile along with me. He only leans forward, pursing his male lips together. “How old is she, dammit?”
My pulse slams against my wrist. I won’t keep running from this. I swallow and answer the question. “She’ll be four years old this December.”
An eternity passes before he speaks again. “And her father?”
I look away before swallowing. “Tristan, it’s complicated.”
He scoffs. “It isn’t, though. It’s a simple question.”
The answer seems impossible, so I say nothing.
He moves closer. “Tell me, dammit.”
My hands shake as I turn to face him.
His intense gaze searches for answers while he stands still.
As I finally part my lips to respond, a sudden pitter-patter of tiny feet sounds inside, and I’m interrupted by Lana’s excited voice. “Mama.”
Tristan rubs the base of his neck as he moves back.
Pulling on the door handle, I find her innocent eyes looking up at me. “Yes, sweetheart.”
A sound of a heavy, frustrated exhale is audible from behind me.
Halting, I spin around to look at him. “Go.”
Tristan’s shoulders push back as his hands clench. “I have a right to know.”
Breathing deep, I turn halfway to the door. It feels better to hide, though it would only postpone the inevitable. Biting my lip, I shift back to him. “Not today, you don’t.”
While planting his feet firmly on the porch, his nostrils flare. “I will uncover the truth, Willow. Somehow or another, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on.”
As he leaves, emotions churn in my stomach.
This is trouble, and as much as I fight it, I still want him. Badly.