2. Birdie
Birdie
Chapter 2
At eight o’clock in the morning on the dot, I arrived at High Plains Ranch. The magnificent gated arch was an ostentatious display, depicting a stampede of horses and cattle, kicking up billowing clouds of dust, rendered in metal. The ranch’s name was spelled out in bold letters across the top.
I sucked in a steadying breath to quell the jittery nerves in my belly. Maybe I should have skipped that shot of espresso this morning. It was bad enough knowing that I was about to provide floral arrangements for one of the wealthiest men in Ash Ridge. Grady McCall wasn’t exactly known to be a friendly, easy-going man. His bullheaded ways, backbone of steel, and ruthless ethics had scared off lesser men who chickened out of doing business with him.
His temper wasn’t the part that bothered me about all this though. If I screwed up, the whole town would know that I bungled flowers for a millionaire.
God help me.
After navigating the winding driveway over a mile long, the McCall home came into view and my jaw dropped. The house was massive, standing two stories tall, with a pair of natural rock chimneys flanking either end of the building. A porch stretched across the front of the house, disappearing around the back, but there wasn’t a scrap of decor in sight. Not even a potted plant. Two lonely rocking chairs were tucked together at the corner.
Did anyone even use that gigantic porch? Or were they too busy running the ranch to spend time making their house a home?
To my right was a barn, two corrals, and several other smaller buildings that I couldn’t identify. One of them had to be the bunkhouse. On a ranch this size, the McCalls would need hired hands to do the hard labor required to keep everything running smoothly.
Shaking my head, I pulled to a stop outside of the house and parked. I couldn’t imagine living like this. At forty-three years old, I’d managed to make a modest life for myself by running the local flower shop, Lavender Lane. It wasn’t much money—just enough to cover bills with some spare change left over at the end of every month—but I was proud of it.
I retrieved the coffee and pastries from the seat next to me, tucked my old battered iPad under my arm, and stepped out of my vintage Ford truck. Crisp, cool mountain air greeted me. I shivered, regretting the fact that I’d left my scarf at home.
Craning my neck back, I gazed up at the house again. When Avery McCall had phoned the shop to set up a consultation appointment, she’d been so friendly and down-to-earth. Now that I stood on McCall ground, a nagging voice whispered in the back of my head that maybe I’d bitten off more than I could chew this time…
Before I could brave my approach, the front door opened and a man emerged, tugging the brim of his cowboy hat down over his eyes. My mouth went dry at the sight of him. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a bodice-ripping western romance novel. Broad shoulders, a square jawline darkened by salt and pepper stubble, and large hands rendered rough by years of work.
Stop drooling and say hello, I chastised myself.
“Good morning!”
He froze. Then he lifted his head, granting a full view of his face. As soon as I got a glimpse of his crystal clear, sharp gray eyes, and the firm line of his mouth that rarely—if ever—smiled, I knew who he was. My jittery stomach roiled with butterflies.
Grady McCall, rancher, millionaire, and most eligible bachelor in Ash Ridge. Many women in town admired him, but only from a distance. His prickly demeanor usually deterred any attempt at flirtation.
Despite the undeniably attractive man in front of me, I pushed away those thoughts and focused on what I came for—business. Taking a bold step forward, I held out my hand.
“I’m Beatrice Knowles, founder and florist of Lavender Lane. Everyone calls me Birdie. Avery McCall sent me to discuss the floral arrangements for the Harvest Festival.”
Grady flicked a glance down at my hand. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t take it. Then he grasped my hand briefly with a firm grip, callused fingertips rasping against my skin before releasing me.
“I’m her father, Grady,” he grunted, obviously less than thrilled about introducing himself. His gaze shifted in the direction of the barn, and the mountains beyond it. “Avery isn’t home at the moment. She left a note, saying she went for a ride this morning with one of my ranch hands. I suspect she won’t be back for many hours.”
“Oh, well, that won’t be a problem,” I replied. “She said you were the man to talk to about any big decisions that needed to be made anyway.”
Grady grumbled under his breath.
“Flowers aren’t really my area of expertise,” he said.
“That’s all right. I brought coffee and pastries—a little sweet treat I like to offer my clients as we chat. I’ll walk you through some of my ideas. Choosing a few bouquets won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.”
Grady’s gaze slid toward the mountains again, looking like a man trapped with no escape. I’d seen that expression on men’s faces before, seeking an apology bouquet and feeling completely lost when it came to the myriad of choices before them.
“Whatever you think is best will be fine,” he said.
Then he was on the move, striding away from me as if he couldn’t escape fast enough.
“That’s a dangerous thing to say to a woman,” I called after him. “Regardless of whether or not you know anything about flowers, Mr. McCall, may I remind you that the resulting bill in your name will be your responsibility to pay, whether you like it or not. And if I’m given free rein to do as I like, the resulting costs could be very, very high.”
Grady waved me off without breaking stride.
“Money is no issue, Ms. Knowles.”
I stared at his retreating back as he practically ran to the sanctuary of his barn. This wasn’t the first time a man had left all the floral decision making to me. It was one thing to trust my expertise implicitly, it was another thing to bolt for the hills and leave a blank check in my care for a festival that would cost more than I earned in a year.
Just as Grady reached the barn, I spoke.
“So, do I understand correctly that you’re willing to spend thousands of dollars on flowers instead of cattle?”
That got him to stop dead in his tracks. He turned to look at me. Thank God those steely gray eyes were shielded by the brim of his hat. It was hard to think under his piercing stare otherwise.
I flashed him a smile.
“Of course that’s just a ballpark estimate at the moment. I’ll have a better idea for a more specific number when I’ve selected the arrangements, factored in last-minute costs. Little things like that can add up quickly.”
A muscle twitched in Grady’s jaw. He cast one final baleful glance of longing toward the barn and the mountains and his beloved freedom of the open range. Reluctantly, he started making his way back to me.
“I feel like I’m being press-ganged into this bullshit,” he said.
“Oh, that’s exactly what’s happening, Mr. McCall,” I replied. “Avery paid me a pretty penny in advance to ensure that I didn’t let you wiggle out of it.”
“I’ll double whatever she paid you if you get back in your car and forget about this festival nonsense.”
I laughed and shook my head.
“Avery told me you’d say that. The battle lines have been drawn, and I’ve chosen my side. I’m also a member of the Harvest Festival Planning Committee, so I’m looking forward to this event. You’re outnumbered, Mr. McCall. And you can’t change my mind. Coffee?”
I pressed one of the cups into his hand. He gave it a skeptical look.
“Black,” I added before he could ask. “No cream or sugar.”
“Another tip off from my meddling daughter, I assume?”
Grady took a sip and dipped his head in a brief nod of bare approval. I bit the inside of my cheek to hide a smile, pleased that he liked it.
“She was quite informative.” I held up my own cup. “Besides, I had a feeling you weren’t a caramel white chocolate macchiato type of man.”
“That doesn’t count as real coffee. That’s a cup full of sugar.”
“And it’s delicious. Pastry?”
I held out the bag with the Bread & Butter Bakery logo on the front. Over the years, I discovered that even the most difficult, irascible clients mellowed into nearly docile kittens at the first bite of a pastry still warm and fresh from the bakery.
Grady eyed the bag for a moment before he grudgingly took a danish.
“Why don’t you give me a tour?” I suggested. “Let me see the lay of the land. Then I can offer better suggestions when it comes to selecting floral arrangements.”
Even though it was a perfectly reasonable business suggestion, I couldn’t help feeling a little curious. I drove by the McCall ranch all the time, but I’d never seen it up close and personal like this before.
Grady cleared his throat and lifted his chin in the direction of the barn.
“Bunkhouse and barn are over there. House is behind you. The rest is forest and open fields.”
“That’s not a tour, Mr. McCall.”
When I moved closer, his gaze locked onto me, watching, steady. My throat tightened and my courage almost gave out. But I forged on and hooked my arm into Grady’s elbow.
“A gentleman who entertains a lady should be ready and willing to show off for her,” I added. “So, go on. Try again. Impress me this time.”
When I gave his bicep a squeeze, he croaked a flustered cough. I never treated my other clients like this. There was a thin line between friendly and flirtatious, and I always remained safely in the friendly camp.
In Grady’s case, I gladly obliterated that line without looking back. Now I hurtled full speed into flirting territory. My resolution to remain strictly professional was in shambles.
“Avery put you up to this, didn’t she?” Grady countered, shaking his head. “I told her I didn’t need any help finding a date.”
“Hold your horses, mister. No one said anything about a date. Not even Avery. Ever since I showed up, you looked like you wanted to make a run for it. So, I’m merely providing a little guidance to help you out. I’ve lived in Ash Ridge long enough to recognize a man who doesn’t spend much time in the company of a lady. You have no clue what to do with yourself.”
Grady hesitated.
“Is it that obvious?”
I patted his shoulder.
“It’s written all over your face. Now, try again and take me on a real tour this time.”
Grady began to move. But I didn’t budge, letting my hand slide away from his arm. He glanced back with a frown of confusion. I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to catch on.
“What?” he said, exasperation growing in his tone. “What am I missing now?”
“An invitation.”
Understanding dawned on his face. Grady gave a heavy sigh. Then he returned to my side and offered his arm.
“Would you like to join me on a tour, Ms. Knowles?” he asked gruffly.
I beamed, sliding my hand into the crook of his elbow.
“I’d love to, but only if you call me Birdie.”
Maybe there was a gentleman under that calloused, grumpy old cowboy exterior after all.