5. Grady
Grady
Chapter 5
The next day, I woke before my alarm. Sunrise was still hours away and darkness swathed my room. The red glow of numbers on my clock read 4:13am. When I breathed in, I could have sworn I smelled honeysuckle perfume.
My throat grew thick as the low burn of arousal swept through me, coiling my muscles tight.
I never liked to linger in bed once I was awake. There were too many things to do in a day, and lounging around would accomplish none of it. But this time—just this once—I let my eyes slip closed again.
The image of Birdie rose to the forefront of my memory. Partially standing over me at lunch, attempting to mop up the water dripping down my chest. The sky-blue cashmere sweater she wore gaped open at the collar, providing a teasing glimpse of cleavage—softly mounded, heavy breasts that made me weak at the goddamn knees.
A better man would look away and give her privacy. A decent man wouldn’t stare the way I did.
That damn sweater made her skin look soft enough to touch, to kiss.
I thought I was too old for this—craving a woman so deeply that I went blind with it. Losing my common sense as I battled the desire to fill my hands with her bare curves. My iron will had built this ranch from a few scrawny heads of cattle and a dozen acres of scrubby grassland into the empire it was now. Although it seemed that my iron will didn’t stand a chance against Birdie Knowles.
If we were alone, I’d have you in my lap right now, and I wouldn’t be a gentleman about it.
Fuck, I never talked like that. Not even with my ex-wife. She hated that I rarely said anything in bed. With Birdie, it had simply popped out before I realized what I was thinking. I usually had more self-control than that.
She hadn’t backed down either. Birdie held my gaze, with her hand on my chest and my heart racing at top speed.
Is that a threat or a promise?
She always looked as pretty as a posy—colorful, delicate, feminine, with an endearing flush to her cheeks, and bright eyes. By all rights, she should be completely at odds with the ranch and everything I stood for. Even with the comfort of money, it was still a tough way of life, and Birdie should have wilted under it.
Instead, she seemed to lean into the challenge of being around me. Most women scampered out of my way, but she didn’t budge.
My cock throbbed beneath the sheets. Just thinking about Birdie’s curvy hips in my lap as I sucked a bruising kiss into those gorgeous, creamy white breasts had me half-hard. I couldn’t remember the last time I woke up like this—aching and ravenous.
My breathing grew shallow in the darkness as I stood on the edge of surrender. I told myself I wouldn’t fall for another woman as fast as I fell for my ex-wife. A cold shower would knock me down a peg and get my hot blood to calm down. A cup of black, bitter coffee would set me straight. Getting my ass in the saddle would get my mind off Birdie and back to business as usual.
The problem was that I didn’t want to stop thinking about Birdie. Not right now. I would rather revel in the fantasy of her skin against mine, and the way she would sigh so perfectly as I slid inside her.
I shoved my sweatpants down and wrapped my palm around my cock. In a few minutes, my alarm would go off. So, I kept my eyes firmly closed, picturing a naked Birdie perched on my lap. My mouth watered as I imagined drawing one of her nipples between my teeth, grabbing a fistful of that plump ass, coaxing her to ride me until she fell apart and I made her mine.
With a groan, I thrust up into my hand, wishing it was Birdie’s tight, slick heat gripping me like a vise. I swore I could feel her soft, warm palms anchored on my chest in the dark. If only she could be here now, working herself on my cock with her head tipped back in ecstasy.
I came hard, spilling over my fingers. This woman had me waking up horny and jerking off like a sexually frustrated teenage boy. A small needle of fear prickled the back of my mind with the realization. Things had moved so fast with my ex-wife, and in the end, it had been a mistake.
With Birdie, things were moving even faster—at lightning speed. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. But there was a level of certainty with Birdie that I never experienced with my ex-wife. Maybe that certainty was some kind of wisdom that came with my older years. Birdie made me feel alive again, igniting a protectiveness over her even though she didn’t need protecting. She could handle herself and she’d already proven that.
She knew exactly what kind of man I was, and it didn’t scare her off. That was rare—a gem I couldn’t afford to lose.
On Friday, I lost track of time. Dropping off cattle at an auction two towns over took longer than I’d planned. When I got back to High Plains, there were flowers bursting everywhere. Spires of snapdragons in peachy pinks, russet reds, pumpkin oranges, and golden yellows. Bushels of big, nodding sunflowers. Swaths of thick evergreens tied with harvest-colored plaid ribbons.
Birdie had been here, dropping off the floral arrangements as she’d promised. I glanced around, my heart in my throat, hoping to see her again.
“You just missed her.”
I turned to see Avery standing on the porch, shielding her eyes with one hand. Textbooks were sprawled on the table behind her.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said. A blatant lie that would never escape Avery’s notice.
“Your poker face is usually better than that,” she replied.
I grimaced and scrubbed the back of my neck, kicking a rock away with the toe of my boot until it skittered across the driveway. I had no intention of hiding my budding relationship with Birdie, but Avery would want to talk about it. I was still adjusting to the whole concept myself—dating and falling in love again after a divorce.
Avery was only twenty-five years old, with the confidence and resilience of youth. She didn’t know what it was like to get married, build a life together, start a family, and then watch it fall apart. She didn’t know what it was like to approach the precipice of a second chance at happily ever after, wondering if the jump is going to break every bone in your body all over again like it did the first time.
“It’s not my poker face,” I countered. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“Well, you’re not exactly saying much.”
The memory of this morning returned to mind, thinking of Birdie as I came. And my daughter did not need to know that.
“She left something for you,” Avery added.
I leaned forward on my toes, ready to move. Then I rocked back on my heels, telling myself to calm down.
“What is it?”
Avery tilted her head toward the house.
“Find out for yourself. It’s in the kitchen with your name on it.”
I made my way inside. When I reached the kitchen, a quick glance around showed nothing out of the ordinary. Avery stood in the doorway and gestured to the refrigerator.
“Look in there.”
Casting a suspicious look in her direction, I opened the refrigerator door. Inside was a small clear box with a note on the top in Birdie’s handwriting that read: For Grady. When I lifted the lid, I found a small corsage of blue flowers, bundled together with a tiny silver ribbon. That crisp, delicate shade of blue reminded me of the sweater she’d worn during our lunch date. Touchable soft. With the deep V-neck that gaped when she leaned over.
“Birdie said it was a gift,” Avery continued, pulling me out of my thoughts. “The blue is supposed to make you stand out amid all those warm colors—a stark contrast among the reds, oranges, and yellows, to mark you as the host. She told me if you refused to wear flowers because you’re a manly rancher who’s too tough for that, I should blackmail you into cooperating.”
The faint scent of Birdie’s perfume clung to the flowers. A small smile curled the corner of my lips up.
“Excuse me,” I said, moving out of the kitchen. “I have to make a call.”
“Does that mean you’re going to wear them?” Avery called after me.
I made no reply and retreated to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Retrieving Birdie’s card from my pocket, I dialed her number and waited for her to pick up.
“Hello?”
“I got your flowers,” I said.
A smile warmed Birdie’s voice.
“Did you know flowers have a secret language? In the past, people used flowers to send their lovers private messages of desire and passion.”
I held up the small corsage, barely bigger than my thumb. It wasn’t grand and showy like the ranch, like the floral arrangements for the Harvest Festival. This was…personal. Private. A secret between the two of us.
“I thought I’d make it simple for you,” Birdie added. “As long as you can identify the flower, you can figure out the secret message I left for you.”
“Birdie, like I said, I don’t know a damn thing about flowers,” I replied.
She paused, letting the anticipation grow to unbearable proportions before she finally spoke.
“Fine. I’ll make it easy on you. They’re forget-me-nots.”
Oh.
“After the Harvest Festival is over,” Birdie went on. “I hope you don’t forget about little ol’ me in my flower shop when life goes back to normal for you on that big ranch.”
I sank onto the edge of my bed, the corsage looking so small, pinched between my forefinger and thumb. How could a few simple clusters of flowers hold so much meaning? How could Birdie think I could ever forget about her when she was on my mind from the moment I woke up to when I fell asleep at night?
“Believe me, Birdie. There’s no chance I’d ever forget you.”
The morning of the Harvest Festival dawned in a dizzying level of activity. A stream of cars filed up my driveway by 8am, directed by volunteers to the field for parking. I felt off-kilter, unbalanced after my routine had been disrupted. There were always people on my ranch—cowboys, veterinarians, horse trainers, builders, mechanics, and cattle buyers. But there never this many people, and never for a party.
I tugged at the collar of my shirt, starched stiff and itchy.
“You look nice,” Avery chirped, breezing by.
She wore a snug black sweater, a brown leather mini skirt that showed a little too much leg for my liking, with black tights, and her customary cowboy boots. She looked every inch the California college student—fashionable, intelligent, accomplished, and attractive.
“I could say the same for you,” I replied. “Are you expecting to meet someone special at this festival?”
She huffed a laugh and waved me off.
“I’m not the one wearing a corsage like it might as well be an engagement ring.”
I glanced down at the corsage pinned to my lapel. Every once in a while, when the breeze shifted just right, I caught a whiff of honeysuckle perfume from it. The blue petals practically glowed against the black fabric of my jacket.
I hope you don’t forget about little ol’ me in my flower shop…
I watched as Avery fell into step beside my foreman. She pointed toward a booth selling spiced cider, hot chocolate, and coffee, then hooked her arm through his elbow. If anyone could ward off the swarm of men that would undoubtedly flock to Avery today, it would be Bowen.
Avery, on the other hand, seemed to be getting a little starry-eyed around him.
Before I could fully examine how unsettled that thought made me, I spotted Birdie near a tent, ushering a band onto the stage. With knee-high calfskin boots, a flowing floral skirt, and a thick cabled cranberry sweater, that low burn of hunger for her ignited in my stomach all over again.
Part of me thought I shouldn’t interrupt her while she was working. The other part of me didn’t give a damn.
So, I headed straight for her. As I approached, Birdie turned and greeted me with a bright smile that made my brain go blissfully blank for a split second.
“Hello, handsome.”
She reached out and smoothed her thumb over my lapel, admiring the corsage of forget-me-nots. My hand strayed to her hip, drawing her closer before I realized what I was doing.
“Did Avery tackle you to the floor this morning to pin those flowers on you?” Birdie asked.
I curled my fingers around her hand and tucked her arm in the crook of my elbow. I liked having her here. She fit like a glove, like a piece of my life that I didn’t realize had been missing until she was beside me.
“No,” I said, only a little sullen at her lack of faith in me. “I pinned them on myself. Voluntarily.”
“You really are going soft in your old age.”
“Better watch that pretty mouth. I was going to kiss you but if you start insulting me, I’ll have to change my mind.”
Birdie’s eyebrows shot up and she squeezed my bicep. I liked it when she did that, too. She couldn’t keep her hands off me. I felt the same way about her. With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching, I guided Birdie behind the barn, away from the festivities.
“Well, you do claim to be a man of your word,” she said. “But you should probably make your rounds and greet a few guests first. Since you’re the host.”
I slipped my hand lower, cupping her ass as I pulled our bodies flush together.
“You’re toying with me. Making me wait.”
Birdie gave a pleased little hum, sliding her hands up my arms and around my neck.
“It’s fun to see you grumble like a thundercloud.”
She’d barely finished speaking before I pressed my mouth to hers, pouring every ounce of pent-up frustration I’d endured over the past few days into that kiss. Birdie melted with a whimper. I slipped my fingers under the hem of her sweater, discovering that soft, warm skin I’d been craving. I buried one hand in her perfect, silky blonde waves with a tug until she gasped.
When I slid my tongue into her mouth, the only thought that echoed in my head was mine mine mine.