Loving a Wildflower Read online

  Loving a Wildflower

  Amanda Torrey

  Copyright 2015 Amanda Torrey

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  “I’ll take him!”

  Simplicity waved her hand in the air, eager to accept a challenge. The ladies at the senior center had spent the entire morning bemoaning the fact that the woman who had been caring for Ethan Witherford had moved away so suddenly. No one wanted to add him to their workload, but how bad could one old guy be? Many of them started out cranky, but within minutes, Simplicity had them smiling and telling her she was a gift.

  “Put your hand down, Simplicity. We need someone with experience dealing with grump.”

  “I have plenty of experience.”

  “He’s a tough one to handle.”

  Mrs. Reynolds smiled the patronizing smile Simplicity had become accustomed to from her. She was a nice one and all, but she had been discouraging Simplicity ever since Simplicity had begged her way onto the volunteer committee at the senior center four months ago.

  Who would have thought she’d have to beg her way onto a volunteer committee?

  Simplicity shook her head.

  “Have you met my soon-to-be brother-in-law, Rogan? Honestly, if I can handle his cantankerous face every day, this Ethan Whatshisname will be a breeze.”

  “Rogan is a ray of sunshine compared to Ethan.”

  “Remember how Mr. Howard was when I started? He threw a potted plant at me because he thought I was breaking in to steal his wooden ducks. Now he harasses you on the days I’m not working, asking when I’ll be back.”

  “You did work miracles with him, I’ll give you that.”

  “Let me try.” Simplicity leaned across the table, her eyes pleading and her lips pursed into a pout. “Pretty please? If I can’t handle it, I’ll tell you. But if I can, then none of you will have to take him on.”

  “Listen, dearie, you’re new to town still. You don’t know—”

  “Oh, let the girl give it a try.” Miss Molly, town matriarch and co-leader of the committee, adjusted her eye patch as she stared at Mrs. Reynolds. Miss Molly had lost an eye many years ago, but she made the most of it with fashionable eye patches for every occasion. Today’s was a fur-fringed winter scene with a blue background and boldly colored snowflakes.

  “I love your new patch, Miss Molly,” Simplicity complimented.

  “Thank you. My sweet niece started making them for me. I told her to put them up on eBay—they could be the next big thing.”

  “Yes, she should open one of those online craft shops, if she’s into that whole technology thing,” Simplicity agreed, nodding emphatically. “My ex-boyfriend used to sell my beach jewelry online—made enough money to take him out to eat at a fancy vegan restaurant.”

  “Back to business, ladies.” Mrs. Reynolds clapped her hands together. “And gentleman. Harvey, are you sure you want to join our committee?”

  Harvey, lovingly known as the town drunk, hiccupped.

  “I owe Jenkins some community service or he’s gonna start sending me up to Grafton County jail. Why should public intoxication be punishable, anyway? Don’t anyone care about the Constitution anymore?”

  “We could have Harvey take care of Ethan,” Mrs. Clyde suggested, lifting her attention from the Vogue magazine she had been flipping through.

  “No. It’s settled.” Miss Molly tapped the table with her pen. “Simplicity Peterson, you’ll check in with Ethan Witherford three times per week. You’ll deliver groceries as specified on the list in his folder.”

  Mrs. Reynolds interrupted. “He likes people to be in and out as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t try to talk to him much. He’s got a chip on his shoulder that could make that giant tree house Quentin Elliott built in the town common look like a toy dollhouse.”

  “Just go on in and be yourself, sweetie.”

  Simplicity couldn’t contain her dimple-inducing grin as she leaned across the table to snatch the blue folder from Miss Molly’s hands.

  The group had tried to discourage Simplicity from joining the committee. Not overtly, of course. But their efforts weren’t subtle enough to slip past Simplicity’s highly sensitive people-meter.

  Since the youngest person in the group had been fifty-four-years-old, the idea of having a twenty-six-year-old onboard didn’t thrill them. They made remarks about the members being life-long citizens of Healing Springs, while Simplicity had only been there for a couple of months after following her sister, Freedom, to town. They spoke of commitment and how the people they helped relied on them. Heck, they drew up a contract that Simplicity could tell had never been required before, though they all nodded their permed heads and batted their stubby eyelashes and raised their painted-on eyebrows in innocence.

  She’d prove herself.

  Not just to them. Not just to Freedom.

  But also to herself.

  She could do this.

  She had to.

  ***

  Simplicity liked to put her own spin on this volunteer thing, which is why she had picked up a tray of Tiana’s pastries from the downtown diner and was standing on the front step of her newest client’s house, even though she wasn’t scheduled to begin until tomorrow.

  She’d introduce herself and welcome him to her client list.

  He’d be so impressed with her personal touch—maybe he’d even write her a commendation letter to add to her file. The rest of the committee would be envious of her natural talent with people. Maybe she’d score a paid position in the town.

  Planting roots would be no problem at all.

  Easy peasy.

  The doorbell didn’t seem to work, so she knocked on the door.

  Still no response.

  The February sun had set early, so though it was only a little after five o’clock, darkness had already set in. She didn’t see any slivers of light through the tightly drawn curtains on the windows of the house.

  Maybe he wasn’t home.

  She had only skimmed his file, but she had noticed that he wasn’t restricted to staying home. And she made sure to verify that he had no diet restrictions before bringing him all this sugar… She wasn’t about to make that mistake again!

  Simplicity sighed. Her big moment was being ruined by the cranky old geezer’s independence.

  She didn’t want to leave the tray of snacks outside for the opportunistic squirrels, and Freedom would kill her if she found out that Simplicity had spent money on this volunteer position, so she couldn’t bring them home. Freedom was annoyed enough that Simplicity had taken on a full-time volunteer job rather than finding gainful employ
ment.

  Simplicity tried to open the door—most people in Healing Springs didn’t bother with locks.

  No luck.

  There had to be a spare key here somewhere. She’d leave the tray on the counter and Mr. Witherford would be pleasantly surprised when he arrived home.

  Simplicity looked in all the obvious places—under the mat, over the doorframe, around the potted plant. Nothing.

  A squeaky noise pulled her attention back to the door, which had somehow opened about two inches.

  “Mr. Witherford?” She hadn’t heard anybody, yet the door had started to swing open. She knocked on the door again. It opened wide.

  She stepped inside, her heart pounding.

  She peered into the darkness, startled when she realized she was looking directly at the shooting end of a gun.

  Simplicity nearly dropped her cookies, but managed to tighten her grip as she tried to relax her rushing blood.

  “Who are you and why were you trying to let yourself in?”

  The voice, younger than she had expected, was low and menacing. Though fear chilled her veins quicker than the Polar Plunge she had participated in last year in Maine, the deep, manly tone washed across her skin like hot oil during a massage.

  She shivered and straightened her spine.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Witherford. I was assigned to help him out. With the Happy Helpers. Is he here?”

  “Right in front of you.”

  He sounded too young. She had thought they only helped the elderly. Apparently she hadn’t asked the right questions. Or read his full file.

  He didn’t say anything, and she had the uncontrollable urge to fill in the silence.

  “You know Miss Molly? She picked me to do his, I mean, your, shopping.”

  “What happened to Bea?”

  “She moved. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  He lowered the gun, but didn’t say a word.

  She blinked, hoping her vision would clear enough to see his eyes. She firmly believed that eye contact would bring them to the same spiritual plane, and then he’d know he could trust her.

  She squinted, but all she could see were broad shoulders and a hooded head. Shadows covered his face while the hood acted as a shield, preventing her from getting a good look.

  She didn’t have to see him to feel the tiny trace of sadness that lingered around him once he heard that the woman who had been caring for him had moved suddenly.

  How could nobody have told him? She couldn’t imagine how betrayed he must feel.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Simplicity Peterson. I haven’t lived here long, so maybe you haven’t heard of me.”

  She forced her voice to sound more cheerful than she felt.

  “You may know of my sister, Freedom Peterson? She goes by ‘Reed.’ She bought the old cottage motel up on—”

  “I don’t care.”

  Well, then. He certainly had no interest in small talk.

  Remembering why she had stopped by there in the first place, she held the tray out toward him.

  “I stopped by to bring you a gift.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged.

  “I thought it would be the nice thing to do.”

  “Did someone dare you to come see the beast?”

  She laughed. The tension in the room increased.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were kidding.”

  Silence met the death of her giggle.

  “Your name suits you.”

  She didn’t think he meant that as a compliment…

  She cleared her throat.

  “Anyway, I can see that you’re not feeling up to company, and I wasn’t due to come here until tomorrow, so I’ll just leave these and go.”

  He didn’t step forward to grab the tray.

  She looked around, wishing he’d have the decency to turn on a light so she could at least find a place to set the tray down.

  “Where would you like…”

  He stepped to the side and gestured for her to go to his left.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, thrilled that her voice maintained some semblance of strength in spite of the terror this man evoked. “I can’t see anything.”

  He reached out his hand, and she assumed he was reaching for the tray. She started to let go of it, but he didn’t have a firm grip. She gasped as the tray plummeted to the floor, losing its flimsy cover and allowing her careful selection of cookies and éclairs and dainty cinnamon rolls to rain over him and the floor.

  “I am so sorry. I thought you had it.”

  She groped around in a desperate attempt to catch some of the treats before they were ruined. Her hands made contact with his firm body, grazing his zipper before realizing the error she had made.

  She jumped back.

  “I’m—I’m—I’m…”

  “Let me guess. Sorry?”

  “I’m gonna go now.”

  Almost out the door, she startled at his warm hand grabbing her shoulder.

  She flung around. Now that he had stepped toward the door, she could almost make out the lines of his face. The perfect nose, the sculpted cheeks, the scruffy facial hair—not a beard, but certainly not freshly shaven. She couldn’t see details, but she could tell he was a handsome man. A young one, too. She’d guess he was around her age—maybe a little older.

  “You’re young!”

  “Is that an accusation?”

  She stumbled over her response.

  “I just, well, usually the people I help are in their eighties.”

  Not a trace of humor crossed his lips.

  “They didn’t tell you about me?”

  “Only that you were cranky and difficult, but that describes at least sixty percent of the people we work with, so I didn’t think much about it.”

  She felt his gaze penetrating her skin.

  She smiled as she added, “For the record, I like cranky and difficult people.”

  “You can leave the groceries on the back porch. Don’t come to the door.”

  He turned away, dismissing her.

  Ignoring the cautionary flip in her gut, she followed him further into the darkness.

  “Mr. Witherford, I pride myself on the personal attention I give to my—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, he had spun around and pushed her against the wall.

  She lost all ability to breathe as his body pressed against hers. She was strong. But not strong enough.

  His coffee-scented breath warmed her face, and she could finally see his eyes.

  Not the color so much, but the emotion.

  Raw. Self-loathing. Bitter.

  The muscles around her eyes softened at the realization that Ethan Witherford was a wounded bird.

  And Simplicity had an affinity for protecting and saving wounded birds.

  “You can’t drive me away,” she proclaimed. “You need me.”

  He responded by pressing his lips to hers in desperate urgency.

  She reached up to hit him, to yank him away, but instead she rested her hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer.

  His kiss started hard, punishing, but quickly became potent. Not gentle, not romantic. Not even magical.

  Addictive.

  She settled into the kiss, allowing the unexpected passion to wash over her, cuddling her in the warm cocoon of blossoming desire.

  She moaned.

  He withdrew.

  “Get out.”

  He didn’t look at her. His voice dripped with disgust. Disgust with himself or with her, she didn’t know.

  All she knew was humiliation.

  How could she have allowed him to kiss her like that? It was high on the list of inappropriate things Simplicity had been known to do, and she had promised herself (and her sister) that she was going to lead a cleaner life here in Healing Springs.

  How could she have allowed herself to be swept up in whatever demons this guy fought?

  “Are you
too simple to see that the door is over there?”

  His nasty tone and demeaning play on her name completely hid the tenderness he had almost shown her when he had her against the wall.

  Words refused to take shape, so she picked up whatever threads of self-preservation she had remaining and marched out the door.

  Chapter Two

  “Smells delicious in here.” Freedom dipped her finger in the bowl of frosting. “What did you do?”

  “Always so suspicious, aren’t you?” Simplicity faked a smile.

  “You bake when you’re feeling guilty. Don’t pretend otherwise. Did you break something in one of the guest rooms again?”

  “No, I didn’t break anything.” Simplicity stuck her tongue out at her big sister. “I have a new client, and I want to make him some cupcakes.”

  “A new client? Do you mean for that volunteer gig?”

  “Yes.” Simplicity opened the oven, leaning down to check the progress of the cupcakes. A toothpick came out clean, so she removed the pan and turned off the oven.

  “Who this time?”

  “Ethan Witherford—have you heard anything about him?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Does he live in the assisted living complex?”

  “No, he lives at the end of Maple Lane—way back in the woods. It’s weird, because he’s actually very young. I guess he was a war veteran or something. I read his file, but it wasn’t super informative.”

  “Oh, wait,” Freedom said as she pulled a stool up to the counter. “Is he that guy who walks through town with his ear buds in and a hood over his head? Yeah, and with dark sunglasses no matter what the weather?”

  “Sounds about right, though I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in town.”

  “One of the vets who guards the Springs told me once that there was a kid in town who fought overseas. Apparently he was captured and kept as a POW. Came back pretty messed up.”

  Simplicity’s heart ached. No wonder he was so hard and callous. She doubted that prisoners of war were treated like welcome guests.

  Whatever he had endured had to have been painful.