Loving a Wildflower Read online

  So her instinct to make him cupcakes had been spot on.

  Proud of her abilities as a natural empath, Simplicity always tried to see past someone’s external being to search for the truth in the depths of their soul.

  “Simplicity… Why are you making him cupcakes?”

  Freedom’s voice was tinged with suspicion. “You can’t hit on the people you volunteer for!”

  Simplicity’s cheeks burned. She turned away so Freedom wouldn’t see her and busied herself washing the measuring cups she had used.

  “I’m not!”

  “You haven’t made cupcakes for your other charges…”

  Simplicity didn’t respond.

  “Oh, your inspector called again today.” Freedom poured herself a cup of coffee as she changed the subject.

  “Jackson is not ‘my’ inspector. And you can’t seriously be having coffee this late.”

  Freedom ignored the caffeine criticism.

  “He said you’re not answering his calls to your cell and he was worried about you.”

  “What did you tell him?” Simplicity spun around, crossing her arms over her chest before realizing they were still all wet. She rolled her eyes and caught the dishtowel Freedom whipped at her.

  “I told him you’ve been busy and that I’m sure you’d love to see him soon.”

  Simplicity narrowed her eyes at her sister.

  “Why would you say that? I’m trying to get him to go away.”

  “I thought you guys had a spark?” Freedom said innocently.

  “We dated three times. And the last date was three weeks ago. And he spent eighty percent of the time talking about how his high school sweetheart was the one who got away, and how no one could truly compare to his memory of her, but reassured me that I was a close second.”

  “Oh, come on. He didn’t say that.”

  “Yeah. He did. I was there.”

  “Simplicity, you had to have misinterpreted that. I saw the way he looked at you.”

  “Okay, Freedom. Go ahead and believe the stranger over your sister.” Simplicity stalked out of the small kitchen and slipped into her boots.

  “Look at your track record with men, Simplicity. There’s always a flaw, isn’t there?”

  Simplicity paused, staring at her sister.

  She couldn’t blame her for not knowing what Simplicity had gone through with men in her life.

  Freedom hadn’t seen it. Before moving to Healing Springs, Freedom had been a busy CEO for a big company in NYC. She hadn’t had time for herself, never mind her sisters. Simplicity had forced her way into Freedom’s life by taking up a permanent position on her couch. They had been getting to know each other a lot, but there were some things Simplicity didn’t need to relive, even through story sharing. Living in the present was a much happier way to exist.

  “Just because he approved the permits for you doesn’t mean I owe him my life.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. You know that.”

  Freedom joined Simplicity near the door and opened her arms for a hug, knowing Simplicity could never resist a good squeeze.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just want you to settle down and be happy.”

  Simplicity inhaled deeply, relaxing with the scent of Freedom’s shampoo.

  “Don’t worry. I’m inspired by the love I see between you and Rogan. I’d love to find that someday, but I’m in no rush.”

  “Just be careful. You’ve made a lot of great connections here. I’d hate to see you lose those.”

  Simplicity stiffened and pulled away.

  “How would I lose the connections?”

  “Come on, Simplicity. You know you don’t stay in one place for long. I don’t know what happens to make you move from couch to couch every few months, but I can only assume you find some way to alienate the people around you.”

  “Maybe you need to stop making so many assumptions.”

  Simplicity took deep breaths as she returned to the kitchen, leaving her boots on in case she needed to make a quick escape. She slapped frosting on each cupcake, not giving them the tender loving care she had originally planned.

  Without a word, and ignoring Freedom’s looming presence, she arranged the cupcakes on an old Christmas tray she found in the cabinet. She put plastic wrap over the cupcakes, cursing as the wrap stuck to the frosting.

  “You should have stuck toothpicks in the cupcakes.”

  “If only I could be as perfect as you.” Simplicity smiled and brushed past Freedom as if they hadn’t been having a disagreement.

  The whole ride over to Maple Lane, Simplicity tried to talk herself out of going.

  He had made his wishes clear. He didn’t want any kindness from her.

  Yet Simplicity continued on. Though her intuition warred with her common sense, she knew he needed her kindness, even if he thought he didn’t want it.

  ***

  Simplicity’s intuition may have led her to the dark side, if the fact that she was creeping along the back fence of Mr. Witherford’s property in the pitch black of night was any indication.

  She had been full of bravado as she valiantly drove toward his house. But then she thought she’d startle him by pulling into his driveway unexpectedly. That the sudden, uninvited appearance of her headlights might make him load his gun.

  Why on Earth she thought the better plan was to slink onto his back porch, she had no idea.

  Maybe she had a death wish?

  She cursed herself as her foot broke through the crusty layer of snow, lodging itself in a snow bank. She managed to yank it out without dropping the tray of smooshed-frosting-cupcakes, but cold snow filled her boot.

  He had mentioned a spot on his back porch where she could leave groceries. Maybe rather than knocking on the door as she had naively planned to do, she’d simply leave the treats on the porch and hope he found them.

  By the time she made it to the porch, she was shivering and sweating at the same time. With the wind chill, the temperature felt about two thousand degrees below zero, and with her nerves and sudden fear, her body thought it should pump out enough heat to melt an iceberg.

  Simplicity reached into her spiritual well and pulled out a dose of the compassion that had been hovering near the surface but was now huddling at the bottom in a heap of potentially poor judgment.

  Simplicity shook her head at her own thoughts. She was doing a kind thing. He was clearly damaged. As someone who had sacrificed so much to the military, didn’t he deserve some leeway? Though she was a pacifist, she had a tremendous amount of respect for the sort of heroism that would drive someone to the call of duty.

  She could help him feel part of the world again.

  Baked goods nearly always did the trick for sweetening the path toward friendship. And these were made with wholesome, brain-healing ingredients.

  His porch, like the rest of his house (and possibly his soul), was dark and foreboding.

  She lifted and bent her knee so she’d have a place to rest the tray as she fumbled for her cell phone, momentarily grateful that Freedom had insisted on her carrying one since she was helping out so much with the cottage business and may need to be reached. She lit up her screen to give herself a bit of light as she searched for a place to put the tray.

  The door whipping open startled her, though she should have expected it. Of course he’d be hyper alert to the sounds around him. Of course he’d catch her sneaking up on his back porch late at night. Of course she’d look like a total idiot again.

  At least this time she wasn’t staring down the barrel of a gun.

  “You think it’s wise to traipse around the private property of a lunatic in the middle of the night?”

  He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed over his wide chest. A dim light in the background illuminated his shape but didn’t allow her to see his face.

  “You’re not a lunatic.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “And it’s only nine something.” She lift
ed her chin, challenging him to argue that point.

  “So you can tell time. Guess you have something to feel proud of.”

  “Are you always this moody?”

  “Always.”

  “Good. Me too. We’ll get along great.” She smiled, holding out the tray. “I brought you a replacement dessert since I fumbled the last offering.”

  “I don’t like sweets.”

  She hesitated. Was he serious?

  He groaned.

  “Jesus. Do you have to look like a wounded dog?”

  “If you don’t like sweets, you could have spared me the effort of making these by telling me earlier.”

  “I didn’t think it would be an issue since you’re supposed to pick up the things on my grocery list. Nothing more.”

  “And I’m not wounded. Just cold.” She shivered as she admitted that the frigid winter had seeped into her bones.

  “Feel free to leave.”

  “I’m g-going to.”

  “Where’s your car? I didn’t hear you pull in.”

  “I parked down the street. Didn’t want to startle you.”

  “And lumbering onto my back porch without any warning wasn’t supposed to startle me?”

  She shrugged.

  “You really don’t want to make friends, do you?” She wrinkled her forehead as she studied him. He could have ignored her presence, but he didn’t. He came to the door. And now he stood there, bantering with her, when he could have just shouted at her to leave.

  Maybe he was lonely and couldn’t admit it.

  He made a sound in his chest that sounded like it could have been a laugh if he had been anyone else. But his lips remained in their neutral position.

  “Very insightful of you.”

  “Okay, then. I’ve bothered you enough. Would you mind holding these for a minute while I empty the snow from my boot? I can’t feel my toes.”

  His posture changed as he took a deep breath. Without a word, he opened the door wider, moving his body so she could get by.

  “Is this an invitation?” She smiled, feeling like her frozen cheeks might crack.

  “Just get in here.”

  She didn’t hesitate to accept the poorly executed invitation.

  The dim light over the stove allowed her to see enough to find the counter. She placed the tray there before limping over to the small table. Only one chair. She pulled it out and sat, kicking off her boots one at a time.

  “I can’t believe how cold it is tonight.”

  “Should have stayed home.”

  She shivered. Wasn’t much warmer in his house.

  “You keep it chilly in here, huh?”

  She could almost feel him rolling his eyes at her.

  “Do you always wear that hoodie? I wish you’d put on some light so I could see you. It’s much easier to get to know someone that way.”

  He ignored her.

  “Why do you have someone come here three times per week if it’s only to deliver groceries?”

  Silence.

  “Mr. Witherford?”

  “You talk too much.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been told. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Why don’t you ask Miss Molly?”

  “She’s very secretive when it comes to you.”

  He turned toward her abruptly, startling her.

  “Considering we’ve already kissed, maybe you should call me Ethan.”

  She smiled.

  He had brought up their kiss.

  She wiggled her toes, trying to deliver some warm blood to the frozen digits.

  He grunted again and knelt in front of her.

  “Give me your feet.”

  She didn’t have any choice as he lifted both feet to his lap. His warm hands covered her damp feet, giving them the tingles. He peeled her socks off one at a time, then blew on her painful toes as he began to rub them.

  “You do have a soft side,” she said, leaning back in the chair, grateful for the pedicure party she had put together at Freedom’s resort this week. The skiers who filled the units had loved the mid-winter pampering. And now her toes were pretty.

  “Or maybe I just want to hurry and send you on your way.”

  She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t argue.

  “If there’s something more you need help with, please let me help you. I’m not as useless as some people would like to think I am…”

  Feeling came rushing into her feet, and he found the ticklish spot below her big toe. She kicked out—an automatic response—and he tumbled backward onto the floor.

  “I’m so sorry!” She leapt off the chair and knelt beside him on the floor. “Are you okay? Did you bang your head?”

  He didn’t respond, but his eyes bore into hers.

  So dark, so foreboding.

  If she had an ounce of intelligence, she’d run away and never come back.

  That’s the message she got from his eyes.

  She cocked her head to the side and studied him. There was something about him that made him unreadable, and it wasn’t just the darkness.

  He reached up and brushed a wet strand of hair from her face.

  She reacted without thinking, turning her face into his hand and kissing his palm.

  He pulled her down on top of him, kissing her with an intensity she had never experienced. His hands roamed over the yoga pants she had stolen from Freedom, squeezing her butt as she pressed her hips to his.

  Needing to feel closer to him, she fumbled to find the zipper of her coat, then shrugged out of it as he pushed it off her shoulders. Their lips never separated.

  His tongue danced with hers as they desperately searched for each other’s secrets.

  She shouldn’t be doing this. He was her client. This wasn’t the job she was sent to do.

  And yet a tornado could have ripped the roof off, and she’d have been unable to pull away.

  Heck, it was a volunteer position, anyway. Certainly the ethics were different.

  She tasted his pain, his loneliness.

  She fed him her inner joy, her hope for a better future.

  Her hands slipped under his hoodie to touch his hot skin.

  He drew in a breath and paused in his kissing as her hands glided over his muscular abs and his ribs.

  Her fingers detected slight protrusions—scars. She traced them delicately, wondering at why he had so many.

  He yanked her hands away from him, pulling her to a stand.

  “You want to do this?”

  His voice was rough, deep, husky. Full of need. Desire.

  She nodded.

  “I have protection in my jacket pocket.”

  She wasn’t sure why she carried it around—she had vowed to remain chaste. But better safe than sorry, and a smart girl never left home unprepared.

  He let go of her long enough for her to dig through her pocket to find the condom among the lint and tissues and spare change she tended to pick up along the way.

  She handed him a seashell that she had collected when she had journeyed for a winter retreat at the beach.

  He turned it over, confused.

  “It’s a gift. For you. From the sea.”

  He brought it to his nose and sniffed it.

  He didn’t say thank you, but he pulled her in for another hot kiss that left her panting.

  His hands gripped her hips, pulling her into his erection.

  She reached down, unzipping him in her quest to find the way to his heart.

  He bounced out into her palm, greeting her with joy. At least this part of him could act happy.

  He groaned into her mouth as she stroked him, wringing drops of moisture from his tip. He was hard and potent, ready to do damage or make love—possibly both.

  She continued stroking him. He lifted his hands to grip the sides of her head, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

  With her free hand, she reached up to his hood, desperate to see his face. She flipped it off, allowing the dim light to illu
minate him just enough for her to see the scars across his cheeks.

  She gasped, and his eyes shot open. He found her studying him. She reached up to touch one of the angrier-looking scars, wishing she could heal him from the outside in. Wanting him to know he didn’t have to hide from her.

  His eyes turned cold, passion warring with self-protection, or at least that’s how she interpreted his sudden shift from hot lust to determined rage.

  He turned her around, grabbing the condom from her hand. Pushing her against the table, she heard him rip it open with his teeth. The hard edge of the table bit into her pelvis as he lowered her pants and positioned himself to enter her.

  She used her feet to rid herself of the pants that now pooled around her ankles.

  She was wet and ready, but something had shifted in this exchange.

  He reached around and fumbled to find her sweet spot, pressing and rubbing until her knees grew weak and she was begging for him to enter her.

  She leaned forward until her chest pressed against the table.

  She cried out as he entered her. He was large and in a hurry, but he slowed down and hesitated at the noise she emitted. Realizing he thought he had hurt her, she pushed back into him, taking him deeper. He filled her with more than just lust—for this moment, she was one with him. She knew nothing about him and he knew less about her, but they met on a spiritual plane that defied explanation or understanding.

  Her chest ached as he sought relief within her.

  He made sure she found release before he did, but he soon followed suit, shuddering as he climaxed.

  He withdrew immediately, barely taking time to regain his breath.

  Simplicity turned toward him, searching for the warmth they had flirted with before.

  He had already zipped his pants back up, and he left her to dress in silence as he stormed out of the room.

  Shame flooded her insides, filling her eyes with tears she refused to shed.

  She had allowed him to treat her this way.

  She had begged for it, knowing full well that he didn’t care about her or her feelings.

  What she had hoped were signs of tenderness were probably just what he knew he needed to do to get lucky.

  And she had not only fallen into the trap, she had set it herself.

  She couldn’t be angry with him. What could she expect? She had given herself fully—there was no subtlety to her tactics.