“Are you offering arsenic or bleach?” Harlow quipped.
“I didn’t ask if you wanted what everyone in town would like to serve you,” Brook Lynn said staunchly, making Harlow flinch. “I asked if you were thirsty.”
“I am,” she said, standing. “Thank you.”
As an old, ugly dog playfully nipped at Brook Lynn’s heels, she held out a glass of ice-cold water.
Harlow tried for ladylike, taking a dainty sip, but the taste of heaven snapped the tether to her control and she chugged the rest, draining every drop. No liquid had ever been cooler or more soothing, wetting her tongue and moistening her dry-as-the-desert throat.
“Thank you,” she repeated, feeling human again.
Brook Lynn confiscated the glass. “Actually, you shouldn’t thank me. You should thank Beck.”
His name alone caused her heartbeat to pick up speed and knock against her ribs. She’d stared at the back door for hours, willing him to come outside and check on her. Surely she’d built up the intoxicating effects he’d had on her.
“Is he here?” Was he still in bed with Tawny? Her hands curled into tight little fists.
“No,” Brook Lynn said. “He was called in for a meeting, but he told me to take care of you while he was gone.”
A contented thrill—followed by an irritating realization. He hadn’t cared enough to see her? Wow. Well, screw him. He disturbed her, rendering her breathless and shaky with a simple glance, but so what? Physical attraction never lasted. And neither did he! One and done, the king of the one-night stand.
Harlow had no interest in being used and tossed aside, nothing but an afterthought to the man she’d welcomed into her body. She wanted affection and love, the kind she’d read about in books and seen in movies. The kind where couples fought to stay together, even during the worst of times. The kind that protected. Defended. Cherished.
A pang of longing razed her. There’d be no name-calling. No shaming. No being made to feel worthless.
Before dropping out of high school in favor of being homeschooled, she’d had boyfriends. A lot of boyfriends. She’d dated and dumped them at Beck-speed, searching for someone, anyone, to fill the void inside her. A void somehow made bigger when a machine exploded at Dairyland, the milk plant just south of town, killing half the workforce—including her dad.
As horrible as he’d been, she should have rejoiced, right? All of her problems should have vanished in a puff of smoke. But that couldn’t have been further from reality.
Brook Lynn turned and, without uttering another word, walked away, the dog prancing behind her.
“Brook Lynn,” she called, and the girl stopped without spinning around. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. In the past, I mean...and recently.” RIP, blueberry pie.
“That’s great, I’m glad” was the response, “but actions mean more than words, and so far you’ve proved nothing.”
“I know. But I’m still here, subjecting myself to this, so that I can prove I’ve changed.”
“Please. This, as you call it, is payment.” Brook Lynn glanced over her shoulder, looking very much like an avenging angel. “But I wonder. Are you ruining the garden on purpose? A way to strike at Beck for...what? What supposed crime did he commit against you? The same crime as the rest of us? Simply existing?”
Her chin fell and her shoulders drew inward. I deserve this. I really do. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s wonderful.” And he was. As a boss, or whatever he happened to be to her—debt holder?—he totally rocked. He wasn’t hovering but allowing her to do her own thing, and knowing he wouldn’t be here, he’d taken steps to ensure she had everything she needed.
But Beck, the guy? Him, she wasn’t so sure about. There was the one-and-done thing, of course, but also the fact that he’d bought Harlow’s ancestral home even though she hadn’t sold it. The bank had forced her off the property, voiding her claim to it, all because her mother had taken out a small loan a few years before, using the house as collateral. When her mother died, Harlow had tried to get a job.
She’d visited every business in town and asked to paint murals on store windows, or to do portraits of family members. Even to paint houses. When those requests were denied, she’d applied for basically any position available—trash collector, bird-poop cleaner, bunion scraper—but everyone had turned her away. Most had laughed. Moving to the city would have been wise. No one knew the old Harlow, and someone, surely, would hire her somewhere to do something. But her heart beat for Strawberry Valley. Her mother had grown up here. She’d grown up here. She trusted the townsfolk not to hurt her, despite their hatred of her, which was far more than she could say for a city full of strangers.
Plus, she had a five-step plan. Up first? Proving she wasn’t the incarnation of evil. So far no luck, but as she’d learned, circumstances could change in a blink.
“I don’t know how to garden,” she admitted, “but I’m trying.”
One of the blonde’s brows winged up, her expression total disbelief. “Well, then, I guess you should try harder.”
“Angel?” A husky male voice drifted across the daylight, followed by squeaking hinges as the back door opened.
Brook Lynn skipped over to greet her fiancé, Jase. He nodded at Harlow, his green eyes shrewd and curious, before he focused on Brook Lynn.
“I missed you,” he said, uncaring that Harlow could hear. He brushed his fingers through the girl’s pale hair.