Page 17 of Old-Fashioned Rancher

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.

Chapter 6

Birdie

It was torture to break away from Grady and get back to running the Harvest Festival. The taste of him lingered on my tongue long after we weren’t making out anymore—bitter black coffee, with a hint of sharp, smoky whiskey.

Seeing my big, strong rancher wearing those petite little forget-me-nots so proudly on his broad chest for the world to see was proof of his commitment. After countless bland, boring dates, I’d stumbled across a man who was willing to hold nothing back.

For the remainder of the festival, Grady remained close at hand. While he begrudgingly greeted guests and suffered small talk even though it clearly pained him, he kept his palm resting on my lower back and worked a gracious compliment about my floral arrangements into every conversation.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” I said, passing a cup of spiced cider to him.

---