Page 16 of Old-Fashioned Rancher

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?”

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