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But life changed overnight, then changed again, and she couldn’t wait to get back. She couldn’t wait to walk down the street safe, smiling and looking people in the eye.
The crepe myrtles were in bloom along the sidewalk. The ice cream shop would have its door open all summer. And the farm stand would offer fresh fruits and vegetables, honey and jams.
Everything she’d never appreciated while growing up here …
The transmission issues weren’t her first hurdles; they were only the latest. Her brother’s arrest on white-collar crime charges had been the start of her life as it was now. Despite the years he’d worked for and with their father, it seemed Arthur Drake, III believed the rules didn’t apply to him.
Ten years, eight months and twelve days younger than Artie, Bella was the accidental child. Their parents doted on her and heaped all the expectations for the continued success of the family business on Artie’s shoulders. She’d felt bad, and even asked him to let her help with the business after she graduated from college. And he’d always pat her on the head and tell her not to worry about it.
She worried about it now, though. He made sure of that.
Everything she’d known and loved as a child, was gone—sold or auctioned off. She had an Ivy League education, but that didn’t do her any good in her hometown. Her degree and family name had helped her land a job with a boutique design firm in Nashville. All the work was hers and it had been the greatest feeling. A strange freedom. At her brother’s urging, she’d invested a small sum in the family firm. She’d lost it, too. Artie and his partner had left many of their clients without a cent. Lucky for her, she’d kept some in a local Nashville credit union. There was also a trust fund left to her by their grandmother, but she couldn’t get to it. Yet. Too many stipulations and red tape.
The striped awning of the flower shop came into view. She took a deep breath and smiled, as she unlocked the door. The sweet scent of flowers greeted her as she walked in. It was a far cry from the scents she’d encountered at Travis’ garage.
Her fancy Wellesley education hadn’t included flower arranging, but growing up in Southern high society, had. She could also play the piano with her eyes closed. Write thank you notes in three languages. Dance around a ballroom. Arrange place setting with enough silver for the diner to need a road map. And, of course, she could flash plastic with the best of them. Debutante balls, cotillions and parties of all sizes were on her list of abilities, as well.
But her expertise those areas weren’t wanted or needed anymore. After college, she found she liked working and helping people. Yes, the interiors she designed were often for the rich and sometimes famous, but she gave them what made them happy.
What she didn’t like was owing Travis.
Okay, well, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d rather owe him pleasure and fun instead of money.
There was something else she had to figure out—how was she going to get home after work? It was a five-mile walk to her rental cottage at the lake. It wasn’t so much the walk that was the issue though, but the slacks and long-sleeve button down shirt her boss, Mrs. Cleary, required of her. It was hot as blazes outside.
In the bathroom at the back of the store, Bella splashed cold water on her face. The short walk from the flower shop to Travis’ garage and back again had been enough to make her wish for an ice bath. The ends of her hair were damp, and her ponytail needed brushing. How it could be smooth one minute and a tangled mess the next, she didn’t know, but the humidity didn’t help. She dusted her cheeks, chin, nose and forehead with some fresh powder, then lined her lips with a bit of gloss.
Her reflection looked a little more presentable than when she’d first flipped the light on. “It’ll have to do,” she told herself.
She hung her purse on the hook behind the front counter and donned her flowery smock. Handmade and fitted to her figure by Mrs. Cleary.
There were orders to fill before closing and would keep her mind on her job and off Travis.
* * * * *
The low whistle echoed through the garage and Travis groaned. “Shit,” he whispered. He didn’t want to get into this, not right now.
“Who belongs to the fancy red Caddy out front? And did you get her personal number?”
Miles was his older brother, by eight years. He usually came in around nine, but he was several hours late today. Given that Bella had been there not too long ago, that was a good thing.
Bella and her family had never been among Miles’ favorite people. Travis was never sure why, but ever since Bella came home, Miles had been especially irritable about her and the entire Drake family.
They were a lot alike, Travis and Miles, despite their age difference. Good women, good times at the bar, hard working. They were also different. Miles held grudges, where Travis tried to see beyond faults.
He glanced around the front end of a twenty-something-year-old land yacht. “Bella Drake,” he answered.
Heat traveled through Travis as her name left his lips and, not for the first time, his long-unused dick woke up.
“Come again?”
“I didn’t stutter and don’t pretend you’re idiot enough not to know already.” Everyone knew who owned the red Cadillac. Including Miles.
“She stayed? I didn’t think she’d give this town more than a passing glance when she wasn’t received with open arms.”
“Right.” Travis turned his attention back to the Jeep’s air filter. “You’re full of shit. She’s been living out on the lake. Old lady Morrison’s place.” He didn’t have to think. He knew exactly where she lived, and he wasn’t the only one. When she’d returned and rented the property, gossip had spread like wildfire.
Miles scowled. “Hasn’t anyone told her she and her kind aren’t welcome here anymore?”
