Third Time's a Charm

Skye stayed quiet as she took Ivy out of Rose’s arms.



Luke mussed his hair with his free hand. “Ah, hell, honey. I’m not trying to insult you. I just can’t have her smelling like her on our dates.”



“Smell like who?”



His dark eyes glittered. “Her her.”



Rose took a breath and tried again. “Carson or Lily?”



“Carson. No, Lily.” He grimaced. “Look, I don’t want Carson to smell like Lily,” he said, wandering over to the section of women’s body lotions, gels, and bath salts.



She joined him, picking up a baby blue and green bottle. “Try this: apple blossom with sweat pea. Lily’s is—”



“Gardenia and lavender,” he said, surprising her. The two hadn’t been together for the past five years, yet he remembered what Lily liked.



“Yes, and since she’s been back in town, I—”



“What?” Luke croaked.



Rose suppressed a smile. “Lily’s back in town. She bought Dance to the Beat from Tempe Yoder last month. Didn’t you know?”



His mouth formed a straight line before he spoke. “No.” He plucked the bottle out of her hands, dug his free hand into his pocket, and threw some cash on the counter. “Keep the change.”



“Don’t you want your card?” Skye called out, waving it in the air like a flag, but Luke was already in his fancy sports car and pulling out of his parking spot.



Rose turned to Skye and shook her head in disbelief. “Has the full moon got their testosterone levels all testosterone-y?”



Skye snorted, then her eyes widened. “Don’t look now, but your favorite Englishman is headed this way and looking none too happy.”



Rose leaned to the side and watched as Sasha crossed the street. He looked like the devil was on his heels and was mad as hellfire. “Oh, yay,” she muttered.



Boxes had been streaming in and out of his shop in an endless parade since last week. She had heard through the grapevine known as Jemma Leigh, Skye, and Evangeline Ambrose that Sasha was hosting a star-studded fundraiser at the Collins’ home on Halloween.



Their poor door bounced against the wall and one of the bells fell to the floor with a clank as he strode inside.



Sasha stopped in front of her, so close that she could see the rough stubble on his cheeks and above his kissable top lip. Green eyes glinted like gemstones while fury rolled off of him in great waves. “Did you say yes to him?”



What was it with men and their random questions that they only knew who the subject was about? “To whom?”



“Don’t play dumb with me, Rosebud.” The front door slammed shut, even though no one was around to close it. The fine hairs on Sasha’s arms rose under his sweater.



“Want to try that again?” Rose’s hands fisted at her sides.



The wind gusted and the chimes hanging from the ceiling danced. Bad insulation—that was the problem. There was always an explanation when it came to the supposedly supernatural events that surrounded the Hollands.



“Tristan Reed,” he said through clenched teeth. He had heard that the doctor was breaking years of Holland Springs’ tradition by bringing one of the Holland women to Lorelei and Harrison Collins’ home. No Holland had been welcome there since the Great Depression. According to Jemma Leigh, it was over Poppy Holland seducing Harrison Collins’ great-grandfather on his wedding day.



“About rescheduling Ivy’s check-up?” Rose stared at him like he’d grown horns.



Sasha wanted to rip his hair out. “No, my fundraiser.”



“What about it?” she said with a toss of her head. Black curls tumbled around her shoulders in disarray, tempting him to run his hands through them to see if they still felt as soft as he remembered.



It had been seven days since he’d last touched her or she him. Not to mention he was no closer to finding that infernal hidden spring than he’d been before. But at the moment, none of that mattered. “Are you going to my party as Tristan Reed’s date?”



Rose laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor. But just in case you haven’t, my kind isn’t welcomed there.”



“Which kind?” he asked.



She crossed her arms. “Exactly.”



Now he was the one confused.



“I’m going with Tristan,” Skye said softly.



Rose grabbed her cross pendant and turned around. “You are? Oh, okay,” he heard her say in that falsely bright tone he’d come to recognize and hate. Hate because it meant that her feelings were hurt.



“Oh, Rose, I was going to tell you.” Skye laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder.



“I know you’ll have the best time. Momma always said their house was really pretty,” Rose added, as though she hadn’t heard a word Skye said. Then she straightened her spine and walked away, disappearing into her little office.



Sasha started for her, but Skye stepped in front of him. “You need to leave her alone right now.”



“Why? It’s obvious she’s pouting,” he snapped, not really meaning it. He wanted to comfort her.



Ivy turned her head at the sound of his voice and gave him a toothless grin. “At least you’re happy to see me.” But he was too aggravated at her mother—her aunt—her whatever to hold her right now. “We’ll play later. Promise.”



Skye’s hazel eyes hardened. “How would you feel if everyone in town was invited to something and you weren’t? Year after year after year. It’s a really big deal to go there. Not that I care about those things. Every girl in Holland Springs gets to go to their annual party for their eighteenth birthday. It’s like a debutante ball or something.”



“But not Rose,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment.



“Especially not Rose,” she said, making her way behind the counter with the baby.



He drew his brows together. “Why not?”



Skye looked him over. “If you want to know, try talking to Rose like a normal person. Not like some caveman with his chest all puffed out because he was jealous his woman was being claimed by another man.”



“Would a caveman wear Ferragamo?” he asked, gesturing at his shoes.



“I noticed you didn’t deny being jealous or that she’s your woman,” Skye said with a smirk.



So had he. “What’s a bloke to do?” he growled, sounding exactly like a caveman while rubbing the back of his neck.



Skye groaned. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you?”



“Never any good at reading between the lines, dear,” he said. Actually, he was exceptionally good at it.



“Men,” she huffed. “Ask her yourself.”



“We’re not talking.”



“Write her a note. Email her. Text her.”



“I don’t have her number,” he mumbled.



Skye rolled her eyes, clearly exasperated by him. “Then get a plane and write it in the sky. Give her gifts, and not man gifts, either. Show her you’re sorry for being an ass.”



He raised a brow at her. “How do you know it was my fault?”



“You’re male, aren’t you?” With that parting shot, Skye joined Rose in the office.



Sasha headed back to his store. The one without a name, but at the moment he didn’t care. He had to make things right with Rose. He had to find that damn spring. He needed to check up on his mum.



All last week, he’d searched Rose’s property under the guise of working out. It wasn’t too much of a deception since running was his favorite form of exercise.



Make that his second favorite. And in five more weeks he could indulge in that form of exercise until he passed out or got arrested for committing illegal carnal acts with a woman or two. Or five. He smiled grimly.



Neatly dodging the UPS guy as he brought in another box, Sasha made his way back to his office. He slumped down in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk. What did one bring to a woman like Rose? One that when asked if he could do anything for her had requested cheesecake. Cheesecake.



A pop-up ad for a fast food chain blinked at him, its chicken mascot flapping its wings and doing the running man while wearing high-top sneakers. He leaned forward, intent on x-ing the damn thing out when he stopped short. Instead he leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. He propped up his feet and smiled.



Chapter Ten



Sasha spit out a feather and turned right onto the gravel road leading to Strawberry Grove. Driving covered in feathers hadn’t been how he envisioned showing up at Rose’s front door. As he parked the Mercedes, a loose chicken half jumped and half flew over the back seat and landed in his lap. Beady black eyes looked menacingly up at him and its sharp nails dug into his wool pants.



Apparently, Farmer Johnson had taken Sasha for a fool when he’d given him Rose’s chickens in a large box and assured him that they would stay in it. More feathers floated around him and he sneezed. Apparently, Farmer Johnson would be correct. He was a fool, perhaps love’s fool, but it didn’t signify. He had to get Rose to trust him.



“Don’t even think about ruining my trousers, or you’ll become tonight’s dinner,” he warned.



The chicken pecked his hand and stumbled to the passenger side. The rest of the fowl’s brethren made congratulatory squawking sounds.



“Sorry little buggers,” he growled.



He waved his hand in the air as he looked around. Rose’s Jeep was parked in its usual spot, and he could just make out the faint glow coming from the kitchen through the formal dining room’s windows. Perfect.



Cutting off the engine, he deliberated the best way to get the live cargo out of his car. Finally, he settled for quick dashes to the chicken coop until they were all safely inside. He rolled his head to one side and then the other. He was tired and sore. Chicken wrangling was not an occupation he was cut out for.



He opened the front door, sidestepping Blackbeard, and made a quick stop at the loo to wash up before heading toward the woman that made his heart beat faster in his chest. Tonight he was going to ask her to be his date to the fundraiser at the Collins’ house next week. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No one would know it was her. Halloween themes tended to bring out masks and naughty costumes, especially in women.



“Hi…” Rose’s mouth dropped open and she stopped mid-plate placement when he ambled in. She quickly lowered her eyes, biting back an obvious smile.



“What’s so funny?” he asked, knowing full well he had at least a hundred feathers sticking to his hair and clothes.



Rose moved the fork and knife closer to the china and adjusted the position of the glass. It looked like a million down pillows had exploded and he’d been in the blast zone.



“Nothing,” she said, sneaking another glance. A tiny feather fell on his nose and his eyes crossed to look at it. She burst out laughing. Looking up at him, she placed a hand over her stomach and pointed to the mirror in the foyer. “Go take a look at yourself.”



He ran a hand through his golden hair and plucked out a couple of feathers. “I’ll have you know that feathers are all the rage.”



“People pay good money for clothes made out of feathers?” she asked, laughing harder. She wasn’t mad at him anymore. For the first time in months she could see the light at the end of the tunnel and her entire soul felt light. The contract from Barbara’s Bugs had seen to that.



The mischievous look in his eyes made her stop laughing and her pulse triple its beat.



“I think this would look better on you,” he said in a rough voice. He took a step forward and then another, and before she knew it, he was chasing her around the table.



“Don’t put that on me. I don’t know where it’s been,” she said, running to the little family room connected to the kitchen and skirting the baby swing that rocked a deeply sleeping Ivy.



“Hush, you’ll wake the baby.” He grinned and feinted left.



She let out a shriek and ran. Just as she rounded the sofa, he tackled her and they pitched forward onto the cushions. “I can’t breathe” she said, trying to buck him off.



A feather tickled her nose and she giggled while he said, “If that were true, you wouldn’t be laughing.”



She managed to elbow him in the gut and this time he tickled her ear. “Stop,” she said, and giggled again.



This was so silly; they were silly. And she loved it. She’d never been able to be silly. To be a teenager or even a woman in her early twenties. For once she gave herself permission to laugh and tease a very attractive man who was pressing his very delicious weight against hers. She could feel every hard muscle of his chest against her back. His powerful thighs against hers. If the sofa hadn’t been in the way, she would have melted into a puddle on the floor.



“If you promise to behave, I’ll give you a surprise,” he said, his hot breath coating the ear he’d just tickled, sending little tingles down her neck.



“If you promise to behave, I won’t elbow you again,” she panted, wriggling again and pressing her bottom against his groin. The hard length of him made her want to moan. “Is that my surprise?” She couldn’t believe what she’d just said. She never said things like that.



He scrambled off of her and stood.



She sat up, looking everywhere but him. Ivy slept on, blissfully unaware of the complete fool Rose had made out of herself.



“I’m in the mood for omelets tonight,” he said, his voice low.



He wanted to talk about food? She looked up at him in confusion. “There’s some eggs in the fridge.”