Page 31 of Where the Roses Bloom

Children ran barefoot between lawn chairs and tables draped in gingham. Somebody’s uncle manned a smoker big enough to cook a hog, and sweet tea sweated in mason jars beside coolers full of beer and soda. The fireflies hadn’t come out yet, but the sun was starting to dip beneath the tree-lined horizon, slanting gold across the tops of pickup trucks and the white steeple of the little country church that seemed to get seldom use.

And Rhett’s hand rested on the small of my back like it was supposed to be there.

That touch told me everything I needed to know. It said I was with him. That I belonged here. That he wanted people to see us like this.

I hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone claimed me like this…since anyone wanted to be seen with me.

It felt good.

His fingers drifted slightly, gliding across the cotton of theonly sundress I owned, a quiet little tether that kept me from floating off into the heat-hazed summer sky.

“This alright?” he murmured, ducking his head against my ear.

“Mmm…” I hummed, glancing up at him. “You asking if I mind being paraded around like your girlfriend?”

He smiled. “Well, do ya?”

“Nope,” I said, smiling back. “In fact…I think I like it.”

His smile deepened, lazy and wolfish. Then he pulled me in closer—no rush, no show—just one broad arm curling around my waist. I leaned into him without thinking, my body already knowing the shape of his even though I’d barely had the chance to touch him, even though I hardly knew him at all. Rhett lowered his head, breath stirring the hair at my temple, before he pressed his lips to mine in a gentle, chaste kiss.

Not for show.

Not even for me, really.

Just…like he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss me, even in public.

Delilah spotted us before we’d even made it halfway across the lawn in front of the library, where it seemed the whole town had set up a little feast. She reached out to squeeze me in a one-armed hug before I’d said a word, behaving like we’d known each other for years.

“Well, would you look at that,” she said, laughing. “Didn’t take long, huh? You’ve been here for what…two weeks?”

I snorted. “What could you possibly be referring to?”

Delilah smirked and tilted her head toward Rhett, who still hadn’t moved his hand from my waist.

“Oh, I dunno,” she said sweetly. “Just that you walked into town like some little wayward lamb and managed to tame the most ornery bull this county’s ever seen.” She glanced up at Rhett. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he said, his fingers flexing ever so slightly against my back.

“Mmm,” Delilah hummed. “Never seen you like this, Rhett.”

He only grunted.

And then someone whistled low behind us.

“Well, shit,” came a new voice—smooth as smoke, warm as whiskey. “That really is Rhett Ward, holdin’ hands with someone who ain’t drywall or a socket wrench.”

I turned—and found myself face to face with maybe the second-most handsome man I’d ever seen. Tall, rangy, tan with inky black tattoos on both arms, and built in that deceptively strong way that made you think he’d never rushed a day in his life. Sharp jaw, slow grin, green eyes that said he knew every secret in the room—and probably started half of them. The resemblance to Rhett was clear, but where Rhett brooded, this man sparkled.

“Let me guess,” I said, already smiling despite myself. “One of the brothers I haven’t met?”

“Whitlock,” the man offered before Rhett could respond, snatching up my hand and brushing a kiss to my knuckles. Rhettgrowled, pulling me just a couple inches away. “But everyone around here calls me Whit.”

“Don’t start,” Rhett said, but it sounded more like a warning than a greeting.

“Easy, big brother,” Whit grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Just sayin’ hello.”

“She’s not a goddamn debutante,” Rhett muttered. “You can say hello without kissin’ her.”