Page 11 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Willow

The whole town smelled like summer and woodsmoke.

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 the only 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. Rhett growled , 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.”

Whit lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No offense meant. You know how it is—I see a beautiful woman in your orbit, I assume she’s lost.”

I laughed—couldn’t help it .

Whit winked. “Welcome to the family, Willow.”

I opened my mouth to correct him—this wasn’t that, not officially—but Rhett didn’t let go of me and didn’t say a word to counter it. He just stood there, hand on my back, jaw set.

Before I could dwell on that, Delilah perked up and waved over someone else. I squinted across the crowd to find two more of Rhett’s clones: Beau, who I’d already met, and another I hadn’t met yet. He was the one who looked the most like Rhett, but…meaner. Like a shade of the man I knew.

Beau’s grin was easy as ever, a little grease still under his nails like he’d come straight from the garage.

The other brother was tall—taller than Rhett by a hair—and broad in the shoulders…

but something about the way he carried himself felt heavier, like he was made of stone instead of flesh.

His hair was a little darker and longer, tied into a messy bun at the crown of his head.

And his eyes…they were storm grey where Rhett’s were a bright, leafy green.

“This is Silas,” Beau offered. “The second oldest…though he acts like he’s about a hundred years older than any of us.”

Silas didn’t offer a hand; just nodded once.

“You must be Willow,” he said, crossing his arms.

There was no meanness in it, but it still set me on edge. Because it wasn’t kind either, just…detached. Like maybe he wasn’t quite here. Silas fixed his gaze on me before giving a meaningful look to Rhett. Something flickered behind his eyes—something wounded.

“So how’s the renovation going at the church?” Rhett asked, like he was eager to establish a subject that wasn’t me.

Silas shrugged. “Eh…same old. Termites did a real number on the place.”

“The church?” I asked, glancing toward the steeple. “You’re fixing it up?”

“I live there, actually,” Silas said. “Ever since the Remnant Fellowship moved out, I’ve been takin’ up residence in the parsonage.”

“And it’s spooky,” Delilah said, wiggling her fingers, but her grin was fond, not mocking. “Even more haunted than the Ward house.”

“Hey…the Ward house isn’t so bad,” I smiled. “At least the ghosts there are friendly.”

Delilah snorted into her tea, eyes gleaming with interest now. “Friendly? That’s one word for it. What kind of friendly? You seen anything?”

I hesitated. “Well…I mean, not seen, exactly. But—sometimes I feel like I’m not alone. And last night…these roses were blooming in the window, and they hadn’t even been close to that point the night before.”

Delilah set her glass down, leaning in like I’d just handed her the best kind of secret.

“That house always had a mind of its own. When I lived there? Little things would happen all the time. Fresh flowers showing up where I hadn’t left any…

my bedroom curtains tied back in the mornings, like the house wanted me to look out. ”

She shot Whit a smirk. “Pretty sure the house was just using me to tell on Whit when he would go out and smoke stolen cigarettes at night.”

Whit groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Dee, you were such a fuckin’ narc.”

“You were a delinquent,” she teased. “And the house clearly had its own opinion about it.”

Rhett’s soft laugh rumbled beside me. He didn’t look surprised at all.

Delilah shook her head fondly. “You hang onto those roses, Willow. That house doesn’t do anything by accident.”

“Anyway,” Beau cut in, giving Silas a nudge like he was trying to break the spell of our conversation, “we were gonna go check out the bake sale. You comin’? ”

Silas hesitated, like he wasn’t sure the answer should be yes. He opened his mouth like he might say something to Rhett…but then gave a noncommittal grunt and stepped back.

“And the rest of you?” Beau asked.

Delilah slid her hand through Whit’s arm, casual as anything, like it was just habit. “Let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” she said, winking at me. “I need Whit to sweet-talk the ladies at the bakery into giving me free stuff.”

“Stop whorin’ me out,” Whit chuckled, but his ears went a little pink as he let her steer him toward the long tables where Honeybell Bakery had set out an entire spread of desserts.

I watched them go, warmth curling in my chest at the sight of this family…a family that already seemed ready to claim me.

Rhett’s hand slid up my back again. “Sorry about Silas.”

I glanced at him. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He’s just…not good with new people,” Rhett frowned. “Ain’t been for a while.”

“How long’s he been living in the parsonage?”

“Couple years. Moved in after—” Rhett cut himself off, jaw working. “After his fiancée died.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Oh,” I whispered. “Do you…do you mind me asking how?”

“Snake bite,” Rhett offered. “She worked at the state park, it was a freak accident. Silas…he never really recovered from losing her, blamed himself.”

“Why?”

He frowned. “We lost our parents too, and…” He shook his head. “Nah. I don’t wanna scare ya.”

I frowned. “Well, you can’t really say that and expect not to scare me…”

“It’s silly.”

I turned to face him fully. “ Rhett . ”

He exhaled through his nose. Looked away. Then back at me.

“Grandma Hazel used to say it was the curse,” he murmured, voice low like he was embarrassed even saying it out loud. “Said no Ward keeps what they love. That we’re lucky in a lot of ways—strong backs, good land, good looks”—he gave me the faintest grin—“but we lose what matters most. Always have.”

I blinked. “That’s…heavy.”

He nodded. “She swore it was real. That our daddy died ‘cause he loved our mama too much. That Silas’s girl got taken ‘cause he finally let himself believe in forever. And now…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Didn’t have to.

Because now he had his hand on me. Now I was standing in the center of this perfect, haunted little town with a Ward brother touching me like I was already his.

And I felt it—the weight of that. The promise in it. The danger in it.

I swallowed. “Do you believe it?”

“I didn’t,” he said, voice low, gaze dropping to where his hand circled my wrist. “Not until you showed up.”

Something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—sent a tremor through me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him.

His eyes lifted to mine, dark and soft and searching. “You say that now.”

I cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the stubble there. “Then stop looking at me like you’re already grieving.”

His arms came around me, pulling me in like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d been starving and I was the only nourishment. He buried his face in my neck, breath warm against my skin.

“I won’t lose you,” he whispered .

“You won’t,” I promised.

And then he kissed me—deep, desperate, the kind of kiss that claimed and begged and swore all at once. The kind of kiss that said this is mine.

And I kissed him back like I already belonged to the ghosts.