Page 31 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

CLAIRE

I felt like a kid in a candy store as I wandered through the garden center. Roses, sunflower seeds, lavender, and a handful of herbs quickly found their way into my cart, along with a grow light, seed trays, and a heating mat for my winter project.

The sweet scents filled my senses, sparking a renewed purpose.

The temperatures outside dipped steadily each day as fall progressed, but that only spurred me on to add to my growing collection.

After all, I was finally bringing my dream of an indoor nursery to life, creating my own floral haven as the snow would soon reign outside.

At the counter, I found myself chatting with the lady about growing sunflowers and roses indoors—a challenge I’d set for myself.

“You know, sunflowers can be a bit fussy with their light,” she remarked, ringing up my purchases. “They love the sun but get stubborn if there’s too much wind.”

I grinned, nodding. “Sounds like me some days. Luckily, they’ll be indoors. My landlord mentioned a sunny spot in the cottage that catches the light in winter.”

“Perfect! If you notice the seedlings stretching too much or looking pale, just switch on the grow light for a boost,” she suggested.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, a familiar figure appeared in the store uniform. I recognized him instantly—the boy I’d seen biking near The Willow and at the shelter fundraiser, trying to make friends with Oscar.

“Oh, that’s Daniel,” the lady said, noticing my gaze. “He doesn’t say much, but he’s a sweet kid. Very hardworking. He’s here on the weekends and does deliveries for me when he’s got free time.”

I waved at him. He returned the gesture, the same shy but warm smile lighting up his face, just like the day we first crossed paths. Then, he slipped behind a shelf in the back aisle. Not wanting to seem like a rugrat wrangler, I let him be and made my way back to The Willow.

Feeling on top of the world, I pulled out my phone and called Elia. No answer—he was probably busy with his cattle in Billings or maybe counting money. He’d been very excited about the auction.

I left him a message, knowing I wouldn’t see him for hours yet.

“Hey there, cowboy. Any plans to spoil a gal with a steak dinner after your next big score? Don’t leave me hanging—or worse, stuck with salad. Call me when you’re done conquering the day.”

After signing off with a kiss, I hung up and set my phone on the kitchen counter, eager to get started on the nursery.

While other homes were gearing up with Christmas decorations, I left the holiday spirit over at The Lazy Moose.

Elia planned to pick up a tree next week.

As for this cottage, I only wanted a simple wreath on the front door—if I could just remember where I’d put the hammer and nails.

I rolled up my sleeves, cleared some space near the back window, arranged the pots and trays, and set up the grow lights and heating mats for the seedlings. It felt like I was carving out a small patch of summer, even as the cold pressed closer outside.

Everything was coming together beautifully when I suddenly realized—silly me! I’d left the sunflower seeds back at the garden center. Oh well, no big deal. I could swing by tomorrow and grab them. For now, I could give the roses a head start and begin prepping their soil, getting them into place.

Time flew by as I worked, the hours slipping past until I noticed the hues of sunset filtering through the windows.

I stepped back, admiring the setup. The sunflowers would be the final touch to complete this phase of the project.

After that, it would be all about patience, care, and watching new life bloom through the cold months ahead.

For now, while waiting for Elia, I could take a bath and try out the mountain sage bath bomb I’d picked up in town. But before I could even make it to the bathroom, a figure appeared behind me.

A sharp tension pulled at my insides.

Armand Voss. Little Vossy.

I hadn’t locked the door and he had helped himself, but he had been quiet, that was sure.

“Get the hell out of here!” I shouted, standing my ground. I summoned every ounce of strength I could, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he flashed a grin that sent equal parts chill and irritation through me.

“Oh, that’s right—I forgot how fiery you can get,” he said as if my resistance turned him on.

He walked around like he owned the place, peeling off his jacket and flinging it onto a chair. A rush of fear hit me as I dashed to the living room and yanked open a drawer, my hands scrambling inside.

“Looking for your little Ruger? It’s in my car, doll,” he sneered. “I knew you always kept it in that drawer. Most people throw in a TV remote or some trashy magazines, but you? Nah, you’re different. And at night? You’d take it right into the bedroom with you, wouldn’t you?”

Shit! He’s been watching me?

He let out a sleazy growl, like a second-rate pimp in a bad movie. “A woman who knows how to shoot? Damn, that’s sexy.” His eyes gleamed with a sick satisfaction, feeding off my fear.

“So you know to stay the hell away from me,” I spat back, my voice steady despite the terror crawling up my throat.

There was something different about him now. This wasn’t like our run-in at Raven Bluff. It felt like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and now he was ready to pounce.

I kept my back straight and chin high, even as my pulse roared in my ears. I turned, desperate to make it to the kitchen where I’d left my phone. I needed to call Elia—someone, anyone.

But Armand was quicker. He stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Before I knew it, he had me cornered right back where I’d started—near the empty drawer.

“Not so fast, sweetheart.” He leaned in close. “You know what happens when a pretty little thing like you crosses the wrong people?”

“Get. Out.” My voice trembled despite myself, but I wouldn’t back down. Not to him.

He smirked. “Who’s gonna hear you, huh? No one around for miles. You know, you’re just like any other girl…like that slut Tessa Lucas.”

Tessa? What had he got to do with Elia’s sister?

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” I spat.

His lips curled into a sneer. “Did you know she was with me? Here…begging like some cheap prostitute.” He nodded at my study door with chilling cruelty. Then, he leaned in, delivering a confession. “I tasted her, oh hell yeah, I did. And surprise, surprise—she couldn’t handle it.”

I felt sick. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing much.” He shrugged, his tone casual. “That woman didn’t have the guts. And I’d bet good money you wouldn’t fare much better. You’re just another pretty face, Claire.”

Fear carved through my chest like a chisel, but I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to show weakness. “Stay away from me!” Inside, I was screaming for Elia, but I knew I was on my own.

Armand chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Official cause of death? Overdose.” He dragged out the words as if they were some kind of sick joke. “But you know…” He shrugged again.

“You…you did it, didn’t you?” My voice wavered, but I didn’t care. “You killed Elia’s sister!”

His grin stretched wider, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “That’s what happens when you cross me. I’d share all the juicy details, but let’s be real…you won’t be sticking around long enough to spread the word.”

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against him in a crushing bear hug. His strength was overwhelming, nearly suffocating, but I wasn’t about to give up. I thrashed, trying to break free, but it was like fighting against a brick wall. I kicked his shin—hard—but it only seemed to amuse him.

“Come on, doll, is that all you’ve got?” He tightened his grip.

Panic threatened to take hold, but I forced it down, feeding him what he wanted—my submission. I slumped in his arms, letting out a whimper that I knew would stroke his ego. “Please…let me go,” I begged, my voice shaking just enough to sound convincing.

He grinned. “Oh, you’re begging now? Thought you were tougher than that.” He loosened his grip, his arrogance taking over as he undid his jeans.

Something sparked in my memory—something I’d left nearby.

I crawled backward toward the front wall.

He was too distracted with his zipper, maybe convinced no retaliation was possible, so he didn’t try to stop me.

But two crawls were everything. Just within reach, by the leg of the display cabinet, was the hammer I’d left on the floor after hanging a picture days ago.

I calculated my move. I inched my hand toward the handle, keeping my body relaxed and playing along with his game as he removed his T-shirt.

“Please…don’t hurt me. I won’t fight,” I begged further, suppressing my revulsion at his exposed stomach.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, pulling down his unfastened jeans.

With my fingers stretched wide, I locked onto the hammer, tightened my grip, and swung with all the strength I could muster.

The dull thud echoed through the room as the metal connected with his temple.

He let out a scream—high-pitched and childlike, completely out of place with his thuggish facade.

His grip on me loosened, and I shoved him off.

He stumbled back, clutching his head, blood trickling between his fingers. “You bitch!” he snarled. The power had shifted, but it didn’t stop him from pouncing at me again.

I rolled away just in time, and he missed, crashing face-first. And I made sure he stayed that way as I continued swinging the hammer.

The sight of him blurred under each blow, then disappeared altogether as I closed my eyes.

I lost track of the number of times I hit him.

I couldn’t even feel the impact anymore, my hands numb from the force.

Then I stopped. He didn’t move. I kicked his leg. He stayed still.

Shit…

His jeans were loose, but I had stopped him from unleashing the worst. I reached into the pocket and took his car keys.

I rushed out, and my eyes scanned his vehicle until I found my Ruger stashed inside the glove compartment.

The weight of it in my hand steadied me, but my mind was still spinning.

I slipped into my own car, my hands trembling as I turned the ignition.

My head felt disconnected, like I was floating through a nightmare that was almost worse than New York.

For a few moments, I drove aimlessly.

Still, a part of me stayed alert as I crossed the town border. Just like that, I was out of Buffaloberry Hill. I pressed down on the gas, refusing to look back—not even in the mirrors.

But then a sharp clarity settled in. The last time I walked away from someone who’d helped me, he died.

Now, whether I stayed or left, the fallout would land squarely on Elia.

I’d seen how deep the friction ran between him and Armand Voss.

Elia had defended me during that hike at Raven Bluff, but the fight was about more than just his protectiveness.

The “old scores” Armand had hinted at? Today, I’d only added to the tally.

Maybe this was where my road ended. I needed to turn myself in, put the law on my side, and protect the man I loved. But before that, Elia deserved the truth. He had to know who I really was.