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Chapter Two
Nick
I’m fumingas I stalk back to my rental and hop inside. It wasn’t the way she’d coldly ignored me, effectively dismissing me, that had my blood roiling in my veins.
It was the way she’d run to that other man, the relief evident in her eyes. The southern punk with the sun-bleached hair, tanned skin, and golden boy smile.
I’ve never hated another man on sight so much.
And my reaction is ludicrous, I know. I have no claim on her. I don’t even know her last name. She doesn’t even know my first name. We hadn’t even had time to introduce ourselves before he’d come rolling up.
Yet, I’d found myself wanting to yank her out of his truck and tear him limb from limb.
I run my hands through my hair in irritation as I speed down the highway, my earlier peace rent in two at the thought of the little redhead’s pretty blue eyes gazing up into Golden Boy’s.
Daisy.
A pretty name for a pretty little wildflower. Maybe her name should have been Rose or Ruby or Scarlet because of her red hair, but Daisy somehow fit her better. I’ve never met a Daisy before in my entire life, but somehow the name suits her. Unique. Like her.
It’s stupid. It’s crazy. But I torture myself of images of her and him the whole way to my new home. He’s probably her fucking boyfriend. I shouldn’t care about that, but I do.
Because as insane as it is I can’t shake the territorial feeling that had overwhelmed me when my eyes had first met hers. Like she’s mine to possess.
I shake my head before pinching between my brow and blowing out a breath, one hand still on the wheel. I’m supposed to be here to unwind—not shoot my blood pressure through the roof obsessing over some girl who saves turtles from road traffic.
I should just forget about her. Let her live her life, and I’ll live mine.
But I know that as soon as I reach my destination, I’ll be pulling out all my most advanced software to find out everything I can about the little redhead from Tennessee who would dare to walk away from Nick Amorini like he was nobody.
* * *
Daisy
“Thanks, Jake,” I tell my best friend as I hop out of his truck into the gravel driveway of the only home I’d ever known. The little two-story cottage-style house my parents had bought when they were barely more than my age and pregnant with me looked picturesque sitting against the backdrop of the wooded greenery behind it and the setting sun. The white vinyl, black shutters, and white picket fence lining the front porch only serve to make it look even more homey. Pink and white azaleas line the front porch, and a white dogwood tree sits over to the side of the house. I’ve spent many an evening reading under that old tree.
“I’ll have the truck brought over as soon as Uncle Don can manage it,” Jake tells me.
My heart swells. Jake is the best friend a girl could ever have. I can’t count how many times he’d had his uncle pull my old truck off the side of the road and bring it home to me like a lost puppy.
“What would I do without you, Jakey?” I ask him playfully.
He crooks a grin at me. “You’d be stranded on the side of the road for one thing,” he notes wryly.
I laugh. “True.” My mind flits back to the dark-haired stranger with the piercing golden eyes. Somehow I don’t think he’d have settled for leaving me on the side of the road. Something about him made my insides knot up, though, so I’m thankful Jake showed up when he did.
“We still on for fishing Friday morning?” Jake asks.
“Sure,” I tell him, casting a glance behind Jake’s truck over to the pond I can just barely see glistening across the field that separates Mom and Dad’s property from our neighbor’s.
I’d heard Mr. McEwen was planning on selling the place. He’d owned the land adjacent to ours for all my life, and he never minded Jake and I playing on his land and swimming and fishing in his pond.
He had at least a hundred acres. He was one of the only millionaires around here. Just last year, he’d married a much younger woman and built a mansion just for her. Unfortunately, their marriage hadn’t worked out. Apparently, she’d run off to Florida with the gardener, and now poor Mr. McEwen couldn’t stand to be in the home that reminded him of the young wife who’d betrayed him so brutally.
I don’t blame him.
I seriously doubt if he’ll ever sell the mansion, though. It’s been on the market for over a year. Nobody around here has that kind of money, and there isn’t really any industry or anything around here to draw the types of people who do have that type of money.
“Poor Mr. McEwen,” Jake mutters as he follows my gaze over to the pond. The look on my face must have let him know what I was thinking of. We both love old Mr. McEwen like he’s our own grandpa and hate what happened to him.
