Her Heart's Desire (Sunflower Series Book 1) (3 page)

The punch to the gut surprised Lucas. His
body stiffened. No had ever referred to Amelia as
that Britton
one
before. No, the man could not have a date with Amelia, but
Karl wasn’t exactly asking permission. Should he clue in the
hardware store manager or let him discover the situation for
himself? After all, Craig would arrive in a few hours. Amelia’s
brother would have plenty to say, in no uncertain terms, about why
Karl, or any man from Harvest, shouldn’t date his sister.

Before Lucas could answer,
click-clack
of boot heels against the tired linoleum echoed down the dimly lit
hall.

“Karl?”

“Yah? In here.”

Lucas groaned inwardly as Amelia stood framed
in the doorway. He gritted his teeth but couldn’t stop from
staring. She’d lost her farm-work clothes—baggy overalls and grungy
t-shirt—replaced them with a curve-hugging denim skirt, a sexy top,
and she glowed like her face was lit by a spotlight. Her hair hung
in loose waves around her face. She had haunted his dreams, and now
she haunted his personal space.

“Speak of the devil,” Karl murmured and
bumped his elbow against Lucas’s side. Lucas grunted.

“Hey! How are you? What can I help you with?”
Karl asked taking a step forward.

Lucas caught Amelia’s frown, which she
quickly lifted into a wide smile, aiming it at Karl. “I can come
back another time. I didn’t know you were busy. Mr. Turner said I
would find you back here, but again, I didn’t know you were with a
customer.”

“Amelia.” Lucas nodded to her. He wouldn’t
allow her to ignore him, and if he hadn’t been watching for it, her
return nod could’ve been missed.

“Amelia? I thought your name was Lia
Britton.” Karl’s expression turned puzzled as he looked at Lucas,
then to Lia, and back to Lucas again.

She smiled sweetly. “My given name is Amelia,
but no one calls me that anymore.”

“Only family,” Lucas bit out more harshly
than intended.

“Huh?” Karl asked. “You two related?”

“No!” Lia snapped as if poked with a cattle
prod. Her brown eyes glowered as though she wanted to stab him with
one.

“Craig will be here by dinner.” Lucas kept
his voice low and even.

“Your boyfriend?” Karl asked, looking
worried.

“Brother,” Lucas said at the same time as
Lia.

“Oh.” Karl relaxed, flexing his shoulders.
“In that case, I was wondering if you’d like to go out tomorrow
night.”

“No,” Lucas said.

“I wasn’t asking
you
,” Karl
snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. She’s got plans
tomorrow.”

Lia scowled so hard that if she’d had
special, super-hero powers Lucas was certain his eyebrows and
lashes would be singed, probably burned off his face.

“Karl, I’m sorry, but I do have a
longstanding engagement for tomorrow. However,” she brightened, “I
came to ask
you
if you would like to go out next Saturday
night? There’s a bistro on the river in Atchison. I thought we
might go there.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Karl perked up like a
strutting rooster in a yard full of hens. “What time shall I pick
you up?”

Lucas frowned. “Amelia, Craig’s not going to
like this.”

Chapter 2

Outside the farm store, Lia stomped her way
to the truck, fuming and wishing she could snort fire. Squeezing
her fist tightly, the keys in her hand bit into her skin, pinching
the flesh of her palm. She punched the air before loosening her
death grip. The intense pain subsided to a dull throb. “The nerve
of that man!”

He had no right to look so good. Tall, lean,
muscular and tan—her knees practically buckled. Her heart bounced
as though it rode on the back of a bucking bull. But who was he to
tell her anything? And better yet, who was he to discourage Karl
from asking her out? Just because Lucas and her brother had been
best friends since forever, he had no right butting in. None. And,
he
dared
to invoke a threat using her big brother’s name? As
if Craig would want her to live like a maiden hermit all her life.
He wanted what was best for her, though they couldn’t agree on what
that was. Thank goodness, Karl had a mind of his own and ignored
Lucas, which earned him major points. The highlight of the day:
Karl had asked her out first.

How about them apples, Lucas Dwyer?

Once inside the truck, Lia slammed the door.
Lucas had broken her heart years ago. The pain of his rejection
after she gathered her courage and thrown herself at him, back
during her college days, still stung. Since then, he’d maintained
an arm’s length distance, except for the heart-stealing kiss after
her parents’ funeral. Somehow over the last year, he’d taken on the
role of big brother while her older brother tried to force himself
into the role of parent.

At least Karl was interested in spending time
with her. That assuaged her pride and boosted her waning confidence
a degree or two. The upside to the ridiculous scene—she’d go home
and put the adrenalized anger to good use by painting, by slashing
color on a canvas, darks fading into lights with textures of smooth
and rough. When she finished emoting, maybe the painting would
strike a chord with someone’s imagination, or better yet, touch
their heart. She didn’t paint only to sell. She painted because it
kept her grounded. Some people needed to listen to music or drink
or some activity to help them block out the world. She, however,
channeled her emotions into art.

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as
though playing piano keys, she wrestled with anxiety while putting
the truck in gear. Emotional overload. That could be why she’d been
so darn prolific and produced some of her best work since grief had
flooded her world, rising up the same way floodwaters covered
fields and created murky spots with depths unknown. There were
moments over the last year when she feared she might drown. She
teetered between the joy of being back on the farm and the utter
anguish of missing her parents. Either way, emotions pushed her to
paint.

Funny how she hadn’t recognized that fact
before. Tomorrow was the one-year anniversary of her parents’
funeral. For weeks, she’d tried to keep her thoughts from drifting
there, but like a broken farmhouse shutter banging in a storm, they
refused to be silent, some days banging so hard they gave her a
migraine. But here and now is what she had, along with a date with
Karl. Balancing on the pinpoint of happiness, she had to share the
news with someone else, otherwise, it would never feel real.

She pulled into the same parking spot in
front of the post office she’d vacated an hour before. Squaring her
shoulders, she took a breath before entering. The only person she
trusted to keep her total confidence was Zoë.

Lia shoved open the outer door to the post
office. The inside doors mechanically
whooshed
open. A line
of customers waited.

“Hey! Lia. How’s it going?” Butch called out.
He was third in a line of six waiting for service. “Bring the truck
over to the shop first thing Monday. I’ve got the new tailgate in.
Will get it fixed for you then.”

Lia smiled, nodded, and headed for the front
of the line. On the way, she heard the farmer behind Butch say,
“What happened to the tailgate?”

“She tried to unhook a trailer.”

“Oh. Women farmers.”

Lia locked her jaw and narrowed her eyes and
continued to the counter. She was determined to remain silent and
not launch into a word battle with the old-timer. Why men still
contended a woman alone couldn’t make a go of farming pushed her
frustration button as quick as Lucas Dwyer had about going on a
date with Karl. Leaning across the counter, she motioned to Zoë for
paper and pen since she didn’t trust herself to speak without
shouting out in anger. Lia scribbled a note asking her to meet at
Rockets the moment she got off work.

“Sure thing,” Zoë said, motioning to the next
person in line.

Lia scowled at the farmer as she passed him.
Oblivious, the man continued to lament about the faults of women to
Butch, who shot her an apologetic smile. Outside, Lia paused and
took deep long breaths. Once. Twice. Three times. But it didn’t
quell her anger. Maybe sharing good news over food and a drink
before heading home would balance out her mood. The unrestrained
urge to paint was already there. She just needed to channel it in
the right direction...although the last angry black and red
painting she’d sold brought in a thousand dollars.

Scanning the skyline for Rockets, she spotted
the rooftop ornament of the bar. Sighting the landmark filled her
with a shot of comfort and steadied her nerves a bit. Much in her
life had changed during the year since her parents had passed, but
not so with the skyline of the town.

Rockets was an institution. The bar got its
name from the first owner back in the 50s who had a replica V-2
American rocket mounted on the roof like a church steeple. The town
welcomed the first bar within the city limits with a gusto that
matched a bull rider’s successful nine-second ride for big prize
money. However, the owner fought city council for approval of the
building’s iconic rooftop decoration. The council balked with the
determination of a mule refusing to plow, unwilling to issue a
final permit as long as the signature icon stood higher than any
church’s steeple. Somehow, Rockets won.

Her only problem now? Walk or drive. Driving
was five minutes, walking took ten, and Zoë had another half-hour
of work. She’d never waited inside a bar alone. The Britton family
reputation prohibited it, not that Rockets was a bad place, just
not a kid-family-friendly kind of establishment.

Trepidation fluttered in Lia’s chest as she
reached the bar. Scanning either side of the street, she was alone,
no one approaching on the sidewalk. She pulled hard on the heavy
door. A year of grieving would end tomorrow. A turning point. If
she truly wanted to prove her independence and make Craig take
notice of how capable she’d grown—on the farm and handling her own
life—then she could start by sitting alone at the bar while waiting
for a friend. After all, on the rare occasion a fight broke out at
Rockets, it usually happened after midnight. While the September
sun had lowered in the sky, plenty of daylight still remained.
Darkness was hours away.

“Lia?” The bartender approached.

“Hello. Um…lemonade please?” Lia asked,
trying to sound cultured and offhanded. Bethany, the bartender and
her high-school classmate voted Freshman Beauty, and by senior
year, nominated for Most Likely to Succeed, had married the current
owner of the bar.

“You want a lemonade? This isn’t the
Sunflower Café.”

Lia shifted slightly and rested her hand on
the bar top. “Beer.”

“Which one?” Bethany played Vanna White and
pointed toward the beer pulls, and then with a flourish, showed off
the collection of bottled beers arranged on the bottom glass shelf
with the liquor displayed on the shelves above. “Draft or
bottle?”

Since she rarely drank beer and only knew
them from commercials, her knowledge left her without an answer.
Playing on Bethany’s vanity, Lia suggested, “You choose the best
one for me.” She hopped on a barstool parked at the end of the long
polished wooden bar. It provided a perfect view of anyone entering
or leaving by the front door.

“Boulevard Pale Ale on draft,” Bethany said,
placing a full mug on the bar in front of Lia.

“For a quart of Ale is a meal for a
King.”

“What?”

“Shakespeare.”

Bethany chuckled. “You, of course, would know
that. Always the artsy one. But I’d bet money you can’t walk after
a pint.”

Lia ignored the jab. “I’ll take some nachos
with barbecue pulled pork.”

“Coming right up,” Bethany tapped the
computer screen behind the bar.

Observing the place with a painter’s eye, Lia
marveled at the golden light filtering through the slatted brown
blinds. The punched-copper ceiling, showing a rich patina, had to
be original to the old building. Black tufted booths lined the
walls, but the round tables and wooden chairs filling the open
spaces resembled the style from old western movies. When Kip Moore
belted out
Beer Money
through the sound system, Lia held up
her frosted mug in salute. After a sip, she turned her attention to
the closest big screen TV mounted on the wall where the pre-five
o’clock news scrolled ticker-tape style on the bottom of the
screen.

Rockets, she decided, had a very respectable
atmosphere during the day despite its less than distinguished
late-night reputation.

A few minutes later, the door to the bar
opened.

“Hey, Bethany, I’ll take a draft of
whatever’s on special today,” Zoë called as she entered and headed
in Lia’s direction.

“How was work?” Lia asked when her friend
hoisted herself on the next barstool.

“I can tell from that frown you really don’t
want to talk about that, although I could give you stories that
would keep you in stitches all day. What’s up?”

“Lucas Dwyer.”

“What’s he done now?” Zoë shook her head.

Lia paused as Bethany lingered while dropping
off Zoë’s beer and Lia’s plate of nachos.

“Ah, we’ll run a tab,” Lia said and waited
for the bartender to slide her way back to the far end of the
bar.

“Forget about Lucas for a moment. I have good
news. Great news! I have a date for next Saturday night.” Lia
beamed.

“Ducks do fly south for the winter. Who’s the
dude?”

“Karl Turner.”

“
The
Karl Turner? The new nephew at
the farm store? Nice.”

Lia smiled. “He asked me out for tomorrow
night…but,” she paused when her heart slammed in her chest knowing
what tomorrow represented. “We have a date for next Saturday
night.”