Flying in Shadows (The Black Creek Series, Book 2) (21 page)

One of the many waiters who carried flutes of champagne ventured close to them. She
rarely drank but looked longingly at the sweet, calming bubbles. Andy took two and
handed one to his date.

"Apology?"

So predictable.

Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, she played along. "For, you know. The
other day, or week or whatever."

"No. I don't know." He took the glass and lifted it to his lips, obviously hiding
a grin.

Taking the higher ground, she elaborated, "I apologize for misunderstanding your intentions
in the purchase of the reserve land, and thank you for going out of your way to interfere,
or intercede I should say."

Andy held out his flute. She forced herself to look at him, then absently took the
champagne from his hand and tilted back a long drink.

"Anything else?" he added.

She looked at his date. Her eyes were darting between them. Rose took another drink.
"And for trying to kick you in the face."

He placed his hand on her exposed shoulder and squeezed. "Try a new move next time."
And walked away.

She sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked down at the
empty flute in her hand. "Son of a bitch."

Chapter 16

Andy wasn't in the mood for dancing. He shouldn't have touched Rose, but her bare
shoulder was right there. He looked down at his hand. What was he looking for? Was
it going to show some sign of her skin? He rubbed his fingers together thinking of
the silky feel, of the toned, soft muscle.

Discovering his date was the dancing type, it suited him that she spent the better
part of the evening doing just that. Purposely, he caught up with his cousin, Hannah.
She would soon return to college. He missed her sassy tomboy attitude. Of course,
how else would she turn out growing up with four boys? He found James and Jonathon,
too. In a few months, they would start their freshman years of college. Small talk
with family was just the ticket. Yet, he didn't and couldn't let Rose out of his sight.
He found himself maneuvering around friends and family as they reminisced in order
to keep her in view.

He knew the minute she walked down and stood at the bridge over Black Creek. Looking
around he found Otto? Otis? Hell if he could remember. Andy spotted him with his nose
inches from his smart phone.

Though he knew better, Andy meandered toward the bridge.

* * *

Rose rested her forearms on the railing. She could tell someone was walking in her
direction and knew it was him. He left ample space between them. Mimicked her stance.

"You marrying Owen, the teacher?" He gestured toward the reception crowd up the hill.

She felt sure it was obvious she came down here to be alone. She lifted her left hand
and stuck out her ring finger.

"Okay." He sighed loud enough for her to hear. "You sure he's your type?" He turned,
facing her with one arm still resting on the railing.

Fumes filled every inch of her body so similar to what she'd felt at the Florida reserve.
Damn it, why did she let him do this to her? She wasn't like this anymore, she reminded
herself. Shifting, she looked him full in the face. "His name is Oliver and he's a
professor
and an intellect and has the same interests I do. We've created the educational portion
of the action center together and, and it's none of your damned business who I'm marrying
and who's my type and what the hell are you doing down here?" She panted with anger
and heartache and... heat. Her eyes dipped to his lips for just a fraction of a second.
She forced her eyes back to his, keeping purposely expressionless.

"Does he know you press your lips together like that..." Andy motioned toward her
mouth. "...when you're... you know?"

She could feel the warmth grow in her cheeks, the veins bulging at her temples. "What
gives you the right? Who the hell do you think you are?" Yelling now, she gesturing
wildly.

Andy took a step close enough to her to smell peaches. He stared down into the light
blue of her eyes. "Does he know you burn in five seconds in the sun?"

Waving her arms madly, Rose yelled at him, "What does that matter?"

He couldn't stop himself. Why couldn't he stop himself? "Does he know you turn your
pillow over to the cooler side a dozen times through the night?"

Her brows pulled together. He realized if she let the tears escape now, she would
never forgive herself.

"You don't know anything," she said sounding defeated.

"I know what you look like when you're in love, and you don't love him."

"You don't get to say that." Her shoulders dropped, suddenly exhausted. "You lost
the right to say that when you told me you didn't want me. I didn't know what I was
doing. I was young and stupid in love."

He put his face inches from hers and lowered his voice. "You weren't the only one
that didn't know what you were doing. Or young. Or stupid in love."

She lifted her beautiful eyes to him. They stood speaking without talking. And it
wasn't good. She was angry, so angry. And... sad? Solemnly, she strolled around him
and back to her sister's wedding reception. He watched her maneuver her strappy heels
through the grass, then purposefully sat next to her fiancé, putting a hand through
his arm.

* * *

After an extended morning of inspections and on-site meetings, Andy pulled into his
parking lot. Sitting in the small area, he sipped a cup of cold Starbucks and frowned
at his office manager's Prius. Working late again.

Taking a minute to catch his breath from the rapid-fire meetings, he looked at the
etched sign mortared in the brick. Reed Builders. He personally oversaw each step
of the construction of the building from excavation to trim. He thought the look was
pretty damned perfect—clay-red brick with the occasional darker bricks to break up
the color. It carried a look of professional quality without being over the top. Stones
were soldiered, protruding around windows and the front door frame. The landscaping
was simple, direct and done by his aunt and Amanda, of course. So, why was it so difficult
to give a damn?

The sun blazed hot into the late June afternoon. He barely made it in the front door
before Delores carefully began running over the day's messages, mail and tomorrow's
appointments.

He put his hand over the planner she recited from. Waiting until she looked up over
the rim of her reading glasses, he asked, "How was your day?"

She stopped and folded her hands. Lines pulled away from her eyes as she smiled at
him. "Why it was fine, Andy. I'd ask how yours was, but I have a feeling it's not
nearly over."

Nodding in consent, he took the stack of papers and winked at her before heading into
his office. "Go home."

Finishing his review of appointments for the following day and his calendar for the
next week, then month, he turned to the waiting stack of paperwork. Piles of blueprints
for sites from a business strip mall and golfing range that he bought on the north
side of Northridge waited as well as ones to the individual lots in a country club
south of Rochester.

Flicking on the news, he picked up his coffee and scowled into the empty cup. He went
to make a fresh pot and saw Rose on the screen. Turning up the volume, he measured
and poured fresh grounds. He couldn't think of a single woman more beautiful. Rose
in her familiar red bandana, work boots and blue jeans that hugged her long legs.

"Speaking with me today is Dr. Rosemarie Piper. Perched on her arm here is Gracie,
an adolescent bald eagle who needs our help. Dr. Piper, tell us about Gracie." The
reporter held her head away from the giant bird. It steadied itself often on Rose's
gloved arm by pulling out its wings.

"Huh," Andy said aloud. The reporter was scared shitless. He assumed adolescent would
mean small and that bald eagle meant white head and tail. This bird had neither.

Rose was in her comfortable groove, he could tell. "Gracie is the third of a clutch
of three eaglets hatched in late April of this year. She came down with a case of
avian pox that formed on the side of her beak right here." She pointed to the spot
on the dark brown beak.

"A growth formed, causing her beak to curve, leaving her unable to feed. We had to,
therefore, remove her from the nest, raise her in captivity, hand feed her, and regularly
shave the pox. She's healthy now and the pox has cleared up other than the scar left
on her beak."

He leaned back against his desk. Smooth, he thought. Professional.

"Unfortunately, Gracie was removed from her nest when she was very young, and we're
not sure she'd recognize others of her species or whether or not she knows she's even
a bird. Therefore, we'll work to train her as an education eagle."

Rose waved her free arm toward the small enclosure behind her. "As you can see, the
enclosure we have at the center is small and was built, primarily, for flightless
birds and minimal recuperation of the injured. We need a much larger and extensive
area for Gracie to live her life with the freedom of active flight. The funding and
manpower alone will cost tens of thousands. We're turning to the public for their
help in making this possible."

He clicked off the TV and walked around to sit in his chair. As the smell of coffee
filled his office, he thought of Florida. A half-dozen buyers had already committed
and put down large down payments for the lots around the crane reserve. What a damned
relief that was. He'd put up half his business for collateral to cover the loan on
the deal. He knew he would get his money back. Maybe when the economy picked up again.
He had no idea he would get it back so soon. Who would've thought tree huggers would
be interested enough in some birds that they would fork up that much? Some of the
buyers purchased their lots with no plans to build.

But that wasn't it, he thought, as he propped his feet up. The feeling left in his
gut at helping out the damned cranes actually felt good. Very good. So good, in fact,
he decided to repeat the gesture.

Known as a solid building company, Reed Builders' customers appreciated his thorough
manner. His crews respected his knowledge, his personal attention to each project
and his follow-up. As he gathered his piles and turned off the office lights, he considered
adding "volunteer" to his description, then decided to go incognito.

"You're not supposed to be here. Go home, beautiful. I'm heading out to inspect the
work the new excavators did on the country club lots and make a pit stop near Seneca
Lake. I've got a stack of snail mail to be sent, and some priority blueprints to be
scanned and entered into the data files. All this can be done... In. The. Morning."
He set the stacks on the edge of her desk. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"I can't work as your office manager if you don't keep me updated on your projects,
Andrew Reed. Even the potential ones. What's at Seneca Lake?"

He scratched the side of his face. "A gorgeous redhead." Damn it, when did he shave
last?

* * *

Rose stood around the side of the action center, where mostly storage buildings and
sheds clustered. The air was clean and a brisk wind blew scents of pine needles and
earth over her. She worked, stacking spare equipment out of sight along the sides
of one of the sheds. The blogs still needed to be checked before she went home—Chesapeake
Bay Reserve and North Carolina Action Center. The Florida reserve blog made mention
of the hero, Andrew Reed, and how many lots had already been sold to single families
who were digging ground far from the reserve side of their property. Knight in shining
armor? Damn it.

As she worked, she quickly changed her train of thought, refusing to allow him into
her head. She was smart, she was careful and she would stay away from the images of
the way he looked at her at Jessica's wedding—the sexy faint lines that were beginning
to spread from the corners of his eyes when he smiled his million-dollar smile; the
familiar scent of him when he invaded her space on the Black Creek bridge; and the
look of his mouth. Exasperated, she leaned against the nearby shed and looked around.

There would be room there for the ornery eagle to roam. She'd named her Gracie, much
better than Wart. It was fitting. She had ideas for making the space more aesthetic
for visitors and donors. She looked over at Gracie, who was tethered to her post and
stabbing at the ratscicle she had given her. "Sorry, girl. We'll get you off that
leash soon enough."