Wild Flower
Authors: Eliza Redgold
Wild Flower
Eliza Redgold
Wild Flower
Eliza Redgold
For centuries, fragrant orchids have made potent love potions, but in a world of technology, can they still wield their power?
Dianella Lee fights to conserve rare, tiny orchids on Australia’s southern coast, one of the most biodiverse wildflower regions in the world. But her world of beauty and love is thrown into harsh relief when her family business is almost destroyed by her own mother.
Wade Hamilton has made it big in Silicon Valley, California in 3D computer images. He’s about to make a huge, life-changing business deal and needs time out, not complications. But one glance at Dianella and her passion, and he succumbs to
orchidmania
.
Opposites attract, and orchids have their own magic, but when faced with distance, family drama and diverse priorities, what chance do a flower girl and a billionaire have?
Eliza Redgold is an author, academic and unashamed romantic. By day a mild-mannered university lecturer with a PhD, by night she is a wild-mannered writer of historical and contemporary romances.
My thanks to the amazing Kate Cuthbert at Escape Publishing, to my critique partner Jenny Schwartz who calls a plot a plot (or not) and to the Wordwrights group; Janet Woods, Deb Bennetto, Karen Saayman, Anne Summers and Carol Hoggart who gave feedback and advice on writing and wild flowers. Thanks also to Romance Writers of Australia and the Hearts‘n’Wined gang, and to the native garden experts at Kings Park in WA. My love to James and Jessica who survived my bout of
orchidmania
. Finally, thanks to my university students in Singapore who taught me to love their extraordinary island state, and in memory of my grandmother who taught me to love Australian flora.
For James, who appreciates wild flowers.
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
~
William Blake
Orchids tell their own tale, whether of happiness or misery, in characters beyond dispute.
About Orchids: A Chat—Frederick Boyle, 1893
Contents
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
I have come to orchids at last.
About Orchids: A Chat—Frederick Boyle, 1893
‘Stop!’
Dianella Lee shouted out the car window and slammed on the brakes. The van squealed to a halt.
She flung open the driver’s door and leapt out. ‘Don’t make another move!’
By the side of the road the dark-haired man who had been crouched over, hand poised, lifted up his head.
‘Stop, I said!’ Dianella caught a vivid flash of purple as she charged through the gum trees, sending rust-coloured dirt flying. ‘I know what you’re doing!’
She skidded to a standstill in front of him. Tanned, with wrap-around sunglasses pushed up on his brown hair, he wore a white t-shirt, navy shorts and a pair of clean sneakers. At least he wasn’t trying to camouflage himself in the Australian bush as he went about his crimes.
‘Let it go and back away. Then there won’t be any trouble.’
‘What?’
A stunned American drawl. A tourist. She ought to have guessed.
‘You heard me.’ She sounded like a gum-chewing, gun-toting heroine from an old Wild Western movie. He probably thought she’d pull a revolver from a holster. But she wasn’t about to back down. ‘Let it go.’
The man stood. In his late twenties, she guessed, a few years older than her. His eyes were the same dark brown as his hair that looked as if it needed a cut. Taller than she’d first realised, topping her by about thirty centimetres, and broad too. The shoulders of a swimmer, or maybe a surfer, but she refused to be intimidated by his size, or by the wave of instant attraction that threatened to knock her off her feet. She glared up at him.
‘Do you mean this?’ He opened his clenched fist.
Dianella stared down.
In the palm of his hand lay the smallest digital camera she’d ever seen.
‘Oh!’ A twig snapped as she stepped away. ‘I thought …’
‘That I’m picking the wild flowers?’ His teeth were as white as his t-shirt. ‘Relax. I was taking a photo.’
‘But the camera …’ She wanted to crawl into the bushes on the side of the road in embarrassment.
‘Tiny, right? I’m a techno junkie. This is a prototype.’ He looked her up and down. ‘One of a kind. Unique.’
‘I know what a prototype is,’ she snapped, still rattled. By how good-looking he was close up, more than anything. ‘You’ve got no idea what we’re up against during spring. We have enough trouble trying to convince the locals about the need for conservation, but in the tourist season things go crazy. Everyone is welcome on the rainbow coast, but some people do more damage than they intend.’
‘Don’t pick the wild flowers, right?’ He crouched down again to study the half-hidden plant at their feet.
Dianella followed his gaze. She never tired of looking at the tiny, star like flowers. Many enthusiasts had tried to describe the exact shade of its petals—purple, violet, indigo, trimmed at the edges with red and yellow that glowed like fire. She knew better than anyone, rare beauty came with a price.
‘That’s more than a flower.’ Dianella took another breath. The local wild flower society had mapped where orchids grew in the region, so she’d known what he must be entranced by when she’d brought the van to a screeching halt. ‘It’s the Queen of Sheba orchid.
Thelymitra variegata
. It’s a protected flower species.’
‘I didn’t realise taking photos is banned.’
‘No, it isn’t. I mean, they’re not.’ Another deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you. You’ve got every right to take photos, but even doing that can cause problems. Another rare orchid got damaged recently because someone snapped its stem trying to get a good shot.’
Pocketing the tiny camera he frowned, sending a crease between his heavy eyebrows. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
Silence fell as she sensed him studying her again. She kept her eyes on the flower at their feet. When she looked up his brown eyes were still on her. She dragged up another deep breath.
‘Are you local?’ he asked.
‘I run the Go Native Wildflower Nursery in town,’ she answered briefly. She got tired of people asking her that particular question. She knew she wasn’t the blonde, blue-eyed beach-loving version of an Australian stereotype.
He seemed to sense her discomfort because he didn’t ask any more.
‘Well, goodbye,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Enjoy your stay in Albany.’
As he dropped his sunglasses over his eyes he grinned again. ‘The rainbow coast is already full of surprises.’
Dianella bit her lip. Look before you leap, her grandmother always warned her.
Too late.
‘You can be sure I’ll remember.’ As if in surrender he held up his hands. ‘Don’t pick the wild flowers.’
***
A fairy. She had to be a fairy. It was the only word Wade Hamilton could use to describe the avenger who’d appeared in front of him, seeming to come from nowhere. She was tiny, only reaching his shoulder, and in perfect proportion, he hadn’t been able to ignore that. Her long hair, black and straight, had blown around her head in the warm breeze. Her dark almond-shaped eyes, that revealed a Chinese heritage, had glistened with fury. She’d worn faded denim shorts revealing slender tanned legs, ending in a pair of silver high top sneakers.
If she’d been wearing silver wings he wouldn’t have been surprised. The way she ran away, so light footed, left no apparent tracks in the roadside dirt.
She’d left an echo in his ear though. He glanced again at the Queen of Sheba orchid. He had no idea he’d been studying something rare. The flower appeared no bigger than his thumb, with its purple spotted petals, and yellow stalk-like centre. So fine, and tiny, yet somehow it managed to bloom in this harsh land.
The Queen of Sheba orchid might be an exotic bloom, but not a fragile flower. He leaned closer, making sure he didn’t actually lay a hand on it. He’d learnt that lesson.
He inhaled.
That scent, the incredible scent lingering in the air didn’t come from the flower.
What was that amazing fragrance? Was it something unique to the Australian bush, some kind of plant or tree? He hadn’t noticed it before the irate fairy had arrived.
It seemed kind of familiar, yet not. He inhaled once more. Sweet, yet not too sweet. Woody, and yet light.
Then he realised. It wasn’t perfume from the surrounding bushes that had him sniffing the air like a deranged hound dog.
It wasn’t the Queen of Sheba orchid.
It was the fairy.
He dashed down the road, but the van had disappeared in a cloud of red dust. Fairies drove fast.
Feeling light-headed he raced to his own vehicle.
Would he follow a woman’s scent?
Yep. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator of the rented SUV. The roads were good in Western Australia, new black tar, but held no glimpse of the white van that had carried the fairy away.
There was more traffic than he’d expected in such a remote place. Albany, the stately old harbour town at the edge of the coast had been bigger than he’d anticipated too. The region had been designated a bio-diversity hotspot, he’d read that in a brochure on the flight, but he hadn’t anticipated the colour. Mild and sunny weather, warm enough to swim in its crystal clear beaches by day, and cool enough to snuggle under the covers by night. And rainbows—Wade knew why they called it the rainbow coast now. He’d never seen so many red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet arcs over the turquoise sea. There were even dolphins, like a New Age postcard.
But where had the fairy gone?
There was still no sign of the van on the road ahead. He wanted to honk as he got stuck behind a caravan and couldn’t manage to pass.
The wrench in his gut caught him by surprise. He’d lost her. She’d flown. He should have caught her in a net.
Stopped at a set of traffic lights he slapped his hand against the steering wheel.
Then out of the passenger window he spotted it.
Go Native Wildflower Nursery. A big green sign with white writing.
He blinked.
A hallucination? Some kind of vision, like the fairy herself?
He blinked again.
Still there.
He veered over and pulled into the nursery car park.
He wanted to cheer, pump the air with his fist. The Go Native Nursery appeared to be more a house than a business, white clapboard with a tin roof, and a white painted brick addition with a patio out the front, brimming with a rainbow array of plants and flowers in pots and tubs. A pebbled path meandered down the brick side of the building, leading to an inviting garden beyond, bedded with plants and flower beds, some more pots under shade sails.
A bell tinkled as he opened the glass door.
In front of him were more plants, shelves of pots, gardening implements and books, racks of seeds. He ambled around.
No fairy.
The scent had faded.
‘Hello. You seem to be looking for something. May I help you?’
A grey-haired woman in a checked shirt stood behind the counter.
Wade regressed to a schoolboy, caught out. ‘Well …’
The woman gave him a warm, genuine smile. ‘You’re a visitor. Welcome to Albany. Do you need directions?’
Over the till hung a framed quotation, in curly gold writing.
To see a World in a Grain of Sand, And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour.
The poem by William Blake.
Again
. Was it some sort of sign? Spooky.