His Rebel Heart. Amber Leigh Williams

earnings.”

      Byron chuckled. “For what’s it worth, welcome back to town. And call the number on the card. Let Priscilla fix you up.” He gazed over the hood of his car at the garage. “This place deserves a second chance.”

      James stood back as Byron folded himself back into the driver’s seat of the Chevy.

      “Anything else I can do, you’ll let me know,” Byron asserted, rolling down the driver’s window.

      James frowned. “Actually...how long did you say you’ve been here?”

      “In Fairhope?” Byron reached up to scratch his forehead. “Going on three years.”

      “You wouldn’t happen to know the Carltons?” James ventured.

      Byron thought for a moment. “You mean Van and Edith?”

      James’s pulse jerked at the mention of Adrian’s parents. “That’s them. More to the point, it’s their daughter I’m wondering about.”

      “Adrian,” Byron said and nodded. “Yeah. I know her. Pretty well, as a matter of fact.”

      With a frown, James wondered what the man meant by pretty well. He cleared his throat. “I just moved in next door to her. Do you know where she works?”

      “Oh, yeah,” Byron said. “She owns that little flower shop on the bay, a few blocks from where she lives. Next to Hanna’s Inn. You know it?”

      Years ago the proprietor of Hanna’s Inn, Hanna Browning, had been close friends with James’s mother. “I do. So Adrian’s a florist now?”

      “A good one, too,” Byron said. “She does damn good business, anyway. The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree as far as business interests go. Though I’d never say so to her face.” When James only frowned at him, Byron explained, “I do the books for Carlton Nurseries so I’ve come to know the Carltons pretty well. Adrian and Edith don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

      “They never did,” James muttered.

      “She’s a prickly one. Edith,” Byron added. “I’m assuming you and Adrian went to school together.”

      James thought about that, brows coming together. “We knew each other,” he admitted.

      Byron watched James chew over the words for a moment. “Well, give her my regards. It’s been a while.”

      “I’ll do that,” James agreed. If she’ll let me. He shut Byron’s door for him as he cranked the Camaro and the engine’s horses purred to life. Through the open window, James said, “Thanks for stopping by.”

      Byron slipped his sunglasses into place and gave James a salute. “See you around.”

      * * *

      “ADRIAN?”

      “Back here,” Adrian called from the cooler as she moved several wedding and funeral arrangements around to make room for today’s pièce de résistance—a bouquet ordered by one of the local churches for the altar on Easter Sunday.

      Penny peered around the jamb of the open steel door. “Hey, you got a minute?”

      “Yeah,” Adrian said with a grunt as she hefted the large vase onto the second shelf at the back of the cooler. Wiping her hands on the front of her apron, she turned to her shop assistant with raised brows. “What’s up?”

      Penny pressed her lips inward as if hiding a smile. Her eyes were a tad overbright. She was nineteen and friendly with customers—the attractive men in particular. Adrian knew by the look on Penny’s face that she’d recently encountered one such appealing male specimen.

      “There’s a man here to see you,” Penny answered, confirming Adrian’s suspicions.

      “What kind of man?” Adrian asked. Then she paused, frowning as her heart rapped hard against her ribs. “Wait,” she said, holding her hands up before Penny could explain. “Does he have a beard?”

      “Mmm-hmm,” Penny said. “And tattoos all down his arm. Very James Dean.”

      Adrian shook her head. “James Dean didn’t have tattoos, Penny,” she muttered in automatic response. “Or facial hair.”

      “I meant he has that vibe,” Penny said. She opened her mouth, then stopped and stared at Adrian as the latter began to scrub her hands over her face. “What’s wrong?” Penny’s face fell. “Oh, my God. Is he Radley, your ex? Should I call the police—or Mr. Savitt?”

      “No,” Adrian said carefully. “He’s not Radley. And there’s no need for the police or Cole.” She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm her—or at least make her legs stop quaking. “I’ve got this.”

      “Are you sure?” Penny asked doubtfully.

      Adrian rolled her eyes as Penny’s voice mirrored all the uncertain voices in her head. She shouldered past the shop assistant into the prep room of Flora. “Tell him to come on back. Then you can go home.”

      “All right,” Penny said hesitantly. “You’re sure you don’t need me?”

      “Just do it, please,” Adrian told her. When Penny returned to the front of the shop, Adrian ran her fingers through her hair, feeling frazzled already. She planted her hands on her hips when she heard heavy footsteps coming toward her and turned to face James as he entered.

      By God. With his height and massive shoulders, he filled the room. Hell, he filled the air, stealing it from her. Her alarm and resentment for him rose by twin notches. Crossing her arms over her chest in a shielding stance, she jerked her chin high and met his gaze with a cold look. “James.”

      He stopped just inside the door, not even bothering to glance around. Those blue eyes latched onto her and seized. “Adrian,” he said, his tone a great deal softer and gentler than hers.

      There was kindness behind those eyes. And longing. Adrian blinked, frowned and forced herself not to look away. Instead, she scanned his features. She’d always thought he had the face of a Roman warrior—manhood had affirmed that. The bones of his face were long and broad. Beneath his beard, his jaw was perfectly etched. Someone could break a knuckle or two against that jawline and probably already had. The rise and hollows of his cheeks were artfully hewn.

      There were three buttons at the top of his black T-shirt and, damn it, every single one was open, giving her a better look at the tattoos underneath. The one most visible was a bit faded, but she could still clearly see a black and red nautical star. Fitting. He’d spent a great deal of his childhood on the water. His father had been a boat captain at one point before becoming a preacher. James had inherited Zachariah Bracken’s recreational daysailer after he passed away.

      Just below his collarbone was more ink, Latin letters. She couldn’t make out what they said. Neither could she discern what shape the darker ink below took. It was lost under the cotton and what looked to be a thick growth of chest hair.

      Adrian took a gulp of air and hated when it trembled out on an exhale. “What are you doing here?”

      One of James’s dark brows arched, but his eyes lost none of their softness nor, unfortunately, did they stray from hers. “I guess I figured we should talk.”

      “About?” Adrian prompted, trying not to sound defensive and failing miserably.

      “About how we left things yesterday...or how you left things yesterday,” James told her. “I need to know that you’re okay.”

      “You want to talk about how I left things yesterday,” Adrian repeated, incredulity honing the words to a fine point. She felt anger brewing and latched onto it like a lifeline. “That’s all you came here for?”

      “Yeah,” James said with a small nod. “And to make sure you’re okay.”

      “Huh,” Adrian said,