The Hotter You Burn. Gena Showalter
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same crime as the rest of us? Simply existing?”
Her chin fell and her shoulders drew inward. I deserve this. I really do. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s wonderful.” And he was. As a boss, or whatever he happened to be to her—debt holder?—he totally rocked. He wasn’t hovering but allowing her to do her own thing, and knowing he wouldn’t be here, he’d taken steps to ensure she had everything she needed.
But Beck, the guy? Him, she wasn’t so sure about. There was the one-and-done thing, of course, but also the fact that he’d bought Harlow’s ancestral home even though she hadn’t sold it. The bank had forced her off the property, voiding her claim to it, all because her mother had taken out a small loan a few years before, using the house as collateral. When her mother died, Harlow had tried to get a job.
She’d visited every business in town and asked to paint murals on store windows, or to do portraits of family members. Even to paint houses. When those requests were denied, she’d applied for basically any position available—trash collector, bird-poop cleaner, bunion scraper—but everyone had turned her away. Most had laughed. Moving to the city would have been wise. No one knew the old Harlow, and someone, surely, would hire her somewhere to do something. But her heart beat for Strawberry Valley. Her mother had grown up here. She’d grown up here. She trusted the townsfolk not to hurt her, despite their hatred of her, which was far more than she could say for a city full of strangers.
Plus, she had a five-step plan. Up first? Proving she wasn’t the incarnation of evil. So far no luck, but as she’d learned, circumstances could change in a blink.
“I don’t know how to garden,” she admitted, “but I’m trying.”
One of the blonde’s brows winged up, her expression total disbelief. “Well, then, I guess you should try harder.”
“Angel?” A husky male voice drifted across the daylight, followed by squeaking hinges as the back door opened.
Brook Lynn skipped over to greet her fiancé, Jase. He nodded at Harlow, his green eyes shrewd and curious, before he focused on Brook Lynn.
“I missed you,” he said, uncaring that Harlow could hear. He brushed his fingers through the girl’s pale hair.
“I was only gone a few minutes,” Brook Lynn replied with an adoring smile.
“A second is too long. Maybe it’s time to have that surgery we talked about and finally get you attached to my side.”
Brook Lynn chuckled. “Adding an extra two hundred and fifty pounds to this body will make it harder for me to kick zombie butt.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure you’ll be one of the first to be bitten.”
He nipped her lips. “Fine. Let me show you what I’ll do to you when I’m turned into a zombie.”
The two lovebirds reminded Harlow of Beauty and the Beast. Romance at its best. Jase was a big man, tall and muscled, his dark hair styled in bad-boy spikes. Rumors claimed Brook Lynn had mentioned liking the style, and boom, the next day he’d changed his. He had tattoos running from the base of his neck to the waist of his pants. Maybe other places, too. Harlow had only glimpsed him shirtless as he worked on the outside of the house; she’d marveled that a man like him actually existed.
Brook Lynn, on the other hand, appeared fragile and as useless as a doll, though everyone knew she was as far from a child’s toy as possible. Not only had she tamed the town’s new dragon—a feat in and of itself—but she’d started her own flourishing catering business.
Their love had inspired Harlow’s dream of happily-ever-after, and if canvas and paints hadn’t been out of her zero-dollar budget, she would have immortalized them in a portrait.
As they disappeared inside, she dusted the dirt from her hands. No more of this, she decided. Not today, at least. Not until she’d done a little gardening research. Which meant heading into town...facing ridicule...
She rarely ventured far from her property—even before she’d been ousted from her home, but especially since. Her job search had led her into town on a few occasions, but she’d quickly learned she had to pay a hefty price for daring to go where she wasn’t wanted.
Suck it up. Take your medicine like a good girl.
Head down, shoulders in, she made her way to the side of an unpaved and narrow road. It wasn’t long before a car slowed down, allowing the driver to rubberneck.
The attention unnerved her, and she found herself rubbing the scars on her stomach. Sometimes she thought she could still feel the flames licking all the way from her navel to her collarbone, using her shirt as kindling.
But she wasn’t going to think about the worst day of her life. Distraction wasn’t her friend any more than the next driver who passed her, rolling down his window and leaning out to snicker at her. She quickened her step, breathing a sigh of relief when the vehicle finally disappeared beyond the hill.
The third car to come along actually pulled up alongside her, keeping pace.
“Harlow Glass,” the driver said with a sneer.
She suppressed a moan. Scott Cameron. In high school, he’d been Popular Jock Boy and one of the first to receive the infamous “Glass Pass.” Her special brand of cruel dismissal postdating. It had been especially cruel in Scott’s case because he’d dropped his longtime girlfriend to be with her, yet Harlow had dumped him the day after their first date.
Yes, she’d been that girl.
Someone must have called and told him she’d been spotted in the wild. “Gotta say, Glass. You’re not looking so good.”
Truer words had never been spoken. She was sunburned, sweaty and wearing as much dirt as clothing. “Well, I can’t say the same to you.” Under the brim of his hat, his golden hair looked perfectly coiffed. His white shirt was crisp, without wrinkles, and his skin tanned to a glimmering bronze. “You look great.”
His eyes narrowed, making her think he’d heard sarcasm in her voice even though there’d been none.
She sighed. “And yes, I’ve been better.”
“You headed to town?”
She nodded as she kept trudging forward. “I am.”
“That’s about four miles away.”
“Yes.”
“About an hour’s walk in the intense summer heat.”
“Yes,” she said again. The reminders were unnecessary.
“Bet you’d like a ride.”
As a matter of fact—
“Good luck finding one.” Laughing with glee, he put the pedal to the metal and blazed forward, flinging dirt and gravel at her.
Coughing, she waved a hand in front of her face. Can’t complain. Just another dose of medicine.
She hit Fragaria Street by late afternoon, fatigue threatening to turn her limbs into jelly. This time of year, the scent of strawberries always coated the air, wafting from hundreds of acres of wild patches.
A handful of cars motored by, and multiple people meandered along the sidewalks. The buildings around her were different colors, from blue to yellow to red, and different sizes. Some were tall, some short. Some were wide, some thin. Some were made of brick and others of wood. A true hodgepodge of design, and she loved every inch of it.
Virgil Porter and Anthony Rodriguez each sat in a rocker, playing checkers in front of Style Me Tender, Mr. Rodriguez’s salon. Harlow stuck to the shadows and most people never noticed her, which she preferred, but as usual, those two managed to spot her right away.
“How you doing, Miss Glass?” Mr. Porter called. He owned Swat