Christmas Clash (2 page)

From his vantage point, Luke had a straight line to watch her walk to the front door. And he appreciated every step the embellished back pockets on her dark jeans afforded.

• • •

Candace stomped back to her cozy flower shop, Kiss from a Rose.
That guy. Thinks he knows everything.
Of all the places she had to choose to locate her flower shop, she had to buy the one right smack dab next to Luke friggin' Carrigan.

She'd never daydreamed about kissing Luke in high school or before, she'd never written their names together in her homework notebooks, and she'd never studied his body. Until present day. Setting up Kiss from a Rose right next door to the Carrigans' family pub was pure coincidence, and one that had made her grimace internally and externally when she'd come face to face with him while painting her newly purchased walls.

“Well, well, well.”

She'd heard his unmistakable tone behind her and whipped her head around so fast her neck muscles stung.

“You're stalking me, aren't you?” he'd asked.

His tall, defined build took up her doorway and stopped the sunlight from streaming through.

“Luke Carrigan,” she deadpanned as her mind raced to catch up. Why would he think she was stalking him?
The bar next door.
Dammit. How had it taken her until now to piece that gem together? “Just trying to make the neighborhood a better place.” She focused on his eyes, careful not to let her gaze roam. She couldn't give him any upper hand. Especially not now.
Great, just what I needed. It's bad enough I'm new to having a business of my own, but now I have to contend with Luke Carrigan? Just my luck.

“So you're just doing the work for the real owner, then?”

“You wish,” she said. “I'm here to stay. I bet it's going to suck to have someone around who won't take your crap.”

If his dark brown polo hadn't fit him snug around his biceps, she might've said something nice. But it did. He'd grown up well. Time had only created a handsome man. And one who knew he was handsome. Which, sadly, wasn't totally unattractive.
What are you doing? Don't think of him like that. He's bad news. He's
still
bad news.

“I don't mind at all. Because she surely doesn't give it as good as she gets it.” With a proud chuckle at his own ridiculous try at a joke, he rolled from the wood door frame and ambled toward his pub. Those were the only few seconds she'd ever thought about selling her new building and setting up shop somewhere else, but the notion was just plain dumb. She would have to find a way to deal with him, just like high school.

And, just like school, they managed to stay out of each other's way unless completely necessary—which was usually in the back parking lot that their businesses shared. Seven months into a neighborly relationship, it seemed their stay-out-of-my-way truce had now ended.

She made her way through her flower shop. The year-round bright green walls, crisp white flooring, and splashes of pinks were a welcome relief to all the mahogany in Luke's dank bar. She tried to shake off the cold of winter—and Luke. The small white Christmas trees peppering her front room and cheerful ornaments hanging from the ceiling couldn't help but bring a smile to her face. The holiday magic always conjured hopefulness, possibilities—this year, however, it had brought negative tidings.

“Who was
that
hunk of hottie?” Sophie Graystone asked as she finished repotting a large butterfly palm plant. “I've seen him around. I didn't know you knew him.”

“He's no one.” Candace rubbed her forehead before picking up a sprig of evergreen lying on the island workstation behind the main counter. The beautiful bouquet of dark, long-stemmed red roses for the customer who was apparently
very
sorry for his actions the previous night wouldn't start itself.

“If I had a
no one
who looked like him, I wouldn't share either.”

The hint of a wistful smirk diverted Candace's attention from her arrangement long enough to scowl at the longtime friend she'd met during summer vacation in college.

“I'd keep him tucked away in handcuffs.” Sophie waggled her eyebrows.

“He's not mine.”

“Eyes don't lie,” Sophie sang in alto.

“Give me a break.” If they were discussing anyone other than Luke Carrigan, she might've warmed to Sophie's suggestion. “I thought you were dating, oh, what's his face … Steve?”

“Nah. That wasn't ever really a thing.” Sophie shrugged and gathered a handful of blue irises to add to the winter bouquets for the after-work crowd.

“His name is Luke.” Candace tried to temper the exasperation in her voice. “He owns the pub next door. You should go introduce yourself.”

Candace glanced at Sophie's outfit—a vibrant kelly-green Kiss from a Rose T-shirt paired nicely with tight, black leather leggings—a vast improvement over the tummy-baring tops she usually donned every chance the weather gave her. Candace had made “no midriffs” an employment requirement when she'd hired her red-headed friend.

“Maybe I will. Maybe I'll bop over and say hi after work. We should all
go out later.”

“Nope. He's
all
yours, honey.”
And you're just his type—I think.

Candace didn't have time to focus on Sophie's fixation, nor did she have time to consider Luke and his problems. She'd work on solving
her
problems as she made bouquets filled with white roses, white lilies, white button spray chrysanthemums, and the occasional red carnation.

“What's the word on the council situation?” Sophie settled on a stool at the other end of the dark granite island.

“Nothing good.” Candace surveyed the list of orders to fill and tapped her black boot on the concrete floor.

“Don't beat yourself up, Ace. You tried.”

She had tried. But her dad, brother, mother, and their high-powered friends had no pull to stop the train that Councilman Jeffrey Dean conducted—especially not at this juncture. This was probably the only moment in her entire life she regretted not being more involved with her family's real-estate world. “A lot of good my trying did. I was talking to Mabel…”

“Which one is that again?”

“She owns the coffee shop with the really yummy BLT. Anyway, she doesn't think she'll reopen at the new location across town.”

“Take the money and run? Now that's what I'm talking about.” Sophie grabbed the remote for the CD player.

“It's not about the money, Soph. It's about her business.” The look in Mabel's eyes had been devastatingly sad. “They shouldn't be able to do this.” Candace stuffed a white chrysanthemum into red square vase, but the pressure was too great and the stem snapped. She tossed the broken flower onto the island, briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them her entire face felt tight. “Their reasoning doesn't even make sense. Run seven businesses out of business to try to bring more business to town? How screwed up is that?”

“Uh-oh.” Sophie switched on the local rock station and low rumblings of electric guitar and drums filled the wide space.

“What?”

“I've heard that tone before.”

“So?” Candace squinted at her friend.

“Ace, that's your fightin' voice.” Sophie winked and played air guitar like the front woman of a band—which she happened to be for Orange Heart, an all-woman '80s cover band.

Candace smiled at her wild friend. “Well, maybe it is. I can't sit back and watch. I'm not a spectator in my own life.” Especially considering the nasty rumor Blake had relayed to her. Apparently when Councilman Dean had found out she'd purchased a building in one of the two areas they were considering for the convention center site, he'd pushed hard for her street block to be chosen.
What an ass.
She stabbed another chrysanthemum into the bouquet, this time managing to keep the flower in one piece.

“So, what are you going to do?” Sophie asked while bobbing her head to the beat.

“Not move. I'll tell you that right now. This is a prime location, a block off Main Street and easy access for delivery.” She shook her head and glued lace to the top of the red glass square. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears and anchored her resolve. The council wasn't going to steal her, or anyone else's, business.

“There's another way to make all your problems go away.” Sophie lowered her voice. “I know a guy.”

Of course she does.

“No
guys.
” She pointed at Sophie.
Not yet, anyway.
Candace blew out a deep breath of air, letting her cheeks puff in the process.
“There's a city council meeting tonight. I'll start there.”

Yes, her initial contacts had gotten her nowhere and Luke was pissed. So what? She'd never given up before when she wanted something and she wasn't about to start now. Nope. She was going to convince every single person at the blasted town hall meeting that the convention center needed to be built elsewhere. She'd even find a new location and point out the reasons why it was better suited for the community.
Time for my game face.

She would go to this meeting and rock it—like a boss.

Candace sat at the end of the first bench seat in the empty city hall conference room. She'd called Blake earlier to get more back story on Jeffrey Dean and talk strategy; she and her older brother always worked well together when it came to solving problems. But inspiration still hadn't struck, so she figured showing up early for the city council meeting might help her thoughts focus. All she'd ended up with was her choice of a good seat and silence. She picked at the seam in her black suit pants. A few people were milling around, and any minute the place would be full for the six o'clock meeting. The Wyoming state flag, with its standing white buffalo backed by blue and encased in red and white bands, hung stoically above the crescent-shaped row set up with microphones for the council members.

In a way, it was fitting this fight was on her shoulders to solve. Her shares in the Ellison business portfolio, which consisted of banks, a ranch, and numerous other family-owned businesses and investments, were nice, but she'd decided long ago to follow her dreams and make something for herself. Kiss from a Rose wasn't in the Ellison portfolio and never would be—that baby belonged only to her.

Without warning, a warm body sidled up beside her. His grapefruit-woodsy scent filled her lungs and caused swirls low in her belly before she swiveled her head to see his face.

“Hi,” she said.

Candace watched Luke's jaw tighten and release. She didn't know the exact reason they'd never been friends—they'd simply never gotten along. She knew he always had a chip on his shoulder when it came to her family name. He thought she'd hid behind it too much. And, well,
she'd
always thought Luke was too cocky for his own good. He was a golden boy who never got told no—except by her. She'd figured someone should deflate his head a little and she was okay with it being her. And she'd embraced their bickering wholeheartedly.

“Hey.”

She felt the bubble of tension that surrounded Luke push her away. In the couple of times she'd seen Luke since setting up her flower shop, he usually wore faded jeans. Tonight he'd made an attempt to dress up with a white and dark blue plaid shirt neatly tucked under his hunter green pullover. The collar stood up and cradled his neck. It was a good look—a very good look.

“Come up with anything?” she asked.

If he had a good answer maybe she wouldn't try so hard to be the first one to the microphone.

“Maybe,” he said.

He scratched his day-old scruff, and she admired how he'd obviously refused to shave for their big meeting. Luke had never seemed to let people or expectations rule his behavior. She'd had to do what she was told growing up, and sometimes even as an adult, to conform to her family's standards and appearance. Luke made his own path and she envied his ability to be himself no matter the situation.

“Well, I definitely have something to say—many somethings, actually,” she lied. Okay, she had part of a plan—really only the beginning of one and some shiny folders she'd put together. Her mind still wouldn't settle down in one place for more than a minute.

Luke probably didn't believe her because he didn't ask for details. For a moment she was irritated. She could have a really cool plan and he didn't even care. They sat in silence as the room filled. A couple of times they exchanged battle-ready glances during overheard conversations that opposed their plight. Luckily for the people talking, nonverbal exchanges were all Candace and Luke acted on. There may have been a lack of zeal between the two of them, but not about why they were sitting in a government room on a weeknight. The other business owners on Block A—Mabel, Billy Kaye, Hilary, and Dan—sat in close proximity. They all looked equally as annoyed and nervous.

Her back stiffened as the council members entered and took their respective seats behind their name plates. The meeting would officially start soon. Jeffrey Dean, the president of the council, sat dead center in the elevated area. He owned Dean Construction, which served most of Wyoming, and his bad personal reputation usually preceded him. He was flanked on one side by Edward Ford and Katherine Clive and on the other by Glenn Davis and Zoey Graham.

“We're going to call this special city of Casper session to order.” Dean banged a gavel.

Candace moved her gaze down the line and studied each council member. She took deep breaths. She'd mastered how to look calm and collected on the outside, but she'd yet to figure out how to tame anything internally.

“We're all here tonight,” the president continued, “to listen to both sides on the issue of the convention center project being constructed between the downtown blocks of A Street from 1500 to 1508. We will listen to feedback on a first-come, first-served basis at the microphone. You'll be limited to five minutes. This hearing will end promptly in two hours.” Mr. Dean looked toward the back of the room and nodded. “The time will now begin. Please line up at the microphone.”