Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Other Works

  About T.B. Bond

  Disclaimer

  Just a taste

  by

  T.B. Bond

  Chapter One

  All Colt Raynes wanted to do was pick up his manure without incident. But she wouldn’t let him. His order had to come in on her day to work.

  He opened the gate of his blue pick-up, Faith, outside McDonald’s Farm and Garden Center’s barn while he waited for his order. Faith had been his first love, and there were no other vehicles. Faith carried him through every move and hauled loads in the snow, sleet, and the dark of night. Never once had Faith left him exposed, stranded, or judged him, which was more than some could say, and in return he kept her well-oiled and clean.

  He adjusted the tarp covering Faith’s bed while he ignored the ache in his forehead. Twenty minutes, then he could leave for his orchard and get back on track. Already his plans were thrown off by his unexpected trip to the garden center. His delivery had been scheduled for yesterday, but there had been a staff emergency. A problem that put him at the garden center at the crack of dawn when he normally ran the length and breadth of his land. He was cranky when he missed his morning run.

  A gentle breeze stirred the scent of sweet earth that caressed his nostrils and frayed his nerves. It cut through the smell of manure and mulch with all of the seduction of a temptress. If he had been in his other form, the twitch of his ears and the mane of his tail would have given him away. The scent reminded him of munching a basket of apples on a cool spring day. However, the relaxation and calm emanated from a person—a woman. And she was nothing but trouble.

  Just what he needed.

  He turned away from Faith and stared into the cinnamon-colored eyes of her—of Braeden, the lead gardener at the garden center. She wore a warm smile as she greeted him. Colt cleared his throat. His focus was on manure not one hundred megawatt grins that urged his pulse or soulful brown eyes that saw through him.

  He frequented the garden center but managed to avoid direct contact with her most times. Braeden oversaw the other gardeners and larger projects, so his run-of-the-mill requests kept him safe from the spotlight of her warm gaze.

  In town, he caught her provocative scent in enough time that he could dodge her. They did not travel in the same professional circles. She represented what he could not touch. The old scar around his neck ached—a hard lesson learned.

  He couldn’t afford to foster an interest in her or anyone. There was too much at stake.

  “Good morning, Mr. Raynes.”

  Her husky voice made his boys twitch—a hard-on was the last thing he needed.

  He glanced at her name tag. Anything to break the staring match that she’d innocently started. “Morning, Braeden.”

  He didn’t let his gaze linger on her chest. The baggy denim coveralls and thick, mustard-colored, fleece-lined coat hid all confirmation of anything his imagination conjured. Every time he saw her, she had been at the garden center, or she appeared to have come from the center. If not for a preternatural sense of smell, he wasn’t sure he would recognize her in street clothes. It was better for his sanity if he didn’t even imagine. He shifted his attention to the McDonald’s Farm and Garden Center cap perched on her scarf-covered head.

  “Here is your invoice for four hundred pounds of our high yield manure mix.” She gave him a yellow slip of paper from her clipboard. “Are you working on a project or another grafting technique?”

  Colt studied the receipt then handed her a check. That was the drawback of living in Suffolk. It was big enough to not see everyone all the time, but small enough for tongues to wag in certain communities. His work with grafting and budding fruit trees made him professionally famous, despite the fact that the mostly rural city was known for peanuts and cotton. Several of the local farmers had him consult on their crops, but it was his work with beverage companies that paid his bills and afforded him his solitude.

  “A project for a cider company. Am I next in the queue? I want to get an acre done by the evening.”

  Braeden straightened her posture. The warmth in her smile faded. Colt rubbed his arms to fight the chill. His reactions to her were one more reason to maintain distance with her.

  “Not a problem, Mr. Raynes. As we mentioned to you on the phone, we’re behind with Danny out, so I’ll be personally loading your truck.” She tucked the check under the clip of her board then sauntered into the barn.

  He tore his gaze from her backside to sit in Faith’s cab. Gripping the steering wheel, he relaxed at the sound of the loader’s engine starting. He would be out of there and back home—where gardeners with smooth, clove-brown skin and cinnamon eyes did not exist. It would be him and his orchard.

  Faith shook as Braeden loaded manure onto the bed. Too bad the encounter wasn’t shaking sense into Colt. He could use it as a grown man hiding in his truck from a human female. Braeden would laugh if she could see him. He blamed his damn headache.

  When the loader moved away a few moments later, Colt stuck his head out of the window. He would be okay if he were exposed to her one more time that day. It wasn’t as though he would see her again in the next week or so. There was plenty of time to recover his good sense.

  Braeden gave him a thumbs-up signal then waved goodbye. His chest tightened, but he managed a wave before he tore out of the garden center as though a predator was on his heels.

  Once he reached his territory, most of the tension eased, including his headache. He grabbed the mail from his mailbox then started the half-mile drive to his home. His heart raced at the prospect of fertilizing his apple trees as his barn’s profile grew in the windshield.

  The once-a-year task ushered in the anticipation of sweet-smelling blossoms in the spring and afternoon naps under his favorite tree. The magic of his presence was enough for a fruitful harvest, but he preferred to farm using mundane methods. His nature would draw too much attention, and the last thing he wanted was some magic broker poaching him.

  Unicorn hair could enhance potions and allowed ordinary items to be imbued with magic—and those were the more harmless uses of him. His other parts were far more valuable, as long as he died with his horn intact. His people were rare to the point of mythical for a reason. Hell, he hadn’t encountered another of his kind since his father died—for all he knew he was the last.

  His mother was human and without magic. She refused to talk about his supernature other than to remind him of the hazard of losing his power. He’d barely made it out of puberty with his powers intact, being a young stallion surrounded by fillies in heat. Linda Raynes was the mother of all cockblockers. It was part of the reason he’d taken up agriculture. The work kept his mind and body occupied. He also loved apples.

  His mother, apples, and Faith were the order of his universe.

  Colt parked in front of the barn. He opened the door and took a deep breath of sanity and manure. A part of him cringed at the lack of sweet-smelling earth, but he stomped the rebellious part of him down into submission. That part of him would have him buried inside Braeden while taking in her delicious scent then dying powerless somewhere.

  Nope. Sex wasn’t worth the risk. He didn’t know even know Braeden as a person. She was quite competent in agriculture and horticulture, which was why he continued to frequent the garden center. But he wouldn’t bet his life on her when he didn’t know her last name or what her hair looked like under her scarf. There were enough cautionary tales out there of those who’d tried and failed at relationships. They didn’t even have their life hanging in the balance. She wasn’t worth the risk either.

  He grabbed the mail off the passenger’s side of Faith’s bench to take into the house. The majority of it was junk, but a card in a red envelope caught his eye. He’d check it out after the work was done. He should have the entire orchard complete by dinner. It wasn’t as though he had to take many breaks.

  Better get at it.

  Later, Colt stood in the mudroom of his home peeling off sweat-soaked, manure-smelling clothing. He dropped them into a hamper then walked into the living room. The other benefit of being in his own territory—walking naked or in unicorn form in his home. He didn’t have to cater to another’s sensibilities or clean up unless he wanted.

  He padded into the kitchen for a hard cider. His work left him with an aching sense of satisfaction. All of the apple dogwood grafts were fairing nicely, and his apple blackberry grafts continued to show promising results. The cider company would want a taste test by the end of the summer before they decided to go with his taste profile. Colt was confident that they’d select his apple trees. No one knew apples like a unicorn.

  He twisted the bottle cap and took a swig. The heady taste was always a favorite, but he had a feeling that the taste of his apples would become his new one. He grabbed the red envelope that he’d tossed on the counter earlier. He’d know his mother’s delicate handwriting anywhere, especially since he only saw it at Christmas and his birthday. Christmas had been two months ago. Time crept up on him fast. He set the bottle on the counter then leaned against the fridge as he tore open the card.

  Sending cards in the mail despite the fact that he was within driving distance was a throwback to her childhood—a quirk that amused him. At least he had one piece of mail that wasn’t about work, a bill, or junk mail. It was the usual sentimental card from his mother along with a fift y-dollar gift card.

  He was grateful that there were no rainbows and dancing unicorns on it. His mother had pulled her comedian act on him once for his twenty-first birthday around the time she’d married his stepfather, Gary. Fortunately, his younger stepbrothers and stepsister kept his mother busy. He shuddered to think how his life would have been different if she still lived with him instead of a city away in Smithfield. He wouldn’t be naked in the kitchen reading his mail for one.

  Two, his mother would have found out about Braeden and given him hell over it. He had always been able to take a cold shower, go for a run, and put a filly out of his mind. Not Braeden. She faded into the background like a shadow then sprang to life when he least expected it. Each encounter with her, his ability to shove her into his mental box grew weak. It was stupid to obsess about her. He couldn’t pursue her. Besides, she probably had a someone. She was pretty in her work clothes. She’d be gorgeous with makeup and a sexy dress. He bet Braeden’s legs went on forever. He already knew her ass—

  Colt snatched up the cider, downed it, and tossed the bottle in the trash. He needed a shower and a meal. For once being left to his own devices was a bad idea. It was his damn birthday. He was going out.

  Chapter Two

  Putting Braeden out of his mind required that he be three sheets to the wind. Then again, did he want to be on his ass drunk with her on his mind? Intoxication was liable to get him in more trouble than his imagination simply running wild. He’d have to settle on close enough.

  Three Sheets in Harbour View was a UK-inspired pub with a Southeastern Virginia twist. At least that was how the owner described it on their site. Colt found the place by accident when coming from a consultation meeting with one of the peanut farmers. It was the only pub he had heard that served vegetarian shepherd’s pie. Three Sheets was also likely to be dead on the most romantic day of the year, Valentine’s Day—also known as his birthday.

  He grabbed a table on the covered patio. The pub staff were busier than he’d hoped, but it was nothing like the crowded restaurants he’d passed on the way. Sitting outside would allow him a measure of peace. Most would not want the mild winter wind on them while they dined, even with strategically placed heat lamps near a few tables.

  Good, he could have his birthday meal and spiced birthday apples in peace.

  “Welcome to Three Sheets. My name is Amber, and I’m your server for the evening. Can I start you off with an appetizer?” A filly in a short plaid skirt and tight white top stood in front of his table. She had dark hair and peachy skin. Her interest was obvious. His was absent.

  She was cute, but not a sweet-smelling, velvety, brown-skinned gardener with soulful brown eyes. “I’ll take some chips, Vegetarian’s Pie, and an Angry Orchard.”

  Her eyebrow quirked, but she didn’t ask her question. “I’ll be right back with your hard cider and chips.”

  She wouldn’t be the first to stereotype him. Being a vegetarian was not a crime, nor were all of them filled with political agenda. Once—just once—he would like for someone not to react to his food choices or to not judge him for them. It wasn’t like he could explain that he was a unicorn with a human soul. Few would understand.

  “Mr. Raynes? I thought that was you.”

  Must. Not. React.

  Damn wind for blowing her smell away from him. If fate was going to torture him, the least the fickle bitch could do was let him enjoy Braeden’s sweet essence.

  Colt relaxed his body—or tried to—then turned toward her voice—then fate gut-punched him. Braeden had long, curly black hair, full breasts, and legs for days. All of her displayed for maximum effect in a body-hugging, off-the-shoulder red dress. She even wore those heels with the red ankle strap that promised a good time for any lucky man.

  “Um.”

  She grinned. “It’s me, Braeden, from McDonald’s Farm and Garden Center. I loaded your manure for your secret squirrel orchard project?”

  And had been running through his mind off and on for over two years.

  “Ah, yes. You look different out of your clothes—out of your uniform.” Score one for Mr. Cool. His stupidity made his forehead ache. “Have a seat, unless your date would mind.”

  That would get rid of the danger. There was no way a woman as red delicious as her wouldn’t have some protective asshole waiting for her. If she were his, he would be busy showing her all the ways he appreciated her clothing by undressing her—the shoes could stay. He wanted them on when he took her.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache raged.

  “Here.” She slid a small white bottle into his hand.

  Her velvety touch chased the pain away and brought a new ache down south.

  She sat across from him. “You looked pale this morning, too. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

  “Here are your chips and cider.” The innuendo had gone out of the server’s tone. The filly kept it professional, but he smelled the acrid scent of disappointment emanating from her. “And for you, ma’am?”

  “Nothing for me. I am waiting for a friend,” Braeden answered.

  The server’s smile brightened. She turned to Colt. “Your Vegetarian’s Pie should be right up. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Then she left him alone with the siren in the crimson dress.

  “You’re a vegetarian?” Braeden asked.

  He waited for the recrimination. What new question or assumption would she make that he hadn’t already heard?

  “Makes sense. I think you’re the only person I’ve seen who loves plants as much as me.”

  Unexpected. He’d give her a point for not being judgy. “I take it that you’re a vegetarian, too.”

  “And you’d be wrong.” She laughed. “I am one with the whole earth, and I love bacon too much.”

  His body became weightless with the sound of her laughter. She didn’t have the stench of meat on her. It was another of the traits about her that made her so damn tempting. There was no guile or games. She remained professional with him, but she had underlying interests—always engaging him in conversation even when he gave her clipped answers. He couldn’t bring himself to burn the bridge entirely. McDonald’s Farm and Garden Center had the best manure in the Hampton Roads area. He didn’t want to give it up—or her.

  “Well, a hot filly like you was bound to come up short somewhere.”

  Damn it. He should stop talking.

  Her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks hinted a rosy hue. “You think I’m a hot filly, Mr. Raynes?”

  “Colt.” There, he did it again. He had kept formality between them the entire time, then she showed up in a killer red dress, and his Johnson started thinking for him. When he got home, he was sleeping outside. He needed more than a cold shower to kill the lust and shrink his balls. A night out in the open would do the trick.

  “I think you’re rather handsome, too, Colt.”

  He cleared his throat. “I doubt your date would approve.”

  “No date,” Braeden announced. “I am waiting for my friend, Jestine, to show up. We go out on Valentine’s Day. Single girls unite. No friend left behind and all.”

  She told him his worst fear, yet the weightlessness remained. In a breeze, he’d float away.

  “What about you, Colt, all alone on the most hallmarked romantic day of the year?”

  “Birthday.”

  Why the hell did he give her more information about him? The less, the better.

  She clapped. “That explains it. Happy birthday, and may your year be fruitful.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Your aura was different today, brighter,” she said.

  He was not sure what she meant. Either she had a magical gift or she was perceptive. Either one could become a problem for him if he was not careful. “My aura?”

  She glanced around the patio. “I am an ecomancer.”

  “You’re an earth mage?” Of course, she had magic powers, as though he needed more reasons to stay away from her. It was bad enough they had their love for agriculture in common and were attracted to each other. Fate messed him hard.

  “Ecomancer—the term earth mage sounds ambiguous. We don’t like the term.” She leaned forward. “Oh, and don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about you.”

 

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