Garden of Scandal

by Jennifer Blake

  “Maybe, but I thought I cured you of that kind of thinking last night.”

  “You tried your best.” A trace of reminiscence was in her voice.

  “I’ll have to try harder,” he said, the words rich with meaning. And promise.

  He would be back. He didn’t intend what had happened to be a one-time thing. She hadn’t wanted—hadn’t been able—to take that for granted. She sighed a little. Then, realizing he was waiting for her reply—an indication that he had his own doubts—she gave him a direct look and an abrupt, “See that you do!”

  His features smoothed, though his smile lingered. He reached to brush his thumb over her mouth. “I’ll stay, if that’s what you want. Only tell me what you prefer.”

  “I want you to do whatever you feel is right for you,” she said quietly.

  “What I feel would be right for me?” His voice deepened. “That would be to crawl back under the covers and make love to you for a year or two, until you can’t think, much less move.”

  “Sounds good,” she replied, with a slight twist of her lips.

  “Hold the thought.” He turned more serious. “But whatever takes place at night, come daylight I think I should turn into your hired hand and Grannie Callie’s grandson again, at least until we find out what’s going on around here. Somebody has a real problem. I don’t know what it is exactly, or how I fit into it, but we need to play it safe for your sake. Okay?”

  She nodded since it made sense. Regardless, as he kissed her hard and fast and rolled from the bed, she already missed him. Hopeless, she was hopeless.

  The sun came up and Maisie appeared. Laurel showered, dressed, and ate breakfast alone. A short time later, she heard Alec ride up on his bike as if it hadn’t been a mere two hours since he’d left. She dawdled inside the house, trying to keep to a natural routine, though she longed to rush outside and see if he looked the same, if he acted the same toward her as he had the night before.

  She also worried about her own behavior. He might want to be treated as her hired hand, but it was going to be awkward giving orders to the man who had shared her bed. She didn’t think it would work.

  There was no need for worry. Without discussion or instruction, Alec set to work painting the picket fence. It was an obvious job, one they had discussed a few days before. Since it was exactly what Laurel most wanted to get done, however, it was as if he had read her mind. It gave her pleasure to think that he might have, anyway.

  The two of them behaved themselves fairly well during the morning, mainly because Laurel spent much of the day in the pottery shed. However, they did run into a small problem at lunch.

  The day was so hot that Maisie set the meal out on the kitchen table. The three of them finished their chicken-salad sandwiches with iced tea, then Maisie got up to get the dessert of fresh huckleberries topped with whipped cream. Since the seeds of the huckleberries got stuck under the plate of her dental bridge, Maisie passed on them. Instead, she puttered around the sink, putting the dishes in the dishwasher and wiping countertops.

  Alec, with a quick glance at Maisie who had her back to them, said to Laurel, “You’ve got cream on your mouth.”

  She licked her bottom lip. “Did I get it?”

  “Nope,” he said, his gaze intent. Half rising, he leaned close for a quick kiss, flicking away the rich sweetness with his tongue.

  It was then that Maisie swung toward the table with a wet cloth in her hand, as if intending to wipe it. She lifted a brow as Alec dropped back into his seat.

  “Just cleaning up around here,” he said, his expression bland.

  “I can see that.” Maisie set her fist holding the cloth on her hip. “You want to watch that kind of thing.”

  “Why? You got any objection?”

  “You get wet paint where it don’t belong, and you’ll be in big trouble.”

  “Where?” Alec asked, glancing down at his hands, then at Laurel’s face and shoulder where he had touched her.

  “Did I say you had already? I was just telling you to be careful.”

  Alec gave her a look of understanding as he said a mock-polite, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Maisie nodded, but as she turned back to the sink she was grinning. Alec, meeting Laurel’s gaze, gave a wry shake of his head.

  He was not quite so well behaved the following day. But then there was no denying that he was provoked.

  Laurel heard a car drive up from where she was working in the pottery shed. It didn’t stop in front of the house, but swung around to the side, stopping just behind Laurel’s car in the open garage. Knowing that almost certainly meant the arrival of family, Laurel emerged from the shed in time to see her sister-in-law getting out of her car.

  Zelda, Howard’s sister, was the only one of his family who had ever been particularly warm or friendly toward Laurel. They had gone to school together, though Zelda had been a couple of grades ahead. Laurel had seen very little of her in the last two or three years, but it was a natural growing-apart rather than the result of any ill will.

  Zelda had not changed at all. Her hair was still beige-blond, thanks to a liberal hand with the chemicals in her beauty shop, and cut in a twenties bob that did nothing for her square face. Her flowing rayon dress was a bit tight for her plump figure and its skirt was unbuttoned two buttons too high. Her dark burgundy lipstick and silvery blue eye shadow were an unlikely combination. Still, she radiated cheerful camaraderie as she gave Laurel a hearty wave. In the next instant, she caught sight of Alec. Her mouth fell open.

  Laurel could hardly blame Zelda, for Alec was something to see. His hair shone in the morning sun with the iridescence of a grackle’s plumage. He had pulled off his shirt, and the sun-gilded muscles of his upper body shifted under his skin as he held a gallon bucket of paint in one hand and leaned to catch a run on the fence picket he was painting. The white splotch of paint that decorated his abdomen from where he had gotten too close to his job made a strong and eye-catching contrast to his dark brown skin.

  Zelda slammed her car door and moved around the hood toward the side gate. “Whoo-ee, Laurel, honey!” she called in lascivious appreciation. “Now that’s what I call a fine boy toy!”

  Laurel was familiar with Zelda’s sassy, downright brassy attitude and compulsion to flirt with anything that manufactured testosterone. Alec wasn’t. Laurel saw him stiffen, could follow the path of the dark red color as it spread under the copper-bronze of his skin. Her tone a little dry, she said, “Meet Alec Stanton, Zelda. But you might want to be careful, since he wields a mean paintbrush.”

  “Yes, and I bet that’s not all,” Laurel’s sister-in-law answered with a chuckle and no regard whatsoever for the undercurrents around her. “Hi there, Alec. You get through here, you can come right on over to my house, you hear?”

  He gave her a curt nod to acknowledge the introduction, but from the look on his face he was less than thrilled. It seemed a good idea to get Zelda away from him before she said something he might be inclined to answer with his own brand of frankness.

  “I don’t think he’ll be free anytime soon,” Laurel supplied with a quick, secretive smile for him as he glanced her way. “Come inside, Zelda, and we’ll see if Maisie has coffee made.”

  Watching the two of them with avid interest, Zelda said, “Can’t say I blame you for not wanting to loan him out. I’d keep him chained to the bed if it was me, I mean honestly! But I’ll skip the coffee. Mom was telling me you’ve been redoing the front yard, and I’m dying to see.”

  “It’s mostly what Alec has done. He’s worked so hard, really done wonders.”

  “I’ll just bet!”

  Laurel gave the other woman a straight, unsmiling look as she felt her own irritation rising. “Let me show you the wall fountain and water mirrors around back.”

  “Oh, I want to see it all, honey. Nothing less than the grand tour will do for me.” Ignoring Laurel, who had turned toward the rear of the house, she swept up to the gate in the fence and reached to pus
h it open.

  Alec looked up sharply. “Be careful of the—”

  It was too late. Zelda snatched her hand away from the gate, but it was coated with white paint.

  “Yuck,” she said with a look of disgust. Then a lascivious smile curled her lips and she shot Alec a bright glance. “Of course, some things are worth winding up with sticky fingers, right? You wouldn’t happen to have a handkerchief I could borrow, would you, honey?” Her gaze dropped below his waist for a leisurely appraisal, coming to rest on the cleanup rag that hung from the back pocket of his faded jeans.

  Face impassive, Alec pulled out the cloth and stepped closer to pass it over the fence. Zelda batted her lashes and held her hand out for him to wipe. He paused, studying her.

  White-hot anger flashed through Laurel. Stepping forward, she snatched the paint-stained cloth from his hand. “I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Alec.”

  The look he gave her as he heard the dismissal in her voice was unfathomable. Swinging away, he returned to his painting.

  “Spoilsport,” Zelda said with sardonic amusement as she accepted the cloth Laurel pushed at her and began to clean her stubby fingers.

  Laurel didn’t answer. Taking the cloth again when the other woman finished with it, she used it to open the gate, then handed it back to Alec. Ushering Zelda into the front garden, she led her firmly toward the fountain.

  “Interesting,” Howard’s sister commented with barely a glance for the careful construction. “Nice,” she said about the new roses when Laurel pointed them out. “Well, I’ll be,” she remarked when she was led around to the far side of the house to see the lily pool and the flower-filled pots sitting on the old cistern. But her eyes lit up as they reached the Italian garden in the corner of the backyard.

  “Wowzer,” she said in awed tones. “This is where you hold the orgies, right?”

  Laurel turned her head sharply to stare at the other woman, uncertain she had heard correctly. “The what?”

  “Orgies, honey. You know. Moonlight and wine and that sweet young thing from around in front, all naked and ready?”

  “Good Lord, Zelda,” she replied, trying to sound as if she thought it was a bad joke. “Where did you get such an idea?”

  “It just naturally springs to mind, sugar pie. I think it might have even if folks weren’t whispering about it right and left. Of course, they’re saying you and your Alec are worshiping idols out here, too, plus I don’t know what other kinds of weird stuff.”

  Laurel couldn’t breathe for long seconds. Finally, she said in shaken tones, “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Is it?” Zelda gazed around at the columns and flagstones edged with mats of herbs, then allowed her gaze to linger on the Bocca della Verità that hung on the back wall. “Most folks have a birdbath and a few petunias in the backyard. This is just plain decadent.”

  “Surely you don’t believe such nonsense?” Laurel couldn’t keep the distress from her voice. There was an idea growing in her mind that tied her stomach in knots and made her brain feel as if it were clamped in a vise.

  Zelda sighed, her eyes mirroring concern. “Doesn’t make much difference what I believe, honey. It’s what people are saying that counts. I just thought you ought to know. Didn’t figure anybody else would tell you.”

  “Yes, well, I—I’m glad you did.”

  “I don’t know what gets into them sometimes. I mean, it seems like they get off on making up junk.”

  Laurel gave a slow shake of her head. “This is different somehow, or at least it seems so to me. Talk is fairly natural. It’s what people do when they get together, it sets community standards. But the things that are being said and done are just plain vicious. Have you heard about the poison-pen letter?”

  “Heard about it, but that’s all. Somebody mentioned it at the shop, though nobody seems to have seen one of the things.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as a little…”

  “Nutso,” Zelda supplied as Laurel paused.

  “Maybe. Or at least as if there’s something personal behind it.”

  Her sister-in-law frowned. “You think somebody has it in for you?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Lord, I don’t know. But you’ll have to admit what you’re doing is enough to stir folks up.”

  “What do you mean?” The words were blunt since Laurel was ready to admit no such thing.

  “Well, Hillsboro is a pretty uptight place—conservative, you know. It would be bad enough you taking up with a younger man, but him being from the West Coast makes it ten times worse. Everybody knows how they are out there, into all sorts of way-out cults and off-the-wall sex mess.”

  “For crying out loud, Zelda! Everybody in the state of California isn’t like that.”

  “Maybe, but you’ll never convince folks in Hillsboro. Besides, it’s not as if your Alec is a regular Redneck Joe, now is he?”

  He wasn’t, of course, for which Laurel was profoundly grateful. Still, she was only beginning to realize how unusual he was. In clipped tones, she said, “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Don’t get mad at me, honey. I mean, I see the appeal, really I do. Matter of fact, he reminds me of my dad, in a way—all the brooding good looks and macho charisma that females, young and old, adore and drool over. Guess maybe that’s why I go for him. But I’m just trying to show you how it looks.”

  “I can’t help how it looks, Zelda. It’s my life.”

  “I know, I know. And you’ve got a perfect right to screw it up any way you want.” As Laurel’s mouth tightened, Zelda added hurriedly, “Joking, just joking!”

  Laurel did not smile. After a moment, she asked, “Did Mother Bancroft ask you to come talk to me?”

  The other woman put a hand on her ample hip. “You’ve got to be kidding. You know Mom and I don’t get along, haven’t since she caught me in the back seat of Sheriff Tanning’s car—with the fuzz on top, if you know what I mean.”

  Laurel had a vague memory of the family stir over the incident. It had been a two-week sensation a few years back, some seven or eight months after Howard died. “I’d have thought that was ancient history.”

  “To most people, yeah, but you know Mom.”

  Laurel nodded in grim agreement. “She’s been to see me. She seemed to think I need advice, but I can take care of myself.”

  “Can you, Laurel?” Zelda gave a small shake of her blond head. “I don’t mean to butt in where I don’t belong, but you’re not exactly the most sophisticated woman I know.”

  Laurel knew Zelda considered herself an experienced woman of the world because she had slept around since high school. More than that, she had run away from home as a teenager, taking off for New York. She had spent a couple of years nibbling on the Big Apple before Mother Bancroft had found her and brought her home again.

  “I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Laurel said with some asperity.

  “Don’t you? You got married when you were just a kid, and since Howard died you’ve been out here by yourself. It would be real easy for some guy to bowl you over, take advantage of you.”

  “I’m not a fool, Zelda!”

  “I’m not saying your Alec is doing that. How could I, since I don’t know the first thing about him? The point is, neither do you.”

  Zelda looked past Laurel’s shoulder as she spoke. Following her gaze, Laurel saw that Alec had finished on the other side of the garden, or else he wanted to remain near in case she needed him. He had moved his painting operation around to the pergola and bench not far away. It was obvious from the set look of his features that he had overheard.

  Meeting his gaze squarely, Laurel said to Zelda, “I know all I need to know.”

  The other woman lifted a well-rounded shoulder in an eloquent shrug. “Then there’s nothing more I can say, is there? Except be careful.” She gave Alec a sly look. “Oh, yes, and next time you and your boy toy have an orgy, be real sure and invite me!”

>   “Right,” Laurel agreed with dry sarcasm.

  Alec spoke at the same time, his tone as jaundiced as the look he gave Howard’s sister. “Make certain you bring your own grapes.”

  As his meaning sank in, Zelda’s eyes widened and purple-red color mottled the skin beneath her makeup. Laurel choked on a laugh, turning it into a cough. Alec, imperturbable, turned back to his painting.

  Zelda drew an audible breath. Then she gave an uncertain snicker. “Well, of all the nerve. Remind me not to get on your Alec’s bad side, will you?”

  Laurel bit her lip to keep from laughing as she turned toward the garage. “You still haven’t seen the other fountain. It’s this way.”

  “I’ll take a quick peek,” her sister-in-law said with a furtive backward glance at Alec. “Then I’ve got to be getting back to the shop. I’ve got a curl to do in half an hour.”

  They moved off, circling around the side of the house past the Bacchus fountain. Zelda pretended to be impressed, but barely paused in front of it before moving on to her car, as if she was anxious to leave. When they reached her Lincoln, she said, “Come see me, Laurel, honey, and I’ll give you a trim, on the house. That’s if you can tear yourself away from your—from Ivywild.”

  Laurel thanked her for the offer, adding the usual meaningless phrases of hospitality. Then, when Zelda had driven away, she turned back to where Alec was working.

  He put down his brush and pulled out his cleaning rag to wipe his hands as he watched her come toward him. The scowl on his face brought a rise of trepidation inside her.

  “Is that what you think?” he demanded as she came close enough to hear him. “That I’m trying to take advantage of you?”

  “Zelda said it. I didn’t.”

  He crammed his cloth back into his pocket. “I’m not. I wouldn’t. Not ever.”

  “I know that,” she said quietly. And she did, at least as long as she could look into his eyes and see the sincerity in them like gold at the bottom of a deep-running stream.

  His gaze changed, warming as he studied her face. Slow humor rose to tilt his mouth. “Of course, you can take advantage of me all you like. Matter of fact, you can peel me any time you’re in the mood for—grapes.”