by Arlene James
“Actually, I was just wondering what florist they’re using.” She prayed that she didn’t sound greedy, but after finding Garrett Willows in the parlor with the family and learning that he lived on the premises, she very much doubted that she would ever claim the Monroe place, let alone open a business there. Maybe she could get a temporary job with the shop lucky enough to garner a Chatam wedding, though.
Garrett snorted and shook his head. “Florist? They don’t have a florist. Both couples only became engaged a couple weeks ago and neither is willing to wait too long. That’s why the weddings will take place on weeknights. All the weekends were taken already at the church. And, of course, it being the wedding season, all the local florists are booked solid. Between you and me, more than one offered to work in the Chatams, but the ladies wouldn’t allow that.”
“Why not?” Jessa asked. Her mother had often worked in favorite customers.
“They truly would not want to risk creating hardship for others,” Garrett divulged, “but mostly they wouldn’t want anyone to think that they were taking advantage of the Chatam name. So, Magnolia will be handling the flowers.” He shrugged as if to say she’d do her best.
Jessa blinked. “Magnolia?”
“She does all the flower arranging around the house, and she’s been reading about bouquets and corsages and such. There are some wonderful books in the library, by the way, if you’re interested.”
“Thank you,” Jessa returned automatically, her heart beginning to pound. “M-maybe I could help, though. With the flowers. It just so happens that I am a florist. I—I’ve handled quite a few weddings, actually.” Three, to be precise, but she’d helped her mom with designs for many more, and this would be a great way to pay her room and board while creating local references. And just maybe she could sway the Monroes in her favor while she was at it.
Garrett tilted his head. It seemed to her that a tiny light ignited deep within those blue, blue eyes, building into an unnerving glow. “Is that a fact?” he drawled finally.
“Yes. My mother was a florist, and she trained me.”
After a moment, Jessa began to wonder what he was staring at. Then Garrett smiled and folded his arms.
“Well,” he said, grinning broadly. “Imagine that.”
Jessa wasn’t sure if that meant the Chatams would welcome her help or not, and he didn’t enlighten her. Shaking his head, he turned and left the room, leaving Jessa puzzled in his wake.
Well, at least she and Hunter had a safe place to sleep for the night and it wasn’t costing them anything—except a home and a new life.
Jessa slept surprisingly well. Hunter had a bit of trouble settling down in the strange opulence of his room, but eventually he drifted off. Exhausted herself, she’d changed into cotton pajamas and fallen into her own ostentatious bed without even brushing her teeth. Sleep had claimed her almost immediately.
She woke at first light and lay pondering the morning’s agenda as the gray dawn yellowed into day. The sound of Hunter’s small feet hitting the floor had her sitting up to peer around the brocade hangings at the front of the bed. Hunter darted through her open door, caught the bedpost with one hand and leapt up onto the mattress.
She opened her arms, smiling even as she scolded. “Careful, Hunter. This is expensive antique furniture.”
Always quiet, he burrowed into her warm embrace without comment, sighing with contentment. She loved those happy little sounds that he made; they healed the wounds in her heart that his frightened squeaks and shivers inflicted.
He tilted his head back, asking solemnly, “When do we eat?”
She laughed. “As soon as we’re dressed, we’ll go downstairs and see what we can find.” She’d bought groceries at Abby’s, but she didn’t think the Chatams would appreciate that, and she’d feel foolish offering it.
He ran away. She knew he’d stuff his pajamas into a corner of his suitcase and put on the clothing that she’d laid out the evening before.
“Your toothbrush is in here,” she called. She’d prefer that he didn’t use the bath off his bedroom for fear that he’d break something precious.
He returned mere minutes later, allowing her just enough time to change clothes and twist up her hair. After they brushed their teeth, they wandered hand-in-hand across the broad landing and down the grand staircase. It was like something out of a movie, that staircase, all gold marble and dark, glossy wood overhung by a spectacular crystal chandelier anchored to an amazing sky-blue ceiling painted with wafting feathers, ethereal clouds and sparkling sunshine. Hunter could barely walk for gazing upward.
They passed no one as they turned around the newel post and moved down a long hallway that flanked one side of the staircase, only to wind up in a bright sunroom overflowing with wicker and tropical prints. Retracing their steps, they went in the other direction and down the hall that passed by the parlor where their hostesses had gathered the previous night. This time, they found themselves in a darker back hall. The sounds of clanking pots and clinking dishes prompted Jessa to push through a tall swinging door and into the warm, redolent kitchen. Her gaze darted about the amazing room, noting delightful features: a huge fireplace, shuttered windows open to the morning sun, stainless-steel worktables and a massive range.
A large woman with straight hair cropped just below her ears turned from the stove, a spatula in hand. She wore a loose, shapeless dress of brightly flowered fabric under her apron. “The Pagetts, I reckon,” she said expressionlessly.
“Yes. He’s Hunter, and I’m Jessa.”
“Early risers,” the woman announced. “I like early risers. I’m Hilda, the cook. Chester, the houseman, is my husband, and my sister Carol’s the maid.” She waved the spatula at a small, charmingly battered table. “Take a seat. Unless you’d prefer to eat in another room. The misses breakfast next door in the sunroom or take trays upstairs.”
“This will suit us fine, if it’s no bother,” Jessa said, shepherding Hunter toward the table.
“No bother. My job’s feeding folks. There’s tea, coffee, juice and milk. Help yourselves. How do you take your eggs?”
“We’re not particular,” Jessa assured the gruff but likable cook.
They were sitting before plates of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and plump biscuits before Jessa could taste her coffee. No sooner did she lift a fork, however, than an outside door creaked open and Garrett Willows stepped up into the room.
“Morning, Hilda. What’s for breakfast?”
“Eggs and bacon, unless you want a ham steak,” came the answer as Hilda shifted a skillet around on the stove.
Garrett clumped across the floor in heavy work boots, heading for the coffee pot. He drew up short when he realized that Jessa and Hunter were seated at the table.
“You’re up early.”
Jessa nodded and quickly forked egg into her mouth. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and carried it to the table. Pulling out the end chair, he sat and laid one forearm along the edge of the table. Lifting his cup, he sipped then smiled at Hunter.
“Sleep okay?”
Hunter nodded and dropped his gaze to his plate. Garrett turned his blue eyes on Jessa. “He’s a quiet one.”
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
“How about you?”
She felt a bit off-balance, as if he’d just shaken that ladder again. Thankfully, she wasn’t about to find herself in his arms this time. Just the memory of that warmed her cheeks. “Uh, am I quiet?”
Garrett grinned. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d slept well, too.”
“Oh! I did, yes. Thank you.”
He sipped more coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his mug, before drawling, “That makes three of us, then.”
Jessa felt her face heat, as he called to the cook, “How abou
t you, Hilda? How did you sleep?”
“Like a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound rock,” came the acerbic reply.
Garrett laughed silently into his mug, blue eyes twinkling. Was he making fun of the woman’s weight? Even if Hilda was making fun of herself, it seemed crude for him to be so amused.
Jessa tried to ignore him by eating. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop being supremely aware of him. Such fascination made no sense. The man was, if not her enemy, then at least her opponent. What difference did it make how handsome he was or how likable? Who cared if his eyes twinkled when he teased or how tanned and strong his hands looked? She was a fool to even notice such things, but notice she did. She just couldn’t seem to help herself, and that puzzled her.
Hilda came and dropped a plate onto the table in front of Garrett. “You didn’t say, so you get bacon.”
“Bacon suits me to a T,” he said, sending a smile up at her. “Is there honey for the biscuits?”
She snorted and waved her spatula. “Of course there’s honey for the biscuits. Right over there.”
Garrett looked in that direction then literally fluttered his long, inky eyelashes at her, imploring her with a look.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” she huffed, even as she trundled across the room for the honey pot. She plunked it down in front of him then stayed to talk about wedding cake. “I’ve been thinking of decorating Ellie’s cake with candied violets. That seems like Ellie, doesn’t it?”
Garrett nodded, cutting into a trio of over-easy eggs. “I’ve noticed that she favors purples.”
“Well, with those eyes, who wouldn’t?” Hilda said.
Jessa had noticed Ellie Monroe’s unusual coloring when they’d met. With hair a glossy slate gray and eyes like amethysts, purple would suit Ellie very well.
“We could have candied violets in the ice ring, too,” Hilda went on. “Wouldn’t that be pretty in a grape punch? And if we had some fresh violets, we could scatter them around the serving tables.”
Garrett just grunted and crammed a huge bite of egg-drenched biscuit into his mouth.
Jessa laid down her fork, mind whirling, and carefully inquired, “Where do you intend to get your flowers?”
“From the greenhouse out back,” Garrett answered off-handedly.
She gaped at him. “There’s a greenhouse?”
He nodded, gobbling bacon. “More than one, actually. We just added the second to the original.”
“A real, proper greenhouse?” Jessa pressed.
One corner of his lips hitched up in a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you be the judge?” He tucked in more food, chewed perfunctorily and said, “I can show you around when we’re done here.”
“Really?”
She hadn’t meant to sound so eager, especially when she found his company so troubling and he’d just dashed her hopes of supplying any flowers for the weddings. She loved plants, though. They offered beauty without ulterior motive, and peace came as a by-product. In fact, she never felt God’s presence more keenly than when surrounded by His leafy creations. Garrett’s willingness to afford her the opportunity surprised her, however.
He looked up from his plate, his gaze seeming to indicate that he’d read her thoughts. “I’ll be glad to show you around. I like showing off my greenhouse.”
“Your greenhouse?”
He shrugged. “As the gardener, I have free run of the place.”
She nearly dropped her fork. “You’re the gardener here?”
“Yep. What’d you think?”
She spread her hands in amazement. “I—I don’t know. Abby thought you might be a nephew.”
He straightened. “A Chatam nephew? Nope. My sister’s married to one, though. Good guy.”
“Then you are family.”
“Nope.” He hunched over his plate again. “My sister is family. I’m just hired help.”
Hilda “humphed” but said nothing. Garrett ignored her and, using his remaining biscuit, began mopping up the mess of honey, egg yolk and bacon grease on his plate.
Jessa tried to digest this information, but she couldn’t seem to make sense of it all. Family but not family, both Monroes marrying into the family, and Garrett Willows turning out to be the gardener. Plus, there was a greenhouse!
Garrett sat back with an “aahh” and patted his flat, firm middle. “Looks like I have violet pots to divide. Thankfully, we have a few weeks left to force some more blooms.” He waved a hand at Jessa’s plate, saying, “Eat up. We’re burning daylight.”
Jessa looked down, surprised that her plate remained full while Garrett’s had been cleaned. He turned his attention on Hunter, smiling. Hunter froze, glancing to her for guidance, but she didn’t know what to signal. She didn’t know what to make of Garrett Willows yet. He could be rude or kind, nefarious or an open book, a threat or a blessing. She just didn’t know what to think of him. She recalled again how easily he’d caught her when she’d fallen from the ladder, his strong arms supporting her. It had been too long, perhaps forever, since she’d felt so safe with a man, and that, above all, she must not trust. That didn’t mean she couldn’t take a tour of the greenhouse, though.
In fact, she should tour the greenhouse, she told herself, if only to get a feel for the sort of flowers that the Chatams liked best. Yes, indeed, she told herself, that was wise. It had nothing at all to do with the man next to her with the startling blue eyes.
Nothing whatsoever.
Chapter Three
Jessa gulped down the remainder of her meal, made sure that Hunter thanked Hilda and followed Garrett out the door. She found herself on a narrow, covered walkway that linked a smaller house with the mansion.
“Carriage house,” Garrett informed her with a wave of his hand. “All the staff live there.”
He was staff, she told herself silently. And family. Almost. Sort of. She still didn’t know what to make of that.
He led them past a shoulder-high hedge that flanked an expansive patio strewn with wrought-iron furniture and bright potted plants, but the greenhouse some thirty yards away captured Jessa’s full attention. She’d seen smaller airplane hangers! Built of glass panels rather than plastic sheeting, the glittering building rose from a lush green lawn artfully transected by wandering walkways of broken paving stone.
“Wow,” Jessa said, while standing in the midst of what amounted to a small forest in pots, Hunter’s hand in hers. She identified miniature fruit trees and several ornamentals, but the rest were unknown to her.
“The larger trees for outdoor plantings will come after I get the greenhouse built on Charter Street,” Garrett told her. “I mean, if I get the greenhouse built on Charter Street.”
Jessa looked at him, “You’re telling me that you want to build a similar nursery at the Monroe place?”
“Actually, I was planning to move this greenhouse there. It belongs to me. Most of it, anyway. I’ve been planning to open a retail nursery for years, and Magnolia’s been helping me by letting me expand the original greenhouse here and load it with stock. She even talked Kent into applying for the combined-use zoning because she thought the Monroe place would be a good site for me.”
Jessa winced, deflated. Well, there was the nail in the coffin of her own dreams for the place. “I was planning to open a florist shop in the front room of the house.”
He nodded. “So I gathered.” Smiling wanly, he added, “Looks like the old adage was right. Great minds do think alike.”
Unfortunately, Jessa mused, only one of those “great minds” could claim the property.
“Well, if it’s flowers you’re interested in,” he said, changing the subject, “you should take a look back here.”
Gesturing for them to follow, he led her and Hunter through th
e potted grove and past a well-organized work area. He pushed through a split divider of heavy plastic and into a shocking riot of color.
“Ooooh,” Hunter breathed, as intrigued by the display of blossoms as Jessa.
“Are you going to wholesale at some point?” she asked after taking it all in for a minute.
“Hadn’t planned on it. Magnolia likes flowers, so this section kind of got out of hand, if you know what I mean.”
Hunter pointed at a lush rose bush heavy with glorious orange blossoms. “That’s Grandma’s flower.”
“It is,” Jessa told him with an approving smile before explaining to Garrett, “We planted Cinnamon Glow roses on my mother’s grave before we moved here.”
“I see. Sorry for your loss. Did she pass recently?”
“Five years ago,” she replied, oddly touched.
“Almost six for my mom,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t go away, does it, the feeling of being alone in the world without her?”
“I’m not alone,” she replied, squeezing Hunter’s small hand, but Garrett was right. Knowing her mother no longer walked this earth left her feeling orphaned.
“What about your dad?” Garrett asked suddenly.
She straightened her shoulders. “I have no idea. He left us and just disappeared.”
“That’s too bad,” Garrett said. “My dad died when I was seven, but I think that might have been better.” She jerked her head around and found herself staring straight into eyes the color of the bluest sky imaginable. “I know that he didn’t want to leave us because he loved us all so much,” Garrett went on, “but that he’s well and happy in heaven with the Lord.”
“You’re right,” she told him, gulping and looking away. “That is better. I’d like to see those violets you mentioned.”
He seemed to accept the change of subject as gladly as she made it. “Over here.” He led her through tables and shelves burdened with too many plants to count. “They’re just Common Blue Violets.”