In the Garden Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  She wore a sleek, form-fitting dress in a muted copper color that made her skin glow. It, along with ice-pick-heeled sandals, showed off lean, toned legs. A necklace of delicate filigree with a teardrop of citrine lay over her breasts.

  “David?” Roz scanned the room, then rolled dark, dramatic eyes. “He’s going to make me late.”

  Stella let out an exaggerated breath. “Just let me say, Wow!”

  “Yeah.” She grinned, did a little half turn. “I must’ve been insane when I bought the shoes. They’re going to kill me. But when I have to drag myself out to one of these charity deals, I like to make a statement.”

  “If the statement’s ‘I’m totally hot,’ ” Hayley put in, “you hit it dead on.”

  “That was the target.”

  “You look absolutely amazing. Sex with class. Every man there’s going to wish he was taking you home tonight.”

  “Well.” With a half laugh, Roz shook her head. “It’s great having women in the house. Who knew? I’m going to go nag David. He’ll primp for another hour if I don’t give his ass a kick.”

  “Have a wonderful time.”

  “She sure didn’t look like anybody’s mother,” Stella said under her breath.

  WHAT WOULD SHE LOOK LIKE IN TWENTY YEARS? Hayley wondered.

  She studied herself in the mirror while she rubbed Vitamin E oil over her belly and breasts. Would she still be able to fix herself up and know she looked good?

  Of course, she didn’t have as much to work with as Roz. She remembered her grandmother saying once that beauty was in the bones. Looking at Roz helped her understand just what that meant.

  She’d never be as stunning as Roz, or as eye-catching as Stella, but she looked okay. She took care of her skin, tried out the makeup tricks she read about in magazines.

  Guys were attracted.

  Obviously, she thought with a self-deprecating smile as she looked down at her belly.

  Or had been. Most guys didn’t get the hots for pregnant women. And that was fine, because she wasn’t interested in men right now. The only thing that mattered was her baby.

  “It’s all about you now, kid,” she said as she pulled on an oversized T-shirt.

  After climbing into bed, plumping up her pillows, she reached for one of the books stacked on her nightstand. She had books on childbirth, on pregnancy, on early-childhood development. She read from one of them every night.

  When her eyes began to droop, she closed the book.

  Switching off the light, she snuggled down. “ ’Night, baby,” she whispered.

  And felt it just as she was drifting off. The little chill, the absolute certainty that she wasn’t alone. Her heartbeat quickened until she could hear it in her ears. Gathering courage, she let her eyes open to slits.

  She saw the figure standing over the bed. The light-colored hair, the lovely sad face. She thought about screaming, just as she did every time she saw the woman. But she bit it back, braced herself, and reached out.

  When her hand passed through the woman’s arm, Hayley did let out a muffled scream. Then she was alone, shivering in bed and fumbling for the light.

  “I’m not imagining it. I’m not!”

  STELLA CLIMBED UP THE STEPSTOOL TO HOOK ANOTHER hanging basket for display. After looking over last year’s sales, crunching numbers, she’d decided to increase the number offered by 15 percent.

  “I could do that,” Hayley insisted. “I’m not going to fall off a stupid stepstool.”

  “No chance. Hand me up that one. The begonias.”

  “They’re really pretty. So lush.”

  “Roz and Harper started most of these over the winter. Begonias and impatiens are big-volume sellers. With growers like Roz and Harper, we can do them in bulk, and our cost is low. These are bread-and-butter plants for us.”

  “People could make up their own cheaper.”

  “Sure.” Stella climbed down, moved the ladder, climbed up again. “Ivy geranium,” she decided. “But it’s tough to resist all this color and bloom. Even avid gardeners, the ones who do some propagating on their own, have a hard time passing up big, beautiful blooms. Blooms, my young apprentice, sell.”

  “So we’re putting these baskets everywhere.”

  “Seduction. Wait until we move some of the annuals outside, in front. All that color will draw the customers. Early-blooming perennials too.”

  She selected another basket. “I’ve got this. Page Roz, will you? I want her to see these, and get her clearance to hang a couple dozen in Greenhouse Three with the extra stock. And pick out a pot. One of the big ones that didn’t move last year. I want to do one up, put it by the counter. I’ll move that sucker. In fact, pick out two. Clean off the discount price. When I’m done, they’ll not only move, they’ll move at a fat profit.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Make sure one of them’s that cobalt glaze,” she called out. “You know the one? And don’t pick it up yourself.”

  In her mind, Stella began to plan it. White flowers—heliotrope, impatiens, spills of sweet alyssum, silvery accents from dusty miller and sage. Another trail of white petunias. Damn, she should’ve told Hayley to get one of the stone-gray pots. Good contrast with the cobalt. And she’d do it up hot. Bold red geraniums, lobelia, verbena, red New Guineas.

  She added, subtracted plants in her mind, calculated the cost of pots, stock, soil. And smiled to herself as she hung another basket.

  “Shouldn’t you be doing paperwork?”

  She nearly tipped off the stool, might have if a hand hadn’t slapped onto her butt to keep her upright.

  “It’s not all I do.” She started to get down, but realized being on the stool kept her at eye level with him. “You can move your hand now, Logan.”

  “It doesn’t mind being there.” But he let it fall, slipped it into his pocket. “Nice baskets.”

  “In the market?”

  “Might be. You had a look on your face when I came in.”

  “I usually do. That’s why it’s called a face.”

  “No, the kind of look a woman gets when she’s thinking about how to make some guy drool.”

  “Did I? Mind?” she added, gesturing to a basket. “You’re off the mark. I was thinking how I was going to turn two over-stock pots on the discount rack into stupendous displays and considerable profit.”

  Even as she hung the basket, he was lifting another, and by merely raising his arm, set it in place. “Showoff.”

  “Shorty.”

  Hayley came through the doorway, turned briskly on her heel and headed out.

  “Hayley.”

  “Forgot something,” she called out and kept going.

  Stella blew out a breath and would’ve asked for another basket, but he’d already picked one up, hung it. “You’ve been busy,” she said.

  “Cool, dry weather the last week.”

  “If you’re here to pick up the shrubs for the Pitt job, I can get the paperwork.”

  “My crew’s out loading them. I want to see you again.”

  “Well. You are.”

  He kept his eyes on hers. “You’re not dim.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not sure—”

  “Neither am I,” he interrupted. “Doesn’t seem to stop me from wanting to see you again. It’s irritating, thinking about you.”

  “Thanks. That really makes me want to sigh and fall into your arms.”

  “I don’t want you to fall into them. If I did, I’d just kick your feet out from under you.”

  She laid a hand on her heart, fluttered her lashes, and did her best woman of the south accent. “My goodness, all this soppy romance is too much for me.”

  Now he grinned. “I like you, Red. Some of the time. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “What? Tonight?” Reluctant amusement turned to outright panic in a fingersnap. “I can’t possibly just go out, spur of the moment. I have two kids.”

  “And three adults in the house. Any reason you can think of why any o
r all of them can’t handle your boys for a few hours tonight?”

  “No. But I haven’t asked, a concept you appear to be unfamiliar with. And—” She shoved irritably at her hair. “I might have plans.”

  “Do you?”

  She angled her head, looked down her nose. “I always have plans.”

  “I bet. So flex them. You take the boys for ribs yet?”

  “Yes, last week after—”

  “Good.”

  “Do you know how often you interrupt me in the middle of a sentence?”

  “No, but I’ll start counting. Hey, Roz.”

  “Logan. Stella, these look great.” She stopped in the center of the aisle, scanning, nodding as she absently slapped her dirty gloves against her already dirt-smeared jeans. “I wasn’t sure displaying so many would work, but it does. Something about the abundance of bloom.”

  She took off her ball cap, stuffed it in the back pocket of her work pants, stuffed the gloves in the other. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” Logan corrected. “But it’s okay. You up to watching Stella’s boys tonight?”

  “I haven’t said—”

  “Absolutely. It’ll be fun. You two going out?”

  “A little dinner. I’ll leave the invoice on your desk,” he said to Stella. “See you at seven.”

  Tired of standing, Stella sat on the stool and scowled at Roz when Logan sauntered out. “You didn’t help.”

  “I think I did.” Reaching up, she turned one of the baskets to check the symmetry of the plants. “You’ll go out, have a good time. Your boys’ll be fine, and I’ll enjoy spending some time with them. If you didn’t want to go out with Logan, you wouldn’t go. You know how to say no loud enough.”

  “That may be true, but I might’ve liked a little more notice. A little more ... something.”

  “He is what he is.” She patted Stella’s knee. “And the good thing about that is you don’t have to wonder what he’s hiding, or what kind of show he’s putting on. He’s ... I can’t say he’s a nice man, because he can be incredibly difficult. But he’s an honest one. Take it from me, there’s a lot to be said for that.”

  eleven

  THIS, STELLA THOUGHT, WAS WHY DATING WAS VERY rarely worth it. In her underwear, she stood in front of her closet, debating, considering, despairing over what to wear.

  She didn’t even know where she was going. She hated not knowing where she was going. How was she supposed to know what to prepare for?

  “Dinner” was not enough information. Was it little-black-dress dinner, or dressy-casual on-sale-designer-suit dinner? Was it jeans and a shirt and jacket dinner, or jeans and a silk blouse dinner?

  Added to that, by picking her up at seven, he’d barely left her enough time to change, much less decide what to change into.

  Dating. How could something that had been so desired, so exciting and so damn much fun in her teens, so easy and natural in her early twenties, have become such a complicated, often irritating chore in her thirties?

  It wasn’t just that marriage had spoiled her, or rusted her dating tools. Adult dating was complex and exhausting because the people involved in the stupid date had almost certainly been through at least one serious relationship, and breakup, and carried that extra baggage on their backs. They were already set in their ways, had defined their expectations, and had performed this societal dating ritual so often that they really just wanted to cut to the chase—or go home and watch Letterman.

  Add to that a man who dropped the date on your head out of the clear blue, then didn’t have the sense to give you some guidelines so you knew how to present yourself, and it was just a complete mess before it started.

  Fine, then. Fine. He’d just get what he got.

  She was stepping into the little black dress when the connecting bathroom door burst open and Gavin rushed in. “Mom! I finished my homework. Luke didn’t, but I did. Can I go down now? Can I?”

  She was glad she’d decided on the open-toed slides and no hose, as Parker was currently trying to climb up her leg. “Did you forget something?” she asked Gavin.

  “Nuh-uh. I did all the vocabulary words.”

  “The knocking something?”

  “Oh.” He smiled, big and innocent. “You look pretty.”

  “Smooth talker.” She bent down to kiss the top of his head. “But when a door’s closed, you knock.”

  “Okay. Can I go down now?”

  “In a minute.” She walked over to her dresser to put on the silver hoops she’d laid out. “I want you to promise you’ll be good for Miss Roz.”

  “We’re going to have cheeseburgers and play video games. She says she can take us in Smackdown, but I don’t think so.”

  “No fighting with your brother.” Hope springs, she thought. “Consider this your night off from your mission in life.”

  “Can I go down?”

  “Get.” She gave him a light slap on the rump. “Remember, I’ll have my phone if you need me.”

  When he rushed out, she slipped on her shoes and a thin black sweater. After a check in the mirror, she decided the accessories took the dress into the could-be-casual, could-be-more area she’d been shooting for.

  She picked up her bag and, checking the contents as she went, walked into the next bedroom. Luke was sprawled belly-down on the floor—his favored position—frowning miserably over his arithmetic book.

  “Trouble, handsome?”

  He lifted his head, and his face was aggrieved in the way only a young boy could manage. “I hate homework.”

  “Me too.”

  “Gavin did the touchdown dance, with his fingers in the air, ’cause he finished first.”

  Understanding the demoralization, she sat on the floor beside him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “How come I have to know two plus three, anyway?”

  “How else would you know how many fingers you have on each hand?”

  His brow beetled, then cleared with a delighted smile. “Five!”

  With the crisis averted, she helped him with the rest of the problems. “There, all done. That wasn’t so bad.”

  “I still hate homework.”

  “Maybe, but what about the touchdown dance?”

  On a giggle, he leaped up and did his strut around the room.

  And all, she thought, was right in her little world once more.

  “How come you’re not going to eat here? We’re having cheeseburgers.”

  “I’m not entirely sure. You’ll behave for Miss Roz?”

  “Uh-huh. She’s nice. Once she came out in the yard and threw the ball for Parker. And she didn’t even mind when it got slobbered. Some girls do. I’m going down now, okay? ’Cause I’m hungry.”

  “You bet.”

  Alone, she got to her feet, automatically picking up the scatter of toys and clothes that hadn’t made it back onto the shelf or into the closet.

  She ran her fingers over some of their treasures. Gavin’s beloved comic books, his ball glove. Luke’s favorite truck, and the battered bear he wasn’t yet ashamed to sleep with.

  The prickle between her shoulder blades had her stiffening. Even under the light sweater her arms broke out in gooseflesh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shape—a reflection, a shadow—in the mirror over the bureau.

  When she spun, Hayley swung around the door and into the room.

  “Logan’s just pulling up in front of the house,” she began, then stopped. “You okay? You look all pale.”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” But she pushed a not-quite-steady hand at her hair. “I just thought ... nothing. Nothing. Besides pale, how do I look?” And she made herself turn to the mirror again. Saw only herself, with Hayley moving toward her.

  “Two thumbs up. I just love your hair.”

  “Easy to say when you don’t wake up with it every morning. I thought about putting it up, but it seemed too formal.”

  “It’s just right.” Hayley edged close
r, tipping her head toward Stella’s. “I did the redhead thing once. Major disaster. Made my skin look yellow.”

  “That deep, dense brown’s what’s striking on you.” And look at that face, Stella thought with a tiny twist of envy. Not a line on it.

  “Yeah, but the red’s so now. Anyway, I’m going to go on down. I’ll keep Logan busy until. You wait just a few more minutes before you head down, then we’ll all be back in the kitchen. Big burger feast.”

  She didn’t intend to make an entrance, for heaven’s sake. But Hayley had already gone off, and she did want to check her lipstick. And settle herself down.

  At least her nerves over this date—it was a date this time—had taken a backseat to others. It hadn’t been Hayley’s reflection in the mirror. Even that quick glimpse had shown her the woman who’d stood there had blond hair.

  Steadier, she walked out, started down the hall. From the top of the steps, she heard Hayley laugh.

  “She’ll be right down. I guess you know how to make yourself at home. I’m going on back to the kitchen with the rest of the gang. Let Stella know I’ll say bye from her to everyone. Y’all have fun.”

  Was the girl psychic? Stella wondered. Hayley had timed her exit so adroitly that as she walked down the hall, Stella hit the halfway point on the steps.

  And Logan’s attention shifted upward.

  Good black trousers, she noted. Nice blue shirt, no tie, but with a casual sport coat over it. And still he didn’t look quite tame.

  “Nice,” he said.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  “Hayley said she’d tell everyone you were leaving. You ready?”

  “Sure.”

  She stepped out with him, then studied the black Mustang. “You own a car.”

  “This is not merely a car, and to call it such is very female.”

  “And to say that is very sexist. Okay, if it’s not a car, what is it?”

  “It’s a machine.”

  “I stand corrected. You never said where we were going.”

  He opened her door. “Let’s find out.”

  HE DROVE INTO THE CITY, WITH MUSIC SHE DIDN’T recognize on low. She knew it was blues—or supposed it was, but she didn’t know anything about that area of music. Mentioning that, casually, not only seemed to shock him but kept conversation going through the trip.