by Nora Roberts
He pulled off the side of the road, braked hard, then turned to her. The calm she most usually saw in him, felt from him, was replaced by a percolating anger. “What do you mean? Did she attack you? For God’s sake—”
“Not me, but a very nice cashmere sweater. It was a birthday gift, so I’ve only had it since November, and I’m still mad she ruined it.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
When she had, he sat back, tapped his fingers on the wheel. “She didn’t want you coming out with me tonight.”
“Apparently not, but that’s too bad. Here I am.”
He looked at her again. “Why?”
“I said I would, and I do what I say I will. Then you can add that she made me mad, and I don’t back down, either. And lastly, I wanted to explore whether or not I’m going to like your company on a purely social level.”
“You shoot very straight.”
“I do. It irritates some people.”
“I’m not one of them. Sorry about the sweater.”
“So am I.”
“We could speculate—”
“We could,” Roz interrupted. “But I’d just as soon not, right now. She didn’t stop the evening, so I don’t see why she should drive it, either. Why don’t we talk about something else until it’s time to get down to business again?”
“Sure. What would you like to talk about?”
“I could start by wondering out loud how long you intend to sit here beside the road, and how late that’s going to make us to your son’s game.”
“Oh. Right.” He pulled onto the road again. “How about if I start this conversation off by telling you I’ve got a new cleaning lady.”
“Is that so?”
“She’s a friend of a friend of a friend. Sort of. She’s into feng shui, so she’s rearranging everything in the place—career areas, and health areas, I dunno. And making me lists for things I have to buy, like a money frog for my prosperity corner—or something. And these Chinese coins. And she says I have to have a green plant. I think it’s for the health area, I’m not sure, and I’m too afraid of her to ask. So I was wondering if I could possibly have that plant back you took from my place last spring.”
“The one you were murdering.”
“I didn’t know I was murdering it. I didn’t even know it was there.”
“Benign neglect is still neglect.”
“Hardass. How about I sign an oath to take better care of it? The fact is, she’ll be the one taking care of it, at least every other week. And you could have visitation rights.”
“I’ll think about it.”
THE AUDITORIUM WAS already packed when they arrived, and humming with pregame excitement. They moved through the noise and color and excitement, scooting down the row to their seats while both teams practiced layups on the court.
“That’s Josh there, number eight.”
She watched the tall boy in his trimmed-in-blue white jersey lope forward and tap the ball off the backboard and into the net. “Nice form.”
“He was the NBA’s number-ten draft pick. He’ll play for the Celtics next year. It’s hard for me to believe it. I’m not going to brag all night, but I had to get that one in.”
“He’s going pro? The Celtics? Brag all you want. I would.”
“I’ll keep it to a minimum. In any case, Josh is point guard, that’s the position that directs the team’s offense from the point.”
She listened, sipping the soft drink he’d bought her, as he ran through a primer of basketball terms and explanations.
At tip-off she watched the action, enjoyed the lightning movements on court, the echoing voices, the thunder of the ball on wood.
Now and again through the first quarter, Mitch would lean closer to explain a call, a strategy, or a play.
Until she got to her feet with the rest of the Memphis crowd to boo a blown call. “What, do those refs need eye surgery? We had established position, didn’t we—does he need three feet planted on the ground? That was charging, for God’s sake. All he was missing was a Visa card!”
When she sat again, with a disgusted huff, Mitch scratched his chin. “Okay, either I’m an exceptional teacher or you know basketball.”
“I have three sons. I know basketball. I know football and baseball, and at one time I knew entirely too much about professional wrestling. But they mostly outgrew that one.” She took her eyes from the game long enough to smile at him. “But you were having such a nice time educating the little lady, I didn’t want to break your stride.”
“Thanks. Want some nachos?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
She enjoyed herself, and was amused at halftime when Josh zeroed in on his father in the crowd and grinned. More amused when the boy’s gaze drifted to her, then back to his father before Josh executed an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
And when at game’s end, the Memphis Tigers clipped Ole Miss’s Rebels by three points, she decided the experience had nearly been worth one cashmere sweater.
“You want to wait around, congratulate your boy?”
“Not tonight. It’ll be better than an hour before he gets out of the locker room, and through the groupies. I’d like you to meet him sometime, though.”
“I’d be glad to. He’s a pleasure to watch on the court, not just his style and skill—though he has plenty of both—but his enthusiasm. You can tell he loves the game.”
“Has since he was a baby.” Mitch slipped an arm around Roz’s waist to help maneuver them both through the departing crowd.
“It’ll be tough on you, him moving to Boston.”
“He’s always wanted it. Part of me wants to move up there with him, but sooner or later, you’ve got to let go.”
“Nearly killed me when my two youngest moved away. They were five years old yesterday.”
He dropped his arm, then took her hand as they crossed the parking lot. “Can I interest you in a postgame meal?”
“Not tonight. I need to get an early start in the morning. But thanks.”
“Dinner tomorrow.”
She slid a look up at him. “I should tell you getting me out of the house two nights running generally takes a team of wild horses. And I’ve got a garden club meeting tomorrow, which for personal reasons, I can’t miss.”
“The night after.”
“I sense a campaign.”
“How’s it going?”
“It’s not bad.” Not bad at all, she thought, enjoying the bracing air, and the warmth of his hand over hers. “I’ll tell you what, you can come to dinner night after next, but I’ll warn you, I’ll be cooking. David’s night off.”
“You cook?”
“Of course I cook. Not that I’m allowed to when David’s in the house, but it happens I’m a very good cook.”
“What time’s dinner?”
She laughed. “Let’s make it seven.”
“I’ll be there.” When they reached his car, he walked her to her side, then turned her around, slid his arms around her, and drew her toward him. Laid his mouth on hers in a long, lazy kiss.
She curled her hands around his arms, held on to them, to him, and let herself float on the sensation—the warmth of his body, the cool of the air, the simmering demand just under the lazy tone of the kiss.
Then he eased back, his eyes on hers, and reached around to open her door. “I did that now because I figured if I waited until I walked you to your door, you’d be expecting it. I’m hoping to surprise you, at least now and again. I don’t think it’s the easiest thing to do.”
“You’ve managed it a few times so far.”
When she slid into the car, he closed the door. And thought he might have a few more surprises up his sleeve before they were done.
TEN
HARPER COULD AND did spend hours a day in the grafting house without being bored or missing the company of others. The plants he worked with were an endless fascination and satisfaction to him. Whether he was creating another standard or ex
perimenting with a hybrid, he was doing the work he loved.
He enjoyed the outdoor work as well, the grafting and propagation he performed with the field stock. He’d already selected the trees he intended to graft and would need to spend part of the week collecting his scions, and pruning the maiden trees he’d grafted the year before.
His mother left these sort of decisions up to him. The what, the how, the when. It was, he knew, a strong level of trust and confidence from her to step back and let him run that end of the show.
Then again, she’d taught him not only the basics of the work, but had instilled in him a love for what grew.
They’d spent countless hours together in the garden and greenhouse when he was growing up. She’d taught his brothers as well, but their interests had veered off where his had centered. In Harper House, in the gardens, in the work.
His college years, his studies there, had only cemented for him what would be his life’s work.
His responsibility to them—the house, the gardens, the work, and the woman who’d taught him—was absolute.
He considered it a bonus round that love and obligation so neatly united for him.
Tchaikovsky played for the plants, while through his headset his choice of classic was Barenaked Ladies. He checked his pots, making notations on his various clipboards.
He was especially pleased with the dahlias he’d grafted the previous spring at Logan’s request. In a couple of weeks, he’d bring the overwintered tubers into growth, and in spring take cuttings. In the Garden should be able to offer a nice supply of Stella’s Dream, the bold, deeply blue dahlia he’d created.
Interesting the way things worked, he thought. Through Logan and tidy Stella falling in love—and Logan showing his sentimental side over the blue dahlia Stella had dreamed of. Dreamed of, Harper thought, because of the Harper Bride.
It sort of circled around, didn’t it, back to the house, and what grew there.
There would be no Stella’s Dream without the Bride. And no Bride without Harper House. None of it, he supposed, without his mother’s steady determination to keep the house and build the business.
Since he was facing the door, he saw it open. And watched Hayley walk in.
She wouldn’t be here, either, without his mother. There would have been no beautiful, pregnant woman knocking on the door of Harper House last winter looking for work and a place to live.
When she smiled, his heart did that quick, automatic stutter, then settled back to normal again. She tapped the side of her head, and he pulled off his headset.
“Sorry to interrupt. Roz said you had some pots mature enough for me to rotate into the houseplant stock. Stella’s looking to do a winter sale.”
“Sure. You want me to bring them out?”
“That’s okay. I got boxes and a flat cart outside the door.”
“Let me check the inventory, adjust it first.” He walked down to his computer station. “Want a Coke?”
“Love one, but I’m still watching my caffeine.”
“Oh right.” She was nursing Lily, a concept that made him feel sort of warm and twisty inside. “Ah, got some water in the cooler, too.”
“That’d be good. When you’ve got time, can you show me some grafting? Stella said how you do most of it, at least the field work, about this time of year. I’d really like to do something, then, you know, follow it on through.”
“Sure, if you want.” He handed her a bottle of water. “You can try your hand on a willow. It was the first graft my mother showed me how to do, and they’re the best to practice on.”
“That’d be great. I thought one day, when I get a place for me and Lily, I could plant something I’d made myself.”
He sat, ordered himself to concentrate on his inventory program. The scent of her, somehow essential female, fit so perfectly with the smell of earth and growth. “You’ve got plenty of room at the house.”
“More than.” She laughed, tried to read over his shoulder. “Been there a year, and still can’t get used to all the space. I love living there, I do, and it’s wonderful for Lily to have so many people around, and nobody, nobody could be more amazing than your mama. She’s the most awesome person I know. But sooner or later, I need to, well, plant Lily and me somewhere of our own.”
“You know Mama loves having you there or she’d’ve nudged you along by now.”
“Boy, that’s the truth. She really knows how to structure things, doesn’t she? Sets them up to suit her. I don’t mean that exactly the way it sounds. It’s just that she’s strong and smart, and doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything or anyone. I admire that so much.”
“You seem to have plenty of guts and brains of your own.”
“Guts maybe, but I’ve started to realize a lot of that came from not knowing any better.” Idly, she picked up a scrap of raffia, twisted it around her finger. “When I look back, I don’t know how I worked up to setting out six-months pregnant. Not now that I have Lily and realize, well, everything. I’m going to owe Roz for the rest of my life.”
“She wouldn’t want that.”
“That’s one thing she’s not going to have any choice about. My baby’s got a good, loving home. I’ve got a job that I swear I like more every day. We’ve got friends, and family. We’d’ve done all right, I’d’ve made sure of it. But we wouldn’t be where we are now, Lily and I, without Roz.”
“Funny, I was thinking how most everything—the house, this place, even Logan and Stella wind around to my mother. Maybe even the Bride.”
“Why the Bride?”
“If Mama had sold the place—and there had to be times it would’ve been easier to do that—maybe the Bride wouldn’t still be there. Maybe it takes a Harper being in the house. I don’t know.” He shrugged, got up to select the plants he’d checked off his inventory. “It was just something I wondered about.”
“Could be right. You wouldn’t sell it, would you, when it comes to you?”
“No. Fact is, every time I think, maybe I should move out of the carriage house, get some place, I just can’t do it. It’s where I want to be, that’s one thing. And the other is no matter how smart or strong my mother is, I feel it’s better that I’m around. I think she’d be sad, and a little lonely, if you and Lily went somewhere else, especially since Stella and the boys’ll be moving into Logan’s in a couple months.”
“Maybe, and I’m not planning on anything right away. But with her and Mitch dating, it could be she’ll have all the company she wants.”
“What?” He stopped dead, with a young, healthy ficus in his arms. “Dating? What do you mean dating? They’re not dating.”
“When two people go out two or three times, to basketball games, to dinner and what not, when the she in the pair cooks the he dinner herself, I tend to call it dating.”
“They’re working on this project. It’s like . . . meetings.”
She gave him the female smile he recognized. The one that categorized him as a pitifully out-of-touch male. “You don’t generally adjourn a meeting with a long, hot kiss—at least I haven’t been lucky enough to have a meeting like that for some time.”
“Kiss? What—”
“I wasn’t spying or anything,” she said quickly. “I happened to be up with Lily one night, looked out the window when Mitch brought Roz home. Okay, I sort of looked out on purpose when I heard the car, just to see what was what. And if the liplock I witnessed is anything to go by, that’s some serious dating.”
He set the plant down again, with a thump. “Well, for Christ’s sake.”
She blinked. “Harper, you don’t have any problem with Roz seeing a man like that. That’d be just silly.”
“Last time she was seeing a man like that, she ended up married to the son of a bitch.”
“She made a mistake,” Hayley said, heating up. “And Mitch is nothing like that bastard Bryce Clerk.”
“And we know this because?”
“Because we do.”
; “Not good enough.”
“He certainly is good enough for her.”
“That’s not what I said. I said—”
“Just because he isn’t rich, or doesn’t have that fancy Harper blood running through him doesn’t mean you should build a case against him.” She drilled a finger straight into Harper’s chest. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking like some snob.”
“I’m not saying that, don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t you call me stupid.”
“I didn’t call you stupid. Jesus Christ.”
“I don’t even want to talk to you right now.” She turned on her heel, stomped out.
“Fine. I don’t want to talk to you, either,” he shot back.
He stewed about it, worked himself up about the entire situation while he loaded and transported the plants himself.
Ready for battle, he searched out his mother.
She was in the field, checking on the nursery beds, and the roses he’d t-budded earlier in the season.
She wore a stone-gray hoodie, fingerless gloves, and a pair of boots so old and scarred they were no discernable color. She looked, Harper realized, more like a contemporary than his mother.
“Hayley find you?” she called out.
“Yeah, it’s done.”
“You know, I’m thinking of adding a mist propagation tent, and doing more palms. Honey, I’ve got to tell you, I’m excited at how these multiple trees you did are coming along. Our customers are going to have fun with these. I’m thinking of taking one of the nectarine and peach myself.”
She studied one of the young trees Harper had grafted, then fan-trained on stakes. “This is lovely work, Harper, and that weeping pear over there—”
“Mama, are you sleeping with Mitch Carnegie?”
“What?” She turned fully to face him, and the pleased smile, the glint of pride in her eyes both froze away. “What did you ask me?”
“You heard what I asked. I’d like an answer.”
“And why would I answer a question that you have no business asking?”
“I want to know how seriously you’re involved with him. I have a right to know.”