by Nora Roberts
“Nothing. I’ve got my own life, just as you do.” In a deliberate and, she could admit, petty move, she walked to the terrace doors, flung them open. “I had a lot to do.”
He simply crossed over, slammed the doors shut. Locked them.
She wasn’t sure she could get words past the fire of rage burning in her throat. “If you think for one minute I’ll tolerate that—”
“Just be quiet.” He snapped it out, and though blistering temper boiled inside her, she found herself measuring him in a new light.
“On second thought,” he said before she could think of a response, “answer one question. I told you I was falling in love with you. Was that a mistake?”
“Telling me? No. Falling, possibly. I’m a difficult woman.”
“That’s not a news flash.”
“Mitchell, I’m tired, I’m angry, I’m emotionally . . . I don’t know what the hell I am, but I don’t want to fight with you now, because I’ll fight dirty and regret it later. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be with you.”
“I’m not leaving, because you’re tired and you’re angry, and in emotional turmoil. You don’t want to talk or fight, fine. Lie down, take a nap. I’ll wait until you’re feeling stronger.”
“God. Goddamn it.” She whirled away, stormed toward the terrace doors, and unlocking them again, threw them open to the rain. “I need air. I just need some fucking air.”
“Fine. Suck it in then, all you want. But this time, Rosalind, you’re going to talk to me.”
“What do you expect me to say? What do you want to hear?”
“The truth’ll do.”
“The truth, then. She hurt me.” Emotion drenched her voice as she pressed a fisted hand to her heart. “She sliced me up and carved me out. Seeing John like that. I can’t explain it, I don’t have words for what it did to me.”
She whirled back to him, and he saw her eyes were drenched, too. The tears didn’t fall, and he could only imagine the vicious strength that held them back. But the golden brown swam with tears.
“She dropped me right down to the ground, and there was nothing I could do. How can I fight that? How can I fight something that doesn’t really exist? Even knowing why she did it doesn’t stop it from squeezing my heart into bloody pulp.”
With an impatient gesture, she used the heels of her hands to swipe at any tear that escaped her control.
“He didn’t deserve to be used that way. Do you see? He didn’t deserve it. He was a good man, Mitchell. A good man, good husband, good father. I fell in love with him when I was fourteen. Fourteen years old, can you imagine? He made me a woman, and a mother, and God, a widow. I loved him, beyond measure.”
“She can’t touch what you feel for him. Nothing she can do can touch it. I didn’t know him, but I’m looking at you, Rosalind, and I can see that. I can see him.”
Her breath released on a shaky, painful sound. “You’re right. You’re right.” She leaned against the doorjamb, stared out into the cool rain. “You didn’t deserve to be used, either. You didn’t—don’t—deserve what she tried to make you in my mind. I didn’t believe it of John, and I didn’t believe it of you. But it hurt, nonetheless, it hurt.”
She took another breath, a stronger one. “I don’t equate you with Bryce. I hope you know that.”
“I’d rather know what you feel instead of what you don’t. Why haven’t you wanted to see me, Roz?”
“Nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. Don’t you hate when people say that?”
“Enough that I’m having a hard time not grabbing you and shaking out the rest of it. You’re not the only one with a healthy share of wrath.”
“No, I believe I caught the leading edge of it just now. One of the things I like about you is you have a strong sense of control. I have such a vile temper, you’ve no idea. So I know all about control.”
“Aren’t we just two mature individuals.”
“Oh, you’re still mad at me.” She let out a half laugh, then tried to give him what he’d asked for. The truth. “The last night I spent with you?”
She turned now, facing him fully with the open doors at her back. “It was beautiful, and meant so much in so many ways. The next day I thought of you, and when I came home from work, I was going to call you. There was a message from you on my machine.”
“Roz, I have a standing date with Josh. My son—”
“I know. It wasn’t that. God, don’t start worrying I’m one of those needy females who craves a man’s attention every minute of every day. It was the message after yours that set me off. It was about my membership at the country club, how I’d canceled it, and sent in some letter full of complaints and rude comments, and so on. Which, of course, I hadn’t done.”
“Clerk.”
“Undoubtedly. Easy enough to straighten out, really—No.” She shook her head. “Truth. It was irritating and embarrassing to straighten out. But either way it set me off. I was halfway out the bedroom door, blood in my eye, heading out to hunt him down like a sick dog when Hayley and the baby got in my way. She stopped me, for which I’m grateful. I don’t know what I might’ve done with my temper up like that.”
“I bet it would’ve been worth the price of a ticket.”
“I’d probably have landed in jail for assault at the very least. I was raging so much I scared that baby, made her cry. And said a particularly foul word in front of her that dealt with Bryce’s sexual activities should he have same with members of his own gender.”
“Seeing Lily’s not quite a year old, I don’t imagine it made much of an impression.”
“Regardless, I was nearly out of my mind with temper, and I got it under control, but it was simmering in there for a while. I wanted to cool down, all the way down. And I had to go meet with my lawyer, make a courtesy call at the club. Smooth everybody else’s feathers.”
“Next time it might occur to you that I’d like a chance to smooth yours.”
“I’m mean when I’m mad.”
“Bet you are.”
She sank into a chair.
“Roz, you should go to the police with this.”
“I did. One more embarrassment. And you don’t need to tell me I’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. I feel it, so there it is. Nothing much they can do, of course, but I’ve documented all the things I know about. If and when it can be proved he’s behind this, it’s fraud, and it may be considered stalking. If I can burn his ass, Mitch, you can bet the bank I’ll do just that.”
He came over, crouched in front of her. “I’d like to help you light the match.”
She laid a hand on his cheek. “I wasn’t brushing you off. I was thinking of you, of finding you and seeing if you’d spend the evening with me. Right before I walked into that nasty little waking nightmare.”
“Coincidentally, I’ve been thinking of you, and wondering if you’d spend the evening with me. Do you want to get out of the house for a few hours?”
“I don’t. I really don’t.”
“Then we’ll stay in.”
“I’d like to ask you for something.”
“Ask.”
“There’s a big, splashy affair coming up at the club. Formal dinner dance, the annual spring one. David was going to escort me. Even with what’s happening with us, I’d planned to stick to that because I didn’t like the idea of the talk and gossip that’ll start if I was to show up with you. But screw that. I’d like you to go with me.”
“Formal, as in tux?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I can manage it. We’re all right, you and me?”
“We really seem to be, don’t we?”
“You want to take a rest now?”
“No, I don’t.” Content, she leaned forward to kiss both of his cheeks. “What I want is a long, hot bath. And I’d really like some company in the tub.”
“That’s a hell of an invitation.” He got to his feet, drew her to hers. “Accepted. It may just be the
perfect venue to tell you about my recent visit with Clarise Harper.”
“Cousin Rissy? This I have to hear.”
IT FELT LOVELY, it felt decadent, and exactly perfect to soak in a bubble bath in the deep old tub, with her back resting against Mitch’s chest.
Not even the end of the workday, and here she was having a sexy bath, with a man, music, and candles.
“Clarise gets meaner and leaner every blessed year,” Roz commented. “I swear if she ever dies—because I’m not sure she’ll agree to that eventuality—they won’t even need a coffin. They’ll just crack her in two like a twig and have done with it.”
“I could tell she holds you in the same high regard.”
“She despises me for many reasons, but the main is that I have this house, and she doesn’t.”
“I’d say that’s high on the list.”
“She’s lying when she says she never saw or felt Amelia. I heard my grandmother talk about it. Clarise’s memory is convenient and to suit herself. She doesn’t tolerate any nonsense, you see, and ghosts fall into that category.”
“She said ‘balderdash.’ ”
Letting her head fall back, Roz laughed herself breathless. “Oh, she would. I can just hear it. Well, she can balderdash all she likes, but she’s lying. And I know damn well she should have letters, maybe even journals, quite a number of photographs. There were things she took from the house when my father died. She’ll deny it, but I know she helped herself here and there. We had one of our famous set-tos when I caught her taking a pair of candlesticks from the parlor, while my daddy was still being waked. Vicious old badger.”
“I don’t imagine she walked out with them.”
“Not that time, anyway. I didn’t care about the damn candlesticks—ugly things—but my daddy wasn’t even in the ground. Still burns my ass. She claimed she’d given them to my father—which she certainly had not—and that she wanted them for sentimental reasons. Which was a load of stinking horseshit, as there isn’t a sentimental cell in her dried-up body.”
He rubbed his cheek over her hair as if to soothe, but she felt his body shaking with laughter.
“Oh, go ahead and let it out. I know how I sound.”
“I love how you sound, but back to the subject. She might have taken other things, things you didn’t see her with.”
“I know she did, greedy vampire bat that she is. There was a picture of my grandfather as a boy, in a silver frame—Edwardian—a Waterford compote, two Dresden shepherdesses—oh, and other things that vanished after she paid calls.”
“Hmm.” He rested his chin on the top of her head, lazily soaped her arm. “What do you know about this Jane Paulson?”
“Not very much. I’ve met her at various weddings and funerals, that sort of thing, but I barely have a picture of her in my head. And when I do, I see this sweet-faced little girl. She’s nearly twenty-five years younger than I am, if my math is right.”
“Made me think of a puppy who’s been kicked often enough to keep its tail between its legs.”
“If she’s living with Cousin Rissy, I can only imagine. Poor thing.”
“She knows something, though.”
Curious, Roz turned her head so she could see Mitch. “Why do you say?”
“Something went over her face when Clarise claimed not to have any journals, any diaries. As if she were going to be helpful and say: Oh, don’t you remember the one . . . whatever. Then she caught herself, folded up. If I were a betting man, I’d wager heavy that Prissy Rissy has some information we could use.”
“And if she doesn’t want to share it, she’d burn it before she’d give it to you. She’s that perverse.”
“Can’t if she doesn’t know I know she’s got it—and if we can persuade Jane to help us out.”
“What are you going to do, seduce the poor girl?”
“Nope.” He bent down to kiss Roz’s wet shoulder. “You are. What I was thinking was that the girl could use a friend—maybe the prospect of another job. If you were able to contact her without Clarise knowing, give her some options . . .”
“And try to recruit her.” Pursing her lips, Roz thought it through. “It’s very sneaky, very deceptive. And I like it very much.”
He slid his hands up, covered her breasts with them, and with frothy bubbles. “I was hoping you would.”
“I don’t mind playing dirty.” With a wicked gleam in her eye, she squirmed around until she faced him. “Let’s practice,” she said, and dunked them both.
SIXTEEN
UNDER THE HUMMING chaos of spring season was a kind of simmering stress for the grower, especially if she happened to be the owner as well. Had she prepared enough flats, was she offering the right types and numbers of perennials?
Would the blooms be big enough, showy enough to attract the customers? Were the plants strong enough, healthy enough to maintain the reputation she’d built for quality?
Had they created enough baskets, pots, planters—or too many?
What about the shrubs and trees? Would the sidelines compliment the plants or detract from those sales?
Were the mulch colorants she’d decided to carry a mistake, or would her customer base enjoy the variety?
She left a great deal of this in Stella’s hands; that’s why she’d hired a manager. Roz wanted to compartmentalize many of the details—in someone else’s compartment. But In the Garden was still her baby, and she experienced all the pride and worry a mother might over any growing child.
She could enjoy the crowds and confusion, the customers wheeling their wagons or flatbeds around the tables, over gravel and concrete to select just the right plants for their gardens or patio pots. She could and did enjoy consulting and recommending, and used that to balance out the little pang she experienced at the start of high season when she watched the plants she’d nurtured ride off to new homes.
At this time of year she often lectured herself about being sentimental over what she’d grown. But they weren’t, and never could be, merely products to her. The weeks, months, often years spent nurturing specimens formed a connection for her that was very personal.
For the first few days of every spring season, she mourned the parting. Then she got down to business.
She was in the propagation house, taking a break from those crowds and calculating which plants to move into the retail area next when Cissy burst in.
“Roz, I’m desperate.”
Roz pursed her lips. The usually meticulously groomed Cissy had more than one highlighted hair out of place, and a panicked gleam in her eyes. “I can see that. Your hairdresser retire? Your masseuse run off with a musician?”
“Oh, don’t joke. I’m serious.” She hustled down the tables to where Roz worked. “My in-laws are coming to visit.”
“Oh.”
“Just dropped that bomb on me this morning. And they’re coming in two days. I hate when people just assume they’re welcome.”
“They are family.”
“Which only makes it worse, if you ask me. You know she picks on me. She’s picked on me for twenty-six years. If they hadn’t moved to Tampa, I’d be a crazy woman by now, or in jail for murder. I need your help, Roz.”
“I’m not going to kill your mother-in-law for you, Cissy. There are limits to friendship.”
“I bet you could.” Eyes narrowed, she took a long and calculating look around. “I bet there are all sorts of interesting poisons around here I could slip into her martini, and end this personal hell. I’ll just hold that one in reserve. You know what she said to me?”
“No, but I guess I’m going to hear it.”
“She said she supposed I hadn’t replaced the carpet in the dining room yet, and how she’d just love to go out while she’s here and find just the right thing. Not to worry about the time it took her, she had plenty now that she and Don have retired. And how I’d find that out for myself soon, since I’m reaching that age. I’m reaching that age. Can you imagine?”
“
Seeing as you and I are about the same age, I might find some poison around here.”
“Oh, and that’s not the half of it. I’d be here all day if I got started, and I can’t because I’m under the gun. She started snooting at me about the gardens and the lawn, and how she wondered I didn’t do more than I did with mine, why I didn’t take more pride in the home her son has provided me with.”
“You have a lovely yard.” Not that it reached its potential, but it was, in Roz’s opinion, well kept and pretty enough.
“She just pushed my buttons—like she always does—and I just blurted out how I’d been slaving away, and put in new beds and whatnot. I just blathered, Roz, and now, unless you help me out, she’s going to see I was lying through my teeth.”
“If you want Logan, we can ask Stella what his schedule’s like, but—”
“I hit her on the way back. He’s booked—solid, she says—for the next two weeks.” She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. “I’m begging you, Roz. Begging you. Pull him off something and give him to me. Just two days.”
“I can’t yank him off another job—but wait,” she said when tears gathered in Cissy’s eyes. “We’ll figure this out. Two days.” Roz blew out a breath. “It’s gonna cost you.”
“I don’t care. Money’s the least of it. My life’s at stake here. If you don’t help me, I’ll just have to fly down to Tampa on the sly and murder her in her sleep tonight.”
“Then let’s get started saving your life, and hers.”
She had a vision in mind, and cut a swath through her own nursery as she built on it. Cissy didn’t blink when Roz accumulated plants, shrubs, ornamental trees, pots, and planters.
“Harper, I need you to go to the house, bring my pickup on around. We’re going to load this up, and I’m going to steal you for a few hours. Stella, you tell Logan to come on by here when he finishes for the day. He’s going to be putting in some overtime. He can pick up what I’ve earmarked, and bring it to this address.”
She scrawled Cissy’s address on a scrap of paper. “You come with him. I can use your hands, and your eye.”