A matching story-and-a-half carriage house topped with a large cupola and weather vane sat behind the main house. Luke could see a couple of large, old-fashioned glass greenhouses set yet farther back. He followed the crushed-stone drive to the carriage house, which had MAGNOLIA MILE over a double French door.
Off to the side of the carriage house, a large screen of fancy white trelliswork hid the nursery stock from immediate view. In front of the screen was an artful display of sculpted garden decorations, birdbaths, benches, wrought-iron gates and arches, tiny waterfalls. Even in the miserable weather, it looked inviting. Abbott’s mother obviously had a talent for her work.
Calvin had a younger half-brother, Cole, who was still in high school. Luke supposed it was a bit of cowardice that made him arrive here during school hours. But he allowed himself that. It was going to be difficult enough to face Abbott’s mother, but facing the youngster who worshiped him would be more than Luke could stand.
He got out of the car and hurried inside, the first couple of steps the most painful; he’d been in the car too long. The first floor of the carriage house had been converted into a small shop. It was warmed by a potbellied stove and smelled of old wood, peat moss and fertilizer. Various houseplants hung in baskets from the rafters. The cash register sat on a long counter near the left wall. There was a tent-shaped paper sign beside it that said, IN THE GREENHOUSE. C’MON BACK.
Luke had been away from small towns long enough for an unattended cash register to make him nervous.
He went to the back door. It was a good thirty yards to the first greenhouse, and the rain had picked up again. At least the crushed-stone walkway would keep him from sinking knee-deep in mud. He lowered his head and made for the greenhouse at a gimpy trot, trying to avoid the deepest of the puddles.
Two things hit him when he pulled open the steamed-over glass door. A wave of hot air, and Def Leppard rattling the glass panes with “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
“Hello?” He didn’t see anyone right away. His gaze scanned over the green leaves springing up from the plant tables. There, in the far corner, he saw two arms with fisted hands making simultaneous circles overhead in time with the music. Occasionally, light hair would bob above the greenery.
Surprise trickled through him. Abbott’s mother was… boogying?
Luke called hello again, working to reform the image he’d created of Abbott’s mother. Luke had imagined a softly rounded body topped with semi-stylish gray hair that smelled of freshly baked cookies. Snow-white Keds and a theme sweater. Maybe Yanni or John Tesh. Certainly not Def Leppard.
The dancing continued.
He walked toward that corner of the greenhouse, calling out a couple more times to no avail.
When he reached the aisle where he’d seen the hands, he stopped and stared.
Abbott had said his mother was “unconventional.” But no way could Luke see what was before him as a mother. Definitely not Abbott’s. A long strawberry-blond braid hung down the tall slender back, swaying as the young woman undulated provocatively with the music. Her short top rode up, showing a curving waist over her low-slung jeans. Those graceful arms bent and she rested her hands on her hair as her head bobbed from side to side. Luke had never seen a sight quite so unconsciously alluring.
Def Leppard continued to beg for little miss innocent to sugar them up—and Luke wanted just that.
She spun around. Luke opened his mouth to speak, but her eyes were closed. Her hips moved in a way that he’d forgotten a woman could. Her elbows came forward, her hands still on the back of her head. Her navel winked at him.
Luke’s mouth went dry.
You can’t just stand here. “Ex—” he swallowed, trying to get some moisture back over his dry vocal chords. “Excuse me!” he shouted.
Her eyes opened. Her hands flew to her heart and she jumped several inches in the air. “Good Lord, man! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Her voice held a strong Mississippi accent, but not the back-woodsy sort, more like a southern debutante, sorority girl at Ole Miss. Then her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Just how long have you been standing there?”
Luke felt a heat come to his cheeks. Jesus, was he blushing? “Not long.” He wasn’t sure she could hear his denial over the bass beat of the music.
She pinned him with a challenging glare that told him she’d heard just fine. She had beautiful light green eyes that flashed the same fire he’d seen in her dancing. But the way she tugged the hem of her top over her jeans showed just how uncomfortable his spying had made her—no matter what her show of cool.
“I’m—”
“Wait!” She walked toward him, holding up a finger. “Let me turn this music down.” She stepped around him and trotted to a table beside the door he’d come in.
As she passed he caught a scent as sultry as that dance she’d been doing. She dressed in a manner that said she didn’t work at looking good—which somehow made her all the more appealing. He was trying to figure out her age. It was hard to tell; she wore no makeup and had a very youthful spring in her step as she ran to the table. Much too young for you. Luke, ol’ boy.
She turned down the music and looked at him again. “Now we can talk like regular people. The plants have to have four hours of music a day.” Her smile was open and friendly. As he looked more closely at her eyes, perhaps she wasn’t so young.
He shuffled his male curiosity back into the closet as he took several steps in her direction. “The plants like rock?”
“The boss lady insists they prefer classical, something with energy. She doesn’t like them to hear ballads—makes them depressed. Def Leppard has plenty of energy.” She flipped her long braid back over her shoulder and lifted her chin slightly.
Luke thought he saw a hint of blush on her cheeks that belied her rebellious stance. Again, he was drawn to her complex mixture of innocence and spunk.
“I see.” He shifted his weight from his bad knee. “I’m looking for M…” he started to say Mrs. Abbott, but knew Abbott’s mother had remarried after his father died; Cole being his half-brother. Calvin always referred to his mother as Liv, never Mom, or Ma, or Mother. Luke had no idea what her last name was. “For Olivia,” he finished. Using her first name felt disrespectful to his military-trained tongue.
“She had to go to town. She should be back in about fifteen minutes. Can I do something for you?”
“No, actually, it’s personal.” He paused and looked around. “I’ll just wait in my car.” He started to take a step, but immediately felt his knee begin to buckle. Shifting his weight back to his good leg, he saved himself an embarrassing stumble.
She cast a quick glance at his bad knee, her forehead wrinkled with a frown. Then her gaze passed over the ugly, jagged scar on the side of his neck. He tensed, dreading her questions, her pity.
Her gaze then connected with his. He wasn’t sure what he saw in her eyes, but it wasn’t pity. She held his gaze, not questioning, simply accepting what she saw before her. He was grateful to his soul—he’d spent the last months with his physical injuries dominating his life. It was as if she sensed his reluctance to answer questions about his scars.
“Wouldn’t you like some coffee while you wait?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I don’t want to interrupt your… work. I’ll just wait outside for Olivia.” He was torn between wanting to be away from the possibility of questions that Olivia had the first right to ask, and the warmth of long-denied feminine contact. There had been plenty of female hands on him in the hospital, but to have real interaction with a woman—well, it had been a long, long time. And this woman looked beyond the scars.
He started to step around her and she put a hand on his arm. “Please. I’d feel just terrible with you sitting out there in the cold.”
He hesitated. Her touch warmed him through the layers of clothing, right to the bone.
“I can tell by your accent you’re not from around here,” she said. “Maybe y
ou don’t know how it works down South.” She drew out the words he-yah and down Saauth, emphasizing her own accent. “We invite. You accept. Otherwise our feelings are hurt.” She smiled again. “You’re lucky I didn’t offer you sweet tea. You Yankees don’t seem to have a taste for sweet tea.”
He smiled back. It shocked him to realize just how foreign smiling felt. It was almost like the first time he bent his wounded knee after having the brace removed, as if the muscles had to work just to remember how. “I’d be honored to share a cup of coffee with such a lovely flower of the South.” He gave her a gallant sweeping bow befitting a Confederate officer. He could hardly believe he was flirting. It felt even more alien than smiling.
“That’s more like it.” She spun around with a satisfied look on her face and headed toward the door with quick, sure steps.
She was halfway there when she must have sensed that he wasn’t right behind her. She slowed her pace, without turning around, without making him self-conscious. God, he couldn’t wait for the day when he was himself again.
A little voice in the back of his brain whispered, You will never again be the man, the soldier, you were.
He shook off the thought and plunged outside right behind her into the rain. She held back, kept herself from running through the downpour. Her sensitivity to his pride pricked in a way that was almost more painful than other folks’ outright sympathy.
Pushing himself to move faster, he nudged her from behind. “Go!”
She broke into a trot. His knee hurt, but he made himself keep up. Still, by the time they reached the carriage house, they were both soaked to the skin.
Once inside, she spun around, wiping the water from her face, laughing. It was a beautiful sound, bringing to mind warm, soft breezes and church bells.
“Good heavens!” She looked at him. “Oh, my. You’re drenched. Let me get something to dry us off.”
She went behind the counter that held the cash register and rummaged around while Luke stood dripping on the floor.
“This will have to do.” She held up a roll of paper towel and pulled off a long strip. Coming back to Luke, she held it out for him.
“This’ll do fine. Thank you.” He took the towels, but could hardly mop himself for watching the way she patted her face and throat dry—and the way her wet shirt clung to her curves.
Luke heard a snort from the corner of the room and flinched guiltily. He’d been staring at her as if they were alone. Apparently they weren’t.
When he looked around, he saw only a huge red-brown bloodhound curled up in a dark corner.
“That’s Rufus, our guard dog.”
Luke looked at her in disbelief. “Guard dog? I walked in here earlier and didn’t even notice him. I could have carried the place off.”
The dog let one sleepy eye fall shut.
She laughed. “I doubt that. That’s all part of his plan, making you think he’s not paying attention. Just try to get near that cash register.”
Luke couldn’t imagine a dog having a “plan.”
“Go on. Try it.” She gestured toward the register.
Tipping his head, Luke grinned. “Okay. But just to prove you need to rely on locked doors and not a lazy hound dog.” He walked toward the front door.
Rufus remained snoozing in his corner.
Luke stepped closer to the register.
Rufus didn’t move.
Walking right up to the counter, Luke looked at the dog and waited.
One eye opened.
“Not much of a deterrent,” Luke said, shaking his head in amusement.
“Rufus just doesn’t like to waste a lot of energy carrying on. He knows when to get to business. Try to pick it up.” She stood with her arms crossed and a grin on her face.
Luke reached for the register.
In a red-brown blur, the dog jumped across the room in one bound. A deep growl was followed by an equally deep round of barking that rattled the windows, as well as Luke’s self-confidence.
Rufus showed an impressive display of sharp, white teeth set in a jaw the size of a horse’s and maneuvered himself between Luke and the door.
Luke yanked his hands away from the register, his heart hammering in his chest.
The dog inched closer, head low, teeth bared, hackles raised.
“Okay, okay, I let it go,” Luke said with his hands in the air, backing slowly away.
The dog still looked ready to pounce.
“Hey, lady, call off Cujo!”
“Rufus, down.” She didn’t raise her voice at all.
The dog’s lips relaxed and he flopped in a wrinkly brown mass to the floor. He blew out a long breath that flapped his lips and watched the woman with adoring eyes.
Luke licked his lips. “Well, okay, then. I’m convinced.”
“Actually, poor Rufus never gets to do that; everyone around here already has wind of his reputation.” She walked over to the dog, knelt down and ruffled his long ears.
Luke said, “Normally, I get along fine with dogs. Still, if I were you, I wouldn’t put my face quite so close to those… those fangs.”
She laughed. “He won’t hurt me—only someone who wants to hurt me.”
A large pink tongue swiped across her face. “Yes, I love you, too, big fella.”
She stood back up and looked at Luke, extending her hand. “I’m Analise. Cream in your coffee?”
Giving his head a slight shake, Luke caught up with the change in conversation. He kept his eye on the dog for another heartbeat. He really did like dogs. However, he guessed he’d never faced a hundred pounds of snarling teeth and muscle before. “Yes, please.” He shifted his gaze to her and shook her hand. It felt strong and gentle at the same time. “And I’m Luke Boudreau.”
Her hand spasmed slightly in his. A little breath hitched in her chest. Her lips opened slightly and her eyes widened. Her face seemed to blanch. “Oh.” She finally blinked and swallowed. “I’ll get the coffee.”
She hurried into another room, leaving Luke feeling like he should have recognized her name. Calvin didn’t talk much about home—only rarely of his mother and little brother. Luke suddenly realized he’d served beside the man for three years and could count the personal details he knew about his life on one hand.
When Analise returned, color was back in her cheeks. She carried two mugs of steaming coffee. She handed one to Luke and motioned for him to sit at the metal café set near the stove. She sat across the small table from him, concentrating on the steam rising from her cup.
After a few seconds she raised her gaze and looked at him. Her mouth remained relaxed, not reflecting the emotion that Luke thought he caught in her eyes. There was something in her stare that reached right down inside him and grabbed the pit of his stomach. She finally released him from the power of that jade gaze, lowered her lashes and took a sip from her cup.
Luke drank his own coffee, content to let the silence play out.
Analise’s long fingers fiddled with the cup that sat in front of her. Luke noticed her fingernails were short and stained from working with plants. She had what looked like a long, narrow burn across the back of her left hand.
After a few minutes she raised her gaze and sighed. “You served with Calvin.” It wasn’t a question.
He nodded. “I’d really like to wait for Olivia…”
For a second, offense flashed in her eyes, sharp and accusing. Then she said softly, “Of course.”
He felt badly, so he tried to initiate polite conversation. “So what about you? Have you always lived in Grover?”
She withdrew her hands from the table and put them in her lap. “No, I grew up around Jackson. Calvin brought me here.”
“Calvin?”
Just then, a woman who had to be Calvin’s mother came hustling through the front door. She collapsed her umbrella and stomped her feet, which, despite the weather, sported Birkenstocks and white socks. Her gray hair was in an unexpected short-spiky ’do that made Luke think of Annie Lenn
ox. The woman was short, rather box-shaped, with full cheeks, Calvin’s slightly-tilted-upward brown eyes and generous mouth and a virtually nonexistent neck. The big, loose, cable-knit sweater she wore hit her at midthigh, nearly swallowing her up. She moved in a no-nonsense take-charge way that belied her elfish appearance.
“Oh! Company!” She smiled, and the warmth of it shot right to Luke’s scarred heart. This was clearly the face of a woman who never turned a soul away from her doorstep. Still, he doubted her exuberance would last once she knew who the “company” was.
He stood and tipped his head. “Luke Boudreau, ma’am.”
Her smile slipped just a little, but she quickly recovered. “You’re here about Calvin.” Although her smile remained on her face, Luke could see a spark of pain in her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beside him, Analise made a little hiccup sound. He kept his gaze on Olivia.
She pulled in a deep breath that appeared to add an edge of stiffness to her posture, as if drawing herself up, bracing herself to face something unpleasant yet inevitable. Then she walked toward him, congenial expression maintained on her face. “I see you’ve already met Calvin’s wife.”
Luke’s tingling fingers felt like they’d taken a shot of electricity. His heart beat in a chest that suddenly felt cold and hollow. Wife? How could I not have known Calvin had a wife?
THE EDITOR’S DIARY
Dear Reader,
Telling the truth isn’t easy, but sometimes keeping a secret is even harder. And the consequences can have devastating and sometimes naughty effects, as both Mary Callahan and Lily Holt have discovered in our Warner Forever titles this January.
Amanda Quick says, “Pamela Britton writes the kind of wonderfully romantic, sexy, witty historical romances that readers dream of discovering when they go into a bookstore.” Well, fear not—your dreams are about to come true with her newest book, TEMPTED. Alexander Drumming is certainly no innocent. With a rather colorful reputation behind him as a rake of the highest order, he has vowed to give up his wicked ways. But now he needs a woman—an amazing woman to tame his little hellcat of a daughter. Spirited and intelligent, Mary Callahan is the perfect nursemaid. But her luscious lips and mysterious, bedroom eyes look more like trouble than salvation to Alexander. For Mary is hiding a secret and soon these two people will find themselves on the brink of scandal and will learn the risks of mixing danger and desire…
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