by Lyn Cote
Cold water from the garden hose coursed down Gage’s neck and under his shirt.
“Me, too!” Cat took the hose and doused her face. No thought about makeup or hair. Just complete, natural joy. Scooping her wet hair from her face, she offered him the hose.
He took it, put his thumb over the end and sprayed a mist into her face. Instead of objecting, she turned around and lifted the hair off her neck, letting the spray wet her neck and back. “Ahh,” she sighed.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the intimate, natural pose she’d assumed. The pale nape of her neck drew his attention. Would she notice if he touched— Stop!
Pushing aside dangerous thoughts, he began watering. Cat inspected the shrubs they’d planted in the yard. His eyes discreetly followed her. What did Cat think of him? Did she only think of him as a business partner?
Books by Lyn Cote
Love Inspired
Never Alone #30
New Man in Town #66
Hope’s Garden #111
LYN COTE
Born in Texas, raised in Illinois on the shore of Lake Michigan, Lyn now lives in Iowa with her real-life hero and their son and daughter—both teens. Lyn has spent her adult life as a teacher, then a full-time mom, now a writer.
When she married her hero over twenty years ago, she “married” the north woods of Wisconsin, too. Recently she and her husband bought a fixer-upper cabin on a lake there. Lyn spends most of each summer sitting by the lake, writing. As she writes, her Siamese cat, Shadow, likes to curl up on Lyn’s lap to keep her company. By the way, Lyn’s last name is pronounced “Coty.”
Hope’s Garden
Lyn Cote
“Consider the lilies of the field,…
even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed
as one of these…if God clothes the grass of the
field which…tomorrow is cast in the oven,
shall He not clothe you?…But seek first
the kingdom of God and His righteousness;
and all these things will be added to you.”
—Matthew 6:28-30, 33
With love and gratitude
to my dear mother, Catherine, and to Joy,
thanks for always living up to your name!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Two things had been on Cat Simmons’s mind. Gage Farrell’s handsome face. And a dirty undershirt.
The bright April sunshine made her squint. Pulling sunglasses from her breast pocket, she one-handed them on. Breathing in the sweet fragrance of freshly strewn cedar bark, she scanned the brand-new strip mall on the east side of Eden, Iowa. Her handiwork—the patchwork of well-placed blue spruces and evergreen shrubs in the reddish-brown cedar bark beds—needed only a border of red petunias to be complete. She would line the curb with the petunias after the danger of frost had passed in early May. Then everything would be symmetrical, colorful, harmonious.
She listened politely to the out-of-town contractor, just an average-looking guy, unlike Gage Farrell.
She knew the closing-the-deal routine from years of watching her late father sell nursery stock to retailers. Now this building contractor was trying one last time to get her to cut something off the price. Prepared for this, she’d built a five percent discount into her bid just as her father always had. She’d let the man talk awhile longer, then offer him two percent and hope he’d take it. Because she was a young woman, she knew she wouldn’t be taken as seriously as her father would have been. This put her on her guard, so she kept her noncommittal “business” expression in place.
The contractor said, “I expected you to use more mature stock.”
“You know my bid was the lowest because I grow most of my own stock. These shrubs have a whole growing season to establish themselves….” She went on speaking. Though keyed up, she didn’t want to appear uptight. When the time was right, she’d bring the conversation to a neat end. She could do this.
Gage Farrell’s face came up in her mind. Thoughts of him—hair the color of black walnuts, eyes the color of evergreen needles—had intruded on business all week. How was she going to hold her own against a college-educated business partner—a man who’d handled commercial real estate for nearly six years? He’d be more like the new yuppies moving into town, not like the longtime Eden people she felt comfortable with. A new partner now—right in the midst of all the changes in town… What had she been thinking when she signed the partnership papers? She blocked these thoughts.
The contractor said, pointing, “The shrubs you planted on the parking islands—”
She decided she needed to assert herself. “Are wintergreen barberry. Their spiny leaves and twigs will keep people from trampling them.”
Thinking of prickly things, a kind of internal twitch went through her. The closer Farrell’s arrival loomed, the more often this irritating sensation zigzagged its way down her spine. A week from today, exactly, he’d arrive.
The contractor intruded, “Why did you choose blue spruce for the street-side island?”
Cat glanced at the contractor and sensed the time to end the “negotiation dance” had come. Though her stomach shook, she offered a two percent discount. He hesitated. She lifted her chin and offered three firmly. He nodded. They shook.
Climbing back into her white truck, which announced Hope’s Garden in neat green lettering surrounded by vines, Cat breathed a sigh of relief. She’d done it, closed her first big commercial job!
The thoughts of her partner zoomed back into her mind. Even though they’d met only a few times at her cousin Laurette’s house, he’d made an impression on her. Not the kind that would lead to wanting him as a partner. He wore all the right labels and had that big-city way about him as though life was his for the asking.
She usually stayed away when Laurette’s husband, Chuck, had his college friends like Farrell visiting. She always felt out of place around guys who talked about college people she’d never met and laughed at jokes that made no sense to her. She hoped Farrell wouldn’t act like that at the nursery.
She’d barely squeaked through high school, and her father hadn’t seen any need for her to even go to the community college in the next county. She hadn’t wanted to go for more school anyway. Would not going to college work against her now?
This partnership was a risk she’d been willing to take. A bank loan would have needed collateral, her business. She hadn’t wanted to do it that way, so she’d accepted Farrell’s money and Farrell. She’d made her bed, now she’d have to lie in it.
With effort, she turned her mind to her list of things to do before her new partner arrived. She’d check all the greenhouses herself and she’d go over her ledgers one more time. She’d be ready for Mr. Big-City Partner.
After scooping her unruly hair into a ponytail, she drove down the road recalling the story of the dirty undershirt. Great-grandmother Catherine Hadley, whom Cat had been named for, had been twenty-nine and still unmarried. In spite of her father’s protests, she had taken the train to western Kansas to be the mail-order bride of a farmer there.
Great-grandmother had stepped off the train. The Kansas farmer waiting for her had worn a clean shirt over a dirty undershirt. That had obviously said volumes to Great-grandmother. She’d gotten on the next train headed home for Iowa. The following year in spite of her banker father’s disapproval, s
he’d married Cat’s great-grandfather. His son, Cat’s grandfather, had started the nursery Cat inherited from her father.
Next Monday Cat’s own mail-order partner would arrive. Should she find a dirty undershirt and wear it to greet him? Cat grinned ruefully. She doubted Farrell would be that easily sent back to Chicago. No, her partner was coming to stay whether she liked it or not.
Back at Hope’s Garden, she knelt in front of the sales area beside a halved, whiskey-barrel planter. With her hands deep in black dirt and the earthy scent of peat moss all around her, Cat grinned with soul-deep satisfaction. If the day continued bright and warm, the spring rush of customers would bury her in a happy, lucrative avalanche. She heard a car driving in.
She dismissed lingering thoughts of Farrell from her mind. Whimsically she sniffed the velvety green leaves of the geranium. She loved their pungent fragrance. Creator of all, thank you for spring buds.
“Hi, is the owner around?”
From under the bill of her cap, she glanced up to a man who stood over her, blocking the morning sun and casting her in his shadow. He was tall enough to make her look up, but then most everyone was. She stood up. Gage Farrell? It couldn’t be!
The right side of Farrell’s face was freshly scarred, a single red gash along his cheekbone. She’d heard about the accident. But the deep red welt startled her anyway. Not wishing to be rude, she directed her gaze to his green eyes. “Farrell?” she asked, her voice faltering. Without warning, naked pain arced in his eyes and touched something deep inside her, drawing her quick sympathy.
Farrell must have thought her uncertain welcome was in response to his scar. His greeting smile tightened. A noncommittal mask slipped over his features. “Cat?”
She offered him her hand, realized she still had her gardening gloves on, and snatched one off. Studying him, she shook hands. Completely off balance, she said the only word in her head, “Hi.”
She’d remembered Farrell as tall, dark and good-looking, but she’d forgotten the effect of the total package. Gage Farrell was drop-dead handsome. It would take more than a scar to change that. Wearing a slate-blue chamois shirt and tan twill slacks, he could have stepped right out of a luxury car ad. Except for his scarred cheek, she could imagine him smiling at the camera as he drove off in option-loaded comfort. Her stomach sank. You’re here a week early! My list!
With arms folded and his eyes analyzing her in return, he said in a deep, attractive voice, “I got everything wrapped up sooner than I expected. So here I am.”
She couldn’t think of what to say. She couldn’t say, “Come back in a week!” Why was he looking at her so oddly? Did she have dirt on her nose or something?
Behind him, three cars pulled in almost simultaneously. The dazzling spring morning was bringing out customers. She felt like wringing her hands. How could he do this to her?
“Cat!”
Both of them turned toward the sales entrance. Her purse on her shoulder, Cat’s temporary help was speed-walking toward them. Dreading the answer already, Cat asked, “What is it?”
“The school nurse just called me. My twins have chicken pox!”
“Chicken pox?” Cat echoed. The sinking sensation in her stomach accelerated.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go and take them home. I won’t be back for a week or more!”
Cat could do nothing, but nod mournfully.
Two more cars pulled in and another five customers got out while her temporary assistant drove away.
“I guess it’s good I came early,” Farrell said, looking at the customers swarm around the bedding plants.
Cat nodded numbly. What next?
A customer waved at them. Cat’s cordless phone rang. Farrell walked over to the customer.
Letting him go, she pulled the phone out of a pocket in the dark-green gardener’s apron she wore over her jeans and plaid flannel shirt. Into the receiver, she recited, “Hope’s Garden. We have every bloomin’ thing you need. This is Cat Simmons. How may I help you?”
Laurette said in a weak voice, “Hello, Cat? Is everything going okay?”
“You didn’t warn me Farrell was in town!” Cat accused her best friend.
“Gage arrived late last night out of the blue. You knew he’d be staying with me and Chuck.”
“He’s thrown me off completely. I wasn’t ready!”
“I know. I talked him into calling you first, but you weren’t in. He left here while I was being sick again. Cat, I’m really feeling awful today.”
“Still nauseated?”
“Yes.”
Sympathy filled Cat. Laurette, in the third month of her pregnancy, had been battling morning sickness, which kept her from working alongside Cat as she had for the past two years. Cat wanted to say, Laurette, it’s lonely without you here. But she couldn’t say that. Her cousin felt bad enough already.
“Be kind to Gage. He’s had a tough year. Chuck’s been concerned about him since we went to that funeral in Chicago after the accident. Come to supper tonight. It will help you two get acquainted away from work.” Laurette moaned, “Oh…not again.” The line clicked.
Cat sighed. What could she say? Nothing. She pushed a button and dropped the phone back into one of her many apron pockets. She glimpsed Farrell bringing a retired couple, the McCoys, into the windowed sales area, and she hurried to meet them at the counter.
Farrell walked in with a flat of bedding plants. Old Mr. McCoy said, “Now, young man, you’re certain those are all sweet banana peppers? We got a hot one mixed in last year and planted it with the rest without realizing it. Ma canned the peppers in fall. When I opened a jar and bit in…whoo-ee!”
Farrell nodded with a slight grin. “Surprised you, I bet.”
“You said it!”
I got my surprise today, too! Cat complained inwardly as she greeted the older couple.
“You want to ring up this order?” Farrell asked.
I suppose so since you don’t know how! “Sure, but I need to talk to you afterward.” She shot him a look that meant she had something important to say.
“Likewise.”
Forcing a smile at the older couple at the counter, Cat accepted their payment. “You should have let us know about that mix-up, and we would have refunded your money.”
Mrs. McCoy shook her head no. “That’s okay, Cat. Besides, the old man needs something to pep him up occasionally.”
This sally started a cheerful play argument between the couple who’d been married more than fifty years. It lightened Cat’s mood momentarily.
Before she finished the sale, Farrell sauntered outside in answer to another customer’s wave.
Bidding the McCoy’s to come again soon, Cat rounded the corner of the desk to pursue him. She needed to show Farrell how things were done here. Her phone rang. Talking to a customer interested in adding hostas to her shaded yard kept Cat busy while she watched Farrell discuss a flowering crab apple tree with another female customer. She hoped he knew what he was talking about. Crab apple trees and commercial real estate didn’t have much in common after all.
Hanging up at the end of the hosta explanation, Cat made her way toward them and smiled. “Are you able to answer all her questions? This is your first day on the job.”
“Oh, he’s convinced me!” The lady laughed. “I’ll be back when I’m ready to buy!” She waved goodbye to them, then drove away.
“Farrell, we need to talk about where things are. I wanted to give you a tour—” That’s as far as she got. Another flock of customers landed.
Whenever Cat got close to Farrell, her heart sped up like a Geiger counter near radium. He made her more nervous than closing the deal at the strip mall. This is not a good sign.
In the midafternoon, they nearly collided, both of them with their arms loaded with flats of pink petunias. She said in passing, “I’m sorry we’re understaffed today. I didn’t intend to put you right to work. I knew I’d have to hire someone soon, but…”
�
�No problem. I’ll handle it.”
“Okay.”
Later they passed again, “You know I expected to have another week to get ready for you.” Her pulse beat faster from his nearness, leaving her more flustered.
“No problem. So far everything seems fine. When we have a chance though, I’d like that tour.”
“Chuck said you did lawn work during the summers while you were in college?” she asked, casting for a more detailed explanation of his gardening knowledge.
“Don’t worry. I know my way around growing things.”
How did he have enough confidence to arrive at a new business and just move into action? His unexpected presence playing havoc with her concentration, she still wanted to ask for specifics, but didn’t want to buttonhole him in front of customers who were gathering around them again. She lowered her voice, “Well, if you need help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Sure.”
Customers claimed both of them once again. With a glance over her shoulder, Cat went off to explain the proper way to apply fertilizers. In spite of the obvious confidence Gage showed with customers, Cat still had her doubts. And she had no faith in a man asking for help. Her father would have died first. Please, Lord, don’t let him give the wrong advice to someone!
After selling fifty pounds of rotted cow manure and loading the bags into the customer’s truck, Cat passed her desk and prayed silently, Lord, this isn’t what I had planned. Calm me. Help me see clearly, be businesslike.
She sighed and opened her eyes, then caught sight of the calendar and the date. April first. Her mouth turned up into a wry smile. “April Fool to you, Cat,” she whispered.
At the end of the day, Cat rubbed her temples. She’d hoped for a busy day, and she’d been buried by the workload. Her two high school student helpers had arrived at 3:30 p.m. and had taken care of the plants in the greenhouses while she and Farrell had sold and sold. But just being busy hadn’t given her a headache. He’d kept making her stammer and blush.