Hope's Garden

by Lyn Cote

  How would she get used to having Mr. Smooth working beside her? She’d never thought she was this susceptible, but Farrell had distracted her all day. She’d almost dropped a flat of marigolds on his toes and she put her phone down and forgot where. But he’d worked as hard as she and what she’d overheard him telling customers had been correct. And to be honest, she would have lost business without him. Customers weren’t always willing to wait for help. But no one had gone away dissatisfied today.

  Obviously, the growth in Eden had increased Cat’s business faster than she expected. Seeing the business expand was great. But she had to make sure her increasing operating costs didn’t get ahead of profits. And she might need another pair of hands to help out around the shop. Whom could she call to work her temporary assistant’s hours until the chicken pox passed? And would Laurette improve enough to come back to work? If she didn’t, Cat would have to rethink adding just one more full-time employee. She’d go over her budget and see if she could afford not one, but two new employees.

  As always, she’d go slow and make sure she found the right person. She didn’t want her new partner putting his two cents in on hiring. She’d lived in Eden all her life. Coming from Chicago, what would Farrell know about hiring someone in Eden?

  She glanced at her watch—5:45 p.m. Only fifteen minutes until closing. The sun was sinking on the horizon. She’d never been so happy to see a day end.

  Gage shifted on his feet trying to ease the weight off his sore leg. He’d always thought selling commercial real estate kept him busier than a human should be. But selling plants and answering questions made him as tired as if he’d been digging ditches all day. He’d tried to figure out where things were at the garden center without asking too many questions. He didn’t want his brand-new partner thinking she needed to lead him around by the nose. He’d carry his own weight. Even on a bad leg.

  A shiny, white sport utility vehicle drove up. A pretty blonde wearing designer jeans got out. “See, they’re still open, Dex!”

  Gage sized them up instantly. Definitely a dink couple—double income, no kids.

  “I see. I see.” The tall lanky man caught up with her.

  The pretty blonde grinned. “When I saw the spring sun this morning, I just couldn’t wait to get our garden started. I want it to look like one of those gardening shows on TV.”

  “Whatever, Samantha.”

  Drained after the nonstop day, Gage took a step and felt himself limp. He stopped. The lingering weakness was a constant reminder of the accident. Remorse gripped him, halted him. When he hung back, Cat stepped from the shadows and approached the blonde.

  The contrast between the two women was sharp. The blonde was platinum, tall and slender, while his partner was compact, very shapely, with an abundance of sun-bleached hair pulled into a ponytail. Cat Simmons looked like the cuddle-up type, cute, but not his style.

  Taking on a young female partner had worried him. Would she feel uncomfortable around his scar. So far, she didn’t act like she did. But it had certainly put Daria off.

  Cat said politely, but firmly, to the couple, “We’re about ready to close. How may I help you?”

  “We’re the Crenshaws. Are you Hope?”

  Cat smiled, but Gage thought it looked strained.

  “No, Hope was my mother. I’m Cat Simmons.”

  “Cat, we just moved into our brand new house out in Paradise Hills.” The blonde motioned eastward.

  Cat nodded fractionally.

  Gage shook his head. Didn’t his partner know anything about the body language of selling? She had taken a combative stance and her tone sounded wary. Why?

  He walked evenly toward them, feeling pain shoot up his leg. “Hello, folks.” He shook hands with them both. “I’m Cat’s partner, Gage Farrell. New house, huh?”

  “A white Georgian with columns. I’m Samantha.” The blonde grinned at him. “But everyone calls me Sam. This is my husband, Dex.”

  “She had to have columns,” her husband added with a smile.

  Cat spoke up, “What were you looking for?”

  “We need to landscape,” Dex replied.

  Cat took a step closer. “Do you have a sunny yard or a shady one?”

  Dex snorted. “Sunny. There isn’t a stick growing on the property.”

  “A sunny yard is good,” Cat admitted.

  “Gage.” Sam looked up into Gage’s eyes. “Is it bad to have a shady yard?”

  “I think she means that most flowers like sun. Isn’t that what you meant, Cat?”

  Cat nodded and shoved her hands in her back pockets.

  Uncertain about Cat’s reaction, Gage motioned for the couple to follow him. They stepped into the greenhouse. “I take it you’re wanting to do something appropriate to a Georgian with columns?”

  “Exactly!” Sam enthused.

  Wishing Cat had a display of gardening magazines, Gage walked the couple through the closest greenhouse, discussing the merits of annuals and perennials in a garden. His partner trailed them, offering a comment now and then.

  He noticed her rubbing her temples once. Maybe she had a headache. That would explain her uneasiness around these customers.

  Finally, with a glance at his watch, he suggested, “Something like this takes thought. Why don’t you buy some gardening magazines and bring them back Saturday morning around eleven? Then we’ll get a better idea of what you’re looking for.”

  “Sounds good.” The husband drew his wife snugly under his arm. “Come on, Sam. We’ll go to the new strip mall and buy some pretty flower magazines for you to drool over.”

  Cat bid them good-night and headed for the office.

  So Gage shepherded them out to their car and waved them off. Then he went inside to face his partner. The aching in his leg taunted him and made him speak gruffly, “Did you take something for your headache?”

  Cat walked to the door, locked it and switched off the outdoor lights. She faced him and said in a tired voice, “Oh, you noticed? I took extra-strength aspirin. That should take care of it. Would you like some?”

  Until she asked this, he hadn’t been conscious that he was rubbing his sore leg. Hoping she wouldn’t ask him any questions about it, he stopped, then glanced at her. “Maybe later.”

  “Okay. I’m nearly done here.”

  No more questions? A woman who didn’t pry? Leaning against the counter, he realized, in spite of his pain, he felt better than he had for a long time. Just working with plants again had made him forget some of what had happened in the past ten months, made him feel alive again. He fingered the small cross that hung around his neck, the one Manny, his old boss, had left him.

  “You must think I’m completely disorganized,” Cat stated.

  Her frankness impressed Gage. Well, please don’t hold back, partner. “Not at all. So far everything looks in good shape. Chicken pox isn’t your fault.” But he understood the thought behind her point. “I didn’t mean to put you at a disadvantage by arriving early. If you hadn’t needed me today, I might have gone home. But I’m glad I was able to help. What did we take in?”

  Cat knew he had a perfect right to ask her this question, but it still irked her. With effort, she kept her voice neutral. “Uh…$879.62.” She walked to her desk and began putting the neatly separated and rubber-banded sheaves of cash into the zippered bank bag.

  “Not bad for April first. Is this normal business for a spring day?”

  “No, we’re busier than usual. Part of it is the unusually warm weather and part of it is the new population.”

  “If this pace keeps up, we’re really going to need help. Hopefully we’ll have someone soon. I called in the help-wanted ad.”

  Cat froze. “You what?”

  “I called the local paper and put in an ad. You know the usual, ‘Help wanted. Hope’s Garden.’”

  “You didn’t!”

  He looked at her as though she’d sprouted a second head. “You said you were sorry to be understaffed. I sai
d I’d handle it. You said okay. So I just went ahead and took care of it.”

  Her temper flared. She wanted to hit him. Over the head. With something heavy.

  He leaned on the counter across from her. “Just hiring one more person may not be enough, though. We may need another part-time person, too.”

  Still holding back her sparking temper, she resented his using we. There had been no we about calling in an ad. She said slowly and firmly, “When you said ‘I’ll handle it,’ I thought you meant the work. I didn’t want to put an ad in the paper yet.”

  “Why?” He looked surprised.

  “This isn’t Chicago.” She chose her words carefully. “Eden is a small town, and this is a small business. I don’t want to have to turn down someone I know, but who wouldn’t work out here. I normally use word of mouth to find someone. You should have asked me before you called the paper.”

  “I see,” he conceded. “I’m used to running a large agency, calling in an ad was routine.”

  She nodded grimly. “In the future, I think we should discuss decisions like this.”

  He eyed her as if he were waiting for the next shoe to drop, then nodded. “Okay. Sorry. Thought I was helping.”

  “Okay.” Frowning deeply but without another word, she zipped the bank bag shut. “I called someone to come in tomorrow to help out till the pox is over.”

  Nodding, he stood up straight. “Need me to do anything more before I leave?” he asked in a conciliatory tone.

  Cat glanced at him. He looked beat, and she’d noticed he’d tried to hide that his leg was giving him trouble. “No, that’s all right. I’ll just go around and check to see if everything is locked up and shut down.”

  “I can do that.”

  “No—”

  “I said, I’ll do it.”

  She wanted to point out he looked like he needed to sit down, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate it. Men didn’t like women to point up their weaknesses. She’d learned that from her father. Dad had ignored symptoms until he died of an early heart attack. “There’s a checklist of closing duties on the inside of the back door. If you need to ask a question, call me or Laurette. She knows the routine.”

  Farrell nodded.

  “I’m going by the bank’s night deposit drop. I’ll see you at Chuck’s. Laurette invited me for supper, too. Just push the button lock on the door when you leave.”

  “Will do. See you there, partner.”

  Cat clenched her jaw and walked out into the spring evening. She’d known she wouldn’t like having a partner. Especially one used to running things his way.

  Cat pulled into Chuck and Laurette’s driveway beside their traditional white Cape Cod. She’d driven straight over from the bank. She parked and walked through the garage and into the kitchen. “Hi, it’s me!”

  Immediately the house felt odd. Too quiet. No aroma of a dinner cooking. Cat hurried through the kitchen, dining room, then called up the stairs, “Laurette!”

  “Up here!” Chuck yelled.

  Cat raced up the stairs. She found him sitting on the floor of the bathroom clutching Laurette in his arms. “What’s wrong?” She fell to her knees on the cold vinyl tile and reached for her friend’s wrist to find a pulse.

  “I just got home and found her here on the floor.” Chuck eyes looked wide and wild.

  “Is she breathing?” Cat nearly choked on the words.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you call her doctor?”

  Laurette’s eyes fluttered open. “Cat?”

  “What’s wrong?” Cat squeezed her hand.

  “I feel so weak,” Laurette said in a breathy voice. “I tried to get supper started…I couldn’t. I can’t even keep water down.”

  Cat stood up. “I’m calling Dr. Nelson.”

  “Good. Hurry.” Chuck hugged Laurette closer.

  The fear that this might be more than just faintness, that it might be the first stages of miscarriage made Cat rush into the bedroom. As she dialed, she prayed a frantic litany, “God, take care of Laurette and her baby. God, take care of—”

  A woman’s voice answered her.

  Cat plunged in, “Laurette Halley, a patient of Dr. Nelson’s, passed out at home and just regained consciousness. She says she can’t even keep water down.”

  “Any bleeding? Is she having contractions?”

  Cat called these questions to Laurette. “She says no. She’s just light-headed and nauseated.”

  “Is there anyone else with you?”

  “Her husband.”

  “As long as she’s conscious, have him put her in the car. Dr. Nelson is already at the hospital checking on another patient. I’ll call and tell him you’re on your way.” Click.

  Cat hurried to Chuck to help him get Laurette to her feet and down the stairs. While her own heart fluttered like a captured bird, she held Laurette’s arm tightly and repeated her prayer over and over.

  After helping Chuck lay Laurette in their car, Cat stood, bereft, in front of the garage and watched him drive away. “I’ll tell Farrell, then I’ll come right away!” she shouted after him. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Nothing bad would happen to Laurette, she told herself firmly.

  Before Chuck’s car was out of sight, Farrell drove up the street and pulled in beside her. “What’s up? Where’s Chuck going?”

  Cat stepped close to his car. Her voice trembled. “Chuck found Laurette unconscious. He’s driving her to the hospital.”

  “Which way?”

  She looked into his green eyes and saw her own concern reflected there. For a second, she felt connected to this man who’d raised havoc with her peace all day. “Follow me.”

  “No, get in. I’ll drive you.”

  Cat didn’t argue. Her head had begun throbbing, and she didn’t trust herself to drive. For the first time all day, she was glad to let Farrell take charge.

  Chapter Two

  Sickened by the odor of disinfectant and by her throbbing head, Cat paced the brightly lit waiting area outside the emergency room at the community hospital. Chuck and Laurette were in one of the white-curtained areas where Dr. Nelson was examining Laurette.

  Farrell sat hunched on a faded tan plastic chair a few steps away. With his elbows propped on his knees, he rested his head on his fists. For the first time, Cat noticed he wore a chain around his neck with an intricate gold cross. She wanted to look at it closer but held back. They were almost strangers, and Farrell didn’t appear to invite attention.

  For the moment, all of Cat’s irritation over Farrell’s high-handedness had been shelved. As she paced the worn, but polished gray linoleum, tears gathered in her throat. Laurette and Cat’s mothers had been first cousins. Laurette and Cat, born two months apart, had been inseparable ever since. Dear God, please don’t let anything happen to Laurette and her baby. Please.

  As she paced by Farrell again, he murmured, “Can you hear anything?”

  Frowning, she paused and shook her head, careful not to jar her aching head.

  Surprising her, he leaned forward, took her hand, and tugged her to the chair beside him. “You’re worrying too much.”

  His presence bolstered her. She’d paced this same linoleum after her father collapsed with his fatal heart attack only two years before. That night he’d been in the greenhouse working late as usual. Thoughts of that dreadful evening haunted Cat now. “But anything could go wrong….”

  “Chuck told me they have a great doctor.”

  She stared at him. Farrell looked deeply concerned, but that shouldn’t surprise her. Though he’d rarely visited Eden in the past five years, he’d been Chuck’s friend since their freshman year together at college. “I know, but—”

  He went on, calmly holding her hand, “And Laurette hasn’t had any trouble other than this persistent nausea, has she?”

  “No, but something must be wrong.” She knew she should pull her hand away, but his soothing touch kept her sitting still beside him and took the frantic e
dge off her concern. A desire to rest her head on his shoulder flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes, stiffening her independence.

  “It’s probably just dehydration,” Farrell offered. “She hasn’t been able to keep enough food down. If you went a few days without eating, you’d faint, too.”

  She probed his steady gaze to judge the truth of his statement. Did he mean it or was he a person who just said polite things? “You think that’s all it is?”

  He nodded. “Any food scent at all seems to set her stomach off. This morning Chuck brewed our coffee in the garage and that’s where we had to butter our toast.” He gave her a half smile.

  Grateful he wasn’t making light of her concern, Cat smiled at him. “Laurette will make a great mother.”

  “They’ll both make great parents.” Farrell’s voice, firm and rich, soothed Cat more. Suddenly she realized Farrell still held her hand. His long, slender fingers cradled her hand with unexpected tenderness. Being so close to Farrell whispered through Cat’s senses. How strange that he could comfort her now when all day long she’d wanted to send him back to Chicago.

  Down the hall, Dr. Nelson and Chuck stepped outside the curtained examining area.

  Farrell stood up, pulling Cat to her feet. She didn’t draw away. His nearness strengthened her. Chuck nodded and shook hands with the doctor. Cat’s knotted nerves tightened. She couldn’t hold back any longer. “Chuck?”

  His thick brown hair disheveled, Chuck hurried toward them. “No need to worry! Laurette and the baby are fine.”

  “Then why did she pass out?” Farrell asked.

  “Her nausea caused her to become dehydrated.”

  Cat looked up at Farrell beside her.

  He met her gaze with a teasing glint in his eyes.

  Though her fears had diminished, only willpower held her from running to her cousin. “Is she conscious?”

  Chuck took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Can I see her?” Cat took a step forward.

  Chuck touched her arm. “They’re keeping her overnight to get her body fluids and electrolytes…whatever back on track. I have to do paperwork for her admission. Cat, why don’t you go—”