Inhaling a chestful of air, she tried to regain some of her calm. Losing her patience with the man would not serve her. Calm, she reminded herself. Cool. Grasping the handle of her door, she controlled the release of her breath like Sam taught her and regained control. Sam. Spits of irritation flew. There was another must-do. She deserved an earful and would get it the first minute she could give it to her.
Inhaling once again, she forced the stress to loosen its cranky hold and opened the door. The sight of him shot holes through her composure. “What are you doing here?”
Surprise filled his eyes. “What...?”
This was the last straw. If Sam thought she was being cute, Jennifer was going to wax her scalp and rub it with alcohol. “Look,” she said, clenching her hand around the door knob as her jaw tightened. “I don’t know why you’re here or what my friend Sam has up her sleeve, but I am expecting someone at the moment and I cannot deal with you right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
The bartender from the night before stood firm, his confusion appearing to be genuine. “I’m talking about you and Sam—last night at the party?” she reminded. “You two were carrying on about who knows what, but what I do know,” she underscored, “is that I have an appointment to keep.”
His expression revealed nothing.
“Listen, if you’re here to ask me out, I’m sorry but you’ve wasted your time.”
He chuckled.
Her irritation curdled. “Something amusing?”
“You. This.” He gestured about the courtyard entry, brushed a hand through his tangle of hair, then centered his gaze on her. “I’m not here to ask you out on a date—though if the thought ever were to cross my mind, you’ve made your answer quite clear.” Quietly self-assured, he laughed again and rested hands on his hips. “I’m here on business.”
“Business?”
“I’m Jackson Montgomery. The landscaper.” He smiled, pride brightening his expression. “I’m your appointment.”
“Landscaper?” She gaped, feeling the complete idiot. “You’re not a landscaper, you’re a bartender!”
“Only on the side.”
Jennifer didn’t mean to insult the man, but facts were facts. You serve up drinks at a party, you’re a bartender. She grazed over his appearance. Dressed in jeans and a golf shirt, he didn’t even attempt to portray a professional image—if that was indeed his goal, though she’d still venture to bet Sam had something to do with his being here. The woman could be a pit bull when she aimed to cause trouble.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head and stepped back. “There must be some kind of mistake.” Darn if this wouldn’t set her back. Images of her mother flashed across her mind, mixing with those of her barren backyard, dead leaves floating across the pool’s surface, the awful air of desolation...
“No mistake,” he replied with a smile. “Montgomery Landscape, at your service.”
“Look,” she said, breaking from the gloomy scenario, her manners waning fast. “I’m in the market for a landscape architect, not a lawn service.”
“I’m him. Michael told me what you needed and I can deliver.”
Michael. Reality crashed. She had trusted him. How could he do this to her? Swimming in turmoil, she stared blankly at the man on her threshold. The desperate part of her was tempted to accept him and move forward. Lawn guy, landscape designer, what was the difference at this point? She needed grass and plants and she needed them now.
But as usual, the sensible part of her took control. No, she couldn’t settle. This job was too important to make do with less than the best. It had to be right and it had to be perfect. “I’m truly sorry. There must have been a miscommunication.” But how? Michael understood the details of her mother’s condition, he understood her motivation to get this done. How could he have sent this man?
“Is there a problem?”
She blinked. Jackson stood, casual and confident.
He was waiting.
Yes, there was a problem and time was wasting. “Listen,” she said, brisker than she intended but under the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry you wasted your time, really I am, but I’m running late for the hospital.” She held up a hand between them before he could object. “Don’t worry. I’ll let Michael know you stopped by and while I appreciate the effort, things didn’t work out.”
He shifted forward, the first hint of discomfort settling in his soft brown eyes. “Can we talk for a minute? If you give me the chance, I think I can clear this up.”
Jennifer understood. He was flustered. He probably didn’t want to lose the job, the money a big deal in his scheme of things. While her heart went out to him, she knew direct and honest was the best course of action. “Mr. Montgomery, is it?”
He nodded, and she in turn smiled. “This is a big job. I need a skilled designer to create a master plan for the entire property. It entails rendering drawings using an in-depth knowledge of plant and foliage selection, color and placement...” Her line of thought coasted off-message as anticipation surged in his eyes. Rather than appear disappointed, the man seemed encouraged. “It’s a complicated situation,” she clarified. “I need the job done in a hurry.”
An added stress, surely to overwhelm the likes of you, though she’d never say as much. “I need a guaranteed finish date. There is no room for error,” she said, her intent clear: you would be held completely accountable if the job didn’t progress as specified.
“I’m your man.”
“But you tend bar,” she blurted.
“I’m a landscaper,” he corrected. “My bartending is part-time.”
“Yes, of course...” She gave a quick nod, regretting the insensitive slip. He seemed nice enough. If he wanted to work on the side to earn extra money, fine. Good for him.
But not on her time. It was too valuable. Summoning her most polite smile, Jennifer retreated further into the house with a feeble wave. “Well, like I said, I have to get to the hospital. But thanks for coming by...”
“That’s it?” He held his hands up in question. “You’re not even going to hear me out?”
She shook her head, and her smile floundered. “I don’t think so, I’m sorry.” When he didn’t move, she began to close the door. “So if you’ll excuse me—"
“Mike really missed the mark on this one.”
The door stopped.
“He said you’d be a pleasure, a real exception to the word client.” Jackson dropped his hands to his sides. “But I guess I’ll never get the chance to find out.” Turning his back on her, the man took his leave.
Michael. Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut. He insisted he had gone all out to get this landscaper for her. Called in a favor, were his exact words. Said it was the same man who did wonders at his place. He was certain he could do the same for her.
Opening her eyes, she watched as Jackson Montgomery climbed into the beat-up old truck, slamming the door closed. But how could he be the guy? It wasn’t possible, was it? That fellow couldn’t landscape a child’s sand box let alone an incredible estate home like Michael’s.
Could he?
And how was she going to explain her refusal without offending Michael? Uh, sorry to pressure you for a referral, but I’ve decided against it. Against him.
Jennifer heaved a sigh. The truck sputtered to life and accelerated in her drive, wheels screeching out onto the street. Hope flattened as she closed the front door. Now what?
# # #
Jax gunned the engine of his 1984 pickup, and peeled out of her driveway. Now there’s a surprise. Mike bragged this Dr. Jennifer Hamilton was a notch above the rest. She’d be an easy job, though it was to be done in a hurry. But none of that resembled the woman who had just dismissed him. She was as judgmental as they came, prickly as a rose bush.
As beautiful, too, particularly those incredible blue eyes. They had jumped out at him last night. Add creamy white skin combined with her dark brown hair...the combination made her appear fragi
le.
Until she opened her mouth. Crisp and curt, he bet she didn’t have a fragile bone in her body. And it was clear what she thought of him. He was a bartender trying to earn a buck on the side. A guy who cut grass—not a professional designer, a man who created works of art; living, breathing masterpieces. She may be good-looking, but dismissing him before he had a chance to explain?
That was unacceptable. With a hard turn to the right, he closed the short distance to Dixie Highway and with an over-acceleration, punched the truck into the flow of traffic.
Yanking the cell phone from the clip on his jeans, he punched in Mike’s number.
He would leave that thorny job to someone else.
His call was answered on the second ring. “Jax.”
“Hey Mike.”
“How’s it going?”
“Not so good. I had my appointment with Dr. Hamilton this morning, but I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
“What do you mean? The job isn’t that involved, is it? Jennifer assured me she only wanted grass, a few plants and some flowers.”
“We didn’t get that far. She refused my services.”
“What?”
Jackson chuckled now, his anger dimming with every mile he placed between himself and the good doctor. “I know. It’s hard to believe there’s a woman alive resistant to my charm,” he continued, his sense of humor buoyed by the familiar camaraderie of friendship. “But I think we’ve found one.”
“What happened?”
“Seems she remembers me from last night, and isn’t convinced a bartender can handle the job.”
“Didn’t you explain?”
“She didn’t give me a chance.”
“That doesn’t sound like Jennifer.”
“Actually...” He paused. “She stopped me cold.”
“I don’t get it.”
Jax did. She has an image of what she wants in a landscape architect and he didn’t match up.
“Let me talk to her. I’ll see her at the hospital later this morning and we can straighten this whole thing out.”
“I appreciate it Mike, but don’t go to any trouble on my behalf. I’ve got other jobs going right now. I’m okay if I lose this one.”
“Hell, it’s not you I’m worried about! It’s Jennifer. She needs this job done in a hurry and there’s no one better to make that happen than you, Jax.”
Though pleased by the vote of confidence, he wasn’t so sure. Dr. Hamilton was not going to be an easy woman to work for—or around—as the case may prove, especially under the pressure of time.
“Let me think about it, Mike.”
“Jax—I need you to do more than think about it. She needs you.”
He laughed, and let go of the earlier insults entirely. “She doesn’t need me. There are plenty of good landscapers out there who can handle the job, but thanks for the good word. I appreciate it.”
Mike spoke to someone on his end then said into the phone, “Listen Jax, I’ve got to run. Tell me you’ll reconsider.”
Jackson took pause, ambivalence churning in his gut. He wouldn’t be where he was today if it weren’t for Mike’s referrals. And he was damn close to where he was going.
Because of this man. “Okay. If it’s that important to you, I’ll do it.”
Let’s just hope I don’t regret it.
Chapter Five
Jennifer dialed Michael’s number on the way out her door, her stomach tumbling with nerves. It was imperative she apologize for declining his recommendation—though she still couldn’t accept that Jackson Montgomery was the person responsible for Michael’s gorgeous landscaping. His yard was incredible! How was it possible?
Impossible. The man who showed up at her door wasn’t a professional. He didn’t carry a notebook or portfolio. He wasn’t conducting a true business operation.
Something must have changed. Michael’s yard had been done years ago. There must have been a partner at the time, someone who made all the decisions, unbeknownst to Michael, for which this fellow took all the credit.
Frustration eased. Poor Michael. Trusting as a new fawn, he was out waving this Jackson’s banner, bringing him more and more clients to bilk without the first clue he was aiding and abetting a con. She slipped the phone against her ear and awaited his answer.
Far be it from her to drown his good deeds with cold water, but she had no intention of falling prey to Mr. Montgomery’s swindle.
“Michael Kingsley.”
“Hello, Michael.”
“Jennifer—I talked to Jax. What happened over there?”
So, he was a step ahead of her. Her stomach cinched tight. God only knows what his version sounded like. But it was irrelevant. Her task was to make Michael understand the underlying issue—the man’s obvious lack of expertise—and to do so without insulting him, her friend. She would assure Michael the setback was not a problem. She would find someone else.
A daunting prospect, one looming heavy on her mind.
“We didn’t get off to a good start, Michael,” she said, forging ahead, proud of the calm and professional ring to her voice. “But it’s just as well. It wouldn’t have worked out between us, though I appreciate your help with—“
“Why not?”
The million dollar question, she mused.
“Jennifer.” Michael’s voice picked up strength as he barreled forward, “Jax is the best in the business. I’ve seen other jobs he’s done and he’s amazing. He can finish your place ten times faster than anyone—and he’ll do it right, for a fair price. Trust me, you need him.”
Bless his heart, he was only trying to help, but she didn’t need this Jackson. If he could get it done, so could someone else. Time constraints or not. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I think I’d feel better if I knew I was dealing with a larger firm,” she said, hoping to defer any insult which he may take personally. “Aurelio has a few names.” Aurelio knew no one, but she would not succumb to the half-baked efforts of this Jackson fellow. They’d just have to find someone.
“But please, don’t worry. I’ll get it done. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your and Laurencia’s help. It means a lot to me, really.”
“I don’t understand, Jennifer. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” she said, her discomfort mounting.
“The bartending thing? It was a favor to me. Jax’s a good friend of mine and offered to fill in when the catering company came up short on staff.”
Good friend? Surprise kicked at her chest. Favor?
Michael rolled past her pause. “He used to bartend for hotel banquets, back when he was establishing his landscaping business. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“Of course not,” she answered, before realizing that is exactly what she had used against him.
“Your job isn’t that big, right? You said you were only looking for a couple of small plants and flowers?”
“Yes, but...”
“He’s the guy, Jennifer. Jax has contacts with an established nursery and can guarantee fast delivery—unless you wanted something special.”
“I don’t really...” she heard herself say.
“Then all he needs is an idea of how many plants you want. He’ll take it from there.”
While she knew Michael’s aim was pure, she felt backed into a corner. For her to say no now would most definitely cause offense, something she could not do.
Not to this man. Her heart fell. “You’re a lifesaver, Michael.”
“Anything for you, Jennifer. You know Laurencia and I are there for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, but there was no pleasure in her gratitude. Only ambivalence, tinged with regret. “I know you are and I appreciate it so much.” She paused, nowhere left to maneuver, to escape, she said, “I’ll call him. He can stop back this afternoon.”
“Let me do it for you. Will five work?”
“Fine.” Perfect, she rued.
But four o’clock that afternoon found Je
nnifer getting ready to start another case. And while she hated to cancel last minute, she had to reschedule. From the darkened quiet of the cath lab control room, she dialed Jackson’s cell number. Rubbing her forehead to ease the headache building within, she avoided eye contact with the staff on the other side of the glass partition. Busy working to move her patient onto the operating table, what did they care she was skulking back, tail between her legs.
As she waited for him to answer, Jennifer felt her nerves rev up in anticipation. If he chose to be cocky and shove an attitude her way—something he may feel entitled to do—it would only make matters worse. Eating her words did not suit her well and had she been firmer with Michael this morning, she wouldn’t be in this position at all.
Nor would she be any closer to getting the job done.
“Jackson Montgomery.”
“Hello. This is Dr. Hamilton calling.”
“Hello Dr. Hamilton.”
She detected no animosity in his voice, no gloating. “I apologize,” she began with steady resolve, “but I need to cancel our appointment for this afternoon. I’m still at the hospital and won’t be able to get away for at least another hour, probably more.”
“No problem. Should I come by at seven, or hold off until tomorrow?”
She balked. Laborers didn’t work on Sundays, did they?
Michael must have insisted, she thought at once, feeling a wave of obligation wash over her shoulders. He knew she was pressed for time and must have compelled Mr. Montgomery to be available. Jennifer winced from the quick stab of guilt. She wasn’t the one pressed for time. It was her mother.
Too tired to brush the despair from her voice, she agreed, “Tomorrow, if it’s all right with you.” She expelled a sigh. “Say around ten?”
“Ten it is.”
As Jennifer hung up the phone, she was struck by his professional tone, his willingness to accommodate. Neither was consistent with his surfer boy image.
Placing the phone in her pocket, she was tempted to call Aurelio and cancel their dinner tonight. But she couldn’t. It had been over a week since their last.
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