“We had doughnuts!” Timmy leaped onto the couch and began jumping up and down.
Garrett scooped him up. “How many doughnuts did you have?”
“I had three!” Timmy said, still going at it like a Mexican jumping bean.
Ashley acted surprised. “Three?” she repeated.
“What, you didn’t give him three doughnuts?”
“No. You think I like it when he gets like this?”
Garrett stared at her, mystified. “Then how is it he came to have three doughnuts?”
“I had a jelly doughnut and a chocolate doughnut and a really long doughnut,” Timmy bragged.
“A maple bar?” Garrett guessed.
Timmy nodded enthusiastically. “It was really good.”
“I bet it was. And where was Mommy when you were having the really long doughnut?”
Timmy shrugged.
“I was busy doing something,” Ashley said.
Probably her nails.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she added.
“It is if you aren’t paying attention to what our kid is eating,” Garrett snapped, and headed for the door.
“Oh, yeah, and you’re so perfect.”
He knew he wasn’t a perfect parent, but at least he paid attention. He decided not to respond to her taunt. Instead, he said to Timmy, “Let’s go see Grandma.”
“Grandma!” squealed Timmy. He wriggled to get down and Garrett released him. The child bolted for the door, yanked it open and was out of the apartment like a shot and running down the hallway.
“See you in a couple of weeks,” Garrett said, wishing he didn’t have to.
“No, you won’t. I’m going out of town.”
“Timmy, wait!” Garrett called. Then, to Ashley, “Where are you going?”
“That’s none of your business, either.”
Timmy had apparently developed deafness and was already at the stairs. In another minute he’d be in the parking lot. Garrett didn’t have time to stand around and argue. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, and hurried off after his son. Whatever loser his ex was hooking up with, it was just as well that Timmy wouldn’t be exposed to him.
Maybe he already had been. Once they were in the truck Garrett learned that Timmy had a new toy, a jackknife.
“Look what Mommy’s friend gave me,” Timmy said, pulling it out of his pocket.
Great. Give a five-year-old a knife. Was his ex-wife really this stupid? And how stupid did that make him, since he’d fallen for her in the first place? “That’s pretty cool.” He held out his hand. “Can I see it?”
Timmy passed it to him. “He’s gonna teach me to...” Timmy screwed up his face. “Whit...whit—”
“Whittle?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s real nice of him.” Was the goon also going to sew up his son’s finger when he cut himself? Garrett still remembered his first jackknife. He’d begged and begged until his parents finally caved and gave him one for his eleventh birthday. And, of course, he’d proceeded to cut himself the first time he tried to use it. Every boy wanted one and every boy usually managed to slice himself. Timmy was way too young for this.
Timmy put out his hand, but instead of returning the thing, Garrett slipped it in his shirt pocket. “Tell you what, let me hang on to this for you. Okay?”
Timmy’s smile vanished and he shook his head. “I want to show Grandma.”
“I’ll show it to Grandma,” Garrett assured him.
Now Timmy’s sunny disposition began to do a disappearing act. “I want my knife,” he whined. “I want to show Grandma.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll see it,” Garrett said. “Hey, what do you think Grandma’s making for Sunday dinner?”
Timmy wasn’t going to be distracted. “I want my knife,” he insisted.
“I’ll give it back to you a little later. When you’re old enough to learn how to use it and not hurt yourself.”
That turned on the tear spigot. “I want my knife!”
Garrett clenched the steering wheel. “Let’s see what Grandma says,” he suggested, hoping to bring in someone else to share his bad-guy status.
Timmy wasn’t having any of it. Now the crying began in earnest. “I want my knife!”
“Well, you’re not getting it,” Garrett said, losing his patience. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Was this going to be how it was for the rest of his life, him being the bad guy, always having to do damage control? It was a depressing thought.
They arrived at his parents’ house with Timmy still sobbing.
“What’s wrong with our little man?” his mother asked, holding her arms out to Timmy.
The child ran into them and upped the drama level with even louder sobs. “Daddy took my knife.”
Garrett’s mother looked at him questioningly.
“One of Ashley’s new ‘friends’ gave him a jackknife.”
His mother nodded. “Well, Timmy, I bet your daddy’s just keeping it safe for you until you’re older. Don’t you think?”
Timmy shook his head violently. “I want my knife.”
“You know what? I made some peanut butter cookies. Would you like one?”
“He already had three doughnuts for breakfast,” Garrett told her.
She frowned in disapproval. “All right, then, how about some string cheese? And then you can help Grandpa fill the bird feeders,” she said to Timmy.
At this the sobs began to subside. Timmy got his string cheese and was then handed over to Garrett’s dad to help with the important job of feeding the birds, and Garrett’s blood pressure returned to normal.
“That woman is a disaster. What you ever saw in her I can’t imagine,” Garrett’s mother said as he settled down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.
That was because his mother wasn’t a man. “You’ve told me that before, Mom,” he said irritably.
“Well, I’m telling you again,” she said as she checked on the pot roast. “You’d better make sure the next woman you pick has her act together.”
* * *
And Jen Heath didn’t qualify, Garrett reminded himself when he went over later in the week to till a plot for her garden. His mother had to help a friend with an emergency so he brought Timmy with him after he got out of kindergarten. Jen had played hide-and-seek with Timmy while Garrett worked, and he’d just given her brownie points for being good with kids when she ruined the good impression she’d made.
“I got some strawberries at the store yesterday. How about some strawberry sundaes?” she offered.
Timmy nodded eagerly. “I like sundaes. My grandma makes sundaes.”
“Well, let’s see if I can make one as yummy as your grandma’s,” Jen said. She looked at Garrett.
“I’ll pass,” he said, wiping his sweaty brow.
“How about a Coke instead?”
“That’d be great,” he said. “I’ll load up the tiller.”
“Okay, then. You want to help me?” Jen asked Timmy.
“Okay,” he said, and followed her into the house.
By the time Garrett came in, she and Timmy were hard at work, Timmy pulling stems off the berries and Jen slicing them.
“Okay, now we need ice cream,” she said as Garrett came back from washing up. She took ice cream from the freezer and handed it to Timmy. “And whipped cream.” She got a can of whipped cream from the fridge and gave Timmy a playful squirt on
the nose.
He giggled and wiped it off, licking the cream from his fingers. Back at the counter, she dished up ice cream, topped it with the berries and whipped cream and then squirted Timmy again. And then she was chasing his son all over the cottage with the can. Next she’d be feeding him doughnuts.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s eat those sundaes.” He got up and went to take the can from her.
“Oh, no. You can’t have my whipped cream,” she said, hiding it behind her.
“Oh, yes, I can,” he insisted, backing her toward the kitchen counter.
Now he had her pinned and he was suddenly aware of every curve of her body.
“What will you give me for it?” she teased. The words were barely out of her mouth when she seemed to catch the sexual overtones. Her expression grew more serious and she licked her lips.
He pressed closer, feeling her softness against him. Go ahead, urged some little devil on his shoulder, kiss her.
Except his son was present. Still, he was tempted...
“Squirt Daddy!” Timmy yelled.
She obliged, bringing the can around and shooting him square in the face. Whipped cream went up his nose and down his chin and he stepped back, blinking.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, and set the can on the counter. “I didn’t mean for so much to shoot out.” And then she was giggling.
Timmy was laughing uproariously. “You look funny, Daddy!” He grabbed the can and aimed it at his father.
“Timmy, no,” Garrett protested, but it was too late. Next thing he knew, his T-shirt was covered in whipped cream. Nice.
“Okay, enough,” he said with a frown. He got a kitchen towel and started wiping off his shirt. “You’re a bad influence,” he informed her.
She smiled, displaying two dimples. “It’s good to have fun.”
Ah, yes, that was her mission in life, to have fun. Just like Ashley.
They sat down to eat their sundaes while Garrett nursed his Coke. “So, there’s no guy in Seattle wishing you hadn’t moved up here?”
She shook her head and studied her sundae. “No.”
“That’s hard to believe. There has to be someone.”
“There was. It didn’t work out.”
“Was it serious?”
She stabbed at her ice cream. “Until we got divorced.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
She managed a little shrug. “It’s been almost two years. I’m moving on.”
But moving with baggage in tow. Nobody escaped without some. He knew. He had his own share of post-divorce luggage.
Here was another reason he couldn’t allow himself to get interested in this woman. Timmy needed stability. He needed stability.
Timmy was now licking his bowl. Garrett removed it from his son’s hands. “I think you’re done, buddy.”
And they were done here. No more friendly landlord-tenant relations.
“We’d better get going,” he said.
She looked at his half-finished drink and blinked in surprise. “Oh. Well, thanks for tilling my garden plot.”
“No problem,” he said, pulling Timmy’s chair out from the table. “Come on, buddy, time to go.” Before he and Jen got any chummier. “Call me if you need anything,” he said in parting, then gave himself a mental kick. The last thing he needed was Jen Heath calling him.
He said his goodbyes, took his son and got out of there. Once they were home, he called Tilda. “So, what are you doing tonight? Want to come over for pizza and a movie?”
“Yeah. I’m up for that.”
So was Garrett. He was going to be smart about women from now on.
* * *
Jen cleaned up the kitchen and then went outside to prep her garden. She found a shovel in the shed and her bag of fertilizer and got busy fertilizing her soil. As she worked she tried to analyze what had happened. One minute Garrett Armstrong was sending out signals that he was interested and the next he’d shut down.
It had to be because she’d said she was divorced. But so was he. What was his problem?
Not what, who. As long as he was with Tilda, he was off-limits.
What do you care? You just met two nice men at the Red Barn.
And they liked to dance. They probably liked whipped cream fights, too. They probably wouldn’t hold it against her that she’d made a poor selection in the love department the first time around. And she’d probably have the same physical reaction if one of them backed her up against her kitchen counter.
Okay, that was hoo-ha. She’d gotten more of a charge in that one moment with Garret than she’d gotten from a whole evening of dancing with her two new admirers. Her love life stank worse than the stuff she was spreading in the garden.
She frowned at a clump of fertilizer and beat it to death with her rake.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sometimes all that stops us from having a better life is...us.
—Muriel Sterling, author of Simplicity
“Yay, you’re finally here!” Jen greeted her sister as Toni climbed out of her SUV. She’d expected Toni earlier in the day and now the afternoon shadows were lengthening.
“Thank God,” Toni said as the sisters hugged. “Interesting, isn’t it, how once I’m about to leave suddenly everyone needs me? Between getting Jordan’s history day project up to the school, and delivering the homework Jeffrey forgot, and then having to email Wayne a list of who needs to be where when, I thought I’d never get out the door.” She shook her head. “You should have heard him this morning. You’d think I was abandoning him to life in prison instead of a few days in charge of his own kids.” Her smile turned wicked. “What a shame. He’ll have to see firsthand how much I do.”
“So, are you coming up here to see me or to teach your husband a lesson?”
“Yes,” Toni said with a smile. “I hope you’ve got the cards out. I’m ready for some Hands and Buns.”
“You bet. And I’ve got homemade limoncello and bruschetta. I just have to toast the bread.”
“I’m famished.”
Once inside the cottage, Toni sniffed. “Do I smell chocolate?”
“Yup. I’m trying a new recipe for brownies.”
“Homemade limoncello, bruschetta, brownies... Who are you?”
Jen smiled. “I’m a woman who has time to enjoy life now. That’s who I am. Of course, I’m not exactly swimming in money these days, but with my new lifestyle I don’t need that much.”
“No shopping sprees?” Toni teased.
“Who needs to shop when you can garden?”
“Garden?” Toni echoed.
“Here, put your stuff in the guest room, then I want to show you something,” Jen said, leading the way down the hall.
Toni stowed her overnight bag and joined Jen out on the back deck.
Jen pointed to a patch of dirt. “Behold my future garden.”
“You, the black thumb queen?”
Toni was a master gardener. Jen suddenly felt foolish showing off her little veggie patch. “Well, it’s not much.”
“I think it’s great! You’ll have to weed it, you know.”
“Ha-ha. I know.”
“So, what have you got in there?”
“Carrots, beets, lettuce, spinach and onions. Everything I need for a perfect salad.”
“And I saw lavender in your flower beds.”
“Great for everything from cooking to making bath salts and sachets. You’re all getting homemade presents for Christmas this year,” Jen said proudly.
�
��Good for you, sis.” Toni smiled. “Tell me again why I thought moving up here was a bad idea.”
For once, one of her impulses had paid off and she loved hearing her big sister admit it. “I can’t remember.”
“Me, neither,” Toni said with another grin. “Pour the limoncello and let’s play cards.”
Once they were settled with their drinks and snacks, Toni returned to the subject of the garden. “So, what happened to your front yard?” she asked as she put together a canasta of tens.
Jen had conveniently neglected to tell her about the first tilling fiasco. That had been too embarrassing, and she’d known Toni would have plenty to say about it. Her sister had never come right out and said it, but Jen was well aware that Toni considered her a screwup. Hardly surprising in light of her failed first marriage and the bad decision to buy a condo and leave herself financially strapped. Toni didn’t do things like that, even if she did like to complain about her family. At least Toni had a family.
“That didn’t turn out to be a good spot for the garden,” she said.
Thankfully, Toni nodded and let the subject drop. Then she picked up a new one. “Are things heating up between you and the fireman?”
Jen frowned and reached for her drink. “Not really.”
Toni shook her head. “I don’t get that man. You said he’s got someone but that he doesn’t seem too interested in her.”
“That about sums it up,” Jen said. She sighed and played a card.
“Well, he’s an idiot,” Toni decided. “Find somebody else.”
“I’m working on it,” Jen said, “but so far there isn’t anybody else who interests me.”
Toni drew her cards and considered them. “You do get a bug up your nose sometimes, you know.”
She sure had one up her nose now. She was hopelessly, ridiculously fixated on Garrett Armstrong. She sighed. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay, how’s the blog coming? I’m liking your posts.”
Her sister the writer liked her blog. That made Jen happy. “I’m enjoying it. But like I said, I still don’t have an idea for a book.”
Not that she had to write one in order to fill her time. Between her job, volunteering at both the Icicle Falls library and organizing the one at church, she was getting busy all over again. It was so easy to say yes whenever someone asked her to do something. And everything sounded interesting or worthwhile, so she just jumped right in.
The Cottage on Juniper Ridge Page 23