Secret Hearts

by Radclyffe

  Savannah appeared right on time, saving her from any more torturous recollections, and Kip waved her over. As Savannah pulled off her raincoat and plopped into a chair, Kip stood. “I’ll get you a seltzer water. Lime?”

  Puffing slightly, Savannah nodded. “That would be good. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, and I just walked fifty feet.”

  “That’s because you’re ridiculously pregnant and probably going to deliver any day and shouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh, be quiet and get me my sparkly.”

  Exasperated and ambushed by affection, Kip flagged the bartender and ordered a repeat of her beer and a seltzer for Savannah. She sat opposite her cousin and handed her the soda. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

  “How about I love you, I’m worried about you, and I’m a nosy parker and I want to know what’s going on with Randy and that whole business.”

  “That business,” Kip said dryly, “is going along swimmingly. Randy’s incommunicado for another week and a half in some rehab center upstate, and I’ll be spending the summer working off my penance.”

  “He really checked himself in?” Savannah stretched and turned an empty chair to face her. She propped her feet up with a grunt. “Better.”

  “He’s there.” And hopefully he’d stay this time. His first two times in rehab, he’d lasted less than forty-eight hours.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be spending the summer working in a garden.”

  “Sorry? A garden, what does that mean?”

  Kip explained to her about the Ninth Avenue Community Garden project.

  “Huh.” Savannah scrunched up her nose. “I guess a few hours a week won’t be so bad.”

  “Actually, I’m taking some time off and working there more or less full-time. I’m in the finishing stages of a project, and I don’t really need to be on-site all the time. I figure the more time I spent there, the faster I’ll reduce my sentence.”

  “Wow, that sounds boring.”

  Kip pictured planting the tomato seedlings and exploring Hunts Point Terminal and Jordan’s plans for setting up a distribution network. “There’s a lot more to it than you think. I planted about four dozen tomato plants this afternoon. Pretty good at it too.”

  Savannah gaped. “You were literally digging in the dirt.”

  “I was. Next up is building a greenhouse.”

  “What did they say to you?”

  “Who?”

  “The people at the garden place.”

  “About what?” Kip said quietly.

  “You know, how is their attitude about you being placed there.”

  Kip tried not to prickle over discussing her least favorite subject. “Pretty damn good considering Jordan had no idea she’d even be getting someone like me. She’s been more than decent. Supportive, even.”

  “Who’s Jordan?”

  “She runs the project. It’s pretty much her baby. The concept is pretty amazing, really, and her plans are—”

  “Amazing,” Savannah said, sipping daintily from her straw. “I see. And she’s not concerned or anything—not giving you a hard time?”

  Kip frowned. “No, she’s been great. Easy to talk to and hasn’t had any kind of attitude, and she certainly has a right to one.”

  “How old is she?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “Just trying to get a sense of her. She younger or older than you, married?”

  “She’s in her late thirties, I guess, maybe forty.” Kip frowned. Was Jordan single? What if she wasn’t? What did it matter? It mattered. “Not married.”

  “And…” Savannah said, her voice rising in question.

  “What? Come on, Savannah. Give me a break with the questions.”

  “Your very reluctance is telling. She’s hot, isn’t she.”

  Kip instantly had an image of Jordan kneeling across the garden bed from her, sunlight gilding her hair, face faintly flushed, damp locks tangled on her neck, laughing at something Kip had said. “She’s nice to look at, sure.”

  “And is she, you know, into girls?”

  Kip blew out a breath. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Just wondering, simply curious, since you seem to be taken with her.”

  “I’m not taken with her. I like her. She’s smart and capable and ambitious. Admirable.”

  “Admirable. Is that another word for hot?”

  Kip laughed. “All right, I really like her, all right? A lot. And that’s all there is to it.”

  “It’s early days yet. Things could change.”

  Maybe, but then in Kip’s experience, it didn’t take a lot of time to know when you clicked with someone, when you wanted more of a connection, when things just felt right. She hadn’t experienced that undeniable pull very often, in fact, rarely, but she didn’t have any doubts about what she was feeling for Jordan. Unfortunately, Jordan had made it crystal clear the attraction wasn’t mutual.

  “Afraid not,” Kip said.

  “Well, in the meantime, I have this friend from my birthing class who has a sister—”

  “No. Absolutely not.” Kip rose and held out her hand. “I’m taking you home.”

  Savannah didn’t protest, and forty minutes later Kip was home in bed staring at the shifting patches of reflected street light on her ceiling. She often thought up new design innovations when she was ready to fall asleep, but that night the only thing on her mind was Jordan.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jordan shook the hand of the owner of Plum Blossom, a thin Asian man in a pressed white shirt and black pants belted at his narrow waist. He might have been sixty or ninety, but whatever the age, he was a shrewd businessman. Landing this account was a coup for her, and satisfaction settled like warm brandy in her middle. “Thank you so much, Mr. Liu. We should have your first delivery later this week. Broccoli, brussels sprouts, cauliflower, and baby spinach.”

  “Good. What about the tomatoes? And the eggplants.” He raised a finger at her, dark eyes narrowed in challenge. “Must have the Chinese variety—sweeter, more tender.”

  Tomatoes and eggplants. Everybody wanted them. Those and peppers. For an instant, she recalled telling Kip the same thing the day before, and as she had a dozen times during her restless evening at home and the first instant after waking, she thought of the kiss. Well, it wasn’t a kiss kiss, but might have been. Kip wanted it to be a kiss, there was no question about that. And if she was totally honest, which she damn well hoped she could be, she’d wanted it too. And since she was being honest, she could admit she’d wanted it for more reasons than Kip being an incredibly attractive woman. Kip was also bright and charming and the right kind of mysterious. And she looked like she could really kiss.

  Eggplants and tomatoes. Right, her new customer, the one who’d just promised her to talk to some of his other restaurant friends about joining the farm-to-table project, was waiting. If she could develop a network in Chinatown, she’d sell locally a third of what she planned to grow. Exactly what her community garden should be doing.

  “We’ve got them in the ground, Mr. Liu,” she said, fudging just a little on the eggplant situation. But they would be in the ground in another week. “You know we’re still a couple of months early for fresh tomatoes.”

  He smiled. “I know you’ll figure out a way to get them for us. Leeks too. And when can we expect the bok choy?”

  “You tell me what you and your friends want, and I promise I’ll plant it.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Then I will talk to them, and you will give us good prices. And fresh delivery every day. The customers, they like it fresh, and now…” He waggled a hand. “Local is good.”

  “Local is great.” She shook his hand again when he held it out. “You ask for it, I’ll grow it.”

  Leaving with a head full of slogans, she decided she’d have to get a logo and put some kind of tag line on the side of the truck. Kip would probably know how to get that done. As she climb
ed in, she considered how Kip had already become part of her thinking. Probably not a good idea from a business point of view. Kip was temporary help, after all, and probably very temporary. She’d said she was a mechanical engineer. She wasn’t going to be satisfied weeding garden beds for long. And personally? Definitely a bad idea to assume she’d stick around for long.

  All the same, she was looking forward to seeing her. Nothing wrong with indulging in short-term pleasures, after all.

  She made her usual stop for coffee and pastries and arrived back at the garden project at five thirty. As soon as she turned down the alley, she slowed. The gate was unlocked. Creeping quietly the rest of the way, she parked, shut off the engine, and sat in the truck staring at the dangling hasp. Call the police? That didn’t seem like any better an idea than it had last time. Call Kip? No, that was a crazy idea. What was Kip going to do, race twenty minutes uptown to rescue her?

  She grimaced. Really, she’d never needed rescuing, and just because Kip had the look of a knight errant about her, wasn’t going to start depending on her now. Investigate on her own it was, then. She took inventory of what she had in the truck. Flashlight. A big one, a reasonable weapon. A tire iron, better weapon but buried under crates in the back, and besides, she probably couldn’t wield it with enough efficiency to do anything more than hand it over to a would-be assailant. Her cell phone was probably still her best weapon.

  With a sigh, she eased out and leaned against the door to click it shut without making too much of a noise. She hoped. Flashlight in one hand, cell phone in the other, she took two careful steps toward the back gate when it opened, and Kip walked through.

  “I thought I heard you,” Kip said. “Morning.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t have the tire iron,” Jordan said, half laughing. “I have to remember you tend to show up unexpectedly.”

  Kip eyed the flashlight. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind if I let myself in.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll get used to you being here early.”

  “Good.”

  Kip made it sound as if Jordan had done something particularly pleasing, and she felt the heat rush to her face. Great. Now she was blushing and pretending she wasn’t. “It is pretty early—what have you been doing?”

  “I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to take some measurements for the greenhouse and check out security options. I’m really sorry about not asking first.”

  “You’re free to come over whenever you want. As early as you want,” Jordan repeated. She returned to the truck, stowed her flashlight, and lifted out the cardboard carry tray with two coffees and the bag of pastries. “The cranberry scones looked good today. I got your blueberry too, but you’ve got a choice.”

  “Do I have to choose? I forgot dinner last night.” Kip smiled wryly. “And breakfast today too.”

  “Did you at least have lunch yesterday?”

  “Half a bag of hot nuts?”

  “That’s just sad.” Jordan handed Kip a cup of coffee and put the pastries back in the truck. “Come on. We’re going to breakfast.”

  “Hey, do you have time? I’ll be fine with the scone, really.”

  “Woman does not live by baked goods alone, and we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. There’s a great diner a couple blocks away. We’ll be back before Ty gets here.”

  “I’m sold.”

  Kip latched the lock on the gate, and Jordan led the way out to Ninth. The early mornings were still cool enough to require a light jacket, and Kip wore a faded denim one over a black T-shirt and black jeans. The jacket wasn’t one of those fake designer ones, but one that looked like it had seen years of use. The fabric molded to her shoulders and lay softly against her neck. Her jeans were torn just above her left knee, and Jordan caught herself staring at the tiny peek of flesh that flashed every time Kip took a step. She couldn’t possibly be so desperate for a little physical contact that a tiny inch of skin could fascinate her so. But apparently she was. Wrenching her gaze up and forward, she ignored the spicy aroma drifting from Kip’s direction.

  Shampoo? Lotion? Cologne? Obsessed a little, anyone?

  Enough people were out and about that she and Kip were forced to walk close together to stay side by side, and her shoulder brushed Kip’s with every step. Every time it happened, she felt a tingle despite the double layers of her dark green canvas work jacket and Kip’s denim sleeve. Her nerve endings were raw from the constant stimulation. She was jumpy as the orange tabby who frequented the alley most days looking for scraps. She’d never given much thought to pheromones before, but Kip Kensington sure had something that lit her up.

  “I would’ve come earlier to help with deliveries,” Kip said, “but I wasn’t sure of your schedule.”

  “I told you, you don’t need to do that.”

  “I know, but I’m usually awake. Four a.m., right?”

  “We don’t actually have deliveries to make every day, but I’ve been cold-calling some of the local restaurants and markets, hoping to interest them in our project.”

  “That’s a tough way to build a distribution market.”

  “Maybe, but it’s also the best way. Face-to-face is really important for small business development.”

  “I can see that,” Kip said, although nothing about her experience with business was anything like Jordan’s. Even though she’d always been clear she didn’t plan to follow in her father’s corporate footsteps, the corporation had always been there, the door had always been open, a safety net slung beneath her from before she was even aware anything like that was needed. “It must be like that with farming too—a lot of face-to-face cooperation, right?”

  Usually when Jordan thought about the farm, which wasn’t often if she could help it, the memories were accompanied by pain. This time what she remembered was riding with her father to a neighboring farm during lambing season to lend a hand with the birthing, and off-loading hundreds of bales of hay into the barn loft for the winter. “There tends to be a lot more teamwork, maybe, than you see in other areas, probably because the rural population is so low and almost everyone depends on someone else for some kind of work. Every farmer is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades—I can drive a tractor, dig a ditch, and run a commercial thresher.”

  “Okay, I’m impressed.”

  Jordan laughed. “I didn’t say I actually wanted to do those things. I kind of had a vision of someone else doing a lot of that.”

  Of course, none of her visions had been realistic or possible.

  “I kinda like the image of you on a tractor, though,” Kip said, and she meant it. Something about Jordan with her sleeves rolled up like they’d been yesterday afternoon, the taut muscles beneath the smooth, tanned skin of her forearms flexing as she worked, was a turn-on. Imagining her pushing a ten-ton machine around the field conjured up images of strength and power and capability, all the things she already associated with Jordan only in an earthy, unleashed way. Yeah, she liked that picture a lot.

  “You have a very strange idea of attractiveness, then.”

  Kip turned her head, caught Jordan’s gaze. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  Jordan couldn’t misinterpret the husky note in Kip’s voice or the teasing flirtation. She couldn’t ignore the swell of heat that started low down in her midsection and climbed into her chest, either. Damn, she liked knowing Kip found her attractive. “Well, I’m afraid we won’t have much call for a tractor at the project.”

  “That’s okay, you’re pretty outstanding with the hoe too.”

  Shaking her head and smothering a smile that would only encourage Kip, Jordan pointed the way into the restaurant. They were early enough to snag a booth toward the back.

  “What do you recommend?” Kip asked.

  “Anything is fabulous, but their hash browns are about the best in the world.”

  “Sold.”

  The waitress appeared, and waving away menus, they ordered.

  “How long is your grant?” Kip asked as they waited for breakfa
st.

  “Two years,” Jordan said. “Hopefully, I can turn it over to Tya well before that. We’ll have to get a renewal, of course, but once it’s self-sustaining she’ll be the perfect administrator. She’s local, she has strong ties to the community, and she’s a good gardener.”

  “What about you, then?”

  Jordan lifted a shoulder. “I’m kind of used to being itinerant. I may move on to another one or look into doing some kind of Ag research.”

  “In a lab?” Kip shook her head. “I can’t see you working inside.”

  “No, neither can I, but fortunately, most Ag research is at least partly fieldwork.”

  Kip leaned back as the waitress slid their plates onto the table. “Have you given any thought to your own farm?”

  Jordan busied herself with her silverware.

  “Sorry, sensitive question?” Kip said gently.

  “I suppose,” Jordan said softly. Not a question she ever let herself ponder.

  Kip reached across the table, stroked a finger across the top of her hand, a gentle, comforting touch. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, you don’t need to be. It’s hard to think of being anywhere except the farm. You know, home.”

  “I think I can imagine.”

  Jordan knew Kip meant it, believed she understood the hole she’d never been able to fill in her heart, in her dreams. Maybe that understanding was what made it easier to talk about it. “Tillable land is getting to be a premium now, and the banks are a little suspect about lending for small farms. Too many hobby farmers borrowed money and couldn’t make a go of it, so I’m not even sure I could find a place.”

  “How much land would you need?”

  “Well, some people are doing incredible work with as little as an acre, which is probably a lot less than some McMansions have in their backyard, but ideally I’d want fifty. That would give me room for silage crops—”

  “Um?”

  “Hay, corn, soy—food crops for the animals, a small dairy herd, and enough acreage for produce.”