Blue Dahlia gt-1

by Nora Roberts

  respected color codes. If she was half as good relating to customers as she was with filing systems,

  she would be a jewel.

  When it came to plants, she didn't know much more than the basic this is a geranium, and this is a

  pansy. But she could be taught.

  Stella was already prepared to beg Roz to offer Hayley part-time work when May got closer.

  "Hayley?" Stella poked her head in the now efficient and tidy office. "Why don't you come out with

  me? We've got nearly an hour before we open. We'll have a lesson on shade plants iN Greenhouse Number Three."

  "Cool. We're input through the H's in perennials. I don't know what half of them are, but I'm doing

  some reading up at night. I didn't know sunflowers were called Helia ... wait. Helianthus."

  "It's more that Helianthus are called sunflowers. The perennial ones can be divided in spring, or propagated by seeds—in the spring—or cuttings in late spring. Seeds from annual Helianthus can be harvested—from that big brown eye—in late summer or early fall. Though the cultivars hybridize

  freely, they may not come true from the seeds collected. And I'm lecturing."

  "That's okay. I grew up with a teacher. I like to learn."

  As they passed through the counter area, Hayley glanced out the window. "Truck just pulled in over by the ... what do y'all call them? Pavers," she said before Stella could answer. "And, mmmm, just look at what's getting out of that truck. Mister tall, dark, and totally built. Who's the hunk?"

  Struggling not to frown, Stella lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "That would be Logan Kitridge, Roz's landscape designer. I suppose he does score fairly high on the hunk-o-meter."

  "Rings my bell." At Stella's expression, Hayley pressed a hand to her belly and laughed. "I'm pregnant. Still have all working parts, though. And just because I'm not looking for a man doesn't mean I don't

  want to look at one. Especially when he's yummy. He really is all tough and broody-looking, isn't he? What is it about tough, broody-looking men that gives you that tickle down in the belly?"

  "I couldn't say. What's he doing over there?"

  "Looks like he's loading pavers. If it wasn't so cool, he'd pull off that jacket. Bet we'd get a real muscle show. God, I do love my eye candy."

  "That sort'll give you cavities," Stella mumbled. "He's not scheduled for pavers. He hasn't put in the

  order for pavers. Damn it!"

  Hayley's eyebrows shot up as Stella stomped to the door and slammed out. Then she pressed her nose

  to the window, prepared to watch the show.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Uh-huh?" Hayley's answer was absent as she tried to get a better look outside. Then she popped back from the window, remembering spying was one thing, getting caught at it another. She turned, put on

  an innocent smile. And decided she'd gotten a double serving of eye candy.

  This one wasn't big and broody, but sort of lanky and dreamy. And hot damn. It took an extra beat for her brain to engage, but she was quick.

  "Hey! You must be Harper. You look just like your mama. I didn't get a chance to meet you yet, 'cause you never seemed to be around wherever I was around. Or whenever. I'm Hayley. Cousin Hayley from Little Rock? Maybe your mama told you I was working here now."

  "Yeah. Yeah." He couldn't think of anything else. Could barely think at all. He felt lightning-struck and stupid.

  "Do you just love working here? I do already. There's so much of everything, and the customers are so friendly. And Stella, she's just amazing, that's all. Your mama's like, I don't know, a goddess, for giving me a chance this way."

  "Yeah." He winced. Could he be any more lame? "They're great. It's great." Apparently he could. And damn it, he was good with women. Usually. But one look at this one had given him some sort of concussion. "You, ah, do you need anything?"

  "No." She gave him a puzzled smile. "I thought you did."

  "I need something? What?"

  "I don't know." She laid a hand on the fascinating mound of her belly and laughed, all throaty and free. "You're the one who came in."

  "Right. Right. No, nothing. Now. Later. I've got to get back." Outside, in the air, where he should be

  able to breathe again.

  "It was nice meeting you, Harper."

  "You, too." He glanced back as he retreated and saw she was already back at the window.

  * * *

  Outside, Stella sped across the parking area. She called out twice, and the second time got a quick

  glance and an absent wave. Building up steam as she went, she pumped it out the minute she reached

  the stacks of pavers.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Playing tennis. What does it look like I'm doing?"

  "It looks like you're taking material you haven't ordered, that you haven't been authorized to take."

  "Really?" He hauled up another stack. "No wonder my backhand is rusty." The truck shuddered as he loaded. "Hey."

  Much to her amazement, he leaned toward her, sniffed. "Different shampoo. Nice."

  "Stop smelling me." She waved him away by flapping a hand at his chin as she stepped back.

  "I can't help it. You're standing right there. I have a nose."

  "I need the paperwork on this material."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fine, fine, fine. I'll come in and take care of it after I'm loaded."

  "You're supposed to take care of it before you load."

  He turned, aimed a hot look with those mossy green eyes. "Red, you're a pain in the ass."

  "I'm supposed to be. I'm the manager."

  He had to smile at that, and he tipped down his sunglasses to look over them at her. "You're real good

  at it, too. Think of it this way. The pavers are stored on the way to the building. By loading first, then coming in, I'm actually being more efficient."

  The smile morphed into a smirk. "That'd be important, I'd think, if we were doing, say, a projection of man-hours."

  He took a moment to lean against the truck and study her. Then he loaded another stack of pavers.

  "You standing here watching me means you're wasting time, and likely adding to your own man-hours."

  "You don't come in to handle the paperwork, Kitridge, I'll hunt you down."

  "Don't tempt me."

  He took his time, but he came in.

  He was calculating how best to annoy Stella again. Her eyes went the color of Texas bluebonnets

  when she was pissed off. But when he stepped in, he saw Hayley.

  "Hey."

  "Hey," she said back and smiled. "I'm Hayley Phillips. A family connection to Roz's first husband?

  I'm working here now."

  "Logan. Nice to meet you. Don't let this Yankee scare you." He nodded toward Stella. "Where are the sacred forms, and the ritual knife so I can slice open a vein and sign them in blood?"

  "My office."

  "Uh-huh." But he lingered rather than following her. "When's the baby due?" he asked Hayley.

  "May."

  "Feeling okay?"

  "Never better."

  "Good. This here's a nice outfit, a good place to work most of the time. Welcome aboard." He sauntered into Stella's office, where she was already at her computer, with the form on the screen.

  "I'll type this one up to save time. There's a whole stack of them in that folder. Take it. All you have to do is fill them in as needed, date, sign or initial. Drop them off."

  "Uh-huh." He looked around the room. The desk was cleared off. There were no cartons, no books sitting on the floor or stacked on chairs.

  That was too bad, he thought. He'd liked the workaday chaos of it.

  "Where's all the stuff in here?"

  "Where it belongs. Those pavers were the eighteen-inch round, number A-23?"

  "They were eighteen-inch rounds." He picked up the framed photo on her desk and studied the picture

  of her boys and their dog. "Cute."


  "Yes, they are. Are the pavers for personal use or for a scheduled job?"

  "Red, you ever loosen up?"

  "No. We Yankees never do."

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Ura-hmm."

  "Do you know how sick I am of being referred to as 'the Yankee,' as though it were a foreign species, or a disease? Half the customers who come in here look me over like I'm from another planet and may not be coming in peace. Then I have to tell them I was born here, answer all sorts of questions about why I left, why I'm back, who my people are, for Christ's sake, before I can get down to any sort of business. I'm from Michigan, not the moon, and the Civil damn War's been over for quite some time."

  Yep, just like Texas bluebonnets. "That would be the War Between the damn States this side of the Mason-Dixon, honey. And looks to me like you loosen up just fine when you get riled enough."

  "Don't 'honey' me in that southern-fried twang."

  "You know, Red, I like you better this way."

  "Oh, shut up. Pavers. Personal or professional use?"

  "Well, that depends on your point of view." Since there was room now, he edged a hip onto the corner

  of the desk. "They're for a friend. I'm putting in a walkway for her— my own time, no labor charge. I told her I'd pick up the materials and give her a bill from the center."

  "We'll consider that personal use and apply your employee discount." She began tapping keys.

  "How many pavers?"

  "Twenty-two."

  She tapped again and gave him the price per paver, before discount, after discount.

  Impressed despite himself, he tapped the monitor. "You got a math nerd trapped in there?"

  "Just the wonders of the twenty-first century. You'd find it quicker than counting on your fingers."

  "I don't know. I've got pretty fast fingers." Drumming them on his thigh, he kept his gaze on her face.

  "I need three white pine."

  "For this same friend?"

  "No." His grin flashed, fast and crooked. If she wanted to interpret "friend" as "lover," he couldn't see

  any point in saying the pavers were for Mrs. Kingsley, his tenth-grade English teacher. "Pine's for a

  client. Roland Guppy. Yes, like the fish. You've probably got him somewhere in your vast and

  mysterious files. We did a job for him last fall."

  Since there was a coffeemaker on the table against the wall, and the pot was half full, he got up, took a mug, and helped himself.

  "Make yourself at home," Stella said dryly.

  "Thanks. As it happens, I recommended white pine for a windbreak. He hemmed and hawed. Took him this long to decide to go for it. He called me at home yesterday. I said I'd pick them up and work him in."

  "We need a different form."

  He sampled the coffee. Not bad. "Somehow I knew that."

  "Are the pavers all you're taking for personal use?"

  "Probably. For today."

  She hit Print, then brought up another form. "That's three white pine. What size?"

  "We got some nice eight-foot ones."

  "Balled and burlapped?"

  "Yeah."

  Tap, tap, tap, he thought, with wonder, and there you go. Woman had pretty fingers, he noted. Long

  and tapered, with that glossy polish on them, the delicate pink of the inside of a rose petal.

  She wore no rings.

  "Anything else?"

  He patted his pockets, eventually came up with a scrap of paper. "That's what I told him I could put

  them in for."

  She added the labor, totaled, then printed out three copies while he drank her coffee. "Sign or initial,"

  she told him. "One copy for my files, one for yours, one for the client."

  "Gotcha."

  When he picked up the pen, Stella waved a hand. "Oh, wait, let me get that knife. Which vein did you plan to open?"

  "Cute." He lifted his chin toward the door. "So's she."

  "Hayley? Yeah, she is. And entirely too young for you."

  "I wouldn't say entirely. Though I do prefer women with a little more..." He stopped, smiled again.

  "We'll just say more, and stay alive."

  "Wise."

  "Your boys getting a hard time in school?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Just considering what you said before. Yankee."

  "Oh. A little, maybe, but for the most part the other kids find it interesting that they're from up north, lived near one of the Great Lakes. Both their teachers pulled up a map to show where they came from."

  Her face softened as she spoke of it. "Thanks for asking."

  "I like your kids."

  He signed the forms and found himself amused when she groaned—actually groaned—watching him carelessly fold his and stuff them in his pocket.

  "Next time could you wait until you're out of the office to do that? It hurts me."

  "No problem." Maybe it was the different tone they were ending on, or maybe it was the way she'd softened up and smiled when she spoke of her children. Later, he might wonder what possessed him,

  but for now, he went with impulse. "Ever been to Graceland?"

  "No. I'm not a big Elvis fan."

  "Ssh!" Widening his eyes, he looked toward the door. "Legally, you can't say that around here. You

  could face fine and imprisonment, or depending on the jury, public flogging."

  "I didn't read that in the Memphian handbook."

  "Fine print. So, I'll take you. When's your day off?"

  "I... It depends. You'll take me to Graceland?"

  "You can't settle in down here until you've experienced Graceland. Pick a day, I'll work around it."

  "I'm trying to understand here. Are you asking me for a date?"

  "I wasn't heading into the date arena. I'm thinking of it more as an outing, between associates." He set

  the empty mug on her desk. "Think about it, let me know."

  * * *

  She had too much to do to think about it. She couldn't just pop off to Graceland. And if she could, and had some strange desire to do so, she certainly wouldn't pop off to Graceland with Logan.

  The fact that she'd admired his work—and all right, bis build—didn't mean she liked him. It didn't mean she wanted to spend her very valuable off-time in his company.

  But she couldn't help thinking about it, or more, wondering why he'd asked her. Maybe it was some

  sort of a trick, a strange initiation for the Yankee. You take her to Graceland, then abandon her in a

  forest of Elvis paraphernalia and see if she can find her way out.

  Or maybe, in his weird Logan way, he'd decided that hitting on her was an easier away around her new system than arguing with her.

  Except he hadn't seemed to be hitting on her. Exactly. It had seemed more friendly, off the cuff, or impulsive. And he'd asked about her children. There was no quicker way to cut through her annoyance, any shield, any defense than a sincere interest in her boys.

  And if he was just being friendly, it seemed only polite, and sensible, to be friendly back.

  What did people wear to Graceland, anyway?

  Not that she was going. She probably wasn't. But it was smart to prepare. Just in case.

  In Greenhouse Three, supervising while Hayley watered propagated annuals, Stella pondered on the situation.

  "Ever been to Graceland?"

  "Oh, sure. These are impatiens, right?"

  Stella looked down at the flat. "Yeah. Those are Busy Lizzies. They're doing really well."

  "And these are impatiens too. The New Guinea ones."

  "Right. You do learn fast."

  "Well, I recognize these easier because I've planted them before. Anyway, I went to Graceland with

  some pals when I was in college. It's pretty cool. I bought this Elvis bookmark. Wonder what ever happened to that? Elvis is a form of Elvin. It means 'elf-wise friend.' Isn't that strange?"

  "Stranger to me that you'd know that." />
  "Just one of those things you pick up somewhere."

  "Okay. So, what's the dress code?"

  "Hmm?" She was trying to identify another flat by the leaves on the seedlings. And struggling not to

  peek at the name on the spike. "I don't guess there is one. People just wear whatever. Jeans and stuff."

  "Casual, then."

  "Right. I like the way it smells in here. All earthy and damp."

  "Then you made the right career choice."

  "It could be a career, couldn't it?" Those clear blue eyes shifted to Stella. "Something I could learn to

  be good at. I always thought I'd run my own place one day. Always figured on a bookstore, but this is sort of the same."

  "How's that?"

  "Well, like you've got your new stuff, and your classics. You've got genres, when it comes down to it. Annuals, biennials, perennials, shrubs and trees and grasses. Water plants and shade plants. That sort

  of thing."

  "You know, you're right. I hadn't thought of it that way."

  Encouraged, Hayley walked down the rows. "And you're learning and exploring, the way you do with books. And we—you know, the staff—we're trying to help people find what suits them, makes them happy or at least satisfied. Planting a flower's like opening a book, because either way you're starting something. And your garden's your library. I could get good at this."

  "I don't doubt it."

  She turned to see Stella smiling at her. "When I am good at it, it won't just be a job anymore. A job's okay. It's cool for now, but I want more than a paycheck at the end of the week. I don't just mean money—though, okay, I want the money too."

  "No, I know what you mean. You want what Roz has here. A place, and the satisfaction of being part

  of that place. Roots," Stella said, touching the leaves of a seedling. "And bloom. I know, because I

  want it too."

  "But you have it. You're so totally smart, and you know where you're going. You've got two great kids, and a... a position here. You worked toward this, this place, this position. I feel like I'm just starting."

  "And you're impatient to get on with it. So was I at your age."

  Hayley's face beamed good humor. "And, yeah, you're so old and creaky now."

  Laughing, Stella pushed back her hair. "I've got about ten years on you. A lot can happen, a lot can change— yourself included—in a decade. In some ways I'm just starting, too—a decade after you. Transplanting myself, and my two precious shoots here."