by Nora Roberts
into a hamper.
"No reason to be embarrassed," she muttered to herself as she threw open her armoire. "Absolutely none." She dug out fresh underwear and felt more normal after she put it on.
And reaching for her blouse, felt the chill.
She braced, half expecting a vase or lamp to fly across the room at her this time.
But she gathered her courage and turned, and she saw the Harper Bride. Clearly, for the first time, clearly, though the dusky light slipped through her as if she were smoke. Still, Stella saw her face, her form, the bright ringlets, the shattered eyes.
The Bride stood at the doorway that connected to the bath, then the boys' room.
But it wasn't anger Stella saw on her face. It wasn't disapproval she felt quivering on the air. It was
utter and terrible grief.
Her own fear turned to pity. "I wish I could help you. I want to help." With her blouse pressed against
her breasts, Stella took a tentative step forward. "I wish I knew who you were, what happened to you. Why you're so sad."
The woman turned her head, looked back with swimming eyes to the room beyond.
"They're not gone," Stella heard herself say. "I'd never let them go. They're my life. They're with my father and his wife—their grandparents. A treat for them, that's all. A night where they can be pampered and spoiled and eat too much ice cream. They'll be back tomorrow."
She took a cautious second step, even as her throat burned dry. "They love being with my father and Jolene. But it's so quiet when they're not around, isn't it?"
Good God, she was talking to a ghost. Trying to draw a ghost into conversation. How had her life
become so utterly strange?
"Can't you tell me something, anything that would help? We're all trying to find out, and maybe when
we do ... Can't you tell me your name?"
Though Stella's hand trembled, she lifted it, reached out. Those shattered eyes met hers, and Stella's
hand passed through. There was cold, and a kind of snapping shock. Then there was nothing at all.
"You can speak," Stella said to the empty room. "If you can sing, you can speak. Why won't you?"
Shaken, she dressed, fought her hair into a clip. Her heart was still thudding as she did her makeup, half expecting to see that other heartbroken face in the mirror.
Then she slipped on her shoes and went downstairs. She would leave death behind, she thought, and go prepare for new life.
SEVENTEEN
The pace might have been slow, but the hours were the killer. As spring turned lushly green and temperatures rose toward what Stella thought of as high summer, garden-happy customers flocked
to the nursery, as much, she thought, to browse for an hour or so and chat with the staff and other customers as for the stock.
Still, every day flats of bedding plants, pots of perennials, forests of shrubs and ornamental trees
strolled out the door.
She watched the field stock bagged and burlapped, and scurried to plug holes on tables by adding greenhouse stock. As mixed planters, hanging baskets, and the concrete troughs were snapped up,
she created more.
She made countless calls to suppliers for more: more fertilizers, more grass seed, more root starter,
more everything.
With her clipboard and careful eye she checked inventory, adjusted, and begged Roz to release some
of the younger stock.
"It's not ready. Next year."
"At this rate, we're going to run out of columbine, astilbes, hostas—" She waved the board. "Roz,
we've sold out a good thirty percent of our perennial stock already. We'll be lucky to get through
May with our current inventory."
"And things will slow down." Roz babied cuttings from a stock dianthus. "If I start putting plants out before they're ready, the customer's not going to be happy."
"But—"
"These dianthus won't bloom till next year. Customers want bloom, Stella, you know that. They want
to plug it in while it's flowering or about to. They don't want to wait until next year for the gratification."
"I do know. Still..."
"You're caught up." With her gloved hand, Roz scratched an itch under her nose. "So's everyone else. Lord, Ruby's beaming like she's been made a grandmother again, and Steve wants to high-five me
every time I see him."
"They love this place."
"So do I. The fact is, this is the best year we've ever had. Weather's part of it. We've had a pretty
spring. But we've also got ourselves an efficient and enthusiastic manager to help things along. But
end of the day, quality's still the byword here. Quantity's second."
"You're right. Of course you're right. I just can't stand the thought of running out of something and
having to send a customer somewhere else."
"Probably won't come to that, especially if we're smart enough to lead them toward a nice substitution."
Stella sighed. "Right again."
"And if we do need to recommend another nursery ..."
"The customers will be pleased and impressed with our efforts to satisfy them. And this is why you're
the owner of a place like this, and I'm the manager."
"It also comes down to being born and bred right here. In a few more weeks, the spring buying and planting season will be over. Anyone who comes in after mid-May's going to be looking mostly for supplies, or sidelines, maybe a basket or planter already made up, or a few plants to replace something that's died or bloomed off. And once that June heat hits, you're going to want to be putting what we've got left of spring and summer bloomers on sale before you start pushing the fall stock."
"And in Michigan, you'd be taking a big risk to put anything in before mid-May."
Roz moved to the next tray of cuttings. "You miss it?"
"I want to say yes, because it seems disloyal otherwise. But no, not really. I didn't leave anything back there except memories."
It was the memories that worried her. She'd had a good life, with a man she'd loved. When she'd lost
him that life had shattered—under the surface. It had left her shaky and unstable inside. She'd kept that life together, for her children, but in her heart had been more than grief. There'd been fear.
She'd fought the fear, and embraced the memories.
But she hadn't just lost her husband. Her sons had lost their father. Gavin's memory of him was dimmer— dimmer every year—but sweet. Luke was too young to remember his father clearly. It
seemed so unfair. If she moved forward in her relationship with Logan while her boys were still
so young ...
It was a little like no longer missing home, she supposed. It seemed disloyal.
As she walked into the showroom, she spotted a number of customers with wagons, browsing the
tables, and Hayley hunkering down to lift a large strawberry pot already planted.
"Don't!"
Her sharp command had heads turning, but she marched right through the curious and, slapping her
hands on her hips, glared at Hayley. "Just what do you think you're doing?"
"We sold the point-of-purchase planters. I thought this one here would be good out by the counter."
"I'm sure it would. Do you know how pregnant you are?"
Hayley glanced down at her basketball belly. "Kind of hard to miss."
"You want to move a planter, then you ask somebody to move it for you."
"I'm strong as an ox."
"And eight months pregnant."
"You listen to her, honey." One of the customers patted Hayley on the arm. "You don't want to take chances. Once that baby pops out, you'll never stop hauling things around. Now's the time to take advantage of your condition and let people spoil you a little bit."
"I've got to watch her like a hawk," Stella said. "That lobelia's wonderful, isn't it?"
; The woman looked down at her flatbed. "I just love that deep blue color. I was thinking I'd get some
of that red salvia to go beside it, maybe back it up with cosmos?"
"Sounds perfect. Charming and colorful, with a whole season of bloom."
"I've got some more room in the back of the bed, but I'm not sure what to put in." She bit her lip as she scanned the tables loaded with options. "I wouldn't mind some suggestions, if you've got the time."
"That's what we're here for. We've got some terrific mixed hollyhocks, tall enough to go behind the cosmos. And if you want to back up the salvia, I think those marigolds there would be fabulous. And have you seen the perilla?"
"I don't even know what it is," the woman said with a laugh.
Stella showed her the deep-purple foliage plant, had Hayley gatherup several good marigolds. Between them, they filled another flatbed.
"I'm glad you went with the alyssum, too. See the way the white pops the rest of your colors? Actually, the arrangement there gives you a pretty good idea what you'll have in your garden." Stella nodded toward the flatbeds. "You can just see the way those plants will complement each other."
"I can't wait to get them in. My neighbors are going to be green with envy."
"Just send them to us."
"Wouldn't be the first time. I've been coming here since you opened. Used to live about a mile from
here, moved down toward Memphis two years ago. It's fifteen miles or more now, but I always find something special here, so I keep coming back."
"That's so nice to hear. Is there anything else Hayley or I can help you with? Do you need any starter, mulch, fertilizer?"
"Those I can handle on my own. But actually"—she smiled at Hayley—"since this cart's full, if you'd have one of those strong young boys cart that pot out to the counter—and on out to my car after—I'll take it."
"Let me arrange that for you." Stella gave Hayley a last telling look. "And you, behave yourself."
"Y'all sisters?" the woman asked Hayley.
"No. She's my boss. Why?"
"Reminded me of my sister and me, I guess. I still scold my baby sister the way she did you, especially when I'm worried about her."
"Really?" Hayley looked off toward where Stella had gone. "I guess we sort of are, then."
* * *
While she agreed that exercise was good for expectant mothers, Stella wasn't willing to have Hayley
work all day and then walk close to half a mile home at this stage of her pregnancy. Hayley groused,
but every evening Stella herded her to the car and drove her home. "I like walking."
"And after we get home and you have something to eat, you can take a nice walk around the gardens.
But you're not walking all that way, and through the woods alone, on my watch, kid."
"Are you going to be pestering me like this for the next four weeks?"
"I absolutely am."
"You know Mrs. Tyler? The lady who bought all those annuals we helped her with?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"She said how she thought we were sisters because you give me grief like she does her baby sister.
At the time, I thought that was nice. Now, it's irritating."
"That's a shame."
"I'm taking care of myself."
"Yes, and so am I."
Hayley sighed. "If it's not you giving me the hairy eye, it's Roz. Next thing, people'll start thinking she's my mama."
Stella glanced down to see Hayley slip her feet out of her shoes. "Feet hurt?"
"They're all right."
"I've got this wonderful foot gel. Why don't you use it when we get home, and put your feet up for a
few minutes?"
"I can't hardly reach them anymore. I feel..."
"Fat and clumsy and sluggish," Stella finished.
"And stupid and bitchy." She pushed back her damp bangs, thought about whacking them off. Thought about whacking all her hair off. "And hot and nasty."
When Stella reached over, bumped up the air-conditioning, Hayley's eyes began to sting with remorse
and misery. "You're being so sweet to me—everyone is— and I don't even appreciate it. And Ijust feel like I've been pregnant my whole life and I'm going to stay pregnant forever."
"I can promise you won't."
"And I... Stella, when they showed that video at birthing class and we watched that woman go through
it? I don't see how I can do that. I just don't think I can."
"I'll be there with you. You'll be just fine, Hayley. I'm not going to tell you it won't be hard, but it's
going to be exciting, too. Thrilling."
She turned into the drive. And there were her boys, racing around the yard with the dog and Harper in what seemed to be a very informal game of Wiffle ball.
"And so worth it," she told her. "The minute you hold your baby in your arms, you'll know."
"I just can't imagine being a mama. Before, I could, but now that it's getting closer, I just can't."
"Of course you can't. Nobody can really imagine a miracle. You're allowed to be nervous. You're supposed to be."
"Then I'm doing a good job."
When she parked, the boys ran over. "Mom, Mom! We're playing Wiffle Olympics, and I hit the ball a million times."
"A million?" She widened her eyes at Luke as she climbed out. "That must be a record."
"Come on and play, Mom." Gavin grabbed her hand as Parker leaped up to paw at her legs. "Please!"
"All right, but I don't think I can hit the ball a million times."
Harper skirted the car to get to Hayley's side. His hair curled damply from under his ball cap, and his
shirt showed stains from grass and dirt. "Need some help?"
She couldn't get her feet back in her shoes. They felt hot and swollen and no longer hers. Cranky tears flooded her throat. "I'm pregnant," she snapped, "not handicapped."
She left her shoes on the mat as she struggled out. Before she could stop herself, she slapped at Harper's offered hand. "Just leave me be, will you?"
"Sorry." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"I can't breathe with everybody hovering around me night and day." She marched toward the house, trying hard not to waddle.
"She's just tired, Harper." Whether it was hovering or not, Stella watched Hayley until she'd gotten
inside. "Tired and out of sorts. It's just being pregnant."
"Maybe she shouldn't be working right now."
"If I suggested that, she'd explode. Working keeps her mind busy. We're all keeping an eye on her to make sure she doesn't overdo, which is part of the problem. She feels a little surrounded, I imagine."
"Mom!"
She held up a hand to her impatient boys. "She'd have snapped at anybody who offered her a hand just then. It wasn't personal."
"Sure. Well, I've got to go clean up." He turned back to the boys, who were already squabbling over
the plastic bat. "Later. And next time I'm taking you both down."
* * *
The afternoon was sultry, a sly hint of the summer that waited just around the corner. Even with the air-conditioning, Stella sweltered in her little office. As a surrender to the weather, she wore a tank top and thin cotton pants. She'd given up on her hair and had bundled it as best she could on top of her head.
She'd just finished outlining the next week's work schedule and was about to update one of her spreadsheets when someone knocked on her door.
"Come in." Automatically, she reached for the thermos of iced coffee she'd begun to make every morning. And her heart gave a little jolt when Logan stepped in. "Hi. I thought you were on the
Fields job today."
"Got rained out."
"Oh?" She swiveled around to her tiny window, saw the sheets of rain. "I didn't realize."
"All those numbers and columns can be pretty absorbing."
'To some of us."
"It's a good day to play hookey. Why don't you come
out and play in the rain, Red?"
"Can't." She spread her arms to encompass her desk. "Work."
He sat on the corner of it. "Been a busy spring so far. I don't figure Roz would blink if you took a
couple hours off on a rainy afternoon."
"Probably not. But I would."
"Figured that, too." He picked up an oddly shaped and obviously child-made pencil holder, examined it. "Gavin or Luke?"
"Gavin, age seven."
"You avoiding me, Stella?"
"No. A little," she admitted. "But not entirely. We've been swamped, here and at home. Hayley's only
got three weeks to go, and I like to stick close."
"Do you think you could manage a couple of hours away, say, Friday night? Take in a movie?"
"Well, Friday nights I usually try to take the kids out."
"Good. The new Disney flick's playing. I can pick y'all up at six. We'll go for pizza first."
"Oh, I..." She sat back, frowned at him. "That was sneaky."
"Whatever works."
"Logan, have you ever been to the movies with a couple of kids on a Friday night?"
"Nope." He pushed off the desk and grinned. "Should be an experience."
He came around the desk and, cupping his hands under her elbows, lifted her straight out of the chair
with a careless strength that had her mouth watering. "I've started to miss you."
He touched his mouth to hers, heating up the contact as he let her slide down his body until her feet hit the floor. Her arms lifted to link around his neck, banding there for a moment until her brain engaged again.
"It looks like I've started to miss you, too," she said as she stepped back. "I've been thinking."
"I just bet you have. You keep on doing that." He tugged at a loose lock of her hair. "See you Friday."
She sat down again when he walked out. "But I have trouble remembering what I'm thinking."
* * *
He was right. It was an experience. One he handled, in Stella's opinion, better than she'd expected. He didn't appear to have a problem with boy-speak. In fact, during the pizza interlude she got the feeling
she was odd man out. Normally she could hold her own in intense discussions of comic books and baseball, but this one headed to another level.
At one point she wasn't entirely sure the X-Men's Wolverine hadn't signed on to play third base for the Atlanta Braves.