“You’re going to bawl me out, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” she assured him.

“Don’t bother. I shouldn’t have questioned your authority. I won’t do it again.”

“Until tomorrow, anyway. I’m not kidding, Connor. These men work for me. If I went to your staff without talking to you, you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’ve already apologized, Rowena.”

“Yes, you have.”

“You want me to repeat it?”

She almost smiled at the thought of Connor Wingate apologizing twice for the same misstep. “No… What is it about me that’s so hard for you to trust? Do I look like a crook or something?”

“Hardly. You look like a beautiful woman.”

Beautiful? With mud and dirt oozing from every pore? “Now you’re just being mean.”

“Mean?” Confusion darkened his eyes.

She so was not going to argue about her un-beautiful self.

LOIS RICHER

Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word. “I’m a book-a-holic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.” Her love of language evolved into writing her own stories. Today her passion is to create tales of personal struggle that lead to triumph over life’s rocky road. For Lois, a happy ending is essential. “In my stories, as in my own life, God has a way of making all things beautiful. Writing a love story is my way of reinforcing my faith in His ultimate goodness toward us—His precious children.”

Spring Flowers, Summer Love

Lois Richer

So humble yourselves under the mighty power of

God, and in his good time he will honor you.

Give all your worries and cares to God,

for he cares about what happens to you.

—1 Peter 5:6-7

For Josh. With love.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Prologue

“A toast, girls.”

Piper Franklin lifted her iced tea high in the air.

“To what?” Rowena Davis frowned, certain neither of her best friends knew her secret yet.

“To the Bayside Trio, of course.” Piper giggled. “It seems like only yesterday that we left Serenity Bay. Here’s to coming home.”

“Hear, hear.” Ashley Masters clinked her glass against Piper’s.

Rowena took a sip, and grimaced. Tea of any sort didn’t appeal to her. But this place did. Serenity Bay. Home. Piper had been back for two years, Ash for one. Finally she was back, too.

Rowena took in the view of the shimmering blue water and the surrounding hills decked out in autumn’s blazing hues. She had done the right thing, hadn’t she?

“I wish we could think of a way to get Row to move back, Pip. Then the Bayside Trio would be back on the Bay, together again.” Ashley sighed. “That’s my dream.”

Rowena allowed her smile to creep out. “Then your dream just might be coming true, Ash.”

“What?” Piper jerked upright, stuck out her pink-tinted toenail and jabbed Ashley’s foot. “Did she say what I think she said?”

“I’m not sure I heard right.” Ashley cleared her throat. “Does that mean you’re thinking about moving back here, Row?”

“Come January, if things work together as I plan.”

“Yes!” The other two enveloped her in the group hug ritual they’d perfected through six years of boarding school. Once her two best friends were again seated, Rowena noticed their exchange of funny looks.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Ashley’s gray eyes opened wide innocently.

Rowena wasn’t buying it. “Tell the truth.”

Ash held out her left hand and let the sun light up the diamond facets on her rings. “I was just thinking that Pip and I both found our Prince Charming here. Maybe the same will be true for you.”

“The Wingate brothers are sixty-five if they’re a day. I don’t think they qualify, Ash.”

“At least they have a kingdom.” Piper smirked.

“I don’t want someone else’s kingdom. I’m going to get my own back. You two already know that.” Rowena leaned back, closed her eyes and wondered if she’d finally bit off more than she could chew.

“Maybe you’d better explain what coming back to the Bay has to do with Wingate Manor.”

“The Wingate brothers hired me to redo the Manor’s landscape.” She leaned forward, a picture forming in her mind. “You know how they’re always trying to expand their reputation, be more than a fine place to dine or host wedding receptions and anniversary parties?”

“Of course.” Piper frowned. “Henry’s held garden tours for the last two years. And now Wingate hosts summer stock performances for a couple of months. They have a great space for private birthday parties, too.”

“Last year they started patio barbecues,” Ashley added.

“They’re going to expand even more.” Excitement skittered up and down Rowena’s spine. “They intend to reorganize the patio spaces for more private functions, make a tearoom to generate afternoon traffic from the garden tours—lots of new things.”

“Wow. I’ve heard rumors but nothing of this scope.” Piper was probably thinking how this would impact the town. As economic development officer, Piper liked to know about everything that affected Serenity Bay.

“Michael and I went there for dinner not long ago,” Ashley told them. “The chef is fabulous. But how do their plans affect you, Row?”

“I came up with an idea to revamp the grounds, make them an attraction in and of themselves. Henry wants fountains, little vistas where artists can paint, a summerhouse where the horticultural society can meet, or rent for private parties. Once I’m finished, Wingate will offer the perfect backdrop for couples to take their wedding pictures, winter and summer.”

“It sounds like it will cost the earth,” Pip mused.

“That’s the best part.”

“You’ve got a funny look on your face, Rowena. Spill it.”

“I’ve agreed to handle the landscaping in exchange for the land once owned by Davis Nurseries.”

“So you are moving back!” Ashley crowed.

“Next January, yes.”

Piper frowned. “Wait a minute. This revamp—it’s coming out of your pocket?”

Rowena nodded. “I get the land free and clear in exchange for the job.”

“Which means you’ll quit at Yelland Gardens.”

“Yes. If everything at Wingate comes together as I’ve planned, I can decide whether or not to return to my old job later.” Their doubts echoed her own. “The opportunity to get the land back was there. I couldn’t ignore it.”

“Because of your father,” Piper murmured.

“Yes. If I can just get him back on the land, I’m sure he’ll finally be able to shake off this depression. It’s my fault Dad had to sell Davis Nurseries’ land to the Wingate brothers for pennies on the dollar. It’s my duty to get it back.”

“But how are you going to pay for it, find workers, the equipment?”

“I’m not saying it will be easy. But I am going to do it.”

Ashley hugged her. “If you need any help, you just ask.”

Ashley—with her elegant hair, three-inch heels and designer clothes—up a tree, limbing? Rowena had to smile.

“I mean it.” Ash’s gray eyes pinned her. “I’m here for you, Rowena. You’re my friend and I want to help.”

“Thank you both. In the meantime, does our annual birthday bash include food? I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved.” Piper rose, headed for the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Rowena let herself daydream of better days and a thriving nursery. It would be that way again, she promised herself. And it would be worth giving up her career for. It had to be.

“Moving back is perfect, of course,” Ashley mused. “It will be wonderful to have both you and Pip nearby. But I think it would be even nicer if you could meet someone.”

Rowena tucked her ragged nails under her thighs and wished she’d found something more stylish than jeans and a T-shirt for the weekend. “Forget it.”

“I’m going to pray about it.” The glint in Piper’s eye promised she’d do exactly as she said.

“Me, too,” Ash agreed. “You just never know what God has in store.”

Rowena opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. She knew what lay ahead: months of backbreaking work at Wingate Manor and sweat equity in a nursery left untended too long—with nary a prince in sight.

But that was exactly what she owed her father.

Chapter One

Wingate Manor had never looked so pathetic.

Well, not the actual house. The stone structure built by some wealthy industrialist as a lavish vacation villa in the 1920s stood enduringly solid and sturdy. But the grounds were a disaster.

Connor Wingate stepped out of his BMW, closed the door and winced as his Italian loafers sunk deep into the mud.

“Why did I agree to this?” he asked himself out loud.

Because the uncles took care of you when you needed it and it’s time to reciprocate.

Connor shut down the voice of his conscience, glanced sideways at the yapping dog with his face pressed against the passenger’s window and shook his head. No way was he letting Tobias run free in this muck. He’d be filthy in two seconds flat. Ignoring the animal, he turned his attention back to his surroundings.

Winter had caused much of the damage. The ice storm Uncle Hank had mentioned was probably responsible for felling those big oaks behind the house. He saw evidence that lightning had sheared off a massive pine he’d once climbed. There were also signs that something combined with gravity had helped sag the flower beds.

But the marks on the spruce trunks in front of him were not caused by weather. Those trunks had been chipped at by an ax.

“A very dull ax,” he muttered grimly, aghast at the damage.

A small shed stood to one side of the house. The place where his uncles kept a stock of firewood to supply Wingate’s charming but voracious fireplaces lay completely barren when it was usually bursting with logs ready to burn.

“It’s a mess, isn’t it?”

He wheeled around and found himself staring into a pair of almond-shaped hazel eyes fringed by the longest lashes he’d ever seen. He was quite sure they weren’t artificial, given that the woman’s only makeup was a streak of mud decorating one cheek and a sprig of pine needles perched atop her flattened auburn hair.

“Somebody’s been helping themselves to wood while the brothers have been away,” she said, lifting a chip from the soaking ground and rubbing it between her fingertips as if she could tell from that who the culprit might be.

Connor took one look at her Goodwill coat and the ancient rubber boots that swallowed her legs to her knees and narrowed his gaze.

“You don’t happen to know who would have done such a thing?”

“No idea.” She shook her head, glanced right, then left, as if she were assessing the damage. “It looks really bad but it’s reparable. If this moisture would ever stop, that is.”

The rain droplets became sleet. Connor winced at the sting against his cheek. He’d be in Australia right now if Cecile hadn’t—

“Does that dog want out?” his visitor asked, head tilted to one side as she studied the drooling beast.

“No.”

“Oh.” She blinked the spiky bangs out of her eyes. “What’s his name?”

“Tobias.” He did not want to talk about the dog.

“The Lord is good.”

“Pardon?”

“Tobias. It means the Lord is good.” Her eyes twinkled when she grinned. “Names and their meanings are a fascination with me. What’s yours?”

“Connor.” It slipped out without thinking.

“Hmm. Gaelic. It means high longing, I think.”

High longing. Well, that about covered his recent past. Conner huffed out an indignant snort to cover his frustration.

“You’re the brothers’ nephew.”

Clearly the meaning of names wasn’t her only gift.

“Great-nephew. Look, Miss, er, Ms.—what is your name?”

“I should have introduced myself.” She wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “Sorry. Rowena Davis.”

This was the landscape designer? Connor choked on his disbelief. She was all of what? Nineteen? Twenty? Maybe a hundred pounds if she stayed out in the rain all night?

This elf was going to cut down trees and carry them away?

“Don’t worry, Mr. Wingate,” she said after studying his face for several moments. “I can do the job. That’s why Hank and Henry hired me. They know my work.”

“I see.” The dog had started up a mournful howl that made conversation difficult. On second thought, maybe he should let Tobias out before he wrecked his brand-new car. “Excuse me.”

“Sure.”

Connor turned and opened the door, but before he could step out of the way, Tobias, in his usual blustering way, jumped against him, knocking him to the ground. Mud oozed through Connor’s fingers, splatted his coat and began to seep through the seat of his trousers.

The dog licked his face in apology.

“Perfect.” He shoved the chocolate lab’s muddy paws aside and rose, disgusted with everything to do with his life.

The landscaper, on the other hand, seemed to welcome the dog’s affection. She knelt, let him swipe his pink tongue across her face as she ruffled his fur and smoothed his ears.

“Oh, you’re a beauty. Thank you for the welcome. Do you know how to fetch?” She picked up a stick and tossed it. The dog raced after it, grabbed it in his jaws, but after one last look at his new friend, took off into the bush.

“He doesn’t know how to do much except eat and sleep. And run away.” Connor stopped, reading her expression. Dog hater. He wasn’t, but she couldn’t know Cecile had died because of Tobias.

“Does he belong to your children?” she asked sympathetically.

“I’m not married.” Struggling for composure, Connor cleared his throat. “Look, Miss Davis…”

“Rowena.”

“Miss Davis,” he repeated, wishing he’d waited another day. Or week. Till the rain had stopped. Or until the trees were cleaned up. Until he’d figured out his future and life made sense.

“I realize my uncles made an agreement with you to do the work around Wingate Manor and restore it to its former glory.”

She smiled at that, her lips spread wide across her face in a grin that lit chips of gold in the green of her hazel eyes.

“Maybe not glory,” she agreed. “But at least I can make it look a whole lot better than it does now. In return for the nursery,” she added, her smile disappearing like the sun behind a cloud.

“Nursery?” Connor struggled with that for a few moments. “Oh, you mean that land they bought years ago. Yes, I believe it did used to be a nursery. Don’t worry. They told me about your, er, understanding.”

Why did she want that hunk of overgrown bush?

“The thing is, Connor, your uncles and I made that agreement last summer. Before I’d seen all this damage.” She glanced around, frowned. “I should warn you that the job may cost more than I’d originally estimated. The ice storm was bad enough, but all this hacking—”

“How much more?” he asked. Suspicion feathered its way across his nerves in a warning he’d made a fortune listening to. If she thought she was going to soak two old men who were recovering from an accident she was in for a second thought.

“I don’t know yet. I’ve poked around a bit. Those terraces don’t look stable. The bottom layers of bricks are crumbling. They’ve been repaired piecemeal, shored up for a lot of years but—”

“Look,” he interrupted as the wind whipped through his wet pants. “We’re both going to catch cold if we stand in this sleet, chattering. Maybe you could conduct your assessment and give me the overrun figures. Then I’ll decide whether or not we’ll go ahead.”

She stared at him for several moments while her eyes brewed a storm, turned to green daggers. When she spoke frost edged her words. Her voice was low, determined and showed not the slightest hint of apology.

“Make no mistake, Mr. Wingate. This project is going ahead. I turned down a year’s worth of designing to come here. Your uncles and I signed a contract. It’s too late for you to back out now.”

They’d signed something? Even after he’d warned them to let him handle things? Connor shoved his hands into his pockets but refused to show his frustration in any other way. He was here now. He’d protect their interests.

“I’ve already begun pruning,” she told him. “If the weather clears up I’ll be back on-site tomorrow morning with a helper to continue. But the grounds are too wet to work. I’ll have to hold off on the flower beds until they dry out.”

“Fine.” He turned to leave.

“Mr. Wingate?”

“Yes?”

The dog came racing up, flopping down at her feet. She glanced down.

“I’m going to have some heavy equipment in here. The dog can’t be loose for that. If you could construct a pen or keep him inside, he’d be a lot safer.”

“Fine. Anything else?” He lifted one eyebrow as a wet drop slid down his neck.

“Yes.”

Connor waited, shifted. When she didn’t speak he fixed her with a glare. “Well?”

“Could you lose the attitude?” she asked quietly. “I’m not here to harm you or ruin Wingate Manor. I’m here to make it look fantastic. It’s going to take some time and a whole lot of work but you can rest assured that I will get the job done to your satisfaction.”

“Before June 1?” he demanded. “There’s a large wedding reception scheduled here that night. My uncles want the place to be in shape by then.”

“It will be.”

Connor had his doubts about that, but now was neither the time nor the place to second-guess the old boys’ decisions. He’d let her go at it for a couple of days, wait for her to admit it was too big a job and then he’d find someone else. Someone who looked able to lift a fallen tree, not dance across the trunk.

“Fine.” He turned away, put one foot toward the house.

“Just one more thing.”

Ensuring his sigh was loud enough for her to hear, he turned back. One look at her expressive face and he wished he hadn’t. His bad attitude wasn’t her fault. He struggled to change his tone. “What is it?”

“I’ve also begun work at the nursery. If you see lights up there, it’s me. The power’s on and I’ve moved into the house.” Her lips lifted but nobody would have called it a smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Wingate, the electric bill’s in my name.”

She bent, patted the dog’s head, then walked away, her boots slogging through the mud with an ease he envied.

“I wasn’t going to—”

She gave no sign that she’d heard a thing. Connor gave up, closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them she was gone and only Tobias stood looking at him as if he’d lost his senses.

“I probably have,” he admitted as he headed for the house.

As expected, Tobias was filthy. And not averse to sharing the mud. Connor was halfway up the steps when he noticed just how much of it the animal was plastering over his uncles’ pristine white stairs. Tobias couldn’t possibly be allowed inside.

Connor grumbled, turned and squished his way back to the car for the leash. Of course Tobias took forever to heel. Only when Connor was soaked and dirtier than he’d been before, if that was even possible, did the dog finally stand to attention so the leash could be snapped onto his collar.

“You need a bath,” Connor told him, tying the leash to a rail at the side of the house. “But I need one more. Stay here and I’ll come back and clean you up in a while. Then we’ll talk about dinner.”

His hands were frozen, his backside was sopping and his head ached like fury. Connor felt no compunction when the dog let out a woof of argument.

By the time he’d turned on the water, lit the water heater, got the furnace up to seventy and shed his clothes, the place was warm enough to take a shower. Only after he emerged from it did he realize his suitcase was still in the car.

Whatever humor Connor had begun the morning with had long since dissipated. No way was he putting those filthy garments back on. Instead, he dug through his uncles’ belongings, scrounged up a pair of pants six inches too large around the middle and six inches too short on the legs, a flannel shirt with seven different buttons and a pair of wooly socks that did nothing for fashion but kept his feet and ankles warm.

Two pairs of rubber boots sat at the back door. Resigned to wearing the odious footwear, Connor slipped on one of them, squinching his toes to fit. Then he went to find the dog.

Tobias was gone, the leash dangling on the ground.

“I should have known,” Connor grunted, trudging back toward the house. “If it weren’t for bad luck—”

A rumble overhead warned him the day wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. He hauled himself inside as the heavens unleashed a mixture of snow, rain and sleet, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the hall mirror.

“Dogs know how to take shelter,” he told it. “Animals have a sixth sense about self-preservation.”

Animals that have resided inside posh New York apartments for their entire lives? A picture of Cecile’s face—chiding, sad—wavered through his mind.

Guilt was a terrible thing. And right now it had a choke hold on him.

Connor sighed, pulled on a yellow slicker, dragged the hood over his head and squeezed his feet into the other pair of boots. They were no bigger. His toes ached painfully.

Grimacing, he headed outside to hunt for the dog.

Cecile had died saving Tobias. After their conversation that day he was probably the last person she’d have chosen to take care of her beloved pet, but there wasn’t anyone else. The least he could do was make sure her dog got a bath and some dinner.

Chapter Two

Rowena’s fingers moved nimbly over the twigs she’d received from Oren Yelland’s personal nursery. With any luck she’d get the cuttings finished and into the rooting compound tonight. Ash, elm, poplar. She counted mentally, nodded. Three thousand so far.

It was a start.

A noise outside made her pause.

Not that there hadn’t been noises before. Every night she was out here she heard something. So different from living in the city. She’d forgotten that. If the rain ever stopped she’d take a walk, see what else was sharing her land.

A soft “woof” made her smile.

“Hello, Tobias.” She opened the door, let him inside. “My goodness, you’re soaked.” She stepped back as he shook himself off, then bent to rub his ears. “Does your master know where you are?”

He gave her a soulful look then flopped down in front of the heater she’d turned up just enough to take off the chill. The cuttings wouldn’t be in here long enough to notice.

“Make yourself at home.” She chuckled. “Are you hungry?”

His ears lifted as if he understood that word. Rowena tugged the lunch bag from her coat pocket, took out the half sandwich that was left and tossed it to him. It disappeared in a millisecond.

“Wow! You’re starved. Either that or you’re not very polite.” She held up her hands to show they were empty. “Sorry, chum, but that’s all I’ve got.”

Rowena turned back to her work, musing about the dog’s owner. Connor Wingate had been stressed today. She’d noted the weary lines beside his eyes, the tired droop he’d tried so hard to hide. It couldn’t have been easy to put his own life on hold and move up here to take over while his uncles recovered from their accident. From all reports the brothers were healing nicely but it would be a while before either would be able to manage on their own, let alone run Wingate Manor.

Another noise. More like a loud thump this time. Then she thought she heard a voice. Somebody was out there.

Rowena set down her knife and moved to the door. She glanced at the dog. His head was up, his ears perked. A low growl rumbled from his throat.

“Quiet now, Tobias,” she murmured. She dragged on her coat, pulled up the hood, switched off the lights then yanked open the door.

The night was dark. She’d deliberately left the yard light off to save on power. But a ripple of lightning illuminated two figures racing away from her. A moment later they disappeared behind the greenhouse structure which the Wingates had erected years earlier.

Rowena walked to the end of the planting shed, aware that the dog padded along beside her. But though she watched in the pouring rain for several minutes, she saw no one else.

“Probably teenagers sneaking back from Lookout Point,” she mused. Turned back toward the shed, she stopped.

“You’d better go home, Tobias. Your master is probably wondering where you are.”

The brown tail swished happily back and forth at the words but the dog never moved.

“Go home, Tobias.” She ignored him, slopping over the grass.

At the door Rowena paused, peeked over one shoulder. He’d followed her. She stepped inside, closed the door and went back to work. But her conscience made her check outside the door five minutes later. He was still there, sitting, waiting.

“Oh, all right,” she mumbled. “Come on in and get dry. But when I leave you have to go home. Got it?”

A funny squawk of sound emerged from the dog. Apparently he’d accepted her terms. He flopped down in front of the heater and closed his eyes. Rowena picked up her knife and resumed cutting. It was rather nice having company, even if it was just a dog.

By the time she’d finished, her stomach was complaining bitterly. That half a sandwich would have come in handy about now. She carried the bundles into the adjoining room, thrust the fragile stalks into the rooting compound.

A rap on the door scared the wits out of her.

Tobias, on the other hand, didn’t seem too bothered. He was on his feet, but he didn’t bark or growl.

“I sense that being a watchdog is not your forte,” she scolded as she opened the door.

Connor Wingate glanced over her shoulder, shoved down his hood and stepped inside. “I might have known.”

“Pardon?”

“That animal is in here safe and warm while I’ve been slogging through acres of mud, worried that he was hurt.” He looked as if that was her fault.

“He showed up here a while ago. I tried to send him home but he wouldn’t go.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” He glanced around. “Oh!” His eyes glowed like topaz.

“Oh?” What on earth was wrong with him?

“I’ve just put two and two together. Davis Nurseries. You’re Davis Nurseries.”

Rowena motioned him inside, closing the door to shut out the cool air.

“Actually that was my father.”

“And now it’s you.”

She grinned. “Yes, I guess it is. For now.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Cuttings.” She showed him. “Most of the trees on the property are too large or too old to sell as nursery stock so I have to start new ones. These will root and I’ll plant them this summer. By next year I’ll have some to ship out.”

“It’s a long time to wait for a return on your investment.”

She nodded, surprised by his knowledge.

“Yes. But I have to start somewhere. Besides, I’ll have a few other sources of income this year. I’ve got bedding plants going in the greenhouse. I’ll use some for Wingate, sell the rest. I’ve also got a contract to do some baskets and stuff for the town, so that will help.”

He didn’t look impressed. Why would he? Compared to him she was small potatoes. According to Henry’s call yesterday his great-nephew was a stockbroker who’d just sold his brokerage. For a mint. Rowena knew that was true. She’d checked the Internet at the library.

She studied Connor, wondering what it was like to be able to buy anything you wanted, anytime you wanted.

“Do you have employees, Miss Davis?”

It was the one hole in her plan and Rowena knew it. There was no way she could tackle Wingate without help—and that would cost money. Though she’d prayed and prayed about it, she hadn’t yet found an answer.

“I’m planning to begin hiring tomorrow,” she told him. “Why?”

He shrugged.

“If they weren’t your employees, I suppose there’s nothing you can do about it,” he muttered. “I just assumed that since I followed them here they—”

“Wait a minute.” Rowena blinked at the memory of two figures, backlit by a shaft of light. “You followed someone onto this property? From Wingate?”

He nodded. “The northern edge. Wingate has a high spot that sits above the rest of the property. I thought if I could get a look from there I’d find that st…Tobias,” he corrected with a sideways glance at the dog. “Two people were leaving that area. That animal seems to like people so I thought maybe he’d be with them.”

“Where did you follow them to?” she asked quietly, bothered by the notion of someone sneaking around her property. Well, almost hers.

“I don’t know.” He looked embarrassed. “They were way ahead of me. I caught a glimpse of them near the greenhouse. Then they were gone. I came here because I saw your light.”

“I see.”

“You look upset.” He raked a hand through his precisely cut dark hair, rumpling it so he looked less forbidding. “Is anything wrong?”

As if he cared. But then she stared into those golden eyes, and Rowena sensed his concern. It was reassuring.

“I don’t know. There’s an old mine shaft at the back of my property. I haven’t been to check on it since I’ve come back, but tomorrow I’ll make sure it’s boarded up. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” She shrugged. “Or it could have been trespassers. Years ago we used to get transients that stole food from our garden.”

“But there isn’t any garden to steal from now.”

“True.” She held his gaze.

Rowena hated being short. People towered over her and they often assumed her size made her incapable of doing her job. Connor Wingate’s height was different somehow. She guessed he was about six foot one but instead of feeling puny his height made her feel a sense of daintiness she’d always wished she possessed and knew was about as far from her style as possible. Landscapers were not dainty.

Stop daydreaming, Rowena.

“So what are they doing here?”

“I don’t know.” She closed the door of the rooting room, locked it. “I’ll take a look around in the morning when the rain stops.”

“Don’t you mean if the rain stops?”

Rowena caught her breath at the transformation a grin made to his face. His forehead smoothed out, his deep-set eyes twinkled, his Roman nose seemed less haughty and the belligerent chin pulled back as his lips parted, showing strong white teeth.

He looked like a hero from an action movie.

He looked like he was in pain.

“Do you have a chair I can use?”

“Excuse me?”

“A chair,” he repeated patiently. “I need to take off these boots. They’re killing me.”

Rowena remembered the way he’d hobbled into the room.

“A stool.” She drew it out from under the counter. “Will that help?”

“Anything. Ooh,” he groaned, closing his eyes and sighing with relief as he massaged toes clad in the most bilious purple socks Rowena had ever seen. He glanced at her, reading her expression. “I borrowed some of my uncles’ things. We’re not exactly the same size,” he muttered defensively.

“Yes, I can see that.”

She tried to swallow her laughter, but when he opened his slicker so he could more easily free his other foot, she gave up.

“Stop laughing at me. It’s the dog’s fault.”

“He picked the shirt?”

“Funny girl.” He made a face. “Actually it’s Uncle Hank’s. I gave it to him for Christmas one year. I was ten, I think.” He stood, rested his feet flat on the cement floor. “Oh, the relief. I thought they were broken.”

His pants dangled just below his knees showing a smidgen of hairy leg before the purple wool took over. Rowena lifted a hand to her mouth.

“Oh, go ahead. Make fun of me. At least I’m warm and dry. Or I was.” He shifted the hood away from his neck, grimacing at the water that trickled down his cheek. “If I can just get home in these things without maiming myself I’ll be ecstatic.”

“Actually, I’m usually the one plastered in mud or fertilizer. I’m sure you had a good laugh at me earlier today.”

“I wasn’t laughing.”

“Oh.” An awkward silence fell between them. Rowena glanced around, scrounging through her brain for something to talk about.

“I didn’t know landscape designers got dirty.”

“This one does.”

“Good for you.” After a moment Connor grabbed a boot and began trying to squeeze his foot back into it. Rowena had an idea.

“Wait a minute.” She tugged open a cupboard on the wall, pulled out the old boots that had sat there for so many years. “These were my dad’s. Maybe they’ll fit better. He’s tall like you.”

“I guess you didn’t inherit his genes,” Connor murmured. He accepted the boots, thrust one foot inside. “Wonderful,” he pronounced with a broad grin. “I promise I’ll return them tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother. My dad won’t be coming down for a while. There’s no rush.”

“He’s going to be helping you?”

“I hope so.” But she didn’t want to talk about her father, so Rowena took her raincoat from the peg on the wall and thrust her arms inside. “I’ll give you a ride home. No reason you should get any wetter.”

Conner rose, too, and shook his head.

“It’s all right. There’s no point in dirtying your vehicle.”

“It’ll clean. And I want to check the mailbox, anyway.” She waited until Tobias followed Connor out the door, then locked it. She pulled open the door of her truck. “Get in, Tobias. Sit.”

He sat very politely until Connor got in beside him. Then he laid a paw on the too-short pant leg.

“Get down!”

Rowena closed the door, walked around to the other side and climbed in. She started the motor, turned on the fan. Man and beast were still vying for supremacy.

“Is Tobias a purebred?” she asked.

“I don’t know. He belongs—belonged to my fiancée.”

The one who’d died. She’d read about that, too.

“Why are you asking?”

“I had a friend who had a chocolate lab like Tobias, only she was a cross between a lab and a springer spaniel. The way Tobias jumps and bounces reminds me of Corilla.”

“That’s a dog’s name?” His disgust was obvious. “I thought Tobias was bad.”

“Corilla Barker Dog.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me the meaning of Corilla?” His eyes glinted golden with barely suppressed humor.

“Don’t ask.” She laughed at his expression. “Anyway, the only thing that worked with Corilla was to lay your hand on her head. She rode perfectly fine as long as she felt that hand on her head. Try it.”

Connor sighed then lifted his hand and set it on the dog’s head. Immediately Tobias put his paw on the floor and sat perfectly still. Connor lifted his hand; the paw went back up.

“Amazing.” He grinned at her.

When he let go of his stuffiness, Connor Wingate would be fun to know. Not that she was likely to be around to watch. Rowena got the sense that once he’d done his duty to his great uncles, Connor would hightail it out of town faster than a rabbit chased by a fox. She didn’t blame him.

She shifted gears, pressed the accelerator and eased her way out of the mud toward the paved road.

“Look! Over there. By the cliff.”

She followed his pointing finger, saw a flicker of light through the trees.

“Is it a campfire?”

“Looks like it.” She turned onto the main road and headed toward Wingate.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll call Bud Neely tomorrow. Ask him to come out and take a look around. If somebody’s camped there, he’ll suss them out. He’s the chief of police around here.”

“Good.”

Rowena dropped Connor and the dog at the door of Wingate, then headed for the big bank of mailboxes at the top of Hill Road. Nothing but fliers, certainly no responses to her ad for landscape assistants.

Sighing, she climbed back in the truck and drove up the hill toward home. Home. It was a funny feeling after all those years of living in tiny apartments in Toronto. Here there was so much space, so much silence. And yet there was noise; it was just different. The whisper of the wind through the giant spruce pushed out the cobwebs and freed the mind for reflection.

She reflected on her new neighbor and how his presence would impact her life for the next few weeks. Connor Wingate was rich, handsome and no doubt grieving. But he in no way resembled the shattered shell of a man who’d lost the most precious person in his life. Of course he wouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but still—something was off.

Rowena pulled up in front of the house, telling herself to forget about him. The most pressing problem in her life wasn’t Connor Wingate’s broken heart, it was how in the world she could possibly accomplish all that needed doing at Wingate Manor without a crew.

And what her father would say when she told him she’d done this so he could get back on the land he’d once loved.

“Please heal him,” she prayed, staring at the black outlines of the buildings that made up Davis Nurseries. “Please make him well.”

She waited for something, anything. But God was silent on the subject.

All she could do was keep going. It was too late to back out now.

Chapter Three

“April showers may bring May flowers, but this is only March and we’re drowning. Lord, can’t You put an end to this rain?”

The downpour splashed even harder against her yellow slicker as if to chide her for her complaint.

With a sigh of acceptance that she’d be soaked in less than an hour, Rowena set her chain saw inside the truck bed, added a handsaw, a couple of shovels and some rope. A movement to the left caught her eye. Somebody was here and they hadn’t arrived in a vehicle. She froze, waited for the husky figure in jeans and a thick rain jacket to approach her.

“Are you the woman who’s been looking for help?”

“Yes. You have experience in landscaping?”

“Some.” He glanced around. “Place needs a lot of work.”

Her bristles went up. “And it’ll get it. But this isn’t the job I’m worried about. Can you tell me about your experience? And your name. I’m Rowena Davis, by the way.”

“Kent Ardell. Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand, his grip strong, powerful. “Ever hear of Ardell and Son?”

“Sorry. I haven’t been around the Bay for a long time.”

“Our place was farther west.” He named a small town about three hours west of Serenity Bay. “My son and I started it up about five years ago. He got into some financial trouble and we lost our business. I’ve been doing odd jobs ever since. Felled trees for the forestry service. Worked for the federal parks department for a while. Did a couple of jobs in Toronto, too. I saw some of your work. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” Rowena described the basics of what Wingate needed. “Is that going to be too heavy for you?” she asked.

“Meaning am I too old?” A slanted grin tilted his mouth. “I’m fifty-eight. Not quite in the grave.”

Two years younger than her father. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just that—”

“Don’t apologize. You’re about the age of my son and I’m quite sure he’d have asked the same thing if some fellow had waltzed into his yard the way I just did yours.”

“You don’t have a vehicle?”

“Broke down halfway up the hill.”

“I see.” It took only a couple of minutes for her to think it over. “Why don’t we go to the site and you can show me what you can do? Maybe you’ll change your mind when you see the place.”

“Not likely. I like the challenge of making a difference.”

Exactly her sentiment. “I can’t pay you city rates.”

“It’s fine.”

This was better than she’d expected. “Okay. Hop in. I was just about to leave.”

They rattled toward Wingate with Kent sitting silently in the cab. That was all right with Rowena. She preferred to get her thoughts organized. They passed his truck on the way down. The lettering on the side backed his story. She turned through the gates of Wingate, slowing down, waiting for his assessment.

“Wow! Somebody did a number on this place.” Kent surveyed the grounds and whistled. He climbed out of the truck, waved one hand. “You’ll want to start in the east and work your way down, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. We’ll take out as little as we have to, but make sure every tree that stays is healthy.”

“You got any other help?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Not yet.”

“Then I’d best get to limbing. One person can do a lot of that without help. Specially on those evergreens.” He pulled on a helmet from the box in her truck bed, checked the gas tank on the power saw. “Are you looking to hire more people?”

“Eventually.” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“My kid’s out of work and he’s got a baby on the way. He’s a big, tough guy who could give you a good day’s work, if you want.”

A solid month of praying and advertising had turned up no one with the skills and experience she needed. Maybe this was God answering her prayer.

“Give him a call,” she said, handing him her cell phone. “I don’t know about accommodations around here, but—”

“I rented an apartment in town, above the florist’s shop. It’s got two bedrooms. Quint can bunk in with me. The owner, Mrs. Michaels, is really sweet. She even packs a lunch for me.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but what about your own home?”

“My wife died.” His voice dropped but he cleared his throat, continuing, “When the business went bust, all I had left was the land. I turned that over to Quint and his wife. Now I go where the work is.”

“I see.” She waited while he talked to Quint, who promised to be there after lunch. Maybe the deadline she’d agreed to wasn’t quite as impossible as it seemed. She hoped. “You ready to start?”

“Just tell me where.”

She did, then used her phone to contact a disposal company who would bring a Dumpster to the site. That arranged, Rowena put on her hard hat and ear protection, grabbed the second power saw and began work.

They stopped for lunch at noon, sitting on the tailgate as they basked in the few rays of sun peeking from behind dark clouds.

“Got a few more minutes?” Connor Wingate appeared, holding out two steaming mugs of coffee. “I thought this might warm you up. Looked like you were going at it pretty hard.”

How long had he been watching them?

“Connor, this is Kent Ardell. Kent, meet Connor Wingate. He’s holding down the fort until his uncles are back.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Kent shook his hand. “This is a beautiful place. Or it will be. I’ve seen Rowena’s plans. You’re lucky to have such a good designer take this on.”

“Oh?” His gaze switched to her.

“You don’t know her work?” Kent studied him. “Have you been to Toronto lately?”

“Not that I can remember. I drove straight up here from New York.”

“You should go back midsummer.” He listed three public gardens Rowena had worked on. “She’s got real talent.”

Then what’s she doing here, in the middle of nowhere? Rowena could almost hear the question, though Connor was too polite to ask it.

Just as well. Because she was not going to explain.

“Those clouds are rolling in fast. Guess we’d better get back to work.”

“I see they brought the Dumpster,” Connor said. “Do you mind if I help you haul the brush to it?”

Rowena almost dropped her saw. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I’m sick of being cooped up inside. I need a break and some exercise. You can use the help, I’m guessing.”

She opened her mouth to respond but a half ton pulled onto the grounds near hers. A tall man, younger than Kent but with all his features, climbed out, grabbed a pair of gloves and a climbing harness, then began walking toward them.

“This is my son, Quint,” Kent said, introducing them.

“Pleased to meet you, Quint.”

“We’re just getting back to work. You had lunch?” Kent asked him.

“On the way. I’m used to climbing if you want me to start on the tops of some of those,” Quint offered.

“He’s like a monkey up there,” Kent assured her.

Rowena checked his equipment, nodded. “It would be great to get them down before the wind does any more damage,” she agreed. “There are ladders in my truck. Kent, you’ll man the safety lines?”

“Sure. Thanks for the coffee, Connor.”

“You’re welcome.”

Father and son walked across the grass, teasing each other good-naturedly. A few moments later the whine of the power saw sliced through the valley and branches began to drift to the ground.

“I might as well start hauling,” Connor said, turning away.

“Wait.” Rowena frowned. He certainly looked strong enough but she was used to working with an experienced crew. Then there was the whole liability issue. She tried to explain that.

“Look. I’m not going to sue you or my uncles,” Connor assured her. “It’s my own fault if something happens. Anyway, the trees they’re working on aren’t near the brush I’ll be moving.”

“They could be. If the wind picks up—”

“I’ll be careful, Mom. Okay?” The grin did her in.

“All right. But you have to wear a hard hat.”

He made a face, but donned the hat. “Satisfied?” He looked like a model for designer jeans.

Swallowing, Rowena handed him a pair of gloves. He pulled them on, and sauntered over to the pile she and Kent had assembled. Watching him work was a temptation she couldn’t afford, so Rowena concentrated on cutting brush and smaller trees. After a while her arms began to ache so fiercely she had to stop. She quickly joined him picking up the debris.

“It’s going to take more than one of these Dumpsters to get rid of this mess,” Connor muttered.

“Yes. Some of it we’ll cut for firewood for Wingate’s fireplaces, if you like. But the elms show signs of disease and I don’t want to burn it and risk spreading. I’ve got some new elm plantings in the nursery that I don’t want infected. Most of the boughs will have to go, though.”

Connor pitched in happily enough until Chief Bud Neely pulled in.

“Hey, Rowena. Haven’t seen you around town much since you moved back.”

“I’ve been kept busy.” She waved a hand. “You can see why. This is Connor Wingate, by the way. Great-nephew to the Wingate brothers.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Connor studied the man.

“These grounds are a mess.” Bud whistled at the amount they’d already removed. “Big job to clean this up. I came out here a couple of times after Hank and Henry got in that accident. Heard they’re doing better. Too bad I can’t say the same about this place. Winter was hard on it.”

“Not just winter.” She pointed to the chopped trees. “Vandals did that.” She turned to Connor. “You didn’t notice anything wrong inside, did you? I could look around but I wouldn’t be much help. I barely glanced around last fall.”

“Everything seems fine.” He frowned. “Is there any way to catch whoever did the damage?”

“Likely long gone but I’ll keep an eye out for transients.” Bud turned to Rowena. “Checked out the mine. You were right. Someone was poking around. Best to get it closed up again.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” she promised, inwardly groaning at her expanding to-do list. “Thanks for checking.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you go getting a soft heart if they’re kids trespassing, Rowena. Any problems and you call me immediately,” he ordered.

Bud Neely might look like a hick but he had a steel-trap mind and an eye for detail.

“Yes, sir.” Rowena stood to attention and saluted.

“Don’t give me any of that back talk, girl. I was here when you and those two chums of yours were terrorizing the tourists’ kids with your smuggling stories. I know your history.”

“Forgive and forget, Bud. That’s what the Bible says.” Rowena stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for looking after us, you old softie.”

“Hey. Don’t be doing that in public!” He scrubbed his cheek but his eyes sparkled. “Folks on the Bay gotta watch out for each other. That’s just part of living here. Say, how’s your dad? Is he up here with you?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping I can bring him a little later on, once I’ve got Wingate on track.” If he isn’t too depressed, she didn’t add.

“You let me know. I’ve missed him. Nobody else around here can play a decent game of chess. Victor used to give me a run for my money.”

“Dad hasn’t played in a long time, Bud,” she warned. “He hasn’t been well.”

“Best thing is to get him up here in the fresh air, then. Anyway, playing chess is like riding a bike—the mind never forgets.”

Rowena glanced at her watch and waved. “Gotta get back to work. Thanks, Bud.”

“You’re welcome.”

While Connor continued to talk to the sheriff, she hauled brush. A short while later Bud left. Connor looked mad about something.

Because her arms were sore again, Rowena changed jobs, sliding down the wet slope to take a quick look at the first flower bed.

“What do you think? Are you going to meet the deadline?” Connor stood beside her, watching.

“No problem.” Rowena quickly schooled her face to hide her doubts that being finished by June 1 was possible.

“What are you doing now?”

“Checking out this soil,” she explained, scooping out a handful to get a better look. She leaned against the brick supporting wall to balance herself and dipped her hand into the soil again. The wall shifted.

“Uh-oh.” She moved from one terrace to the next, checking for stability. In each terrace, mud oozed through gaps in the corners where the mortar had broken down, in some cases given way completely.

Wingate needed a stonemason before it needed a landscaper and that would cost time and money—neither of which had been calculated into the original project.

“‘Uh-oh’ means something bad, guessing by your face.”

“I need to show you something. Can you handle some mud?”

He favored her with a mocking look, glancing at his filthy jeans. “I’ll try not to fuss too much,” he promised as he stepped down, holding out a hand to help her.

Rowena accepted his hand but let go as quickly as she could, her fingers feeling scorched by the contact.

“See here?” She pointed out the defects, forcing her breath to modulate. What was wrong with her? “The mortar isn’t holding. The saturated ground is straining the wall. It’s oozing out here.”

He hunched down beside her, slid his fingers into the gaps she indicated. “Can’t you patch it?”

“It’s been patched too many times. It needs to be rebuilt.”

“Or what?”

“Or it will slide down into the next one. It’s unstable. The walls will collapse as soon as I try to work on it.” She noticed his eyes were a kind of liquid gold. That made her knees rubbery. She needed space, oxygen—something.

“What’s your solution?”

Solution to what? Oh, yeah…

“You’ll have to hire a stonemason to install some new bricks.” Maybe she shouldn’t have had that coffee. Her nerves were way out of control.

“You said I’ll have to hire. But this is your project, Miss Davis.”

“I don’t do stonework. That was never part of the agreement.” She cleared her throat. “I did ask your uncles about the condition of the terraces when I agreed to take on the work. They assured me the masonry was solid. It looked okay under drier conditions. It’s not now.”

“I see.” His face tightened; his eyes grew stormy. “How much?”

“I told you, I don’t do masonry. If I had to guess—” She thought for a moment, then offered a figure. Connor’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest but Rowena kept talking. “A man in town does excellent work. Whether he’d be able to fit Wingate in is another question. He’s always booked fairly heavily.”

Connor Wingate glared at her.

“There is no way I’m prepared to authorize such a huge expenditure. You’ll have to come up with something else.”

“I’m not deliberately trying to cause problems, you know. And there’s no other way. Unless you want me to remove the terraces completely?”

He frowned. “But then everything would eventually slip downhill, wouldn’t it?”

“As it’s doing now, yes.” She pulled out a diagram she’d drawn yesterday. “This is Wingate now. This is what I propose.” Using her pencil she outlined the small changes. Anger had chased away her case of nerves, thank goodness.

“Cost?”

“It wouldn’t cost any more to do it at this stage. We could slip in an underground watering system, make your uncles’ lives a lot easier in future drier years.”

“It sounds great but the uncles are hoping to retire soon. They haven’t got the cash on hand to cover something like what you’re talking about. You’ll have to come up with something else, Miss Davis, or work with what’s already here. That’s my decision.” He turned to leave.

Why didn’t he call her by name? And would it hurt him to unbend just a bit?

“I want it on the record that I feel the terraces are unstable, Mr. Wingate.” Rowena sighed. “As soaked as they are now, they’re dangerous. I can’t begin really working with them until they dry out, so my timetable is on hold indefinitely. I’ll try a couple of ideas on the lower one, see how it reacts. That’s all I can promise.”

“June 1. That’s the deadline.” His bossy tone carried through the rain. “Remember that everything has to be finished by June 1.” He strode across the yard, sprayed his boots off beneath the outside faucet, then climbed the steps without so much as a backward glance.

“I suppose I should have bowed or something,” she muttered sourly. “Don’t want to get above my station.” It was times like this that Rowena wished her work permitted her to wear a power suit that carried weight, to force people like Connor to accept her as a professional and not just some crazy woman mucking about in the mud.

Instead she tromped across the sodden grass in her rubber boots to resume work on the trees. She could forget about the terraces for now, anyway, since there was so much pruning to do.

“Maybe you could send a little sun, Lord,” she prayed. “Just so I could figure out how in the world I’m supposed to accomplish this.”

That she would accomplish it was beyond question. Completing this job was the only way she had to get the nursery back and she was going to get her father back on that land if it was the last thing she did.

Her two workers had taken a break with a drink in the cab of her truck. She waved them forward.

“Okay, guys. Let’s get back to work.”

She’d been at it for a week and a half, sawing, cutting, mulching. And all of it done in a steady rain or drizzle. Her crew was good, he’d seen that for himself. But even two skilled men and one tiny woman couldn’t make an Eden out of that mess, even though Rowena Davis was a powerhouse.

Connor had come to think of her by her first name in spite of his desire to remain aloof until he got the job done and could leave this place and get on with his future. Whatever that was.

He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to get Wingate Manor up and running, to see it successfully through another season and then hand it over to his uncles, preferably with a tidy profit.

Connor was used to managing. His first job had been supervising a portfolio no one else wanted. His success had led to one management position, then another. Eventually he’d worked his way into his own company and a very hefty client base. His reputation for getting the job done was what Cecile claimed she’d loved most.

Connor deliberately pushed thoughts of her away. The past was finished. He’d assumed he’d be halfway around the world trying to forget his mistake. Instead he was sitting here in Serenity Bay, watching a woman and two men manhandle trees twice their size.

What would he do when his great-uncles came back, when it was time to leave the Bay?

He’d sold the New York condo Cecile chose as quickly as possible after her death. Even his car was new. The only thing that remained from the past was Tobias. Sooner or later he’d find him a good home, too.

Then Connor would start fresh. Somewhere else.

Suddenly aware that the dog hadn’t stopped barking for several moments, Connor pushed back a curtain and gritted his teeth. Escaped again. He hoped Tobias hadn’t caused worse problems than covering everyone in mud.

Connor strode through the house, shrugged into his slicker and slid his feet into the boots he hadn’t yet returned because he hadn’t wanted to go into town to buy replacements, preferring not to face the curious stares. He stepped onto the porch, noticed the dog was above him, shielded by the house.

Once he was around the corner Connor saw an orange earthmover perched at the top of the hill. Suddenly he heard a sucking noise. He twisted his head, gasping as a huge pine toppled over. The sopping earth around it immediately pooled into a slick mass that oozed down onto the first terrace. He could see immediately that it was too much for the weakened walls. Before his eyes, the stones loosened, the wall crumbled and the seeping black tide slithered down onto the next terrace, gathering momentum as it broke through that and moved faster downhill.

Someone gave a shout. Connor scanned the area, saw Kent yell at his son, point. He turned to look, watching as the mud slipped over the slick grass to the bottom terrace. Rowena was bent over, hitting a mallet against the rocks around her, earplugs making her totally unaware of the danger above.

“Rowena!” The wind grabbed his warning, tossed it away.

Connor took off, racing downhill as fast as he dared. At the last moment she looked up. Terror filled her eyes as a huge pillow of mud bulged over the edge, capturing her before she could escape. Then she was gone, drowned by the black flood.

She would smother if she didn’t get out of there fast!

Connor slid over the edge, reached into the muck, feeling for something, anything, as he prayed.

“Not another death, God. Please, not again.”

Back and forth he slid his arms through the mess, grasped an object, pulled it out. A clump of sodden grass. He kept working, heard the pounding footsteps of the other two men.

“Don’t jump in,” Connor warned. “You could step on her. Stay at the edge and reach in. Pull on anything you find.”

Seconds drummed past, his heartbeat thudding in his ear as he searched. Finally his fingers found purchase on a bit of fabric. Connor pulled, but it would not come free.

“One of you, come on this side. Reach here. Now pull.” After several tugs, part of her sleeve emerged. “Kent, we’ll pull. You scoop it away from her.”

They worked feverishly as the words circled round and round Connor’s brain.

A few dollars could have prevented this.

If she dies it’s my fault.

“No one else dies,” he muttered. “Do you hear me, God?”

Finally Rowena’s head emerged, covered in mud, her face barely visible. Connor smeared his hands across her cheeks, scooping the mud away from her mouth and nose.

“Get a pail of water, quickly,” he ordered.

Quint raced away.

“Is she breathing?” Kent asked.

“I don’t know.” Using his sleeve, Connor wiped her face clean and pulled on her chin to open her mouth. “Come on, take a breath,” he coaxed.

Suddenly they were both doused in icy-cold water. Rowena gasped, opened her eyes. She spit out some mud, then raised her head to glare at Quint.

“I’m not wet enough?” she complained.

“Wet and very dirty,” Connor agreed, amazed and utterly relieved by the anger widening her hazel eyes. “We all are. Let’s take a break.” He boosted her up to Kent, who pulled her the rest of the way out, then slogged out of the muck himself.

Tobias remained some distance away. He’d stopped barking and was now sniffing around the fallen tree.

“We’ll rinse off under the tap, then go inside and take hot showers,” he told them. “Rowena first.”

“I’m too dirty to go inside Wingate,” she argued. “I’ll go home.”

“Forget it. Just do as I say.”

“Do you always have to give the orders?” she demanded before ducking her head under the tap.

“Yes.” He helped her peel off her coat, took her boots and rinsed them out, sprayed the major portion of soil off her shirt and pants. “Go inside. First floor. Third door to the left. Get in the shower.”

“Yes, master.” Tossing him a glare that promised later discussion, she complied, shudders racking her body.

“You two next. Come on.” Once they’d shed the worst of the mud he showed them the public washrooms at the back of the house. “My uncles had them installed for the cast of the summer stock group that performs. They’re on a separate system from the house,” he explained. “You won’t interfere with Rowena’s shower. Take as long as you like. There are towels in the long metal cupboard and some clothes in a box by the door. I was going to give them away.”

The two men nodded, removed their filthy boots and moved inside. Connor cleaned himself off. Tobias raced up to him, barking once.

“Yes, I know you sounded the alert. Good boy. You’ll get a treat tonight.” He reached out to touched the dog’s head, saw his own hand tremble and knew exactly why.

She’d come so close to tragedy.

If Rowena Davis had died, he would have been guilty of causing a second death. And for what—a few dollars? He had plenty of those, more than he would ever spend.

So why had he been so cheap? Sure, he wanted to protect the uncles, but underneath there was another motive, one he hadn’t wanted to face.

The truth was he needed a barrier between them, a clear line of employer, employee. Why?

Because Rowena Davis was a woman, a very attractive woman whom he’d like to know better.

“Never again,” he vowed, an image of Cecile’s sad face filling his mind. This time he’d keep his mind on business and not let himself be swayed by feelings he misread. One mistake was more than enough.

Chapter Four

“What’s with you?” Rowena pushed her freshly shampooed hair off her face, glaring at Connor. “There’s no one to blame here. I told you before that several trees were unstable. Today one fell before we could get to it. That’s all.”

“If you’d gotten to it any later you might have been killed today,” he shot back, his face brimming with anger. “It pushed a pile of the mud onto the terrace. That’s what started the whole slide.”

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She fixed him with a stare that had quelled lesser men. It didn’t have much effect on him.

“It matters.” Connor turned an accusatory glower on the two men, homed in on Kent. “How long is it going to take to get the rest of those damaged trees down?”

Rowena bit her tongue. She was going to do this job whether Connor Wingate liked it or not. But the way she did it, whether or not she could trust her workers to follow her orders, very much depended on Kent’s answer right now.

“You’re talking to the wrong person, man.” She could have kissed Kent. “Rowena’s the boss.”

Connor rocked back in his chair, turning his icy glare back on her. “So how long?”

Oh, she longed for those easy jobs in the city where once the client knew the plan, he left you alone to finish it.

“Look, Connor. This isn’t an exact science.” She cupped the mug of coffee he’d given her and told herself patience was a virtue. “We work as best we can. If we have to stop, adjust the schedule to accommodate a problem, then we do it. But we get the job done. You have to stop pushing so hard.”

“I have to push.” His face tightened; his hands clenched. “Maybe you should scrap the big fountain idea. That would shave off some time. I mean, you’ve been at this for almost three weeks and there’s hardly anything to show for it.”

Quint set his coffee cup down with a thunk, his face dark as a thundercloud about to dump on everyone. “If our clothes are dry, Dad and I should get back to work.”

“They’re not dry yet so sit down. Everybody just take a deep breath. And you.” Rowena turned her attention on Connor. “Listen to what I’m about to say, because I’m not going to repeat it. We are doing this job the way it is supposed to be done. Between the three of us, you’ve got a lot of experience sitting in this kitchen, and I’m telling you we’re making the fastest progress we can, given the circumstances. Maybe it doesn’t look like it to you, but you’ve never gone through this before. Am I right?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “No.”

“I realize you’re used to being in control but this time you’re just going to have to find someone else to push around while we do our job.” Rowena held his gaze.

Tobias sent up a mournful round of howls that rent the tense silence.

“What now?” Connor muttered under his breath. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He donned a coat and left. When he returned, he bore a big splotch of mud on one cheek and one knee looked soaked but the howling had stopped.

“He got tied up in a rope.”

“Which is why I asked you to keep him penned up. He could get hurt.”

“Don’t worry. He’s back in the pen. I pushed a big stone urn against the place where he’d dug it out.” Connor stood in the kitchen under the overhead fixture, his face solemn. The light cast a glow on his hair, illuminating tiny silver droplets that glinted like diamonds.

“As long as he’s out of the way. I like dogs. I don’t like seeing them hurt.” She gave him her severest glare.

“I’m sorry I questioned your professionalism,” Connor said softly. At least he sounded genuine. “I’m nervous about running this place for the uncles and not running into any hitches. I guess I took it out on you. I apologize. To all of you.”

“I think it’s the weather. It’s getting to all of us.” Kent swallowed the last of his coffee. The dryer buzzer broke the awkward silence. He rose. “Our clothes are dry and we’ve still got work to do. Might as well get back at it. Come on, Quint.”

“Do a quick assessment of the worst of them but don’t start any more cutting until I’m out there. Got it?” she emphasized when they didn’t respond.

“Got it.” Kent shared a look with his son, jerked his head toward Rowena. “She’s worse than your mother ever was.”

Quint burst into laughter, winking at Rowena. “I’ll make sure he bundles up and has a clean handkerchief, too. Okay?”

“Very funny. Get back to work,” Rowena ordered, hiding her smile. She watched them unload the dryer and return to the basement to change. Then she faced Connor, intent on getting this settled once and for all.

“You look mad. You’re going to bawl me out, aren’t you?” The corners of his eyes crinkled with his self-mocking smile.

“Yes, I am,” she assured him.

“Don’t bother. I know I shouldn’t have questioned your authority. I won’t do it again.”

“Uh-huh. Until tomorrow, anyway.” How could she stay angry with someone like him? “I’m not kidding about this, Connor. These men work for me. If I went to your staff without talking to you, you wouldn’t like it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’ve already apologized, Rowena.”

He’d called her by her first name. Wonder of wonders.

“Yes, you have.” That zap of awareness fluttered in her stomach. She ignored it.

“You want me to repeat it?”

“No.” She almost smiled at the thought of Connor Wingate apologizing twice for the same misstep—unthinkable!

“Then…”

Rowena settled back in her chair. “What is it about me that’s so hard for you to trust? Do I look like a crook or something?”

“Hardly. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you you’re a beautiful woman.” He leaned his elbows on the counter, watching her.

Beautiful? With mud oozing from every pore of her grimy body? Yeah, right. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re being mean.”

“Mean?” Confusion darkened his eyes to bronze.

She was so not going to argue about her unbeautiful self.

“Forget it.” Rowena rose, stared down at her odd attire. “I think my clothes should be dry by now. I need to get back to work.”

He checked her out, a little grin twisting his lips. “That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on my Uncle Henry.”

She found his appraisal uncomfortable, and stayed silent.

He chuckled. “As compliments go, I guess that one missed the mark. Let me rephrase.”

She shook her head. “Don’t bother.”

Who wanted to be told she looked better than a sixty-five-year-old balding man with a potbelly? Even if that old gent was a sweetheart? Rowena stepped around Connor, walked to the dryer and lifted out her clothes.

“Mind if I use the bathroom again?”

“Help yourself.” Connor remained silent until she was almost out of the kitchen. “Rowena?”

“Yes?” Surprised by his stern tone, she turned, frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Stay away from the terraces. I’m calling someone in to repair them. Until the work is done, they’re off-limits—to all of you.”

That rendered her speechless for about ten seconds, long enough for him to leave the room. By then it was too late to say thank you. Connor had disappeared.

“I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.” Connor switched the phone to his other ear. “I just want it done as soon as possible. You’ll stop by to give an estimate tomorrow? Good. Thanks.”

He hung up, paused to study the threesome working outside. Actually, his interest rested primarily on the small woman manhandling brush into some kind of chopper.

How did she do it? She could have died out there this afternoon, yet she picked herself up, cleaned herself up and got on with the job.

Connor knew it would be a long time before the picture of Rowena sucking in that first breath of life was erased from his brain. No way he was going to let anything like that happen again, regardless of the cost. He’d gladly pay to be free of the image of one or both of his uncles one day buried in just such a mess with no one around to help.

“Mr. Wingate?”

Esther Padderson had been his uncles’ trusty office assistant for as long as Connor could remember. He couldn’t get used to her calling him “Mister.”

She stood in the doorway, shorthand tablet in one hand.

“I don’t know why you can’t call me the same name you’ve used for years,” he complained. “I’m still Connor.”

She ignored him. “Yes, Mr. Wingate. Chef Pierre is on the line. He says he’s not coming back this year.”

Connor jerked upright. “According to his contract, he is. Or else he’s going to owe Wingate Manor a lot of money.” He translated the look on Esther’s face to mean she wasn’t going to be the one to tell the temperamental chef what he’d said. “Okay, I’m coming. But while I’m talking to him I’d like you to prepare some advertising copy.”

“To replace Pierre, you mean?” She looked scandalized. “But he does this every year.”

“Really? And my uncles put up with not knowing whether he’ll show or not?” Connor shook his head. “I don’t operate like that. Either he’s going to be here or we make other plans.”

“He won’t like it.” Esther worried as she followed him to the office.

“Tough. He gets top dollar for his work here, free accommodation, the winters off to spend with his family in France. He’s not hurting.” Connor accepted the phone, waited till she’d clicked a button on the console. “Hello, Pierre. I understand you’re resigning.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Esther leave the room, gray head shaking. Connor sat down, tilted back in his chair. He listened for about ten seconds, then cut in.

“You’re not sure? Well, I’ve got an ad waiting to run. I can’t wait for you to dither back and forth. I want all my staff in place at the end of April. My uncles are counting on me to have the place in top shape for our first booking and I have no intention of letting them down. So will you be here or do I consider your contractual agreement broken?”

Connor listened, smiled and eventually hung up. One chef hired.

“The meat company is on line two,” Esther told him, “complaining about the distance they have to travel to get here. They’re talking a major delivery surcharge.”

He thought for a moment. “Is there a butcher in town, Esther?”

She blinked. “John Purdy. He and his family own the local grocery store.”

“Get me their number, will you, please? And tell the meat people I’ll call them back.”

“Yes, sir.” A glint of humor lit up her round face. “Would you also like the name of a cattle rancher I know who raises his animals organically?”

“Thereby allowing us to advertise that we use only organically raised beef.” He followed her line of thought with delight. “Good thinking. Yeah, let’s talk to him, too. The uncles’ figures from last year will help us estimate how much we’ll need. You don’t happen to also know a chicken supplier, do you, Esther?”

She shook her head, but her eyes gleamed at the challenge.

“I’ll check around, but John might be the best resource for that, too. You wouldn’t have to pay shipping fees and he’s got tons of freezer space. If he comes across a deal, he could buy ahead.”

“Esther, you’re a genius!”

Her smile faded. “I wish Henry thought that.” She handed him a stack of résumés then padded out of the room.

Connor stared after her. A case of unrequited love for his stodgy old uncle? He shook his head.

“I can fix a lot of things around here, but that isn’t one of them,” he said to himself.

By the time he emerged from the office it was after five. Rowena and her men were still hard at work, this time on a lower section his uncles called the dale—as in “over hill, over dale.” Connor had to admit she’d made amazing progress.

“I’m leaving now.” Esther glanced out the window. “They must be tired and half-frozen after the day they’ve had. It’s too bad the old house at the nursery’s in such a state. I expect it needs a lot of work after all these years. I’m sure Rowena hasn’t got extra money to spend on that.”

“Oh?”

“Piper Franklin told me Rowena came back earlier than she’d anticipated because her father isn’t well. She thinks it will help if he can get back on the land. He always did love that nursery.”

“But he sold it to my uncles.”

“Didn’t have a choice after a storm nearly wiped him out. I think it almost broke his heart. Hers, too.” Esther frowned. “Several of us have invited her for meals just to give her a break. Ida Cranbrook went up there to drop off a pie for the girl. She said the place is practically falling down around her ears. Apparently she can’t even use the kitchen, it’s so bad. Just a hot plate.”

Which meant that she was paying restaurant prices for her meals. That would cut into her nursery’s start-up capital.

“Someone ought to do something about that house,” Esther said with a dark look in his direction. She snugged her plastic rain bonnet around her permed curls. “It should never have been passed on in that condition. It’s a bad reflection on Wingate and I intend to tell Henry so when I see him next. Good night, Mr. Wingate.”

Connor didn’t even hear her leave. His mind drifted back to his conversation with Pierre and his demand that the freezer be emptied of old stock before his arrival, ready for zee fresh ingredients.

There were steaks in that freezer, thick ones that men like those working outside would enjoy—far too many steaks for one great-nephew to consume.

Tobias nudged his nose under Connor’s hand, gargling a noise somewhere deep in his throat.

“You want to go for a walk?” Connor translated. The dog woofed his agreement. “You’ll get filthy again and I’ll have to bathe you again.”

Tobias didn’t have a problem with that. His tail thumped the floor eagerly.

“Go get your leash, then. I think we’re having company for dinner.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Rowena murmured as she tossed the salad.

“What? Thaw out some meat?” Connor grinned. It changed him from a severe-looking boss to a cohort in this scheme. “Not so hard. But you should know that’s all I’m doing because I don’t cook. You’re totally on your own.”

“Not a hardship. It’s a dream kitchen,” she murmured, glancing at the gleaming stainless steel surrounding them. “A bit intimidating, though.”

A burst of laughter from the room across the hall interrupted.

“Sounds like they found a good show to watch.”

“It was nice of you to let them. I think it’s been a while since they’ve had much time to just enjoy each other. Kent told me the business they ran together went under. That’s hard on a relationship.”

“Where are they staying?”

“Above the florist.” She shrugged. “It’s probably a little cramped but at least they’re dry and close to work. Quint told me that when it warms up he wouldn’t mind camping out.”

“Why?” Connor shuddered. “I camped out once. I remember it vividly.”

“Once?” She giggled. “Wow! Mr. Worldly.”

He shrugged. “I don’t do nature. Numbers are my thing. The stock market’s always been my element.”

“But you sold your business.” Rowena blushed, turning away to study the steaks sizzling on the grill. “Your uncles mentioned it.”

“I wish now that I hadn’t,” he admitted quietly.

“Why?” The potatoes were finished so she switched off the oven. Connor had set places at the kitchen table. Everything was almost ready, and he still hadn’t answered.

Too late she remembered his fiancée.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was too personal.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just that since Cecile’s death, I’m not sure what to do next. I’m in this kind of limbo state. No good for someone like me,” he explained with a self-derisive laugh. “I need to be busy.”

“I imagine Wingate Manor will take care of that once the season starts.”

“I guess. It’s the future that I was thinking about.”

“Only God knows what comes next for any of us.” She smiled to encourage him. “You’ll have to talk to Him about it, though I’m not sure He always gives us the whole picture. In my own case all He usually lets me see is into the next day. Sometimes that’s enough, don’t you think?”

Connor tossed her a veiled look that hid whatever he was thinking. Judging by the downturn of his mouth, they were not happy thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready. Will you get the others?”

They made a boisterous group. Father and son teased each other without rancor, setting a light note for the meal. Soon barely a crumb was left, which made Rowena feel good. It had been a long while since she’d cooked, and never in a kitchen as well-appointed as this.

“That was great!” Quint smirked a cheeky grin. “If this landscaping thing doesn’t work out for you, Rowena, maybe you could hire on here as a chef.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.”

“What’s not to work out?” Kent snorted as he gathered their plates. “She’s got degrees in horticulture, has won more than fifteen awards, including some big-name trophy for a rose garden gig she did in England.” He turned to glance at Rowena. “Right?”

“The Chelsea Flower Show,” she admitted, surprised by his knowledge. “How did you know?”

“My son’s the television addict, not me. Serenity Bay has a library and they have a computer linked to the Internet.” He shrugged. “I checked you out, wanted to see where else besides Toronto you’d worked.”

“Oh.” She hid her surprise.

“Dad has a thing for England. My mom was from there. I told my wife we’d spend our twenty-fifth anniversary there. Tell us more about it, Rowena.”

“Well, it happens in May when the grounds of the Royal Hospital in Chelsea come alive with the finest collections of flowers in the world.” She could close her eyes and smell those heady fragrances even now. Rowena could have so easily stayed in England, continued her work there—if it hadn’t been that her father needed her here.

She realized Connor was staring, so she hurried on.

“The show gardens are created by some of the world’s leading garden designers.”

“Sounds pricey,” Connor mumbled.

“Not necessarily.” She thought of a daisy garden that had won awards several years earlier and immediately wondered if the idea would work in the roughest terrain here at Wingate. “I came away with memories that still awe me. It’s the best place for inspiration.”

They sat silent for a moment, then Kent resumed clearing the dishes, assisted by Connor.

“My wife loves flower gardens. Losing the business almost broke her. I hope she gets to see Chelsea one day.” Quint’s words were so quiet Rowena wasn’t sure the others heard.

“I’m sure she will. You seem like a person with a lot of determination.”

“So do you. Getting the nursery running—that’s a mighty big goal.”

“I guess. I’m hoping my dad will move back soon, and be able to help out a little.”

Conscious of Connor listening intently to their conversation, Rowena decided to change the subject from her personal life. But Quint wasn’t finished.

“The place wasn’t kept up very well,” he said. “The trees—most of them wouldn’t meet retail standards. You’re basically starting from scratch.”

“I know.” There was no point in denying the obvious. Rowena shrugged. “But hard work doesn’t scare me.”

“Good thing. You’re going to have lots of it.” He moved to help the others with the dishes.

“You look tired.” Connor handed her a cup of coffee, spoke to father and son. “Since we cooked, we’re going to watch TV while you guys clean up.”

“If you’re sure we won’t break anything,” Kent teased.

“Or take too long,” Quint added with a wink at Rowena.

“You do and I’ll forget about any more steak dinners.”

“Come on, Dad. Work faster.”

Connor laughed, leading the way out of the room. Rowena followed. He wanted to talk to her privately—she got that. But about what?

The television lounge looked more like a library. A plasma screen sat above the big marble fireplace but Connor didn’t bother to turn it on. Instead he motioned her to one of the red leather wing chairs in front of the fire and sat in the other himself only after pushing the door so it was almost shut.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m really concerned about the time frame of the projects,” he said, his face troubled.

“Connor—”

He held up one hand. “Hear me out. You’ve got the rest of the cutting to do, reworking the grounds, plantings, borders and a whole lot of things I’m sure I don’t know about. Putting that fountain on hold until another year only makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Rowena braced herself for the argument. She had to do this, had to make this first project in Serenity Bay a showstopper, because it was going to be the showcase for everything that came after.

“That fountain is the grand finale at the bottom of Wingate’s gardens. It’s the perfect place for a fireworks display on Canada Day or after a big party. In the evening, with the fountain running, it will be a gorgeous backdrop for a wedding ceremony. It’s the culmination of all of the rest of our work. And I’m not putting it off until next year.”

He studied her for several tense moments, then rose.

“Wait here for a minute.” Connor left the room. When he returned he held out a Toronto newspaper. “I’m planning a spread like this for the grand reopening. I’ve already blocked out coverage and a reporter for the end of May,” he told her. “They’re sending someone who’ll take a ton of pictures, do a write-up and feature the place in their weekend edition. I had to sign a contract. There’s no way I can cancel without losing a lot of money. If we’re late—”

Rowena took the paper, glanced at it, then set it down. She drew a deep breath. “We’re not going to be late, Connor. We’re moving along as planned. We’ll be in fine shape by the end of May.” I hope.

“You’re sure?” Connor’s hard look pierced through her bravado, searching for some indecision.

Rowena refused to show any doubt. “I always make my deadlines,” she told him softly.

He heaved a sigh. “You’d better.”

“So we have our goal, we have our plan. Now we just need time and no more nasty comments to pull it off.” She glanced at Connor. “We’ve got enough pressure. I don’t need you adding to it by constantly reminding us of what has yet to be done. I warn you, when I’m on a deadline I can be very intense. If you don’t stop pushing, things are going to get heated between us.”

“I’ll survive.” His dry humor echoed the sloped grin he wore. “Feel free to tell me whenever I’m becoming obsessive.”

“I will,” Rowena promised. She paused in the doorway, saw that Quint and Kent had left. The kitchen sparkled. “Looks like those two know their way around a kitchen.”

“Yeah.” But Connor was watching her.

Rowena shifted uncomfortably under that scrutiny, grabbed her ringing cell phone like a lifeline. “Rowena Davis.”

“Hey, Row. This is Ash. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Just finished dinner.”

“Not at home, because I stopped by ten minutes ago. Where are you?”

“I’m at Wingate. Connor treated Kent and Quint and me to a steak dinner. It was delicious,” she added, lifting one eyebrow as she glanced at him.

He bowed from the waist like a well-trained maître d’.

“Oh, good. If he’s there with you, you’ve just saved me a phone call.”

“Really?” A wiggle of dread tugged at Rowena. She didn’t need Ashley to start matchmaking. “How can I help?”

“Michael and I are making dinner for Piper and Jason tomorrow night. We want you to come. It would be nice if you could bring Connor with you. We’d like to get to know him better.”

Rowena stalled, trying to think of a way out.

“Unless of course there’s a reason you don’t want him to come?” Ashley’s voice took on that hint of suspicion that Rowena knew better than to ignore.

“Don’t be silly, Ash. If you’ll hold on a moment, I’ll ask him.” She put her hand over the phone. “My friend Ashley and her husband are having some people over for dinner tomorrow night. She’d like to know if you’d be available to join them.”

“Tomorrow.” He studied her with those intense eyes that didn’t miss a thing. “For dinner?”

“Yes. For dinner. It’s not a big deal, just them and another couple, I think. Piper and Jason Franklin. I don’t know if you’ve met them.”

“No, I haven’t. But I’ve heard about him—he’s the mayor, right?”

She nodded.

“Sounds interesting.” He nodded. “Sure. I’d be happy to accept. I can drive us both there.”

Rowena swallowed her refusal, pulled her hand from the phone and told Ashley, “Connor says he’d like to come. What time?”

She got all the particulars, agreed she wouldn’t be late and finally hung up. Connor was frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“No. Just sorting things out.” He gazed at her, his forehead pleated in a tiny frown. “You said Masters. Any relation to the florist where your employees are staying?”

“Mrs. Masters is Ashley’s mother-in-law,” she told him, surprised by the funny smile that suddenly appeared. It made him look far less forbidding. “What?”

“Just thinking about the connections. They say everybody knows everyone else and their history when you live in a small town. I guess it’s true.”

The odd glint twinkling in his eyes made her nervous. Rowena struggled to maintain her equanimity. “Yes, well, I’d better get on home. I’ve got some stuff to do tonight.”

“You have something going almost every minute of the day, it seems,” he mused quietly, an edge to his tone. “Reminds me of someone.”

She lifted her freshly washed jacket from the second dryer in Wingate’s big laundry room, glad she wouldn’t have to go to the town Laundromat tonight.

“Who could I possibly remind you of?” she asked, only half paying attention.

“Me.”

That brought her head up. Rowena couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Definitely bad.” His eyes sparked a warning she didn’t understand.

Rowena straightened, struggling to understand what he wasn’t saying.

“Aren’t you the guy Wall Street applauded for never sleeping?” she asked. “A new deal every day?”

Surprise flickered across his face for an instant before he grinned. “The small-town rumor mill?”

She shook her head, chuckling. “Nothing so juicy. The Internet.”

“Ah.” He nodded. The serious look returned. “Work addicts don’t make for pleasant people, Rowena. Believe me, I know that better than most.”

She didn’t know how to respond. “If you’ve got a bag I’ll put my coat in it, take yours home with me and wash it. I’ll bring it back later, I promise.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a loss if you didn’t,” he mumbled but he handed her a plastic bag from a drawer. Rowena stuffed her coat into it, walked to the door. Her filthy boots sat outside, still covered in muck inside and out.

“Can I borrow those rubber boots of Dad’s back?” she asked.

“I’ll go you one better. These look like a better fit.” He handed her a pair that had to belong to one of his uncles. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow evening, shall I?”

“I can drive,” she told him, refusing to look at his face.

“Yes, but why should you when I’m already driving?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He waited while she pulled on the jacket he’d lent her, gathered up the bag and pulled open the door.

“I won’t be around much tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Apparently I have to inspect the animals who are to be featured on Wingate’s menu.”

“Oh.” She turned up her nose.

“Exactly my opinion. But it seems the farmer wants to prove I’m getting a very good quality of beef.”

“Have fun.” She giggled, then pulled open the door.

“Rowena?”

“Yes?” She paused; when he didn’t speak she looked at him. All gaiety had leached from his face.

“Stay away from the terraces,” he ordered so softly it could have been a whisper.

“I will.” Something in his eyes compelled her to add, “Thanks for saving my life.”

Before Connor could respond, she scooted down the stairs and hurried over to her truck, squishing her way through the mud.

In spite of herself, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow evening.

Chapter Five

“You look lovely.” Connor couldn’t stop staring at the gorgeous woman who’d just stepped through the rickety front door.

Tonight Rowena looked like anything but a landscape designer. She wore an exotic skirt in some kind of orange-red-gold pattern that wrapped around her hips and fluttered down to her toes peeking out from flat leather sandals.

Her red top made her hair come alive as it framed her face and accented her big hazel eyes.

“Thank you.” She stepped into his car with an easy grace that came not from some past schooling in ballet, but from an ease and lithe comfort with her own body.

He closed the door and got in beside her, grateful that the car’s interior gave him a close-up look.

“The seat belt is here.” His hand brushed against her skirt as he showed her the catch. “It’s a great fabric. Silk?”

“Thai silk. A friend who is a textile designer gave me a few meters when I left Thailand several years ago.”

“He’s very talented,” Connor said, noticing that she didn’t correct his assumption that her friend was male. He found himself curious about her past. “Did you spend a lot of time overseas?”

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