Читать книгу Spring Flowers, Summer Love - Lois Richer - Страница 11

“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.