Hope's Garden Read online

  Flushing red-hot, Cat couldn’t look at Farrell. He must know she’d been talking about him. It had been stupid of her. She knew better, but he did twist her garters every time they were together. But was he to blame for this or was she?

  On Saturday morning returning from a stock delivery, Cat opened the door of her truck and came face-to-face with her partner. “Farrell,” she gasped, startled at their sudden closeness.

  Farrell nodded toward the sales area. “Looks like the Crenshaws are keeping their eleven o’clock appointment. Let’s go.”

  Reluctantly Cat walked with Farrell away from her truck but paused at the flats of tomato varieties near the front door. With her head bowed, she listened for Farrell to work his “magic.” If the past week meant anything, he’d have Samantha Crenshaw eating marigolds out of his hand within minutes. Cat knew she should be grateful that her partner knew how to handle customers like the Crenshaws, but his easy masculine charm intimidated her.

  Farrell shook hands with the couple. “Hi, Samantha, Dex. What did you bring me?”

  The pretty blonde waved an armful of glossy magazines. “Gage, I had so much fun with these! I never knew there were so many flowers to choose from. I never even saw some of these in California!”

  Cat shook her head. Big surprise.

  Farrell chuckled. “The Midwest has a bountiful variety of flowering plants. Now, what did you like in particular?”

  He could sound so appealing, but did he mean it? How did he turn his charisma off and on so easily? Cat asked herself.

  Sam opened a magazine and showed him page after page of flowers—ageratum, coreopsis, hydrangea, on and on.

  Does she want a garden the size of a national park? Cat smirked down at the yellow tomato blossoms.

  Finally Farrell held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, we need to set up an appointment to go over your property.” He turned slightly. “Cat, let’s get them on the calendar.”

  Ill at ease, Cat walked over. Hope’s Garden had moved into commercial landscaping with Farrell’s money, but residential jobs were still new to her. “Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw, why don’t you come inside and look at some photo layouts of the gardens I’ve supplied locally? Then we’ll schedule an appointment.”

  Sam looked to Farrell. Farrell nodded and motioned her to follow Cat.

  Sam’s dependence on Farrell irked Cat even though she understood it. Inside, she pulled from a drawer some scrapbooks that served as her garden portfolios. Even her father had admitted she had the touch for garden design. She motioned Sam to sit down opposite her at the desk. “Take some time and look through these while I look over the work schedule.”

  As Cat pulled out the large calendar, she felt as though she were creeping on unstable ground. Most of her customers traditionally had worked on parts of their property trying different plants and combinations of annuals and perennials over many years. But those customers had bought previously owned properties. The new population in the three brand-new subdivisions had different needs. Their lots were empty, blank slates that needed complete landscaping. She could adjust herself to meet this challenge, but she wouldn’t let Farrell suggest some standard cookie-cutter garden to customers.

  Farrell spoke up, “Cat and I will come out to your place, test the soil, look at your drainage, your structure and the different aspects of your whole property, then we’ll draw up a couple of different proposals.”

  Cat resented Farrell taking charge, rolling over her like a lawn tractor, but she couldn’t let this show.

  “That sounds like just what we need,” Dex said.

  With a shy glance at Cat, Sam put in, “I plan to take care of the garden myself after it’s in. I want some outdoor activity while Dex is off golfing.”

  Dex snorted. “Yeah, since it’s almost a forty-five-minute drive to the nearest course. You’ll have plenty of time for gardening!”

  “A forty-five-minute drive?” Farrell looked surprised.

  “That’s right,” Dex repeated.

  “Gardening is wonderful exercise. What’s a good date, Cat?” Farrell walked the couple toward the door.

  His smooth voice grating on Cat’s sensitive nerves, she suggested, “How about Friday after five?”

  Because of business travel, the Crenshaws moved the appointment to a week from Sunday, waved happily and left. Farrell joined her beside the counter. Cat opened her mouth.

  Farrell interrupted her, “Cat, you have to get rid of this idea of mainly working with farmer’s wives and weekend hobbyists.”

  “That’s not the point here. I won’t have you doing one-size-fits-all gardens for yuppies. Hope’s Garden has a reputation to live—”

  “Your negative attitude toward the Crenshaws comes through loud and clear.”

  This stopped her. “It does?”

  He leaned within inches of her. She caught the clean scent of his soap. “Chuck explained to me the changes here, the new people moving in. I know the Crenshaws aren’t what you’re used to, but they’re customers and their money will be accepted by the bank.”

  Cat pursed her lips, irritated with herself that she’d allowed her feelings toward these people to intrude on business. She was letting her own bias against the changes in Eden, her hometown, affect her business judgment. She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “You’re right.”

  He leaned closer still. His appealing smile began melting her defenses. “Cat, you knew this nursery had to change or be left in the dust. Did you hear a nursery in Mount Pleasant is planning to start a store-front on Highway 218 to sell their stock to this area? You needed my money to expand into larger landscaping jobs, didn’t you?”

  Pulling away from him, she tried to shake the downturn in her spirits. “I needed your money to expand, but facing change isn’t easy for me.” Making changes and having to consult with Farrell daily kept her fuse short.

  He nodded, then turned to walk away.

  “Wait.” She gripped his arm, stopping him. Awareness of him coursed up through her fingers to her arm. Embarrassed by her reaction to him, she stammered, “Hang this up.” Sweeping his jacket off the counter, she did a double take. Pointing an accusing finger at her desk, she demanded, “What’s that?”

  Chapter Three

  “Sorry.” Apologetically Farrell took his navy windbreaker from her.

  “What is that thing doing on my counter?” Cat felt herself break into a cold sweat.

  “It’s just my laptop computer, and it’s on your counter because you’re the only one here who has a desk.” His tone was easygoing though he raised an eyebrow at her.

  A computer! Cat frowned at him darkly. Why did he keep popping things on her? And why a computer of all rotten things?

  Looking unfazed, he considered her in return.

  His intense gaze made her flush. Nervously, she tugged at the elastic band in her hair, tightening her ponytail. “So why did you bring your computer here?”

  “Because you didn’t appear to have one.” He gave her a coaxing smile.

  “We don’t need a computer. This business has existed since 1930 without—”

  “Cat.” Farrell heaved a deep sigh, letting her hear his frustration. He dropped the jacket on the counter and put his hands on his lean hips. His gaze held a challenge and his masculine confidence taunted her. “Do we really need this discussion? A computer will help us keep a constant inventory, simplify bookkeeping and give us all kinds of advertising possibilities. You use a Bobcat not a shovel, don’t you? A modern business needs modern equipment.”

  She chewed her bottom lip and fought back tears. Tears! She never cried over things at work.

  Grabbing up the computer, he stepped around her and sat down at the desk. The chair creaked. He flipped open the black, rectangular laptop, tapped a button and the screen flared to life.

  Folding her arms stubbornly, she kept her face expressionless. Inwardly, she felt like garden soil being stirred up by a rototiller. Of course, Gage Farrell had used computers routinely in
his Chicago office. What would he say when he found out she’d never even touched one?

  “This software is the latest in 3-D landscaping.” He tapped a few more keys. Music played. A screen showing a lush green and flowering garden and blue sky came up and announced, “Garden Designer Deluxe.”

  It grabbed Cat’s interest.

  “With this program, you can plan a whole garden, then print it out for the customer.”

  So that’s what this was all about! Her jaw hardened. “You mean like the Crenshaw’s property?”

  “Yes,” he said evenly. “We can use it for hobbyists who want an overall plan to follow. Or we can use it to draw up custom plans for residential or commercial sites.”

  Cat wouldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t admit she was completely ignorant about computers. It hurt too deeply. He’d think she had just crawled out of the Stone Age.

  Outside, two cars drove up, giving her an excuse to avoid the issue. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  She turned. Out of the corner of her eye, the allure of the gardening screen on the computer caught her notice one last time. But she couldn’t face telling Farrell the truth. She wasn’t smart enough to master a computer.

  “Don’t say it.” A few days later Cat held up her hand like a cop stopping traffic.

  Farrell went on anyway, “I’ve kept my peace about the Hope’s Garden tradition of preschool tours, but—”

  Cat waved her hand in front of him. “Stop!”

  They had worked side by side for over a week now, a bumpy week. Today had been a hectic morning. She didn’t blame Farrell for being exasperated. Two rambunctious four-year-old boys, little Johnny Hansen and Sammy McCoy, had slipped away from their teachers. In the midst of their unsupervised exploration of one of the greenhouses, a fight had broken out. The crash of plants, boards and clay pots had brought everyone, even customers, running. After profuse apologies, the teachers had gathered up their charges and left early.

  She put her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you figured out why we do these tours every year?”

  “It’s good community relations, but we could do this in winter when—”

  “It’s more than that. These tours may be inconvenient sometimes, but they are definitely good business.” I’m so tired of having to explain things. Defend my way, Lord.

  “Prove it.” Farrell raised his chin at her.

  She led him to her desk. She opened the drawer and lifted out a sheaf of receipts with little yellow coupons attached. “Recognize these?”

  His glance said, Why are you asking me dumb questions? “Yes, those are the little vouchers,” he spoke with exaggerated patience, “which say ‘Six bedding plants for one dollar’ that each child gets at the end of the tour.”

  She answered in kind. “Right. Did you realize that the average amount that one of these brings back with it is $12.42?” She waved the receipts at him.

  “What?” He stood straighter.

  “At least, that’s the figure from last year. I won’t be able to average this year’s coupons and receipts until the tours are done.” With one hand on her hip, she indulged herself with a hint of a smirk in her expression.

  “So that’s why you give these out?” He stared at her.

  “It was my mother’s idea.” The smirk left her face. “She wanted every little child in Eden to be able to have even a little garden. She said any parent can afford a dollar.”

  “And usually more than ten dollars,” Farrell conceded.

  Cat shoved the receipts back into the drawer. Farrell’s black laptop sat on the counter, mocking her like a large garden beetle she couldn’t quite squash. Farrell hadn’t said anything more about it, but it came to work with him every day. And sat staring at her. Was he trying to wear her down? Well, it was working. I go home twice as tired as I should be every night, Lord. At this rate, I won’t make it till fall!

  Looking outside, she saw a station wagon drive up. Four gray-haired ladies in flowery print blouses and dark slacks stepped out and pointed at the blue hydrangeas. Just in the nick of time! “Farrell, you’d better go outside. You do so well with senior citizens. Especially the ladies,” she added wryly. “I’ll clean up.” She needed to be free from his disturbing presence.

  “Are you sure?”

  Cat nodded and pushed him to go. Not a good idea. Touching Farrell affected her like too much sun, leaving her flushed and a little shaky. She brushed this thought away. She’d be immune to her partner before she knew it. Yeah, right.

  “Okay. One of us needs to be out front.” He paused and gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry I sounded so angry.”

  “That’s okay.” As she walked away, she felt as though the taunting computer were making faces at her behind her back. How long was she going to be able to avoid that issue?

  “Hi, Cat.” Hetty approached with a sympathetic expression.

  Cat smiled glumly. “Need something?”

  “I came back to help you clean up.” Hetty tucked a strand of reddish hair behind one ear.

  Cat looked at the devastation around her, cracked rust-colored clay pots, potting soil and wilting, orphaned seedlings. “That’s all right. I’ll do it.”

  “No, I insist.” Hetty knelt and began tenderly picking up plants that needed to be repotted.

  Glad of the quiet and the absence of Farrell, Cat swept the dirt and broken pieces of clay pots into a pile, then picked up the boards and laid them back on the sawhorses, which made up the extra makeshift tables needed in the spring.

  A glance at Hetty told Cat, once and for all, this new employee was qualified to work at a greenhouse. She was correctly sorting and gently repotting the young plants. Cat smiled with approval.

  Hetty grinned in reply. “I overheard what your mother said about every child having a garden. That was a beautiful sentiment.”

  Cat kept her head down as she worked. But she agreed wholeheartedly. Her father had been a difficult man to work for, but whatever her mother, Hope, had said had been gospel to him. Cat had never doubted his love for her mother. She treasured that fact. “I was just quoting my father.” Her voice became husky. “My mother died when I was only four years old. I have very few firsthand memories of her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Cat was extremely relieved that the woman asked no more questions. This Memorial Day, for the second year, Cat would be arranging flowers on two graves, not just one. She’d lost both parents before she turned twenty-one. Deep inside, a silent sob shook her.

  Cat began sweeping more vigorously, letting the work eat up her grief. Soon everything was back to normal. “Thanks, Hetty.”

  “You’re welcome.” Hetty made no move to leave. “Bet Fisher said she is a relative of yours.”

  Cat glanced at Hetty and smiled. “That’s right. You know Aunt Bet.”

  “I just love her! When I first moved to Eden, I tried to get acquainted with some longtime residents. But I didn’t have much success.”

  Cat looked down feeling a touch of shame. She hadn’t been very welcoming to Hetty herself.

  “Anyway, after I got to know Bet at the town library, she invited me and another professor to join her quilting circle. I’m learning so much. Bet is so funny.”

  Cat didn’t doubt that. Aunt Bet’s sunny spirit left no room for gloominess. “I’m glad.” And Cat meant it.

  At church on Sunday morning, Cat sat in her usual pew, but alone. Laurette still couldn’t walk and Chuck had stayed home to keep her company. Cat smoothed her blue cotton dress. Her father had always made some disparaging comment when she wore a dress. She was only now realizing that he hadn’t known how to cope with raising a daughter alone. When she had looked more feminine, it must have made him uncomfortable and that was why he’d discouraged her. But on Sundays and special occasions she wore dresses, even though she still had difficulty feeling at ease in a skirt.

  During the announcements, the ushers seated late-comers. Startled, Cat observed Farrell in
a dark, expensive-looking suit walk past her. With Aunt Bet at his side, he took a seat a few rows ahead. Farrell at church? The idea hadn’t crossed Cat’s mind.

  Guilt jabbed her like a sharp thorn. Just because she’d had difficulty getting used to working with him didn’t mean she didn’t want to see him at church.

  However, having him in plain sight just a few yards away, would make it harder for her to concentrate on the service. Was it just his good looks or his self-confidence that threw her? Without any effort, Farrell still seemed to “twist her garters” as Aunt Bet would say. Garters? I’m in church thinking about garters of all things. If anyone read my mind, they’d think I was nuts. Gage Farrell is driving me nuts, Lord.

  The deacon at the front reading announcements caught her attention. “The new summer small-group youth program will begin as soon as school is out. We’d like to thank these couples who volunteered to shepherd four young people for the summer.” He read off the names, which included Laurette and Chuck.

  Cat frowned. Would Laurette be up to handling four teens when school let out in a month? Cat sent another prayer for God’s blessing on Laurette’s pregnancy.

  The pastor approached the pulpit, prayed, then opened the large red leatherbound Bible. He read the parable of the Good Samaritan. This story was one Cat had listened to and read countless times. The traveler, beaten and robbed by thieves, was passed by, first by a priest, then a Levite, both of whom should have stopped to help him. But a lowly and despised Samaritan had stopped out of pity and had cared for the injured man. Who then had been the traveler’s neighbor? The one who showed kindness. The central question, “Who is my neighbor?” echoed in her mind.

  Hetty’s words came back to her. When I first moved to Eden, I tried to get to know some longtime residents…. The words had embarrassed Cat at the time. Now they burned in her conscience. Just because Hetty had been associated with the college, Cat had written her off. But honesty compelled Cat to admit that hiring Hetty had been a good decision.

  Forgive me, Lord, for prejudging Hetty.

  What about Farrell? her conscience prompted.