The icon on his desktop computer began to flash, indicating an incoming e-mail with an attachment. He ignored it in favor of the last few bites of his midmorning snack and a quick peek at the first few pages of the next thick file on the stack. Before he knew it, he’d plowed through that stack and gone on to another.
The intercom buzzed, and he reached for it. “Gentry,” he said as he double-clicked on his flashing e-mail icon.
“Sir, will you be needing anything further?” his London-based secretary asked.
A list of e-mails scrolled across the screen. Buried between one from a contact at the Bureau and a reminder of his meeting with the Daniels brass, he found one with an unfamiliar e-mail address and a subject line that sparked his interest.
Who could be e-mailing him about the Locksley bow? Surely not old Sudbury; he didn’t seem like the Internet sort. After the debacle with Miss Locksley, he doubted she would give him the time of day.
Still, he could hope. As fast as his fumbling fingers could move, he double-clicked on the envelope to read the post. Strange, the sender was a London antiques dealer on Portobello Road from whom he’d bought a few pieces in the past. Stranger still that this man would contact him about the redhead’s family heirloom.
“Mr. Gentry? Did you hear me?”
His secretary’s voice buzzed in his ear as the words on the screen registered. “Just a second, Constance,” he said. He read the message again and shook his head.
Travis eased back in his chair and stared past the last rays of the sun to the dusk settling on the high rises. The fiery sparks of gold on the mirrored windows reminded him all over again of the redhead.
Why in the world would she pawn one of the most valuable pieces of medieval weaponry known to exist in its original state? It was one of only six in the world, and its origins could be traced back to the fifteenth century. Could the thieves have struck again, this time taking the real valuables from Lowingham Manor?
Anger throbbed at his temples at the thought of someone invading Robin Locksley’s apartment to rifle through her belongings. And what if she was there when they came to steal the bow?
He had tried to tell the earl that his country home needed a fully updated security system instead of Nigel Sudbury and his oversized key ring. Travis’s mind jumped from the English aristocrat to his comely chief of plants and gardens. And weeds, he thought with a chuckle.
“Sir, I really must go. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“Yes,” he said as he clicked to answer the message with a vague statement of interest. “Have my car brought around and reschedule tomorrow’s flight back to Houston for the red-eye. I gotta see a man about a bow.”
A few minutes later, he walked out of the office with a real purpose for the first time in weeks.
* * *
For the first time in weeks, Robin felt like she had a purpose. She’d signed the agreement and seen the bow off safely to Mr. Simpton-Wright and today met with Miss Lawrence and the Day School children for their last session before camp. As usual, Annabelle garnered most of the attention with her antics while, the rest of the children worked heartily to rid the patch of the most stubborn nettles and briars.
“Mind the stinging nettles,” Miss Lawrence called. A chorus of “yes, Ma’am” answered her.
“Once you return from camp, we shall begin to make ready for our next project,” Robin said, envisioning the lovely plants that would replace the empty dirt.
“I shan’t go to camp,” Annabelle said. She giggled and tossed a handful of dirt in the air. “It’s dreadful boring there.”
“Mind the dirt stays in the garden,” Robin warned as she gently guided Rupert, one of the youngest charges, toward the pail labeled for weeds. “And I must disagree.”
“That’s right, Miss Robin,” Rupert said. “Me mum says I shall swim like a porpoise when I return.” He punctuated the statement with a broad grin that showed him to be minus his two front teeth. “Perhaps I’ll have a go at the Thames. Maybe even swim to France like that chap on the telly.”
Robin chuckled. “I advise you ask your mum first, young Rupert. She may have a different opinion.”
“Still, I think I shall stay here,” Annabelle said. She cast a dreamy glance over her shoulder toward the ornamental hedges and the garage beyond. “It’s ever so much more fun.”
As Annabelle drifted toward the pail of weeds with a handful of something green, Miss Lawrence slipped up beside Robin. “Quite the young lady, that one,” Miss Lawrence whispered.
Nodding, Robin watched Annabelle take Rupert by the hand and patiently show him how to pull a weed out by the roots rather than the stems. He made several attempts before finally succeeding, and when he finally did, the two of them collapsed in a fit of giggles, the plant already forgotten.
“She is quickly coming of age,” Miss Lawrence said.
Robin’s mind flashed back in time to the escapade in the garden. “I’ve noticed.”
“She’s so innocent, and the world is not.”
A shaft of regret mingled with concern speared Robin’s heart. “I pray she will not learn right from wrong the hard way,” she said. Not like I did.
Miss Lawrence leaned toward Robin and nodded. “I will speak to her mother and father, and I’ll ask you to keep a close eye on her whereabouts until she’s off to boarding school in a month.”
Robin offered a weak smile of agreement and turned her gaze back toward the children. At least her own moment of temptation had passed with the permanent exit of the enigmatic Yank.
“Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” she said to seal the end of her reverie.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, and too soon the children had washed up and boarded the bus back to the Special Needs Day School. Annabelle, ever the straggler, came bounding off the bus at the last moment and wrapped her arms around Robin’s shoulders.
“I shall miss you greatly, Miss Robin,” she said with a giggle.
“Why Annabelle, are you going to camp after all?”
Annabelle nodded. “Aye, Rupert tells me all the boys will be there.”
Father, You are the light of my life. I need no one else. Help this precious girl to know this as well.
“Miss Locksley,” Rupert shouted from his window seat on the bus, “you have a visitor.”
“Do I?”
“Afternoon, Ma’am,” the familiar voice drawled.
Robin whirled around and slammed into a wall of denim and black leather, then landed in a heap on the soft ground. As she looked up into twin red-haired medusas reflected in mirrored sunglasses, she realized Travis Gentry had knocked her off her feet for the second time.
Chapter 4
She wore green, the color of apples in the spring, and her eyes were a shade darker. Travis tried hard not to compare her to all the other females he’d ever come in contact with because he knew she’d win. Instead of thinking on this, he offered her his hand. She ignored his gesture of help and glared at him instead.
“Sir, I will thank you to announce yourself next time,” the redhead said as she stood and knocked the dust off her jeans.
Travis fought a grin as he decided he liked the way she referred to a “next time,” not that he would take her up on it. No matter what, come tomorrow he intended to be on the next plane toward Houston and home; no way could he miss the big meeting. He’d had enough of England to last him a lifetime.
“Perhaps you’ve lost your way, Mr. Gentry,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Sudbury could arrange transport for you to the airport.”
Staring up at him, she looked as crotchety as his grandma’s old mule and as cute as a new puppy all at the same time. He decided to choose his words carefully lest she bolt and run again.
“Forgive me, Ma’am,” he said in the tone he generally reserved for Sunday school class and visiting with elderly relatives. He tipped his head toward the kids and old lady on the bus. “You all have a good time at camp, you hear?”
The girl from the ga
rden nearly fell out the window wishing him a good time as well. Then she pointed at Robin. “Are you going to kiss the American, Miss Robin? In the cinema the lady and gentleman always kiss at the end.”
A round of laughter erupted from the bus, and the old lady looked like she swallowed a bug. Travis turned to watch Robin Locksley stalk toward the vehicle with fire in her eyes.
“Annabelle Priory, I shall speak to you this instant.”
A moment later, the kid climbed off the bus like a prisoner on her way to the executioner. Robin Locksley looked good and mad, and this girl seemed to be the cause.
Or was she?
Travis smiled. Could his presence have affected her any? Maybe the lovely Miss Locksley was just in a tangle because old Gentry was back in town. He cast a glance to the right and then to the left. Okay, so town was a few miles back and it barely qualified, but still the thought appealed to him.
“Naw,” he said under his breath as he watched her whirl around and stalk toward him. “This gardening gal’s as cool as a cucumber to you, Pal, so stick to business.”
A few minutes later, the bus roared away in a cloud of dust and diesel fumes, and for a moment he felt like he was back in Houston standing at the Metro stop outside his building downtown. He coughed as he waved to the children peering out the back window at the spectacle he and Miss Locksley must have made.
“Mr. Gentry, if you please.” She gave him a stiff nod and marched right past him toward a shady spot in the garden.
Like a puppy following a bone, he trailed her. “I guess you’re surprised to see me again,” he said.
She slid a hand over her curls and looked less agitated and more confused as she settled onto an iron bench beside a hedge. “Surprised does not begin to describe it,” she said.
Just like beautiful doesn’t begin to describe you.
Warmth began to creep up Travis’s neck, and he gulped down the need to apologize for words he hadn’t even said aloud. “I had some follow-up questions to ask,” he finally managed to say. “About further attempts on the manor’s security system,” came out in a choke of stale words.
Her face registered neither surprise nor acknowledgment. “I’m sure Mr. Sudbury will be happy to answer them. Shall I point you in the direction of his office?”
“No,” he said far too quickly. “Actually it was you I was hoping to speak to.”
“Really?” She inclined slightly to look up directly into his eyes. One rust-colored brow rose. “What could I possibly tell you?”
A list most inappropriate to the conversation rose in his mind, and he quickly squelched it. What was wrong with him? He’d gone toe-to-toe with four knife-wielding fugitives in a Moroccan desert without breaking a sweat. Since when did one scrawny Englishwoman make him act like a tongue-tied kid?
The warmth inched another notch up his neck, surely reaching his chin and jawbone.
Without warning, the object of his thoughts rose from the bench and breezed past, leaving the scent of flowers in her wake. “Join me for tea,” she said as she marched across the lawn toward the old stone building where the manor’s staff offices were situated. “I’ve a schedule to keep, and unfortunately lolling about in the garden isn’t on it.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said.
A few minutes later, Travis found himself wedged onto a stiff sofa between an uncomfortable pile of fancy flowered pillows and a stone wall decorated with ancient family photos. He recognized a small shot of the queen holding the Locksley bow and leaned over to study it. The man in the picture must be Miss Locksley’s grandfather, the fifth earl.
Robin obviously inherited her looks from the other side of the family.
While his hostess looked away to pour the tea, he tossed two of the ruffly things behind him and watched in dismay as a third landed on the floor at Miss Locksley’s feet. Their gazes met, and a moment of silence passed. Travis felt a knot tangle in his gut, and everything in his realm went crooked and out of focus.
Then she smiled, and the whole world righted again.
“Perhaps you’d prefer to sit at the desk.” She pointed to the Louis IV campaign desk piled high with seed catalogues and documents bearing the logo of the National Trust. In the center of it all sat a silver laptop computer. From his vantage point, Travis could see a scrolling marquee with a verse from Deuteronomy he’d learned at his father’s knee.
“Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.’ ” He realized he’d spoken aloud only when Miss Locksley smiled.
“You know the verse, Mr. Gentry?” she asked.
Travis nodded. “Being a farm boy I was well acquainted with that one.” He avoided her steady gaze by staring at the picture of the bow instead. “Took me until I was grown to get the real meaning, though.”
“And that would be what?”
He shrugged and chanced a glance in her direction. “As a kid, I always thought it meant that if the crops needed rain, you ask and the Lord provides.”
She took a lady-like sip of tea. “And did He?”
“Generally,” Travis said.
“And now?”
Her eyes looked so innocent and her smile so faintly amused that Travis could only guess whether she actually wanted an answer. So many times he’d talked about his beliefs to a woman only to find out the last thing the lady had on her mind was the size of his Bible knowledge. Better to be brief than boring.
“And now I know He will provide, although not always in the way we think He will.”
His hostess leaned her head to one side and looked as if she were considering his statement. “Interesting,” she said in a near whisper.
Travis could only nod. Interesting? Yes, she was.
Very.
“So you grew up on a farm?” she asked. “Where?”
“Central Texas,” he answered slowly, “little town called Independence.”
“Really?” She smiled. “And did you have any siblings, Mr. Gentry?”
He nodded. “Two brothers. I’m the youngest.”
“And these brothers. Are they farmers too?”
The inquisitive look on her face told him she had no idea she’d been stomping on tender ground. “Sort of,” he answered, keeping it short and sweet. “What about you? Any more like you back home at the castle?”
Her smile faded a notch, and her gaze flitted past him to the window and the world beyond. “Just me,” she said. “I’m the single Locksley heir.” She rested her cup and saucer on the arm of her chair. “Father and Mother wanted more, I’m sure, but the Lord had other plans.”
“And His plans are perfect.”
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose.”
Again silence lapsed between them. The air grew thick around them, and Travis realized he’d spent so much time assessing the situation that he hadn’t even tasted his tea. Tossing two lumps of sugar into the dainty glass, he watched them sink to the bottom and begin to dissolve.
Travis swirled the melting sugar with his spoon and took a healthy sip of tea. “This is good,” he said. “What kind is it?”
“Earl Grey.” She leveled him a direct look. “Mr. Gentry, you haven’t come all this way to take tea with me or to talk about Bible verses. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“Just checking out a lead I got yesterday.”
“Oh?”
He watched her carefully. “An item came on the market, and it’s my job to make sure it’s legit.”
“I see.” Her hand shook as she tasted her Earl Grey. “Are you at liberty to say more?”
He took another long look before allowing himself to reply. “Nope.”
Her lack of response baffled him. Setting the teacup on the nearest table, Travis winced when the cup clattered against the saucer and nearly fell.
The gardening gal reached to catch it, and their hands grazed. Travis jerked his away like he’d touched a hot iron, and the cup and saucer went with it. Wh
at looked to be expensive china now lay shattered on the polished wood floor.
“I am so sorry.” He reached to clear the mess and stabbed his hand with a piece of the saucer.
“Don’t move,” she said with some authority as she tossed him a soft white tea towel. “Wrap it with this, and I shall see to bandages.” Miss Locksley stepped over the mess and disappeared into the hall, only to return a few seconds later with tape, a roll of gauze, and some sort of medication in a tube.
I’m fine, really, he should have said. It doesn’t hurt a bit, would have been the truth.
But when she leaned near enough to smell the flowers again and took his hand in hers, all he could do was whisper, “Ouch.”
Startled green eyes met his. “Did I hurt you?” she asked.
“No. . .”
Of course the pain hadn’t come from the squeeze she’d given his hand or even from the sting of the foul smelling ointment she’d applied to his cut. It had come directly from the jolt she’d given his heart. He stared in hopeless silence, while she went back to work totally unaffected by the situation.
Too soon she finished her ministrations. “Are you all right, Mr. Gentry? You look a bit flustered.”
Travis yanked his hand away and cleared his throat. “I’m fine, really.” His words sounded like a squeak. He stood to shake off the lingering effects and tried his voice again. “The Locksley bow.” He leveled his best professional interrogation stare at her. “I’d like to see it.”
Prim Miss Locksley looked like she’d been socked in the stomach with a shovel. Her face went pale, and her eyes widened. A second later, she recovered enough to clear her throat and meet his gaze.
“I’m afraid not,” she said. “It’s not. . .that is, I haven’t. . .”
The former lawman in him went on alert. If the Locksley bow had been stolen, the last thing the woman would be doing would be trying to hide the fact.
“Are you saying it’s not here?”
Again she cleared her throat. This time she added a shrug, then rose to stand inches away from him. “I said nothing of the sort, Sir.”
“So I can see it?”
Robin's Garden Page 3
