by Terri Osburn
Toying with her pearls, the older woman perused his pictures again. That’s it, Thea. Keep looking.
After finding the additional plants to fill Abby’s flower bed, Justin had worked ten days straight, adding the final mulch layer late Tuesday afternoon. He’d then returned Wednesday to take pictures in the best light.
“Did you choose these particular flowers or did your client?” Mrs. Levine asked.
“This project was a collaboration. We shopped together and I made suggestions, while she had the final say. When it came down to layout and design, again, we both had input.”
And they’d worked well together, too, until she’d taken offense at his suggestion she take up landscaping. He’d seen her car pull in or out of her garage several times while working the project, but Abby hadn’t spoken to him for more than a week.
Sliding the images back into their envelope, the society matron folded her hands on the conference room table. “I’ve seen and heard enough. As this is a community project, I prefer to hire a native over an outsider. You have the job, Mr. Donovan.”
Justin bolted to his feet. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Levine. You won’t regret this.”
“I certainly hope not.” Allowing him to open the door for her, she added, “A quick trip to Magnolia Bank and Trust and we’ll get you a check. Half now. The other half when the project is complete. To my satisfaction, of course.”
“Of course,” he repeated, happy to follow his new benefactor to the bank next door.
As far as burning bridges went, Abby may have just earned a prize for dumbest match toss ever. Which put her firmly out of options. Unless she wanted a hefty commute or to physically move to another town. Her wanderlust may have been renewed by her chat with Justin, but she’d never actually wanted to live anywhere else. Visit, sure. But not live.
A few minutes early for a ten-thirty meeting with her mom, Abby walked into Bound to Please bookstore barely aware of her surroundings. The last two weeks had been one giant lesson in humility. She couldn’t bake. She couldn’t hold her liquor. She’d turned out to be an expendable employee, and ironically, was now overqualified for every nursing position open in the area. All three of them.
With no job and no prospects, Abby felt like a kite cut loose from its string. One stiff wind and she was lost with no way to get back on solid ground.
“Whoa there,” cried a male voice as two strong hands gripped Abby’s upper arms. “Watch yourself.”
Abby looked up to find Justin’s hazel eyes staring down with concern. “Sorry,” she said, feeling small. And stupid. “I wasn’t looking.”
“I got that,” he said. “Are you okay?”
The question seemed so absurd she almost laughed. “No. No, I’m not.”
Taking her hand, Justin pulled her toward a couch along the side of the store. “Let’s sit down.”
Following without argument, she took a seat, hugging her purse in her lap.
“I’m going to get you a coffee,” he said. “How do you like it?”
“Cream and sugar, please.” Maybe caffeine would make this nightmare more tolerable.
Abby had convinced herself that a change of scenery would revive her love of nursing. New patients. New coworkers. And maybe even more regular hours. Finding a nursing position had been the first step in the plan to getting her life back. To finding joy again.
“Here you go.” Justin set a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of her.
Abby’s future stepfather, Bruce Clemens, owned the store, and he’d given it a homey feel, creating a warm and inviting space—a direct reflection of his personality. Seating areas dotted the stacks, and locals were welcome to settle in, use the free Wi-Fi, and hopefully leave with a book.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.
She didn’t want to tell anyone of her most recent failure, so instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. “Why are you here?”
“I live in the apartment upstairs,” he answered. “Now back to you. What’s wrong?”
How had her mother not mentioned that Bruce rented his old apartment to Justin Donovan? Once they’d set a wedding date, the happy couple had bought a new house, which Bruce had moved into right away. Under the guise of some old-fashioned notion, the bride would move in after the wedding.
Retrieving her drink, Abby pondered how much to tell. Studying Justin’s clear, unwavering gaze, she felt an odd need to tell him everything.
“I had an interview today,” she started, eyes locked on the hot coffee. “He said I’m overqualified for the position.”
“Being too good for a position is better than not being good enough,” Justin pointed out.
“No,” Abby said, shaking her head. “No, it isn’t. If I can do the job, then let me do the job. How could it possibly be a bad thing to hire a person with more skills than they need?” She clenched the mug in a white-knuckle grip. “Why should I be punished for being smart and capable and experienced? How is that fair?”
Justin slowly reached for her drink. “Let’s put this back down for a minute.” He pried the cup from her fingers and set it on the table before turning to face her. “This is where I’m probably supposed to remind you that life isn’t fair, but since I know what it’s like to be unfairly out of work, I say screw that. Getting passed over for a job sucks. And whoever interviewed you today is a moron for turning away the best candidate he’s likely to ever get.”
“Yes, he is,” she agreed, validated by his support. “A total moron. And I told him so on my way out.”
Honey-gold eyes went wide. “What did you say?”
Abby teetered on the edge of the couch. “I told him that I’d rather swing a shovel than work for him. And I would, too.”
“Really?” Justin asked. “Does that mean you’re open to my idea?”
Confused, Abby said, “What idea?”
“That you work with me. I landed the downtown beautification project this morning. I have less than two months to turn Main Street and the square into a flower show, and that would be a more doable task with another set of hands. What do you say?”
In her current predicament, Abby couldn’t afford to turn down anything. Before this morning’s interview, taking up landscaping would have meant walking away from the only occupation she’d ever known. But she couldn’t walk away from something that didn’t exist. The fact was, Abby didn’t have a job. Justin had one to offer. A creative job that didn’t involve bedpans or overnight shifts.
“One question,” she said, heart racing as she considered such a drastic change.
“What’s that?” he said, flashing a smile that launched a thousand butterflies in her chest.
“Am I working for you or with you?”
Justin tapped his knee. “Well, I have the truck and the experience, but you have the tools you bought this weekend and a fresh perspective on design. How about we work together?”
Nervous excitement sent Abby to her feet. “Are you serious? Like, partners?”
“I haven’t picked a name yet, but AJ Landscaping sounds good to me.” He stood and extended a hand. “What do you say? Partners?”
Abby slid her palm against his as a smile split her face. “I’m willing if you are.” She’d never done anything this crazy in her life. Then again, maybe Justin was the crazy one in this scenario. “Are you positive about this?”
“Absolutely,” he assured her.
Feeling truly hopeful for the first time in days, Abby let her hand linger in Justin’s, too distracted to notice they had company.
“Did I miss something?” asked Abby’s mom, breaking the spell.
“Hello, Mrs. Ridgeway,” Justin said. “Your daughter and I just agreed to—”
“Have lunch,” Abby interrupted, grabbing her discarded purse from the leather couch. “Sometime soon.” Turning to Justin, she shot him an I’ll explain later look. “I’ll be in touch.”
Mama did not look happy as Abby dragged her t
o the back of the store. The last thing she needed was for Justin to share their news before she’d had the chance to explain the situation. When they reached the back office and the table filled with wedding-themed magazines, Linda Ridgeway turned on her daughter.
“What in tarnation is going on between you and that boy?”
Struck dumb by the question, Abby stuttered, “What? I . . . he . . .”
“You’re embarrassing yourself, Abigail.”
“But we . . .” she tried again, pointing toward the front of the store.
“That child is much too young for you,” her mother declared, pulling a chair away from the table. “Thank goodness I was the one to find you instead of someone else. Talk would be all over town within the hour that the widow Williams was taking up with a younger man. Now let’s get this guest list whittled down before we have the whole town tearing up your brother’s backyard.”
Abby stood paralyzed near the door, stunned by her mother’s words. The widow Williams? Was that what people called her? The descriptor made her sound like a sad old woman, counting the days until her own time came. That was not the life that Abby wanted, nor did she appreciate being cast in the role.
Not that she’d altered her original stance regarding a more personal relationship with Justin, but if she did, it would be nobody else’s business. Taking a seat at the ancient Formica table, Abby realized that, for better or worse, the universe was clearly pushing her toward change, and stirring up a small-town scandal would go a long way toward making her life more interesting. But did she dare?
“Don’t forget about your fitting next week,” Linda Ridgeway reminded her daughter. “I’ve told Maureen to make sure the hem hits below the knee.”
Her mother found the exact words to tip Abby over the edge. She was neither too old nor too widowed to show a little thigh at a wedding. And just maybe she wasn’t too old for Justin Donovan, either.
Chapter 9
His luck looking up, Justin whistled his way down Main Street with a tape measure in one hand and a notepad in the other. Thankfully, downtown Ardent Springs already offered a fair share of green, which would save him and Abby a wheelbarrowful of work.
Justin paused on that thought. Him and Abby. Working together. Not the kind of together he wanted, but definitely a step in the right direction.
Trees dappled Main at fifteen- to twenty-foot intervals, their bases surrounded by large grates. This didn’t leave many options for installing flower beds down the block, but what he couldn’t put in the ground, he could put in planters. They’d need to be heavy, sturdy, and fit the aesthetic they were going for—simple and welcoming with a hint of small-town charm.
Reaching the square, which, ironically, was a well-used roundabout, Justin stared up at the nearly forty-foot monument holding court over the grassy knoll. The Confederate soldier, having occupied his perch for more than a century, appeared almost bored yet unwavering despite the chip in his hat brim—an injury obtained the day he was erected. Legend had it that the Daughters of the Confederacy had worked too hard to raise the funds for their beloved monument to let something as insignificant as a chip halt their forward progress.
Crossing to the center, Justin roamed the flattened mound, imagining the possibilities. The expanse of grass exposed to full sun for most of the day provided the perfect blank canvas. Upkeep would be a pain, as keeping whatever they did plant alive and vibrant past the end of June would require lots of water, but his short meeting with Miss Thea left him with the impression that she’d devise a solution for any foreseeable problems.
Not sure what to expect, he’d gone in imagining the garden society chair to be much like his paternal grandmother. At first glance, Clara Donovan had appeared friendly and frail—from a distance. But there’d been times Justin would have chosen a lion’s den over walking into Granny Clara’s house on a day he’d disappointed her. She could take out a rattler from fifty paces and quell a window-breaking nine-year-old with one squinty glare. She’d passed away Justin’s senior year of college, and he’d always wanted to make her proud.
Turning the town she loved into a middle Tennessee showpiece would go a long way toward that goal. With a grin on his face, Justin glanced up once again, past the stalwart soldier to the clouds above them both.
“I’ll make it pretty, Granny C.”
Thea Levine had not been nearly as intimidating as Justin’s grandmother, but she’d shown a fearless determination to make her vision for downtown Ardent Springs a reality. He’d liked her from the first handshake, and considering how quickly she’d hired him, Justin assumed the feeling was mutual.
As he drew his focus back to the task at hand, the cell in his pocket went off. Justin failed to check the screen before answering, assuming Abby would be on the other end.
“Donovan here.”
“About time you picked up,” returned a voice nothing like Abby’s. “How’s it hanging, bro?”
Ignoring the question, Justin said, “What do you want, Q?”
“Come on, buddy. You aren’t still mad, are you?”
“Mad about what? That you slept with my fiancée? That you got me fired?”
“I didn’t get you fired,” Q corrected, refuting one accusation but not the other. “And I saved you from marrying the wrong chick, which you should be thanking me for.”
A simple This girl is wrong for you would have sufficed. Instead, Q, in his own estimation, had taken one for the team by screwing Victoria in Justin’s bed. An act witnessed with his own eyes, thanks to Justin’s last business trip ending unexpectedly early. A trip that was supposed to include his good buddy Q.
“Your card is in the mail. Now lose my number.” Before he could end the call, Q yelled, “Get your head out of your ass and listen to me, dammit. I’ve got a killer lead that could put us both back in the game.”
Remembering the text from earlier, including the mention of said lead being in Justin’s neck of the woods, he gave his former friend thirty more seconds.
“Talk.”
As expected, Q went straight to the point. “There’s a tract for sale just off the interstate in your area. It’s perfect for commercial development, and the proximity to Nashville is enough to bring in some big investors. Small beans compared to what we were doing up north, but it’s a solid deal with the potential to reestablish our reps.”
If it weren’t for Q, Justin’s rep wouldn’t need reestablishing. And yet. Having the details couldn’t hurt. “Email me what you have.”
“You’ve got it, bro.” After a moment’s hesitation, he asked, “Have you heard from Vicki?”
Victoria Bettencourt had detested when Q referred to her as Vicki. But then again, she’d also gone to bed with him.
“That’s over,” Justin replied.
Another heavy silence.
“She called me.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “Good for you.”
“She asked if I thought you’d forgiven her yet.” Priceless. Ask the guy you screwed if the one you cheated on might be ready to forgive and forget. That makes perfect sense. “What should I tell her?”
“That I’m not the forgiving type,” he replied and ended the call.
Slipping the phone into his pocket, Justin glanced once more to the soldier high above. “Women, huh, buddy?” he said, shaking his head.
Victoria had been everything he thought he’d wanted. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Connected. She’d also been bratty, shallow, and conniving. The temper tantrums and constant demands had begun wearing thin long before she and Q had betrayed him. Justin liked to think he’d have come to his senses before walking down the aisle, but he couldn’t be sure. Ambition had been his driving force for so long that not until losing his fiancée and his job in the same week had the blinders come off.
Though ambition still stirred his blood, Justin vowed to take his time and be more thorough going forward. He would get back in the game, but not with Quintin Culpepper along for the ride. The cell phone c
himed, indicating the arrival of a new email. Justin resisted the urge to check the message. All in due time. Right now, he had a town square to design.
Abby endured two hours with her mother, locking in the final guest list for the wedding and then searching various websites for country-themed details to add charm to the festivities.
Back in the eighties, Linda Ridgeway had taken her vows standing before a justice of the peace, stone-faced and wishing for the lavish wedding she’d always imagined. But throwing a party hadn’t been Malcolm Ridgeway’s style. Quiet and serious, he’d preferred to keep things simple and then get on with living. Only he never truly lived the life he wanted, settling for a small-town insurance job while drowning his failures in liquor. Kind and generous when sober, Abby’s dad had been a mean drunk who tormented his family as if determined to make them as miserable as he was.
Sometimes Abby feared she might be too much like him. Too serious. Too practical. Too ready to give up on her dreams. If she accomplished only one thing in life, it would be not following her father’s path. Whatever happened, however her life turned out, Abby never wanted to be a bitter, angry person. And yet, since Kyle’s death, she’d drifted uneasily close to that ledge. Become snappish with friends and family. Even downright mean at times.
Shaking off the fears, she pulled her car to the side of the narrow gravel path and cut the engine. Staring over row upon row of weathered stones, Abby breathed in, let the air fill her lungs, and then exhaled until her shoulders slumped. The time had come to let go of something bigger than a cup or a football jersey.
Thanks to Kyle being scheduled to ship out, he and Abby had also done the quickie wedding, except in her case she’d almost immediately waved her new husband good-bye. There had been so few moments during her marriage when she could relax and not stress over where he might be or if he might be hurt. Within the first year, she understood why so many military marriages ended in divorce. The life was not for the faint of heart.
As she stepped through the stones, careful not to be disrespectful with her footing, a warmth surrounded her, as if the tenants of this quiet place were helping her along. That they knew this walk and the strength it took to tread it. Reaching her destination, Abby stopped before the small ivory stone with the tiny flag perched atop it.
