Garden of Fantasy
by
Karen Rose Smith
Published by Karen Rose Smith for KDP
Copyright 2011 Karen Rose Smith
Original Copyright 1992 Karen Rose Smith
CHAPTER ONE
Beth Terrell's yellow compact car sputtered and gave a grunt after she turned off the ignition. She bet the snazzy Corvette parked behind her never made such noises. When she climbed out of her car, her dress wrapped around her legs and her tousled brown hair flew across her cheek. The stiff August wind sent black clouds skittering across the sky.
She hoped to heaven the rain would hold off until this meeting was over. If it poured, her car might not start and she'd be stranded at this isolated spot in the hills of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Maybe she'd have to hitch a ride with Osgood in his limousine. She chuckled. That was one way to get to know him.
Another gust of wind buffeted her and she realized there wasn't even a construction trailer on the plot of land in front of her, nor a temporary structure either. Just a purple and yellow canopy and a six-by-eight-foot sign proclaiming OSGOOD ENTERPRISES.
Forgetting about the weather, she hurried toward the canopy, her purse under her arm, her briefcase swaying as she walked. She was already a few minutes late and she wanted to impress Tobias Osgood, not give him doubts about her punctuality. She needed this project to put her in the ranks of the "known" landscape architects. She was still trying to prove her worth to the professional community. Starting over had been difficult, but not as difficult as moving to Lancaster, away from her family.
Gingerly, she walked toward the gathering, smiling as the tall grass and dandelions tickled her calves. The stretch limousine and uptown cars along the shoulder of the road were no surprise. Osgood was known to travel in style. He was also known to be an eccentric. She reminded herself to be prepared for anything.
As she approached the canopy and her hair whipped into her mouth, she found she wasn't prepared. Silver serving dishes perched on an immaculate white linen tablecloth that covered a long table. A butler in a tuxedo poured champagne while two maids stood behind the serving dishes. Beth recognized Osgood's long-jowled face from the society and business pages. She almost burst out laughing at his attire. A wild green, yellow and red shirt hung loose over shorts of the same pattern. And was he actually wearing flipflops?
Luckily, he wasn't watching as she turned her head to hide a broad grin. She looked into a pair of piercing green eyes. Impetuously, she asked in a low voice, "Is this for real?"
The tall man standing next to her met her smile with a charming one of his own, though his tone was wry. "We're dressed for the occasion, but he's not. Only the orchestra's missing."
He cocked his head, appraising her with interest. His eyes roved from her wildly tossed, brown hair down the basic white dress adorned with a sterling squash blossom necklace to her spike-heeled white pumps. "I'm Nash Winchester. Are you one of my competitors?"
So this was Nash Winchester, landscape architect extraordinaire. He was nationally known for his amusement parks and golf courses. Did she stand a chance against him? Sure she did.
"Beth Terrell," she answered. "How many of us are here?" She shifted her eyes away from him with difficulty, but his dark hair--thick and vibrantly healthy--lingered in her mind's eye. It was tapered over his ears and defiantly waved here and there.
After a quick glance at the two men standing to one side, and realizing she was the only woman present, she took a second longer look at Nash, telling herself any woman would. Nash Winchester. It sounded like a name from a western. In the charcoal suit with its gray and almost unnoticeable lavender pinstripe, he belonged in an office, not out on the range. But with those slim hips and long legs, in jeans he'd look as sexy as any Marlboro man.
Nash's gaze caught hers and she felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. Did he know about the fiasco in Virginia? Even though it had been over three years, did he recognize her face from the newspapers?
His expression gave nothing away as he answered her question. "Osgood invited four of us."
The awning overhead rippled as the wind picked up velocity. Tobias Osgood clapped his hands and made himself heard over the conversations. "I'd planned to speak to you about business first, but I'm afraid we have to eat and run. August weather's as unpredictable as I am." He chuckled at his humor.
As Beth looked toward Nash, his eyes twinkled and he shook his head. For some absurd reason, she wondered what might make him laugh out loud and if his laugh would be as rich and deep as his speaking voice. She caught herself. Huh uh. He was her competitor. Besides, she wasn't sure the liberal dose of trust she'd been born with had been revitalized yet. Time did heal, but sometimes the process seemed to take forever.
Osgood continued, "As you enjoy dinner, I'd like to get to know each of you. Since we might suddenly have to take flight, I expect to see all of you again tomorrow night at my house." He nodded toward his butler. "Hanson will give out directions. Bring your bathing attire and we'll have a poolside picnic while I explain the details of my project. For now, enjoy the boeuf bourgignon and chicken cordon bleu."
Beth rolled her eyes to the peak of the tent. "Just what I need, a gourmet meal and a swim. I want to get to work on the preliminary layout for the resort."
She was puzzled by Nash's expression. Where there had been amusement was now something serious. Sadness?
It was gone when he responded, "No one can figure out how Osgood's mind works. I've been trying for years."
"Have you worked with him before?"
"No. I tried once a few years ago, but he chose another architect. That's not going to happen again." His eyes issued a challenge. "Not if I can help it."
"And what if you can't?" she asked impudently, deciding tact would never be her strong suit.
He seemed taken aback. "It won't be from lack of trying. I don't give up anything easily, Ms. Terrell."
Beth bet he could count on one hand the projects he'd wanted that had slipped through his fingers. He'd created and executed more landscape designs than she could count. Professional magazines always did pictorials of his latest creations. Golf courses had to get boring, but each of his had drama and character that made them unique. And the amusement parks! They were mechanically perfect to the last detail, down to the drainage systems, but fanciful enough to capture an adult's imagination as well as a child's.
Beth looked closely at his expressive face. It had plenty of character, with small lines to prove it. Had his personal or professional life put them there? Before she could ask another question to discover how he'd lost Osgood's last project, lightning zigzagged across the evening sky. The thunder smacked like an airplane breaking the sound barrier and she jumped.
Unruffled, Nash said, "Here it comes. So much for supper."
Rain splattered; leaves and twigs whirled in the wind as the poles anchoring the canopy began to sway. Men in white coats and slacks ran from the delivery truck by the side of the road toward the serving dishes as the flames warming them blew sideways.
Nash laughed, a clear deep rumble as fascinating as the thunder. "I guess Osgood's caterers are going to save the food." As one corner of the shelter twisted to the right, he suggested, "We'd better save ourselves. Are you going to make a run to your car?"
For whatever good it was going to do her. "I have no choice," she mumbled as she followed Nash to the edge of the awning and peered into the steady downpour.
He waved to the swaying grass before them. "Ladies first."
She didn't need gallantry; she needed a raincoat!
Her briefcase would have to do. After three steps, she knew the heels had to go if she didn't want to break her neck in the long grass, or at
the least, fall flat on her face. Because she scooped up her shoes and tried to hold them and her purse in one hand, Nash sprinted a good two yards ahead. She attempted to balance the briefcase over her head, but the maneuver did no good since the wind was blowing the rain in all directions.
Beth reached her car, biting her tongue in exasperation as she threw her briefcase and shoes on the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. She turned the ignition once. Sput. Sput. Cough. She turned the ignition twice. Grr...wheeze. The third try told her this car hated wet weather as much as she hated liver. She had to do something fast before everyone left. With an unladylike oath she put on her shoes.
Grabbing her briefcase and purse, she hurried to the Corvette and rapped on the window. Nash wound it down. Feeling like an idiot, she said, "My car won't start. Could you give me a ride into town?"
He seemed to hesitate a moment, a moment that seemed like a trillion years with the rain striking the back of her neck.
With a glance at her high heels wobbling on the roadside gravel, he got out, took her arm so she was steady, and escorted her to the passenger side. He opened the door, then dashed back to the driver's side, climbed in, slammed the door on the rain, and rolled up his window.
It had been a long time since she'd met a gentleman. Something inside her smiled, but she mentally slapped her hand and chastised herself, Watch out. Courtly manners didn't mean a gentleman lived on the inside. She'd thought John was a gentleman. She'd thought he was a friend. But friends don't use each other and a gentleman wouldn't benefit from ruining the reputation of a woman he supposedly cared about.
As she closed the door of the navy Corvette and her briefcase slipped to the floor, the smell of genuine leather wound about her. She looked at Nash and their eyes ran over each other at the same time. A laugh began in her chest. When a drop of rain trickled from Nash's hair down his nose, her merriment sprung free.
After a self-deprecating grimace, he laughed with her and swiped at his face with the back of his hand. He had a nice laugh. Warm, generous, as rich as his voice.
Beth shook her head, letting loose drops run down her face. "Is this really in the line of duty? I feel more like one of the Three Stooges than a professional."
Nash couldn't seem to pull his eyes from hers. "It makes you wonder what else he has up his sleeve."
Although the words were commonplace and casual, some kind of friction hummed between them. She lowered her eyes and searched in her purse for a tissue. When she found it and dabbed at her face, she noticed Nash's gaze had dropped to her breasts. The silk jersey was discreet when dry. Wet... He must be able to see her nipples.
Beth's hands grew clammy and she shifted in the bucket seat, hoping the material would stop pressing against her.
She shivered as the tissue disintegrated in her hand. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you." She rubbed at the tan leather. "I hope this doesn't mark permanently."
Nash's hand stopped hers from moving nervously over the seat. "Don't worry about it. I'm as wet as you are."
His fingers were hot around hers and she wondered why when everything around them seemed to be wet. She shivered again.
Dropping his hand quickly, he said, "You're cold. Let me get the heat on." He switched on the ignition, flipped the heater to high, reached to the floor of the back seat, and pulled up a gray flannel jogging jacket. "Here, wipe off with this and put it around your shoulders."
"But you--"
He unbuttoned his suit coat and shrugged out of it. His shoulders looked broader in the pale gray cotton, and the shirt almost popped a button across his chest as he flipped the jacket to the backseat. "That took the brunt of it. The shirt's dry."
Beth couldn't help noticing how his pleated damp slacks draped his thighs. Thighs that looked as hard and muscled as the rest of him. Stop looking, Beth. He's a competitor. And you're not ready to trust a man yet. Especially a man who wants the same project.
She cleared her throat. "If you could just drop me at the first gas station with a phone, I can call my secretary."
"You are going home."
Uh oh. Authoritarian note. Beth sighed with relief. Knock him off the list. Her mouth formed a fake, sweet smile. "I don't have much choice, do I? Unless I want to drip all over my office and catch pneumonia." She slipped his flannel jacket around her shoulders, pulling it across her breasts, and was aware of a trace of cologne and something more male. It had the effect of a smooth glass of sherry. She reminded herself where she was and with whom she was riding.
"Sorry," he mumbled as he pushed the wet thatch of hair from his forehead. "I didn't mean to insult your intelligence, but I've known both men and women who put work before their health."
Authoritarian or caring? Hmm.
"I'll be glad to take you home," he continued. "Where do you live?"
"At Ashley and Orange. It's across town."
"That's on my way. I live in a development off the Fruitville Pike."
That settled it. She would be stupid not to take him up on his offer.
As Nash drove, he glanced at her, once, twice, a dozen times? Beth felt more and more jittery with each glance, as if she were being sucked into quicksand or something more dangerous. Since the situation with John, she'd tried not to be alone with men unless it was professionally necessary. She didn't think she was paranoid. She just believed in self-preservation and learning to trust her instincts again. In time, she could. But this wasn't the time.
So she chattered. About the weather forecast, about the corn crop, about living in Lancaster and the Amish way of life--riding in buggies, living in houses with no running water, living off the land.
When she stopped for a breath, Nash asked, "Have you lived here long?"
An innocuous enough question. Maybe he didn't know about Virginia and Senator John Winston. "It'll be three years next month."
"What brought you here?"
"My roommate from college was raised on a farm in this area. I used to come home with her and fell in love with the countryside--the rolling hills, green pastures, its pure wholesomeness. I decided it would be a nice place to live. The rural area is quiet, the city busy, all of it is expanding in leaps and bounds and full of opportunity. I figured at twenty-eight I should start planting roots." She was fascinated by his hands on the wheel. Long fingers, large palms, a smattering of fine brown hair on the back.
"No family roots?"
Beth wondered if this was a casual conversation or a fishing expedition. His question was accompanied by a quick but probing look that seemed to carry her to a deserted island where only the two of them existed. A woman could enjoy fishing with a man like this.
She touched her wet dress so she knew exactly where she was. Being a romantic could get a girl into a lot of trouble. "I have family. But I'm an only child and my parents tend to be overprotective. I needed a place of my own, a life of my own. They're only three hours away." Far enough to miss them, but far enough to remove herself from Leesburg and gossip.
Enough about her. It was time to put the emphasis on Nash. "What about you?" she asked lightly. "You've been all over the country. Why Lancaster?" He smiled and her heart galloped. It was such a nice smile.
"My roots are here. My sister and I grew up in Lancaster. When my career began to get...all-encompassing, I missed Shannon and her family and decided to make a few changes. Settling here was one of them."
Beth was sure there was much more to the story than that. Someone like Nash didn't make a major life change on a whim. Maybe he'd experienced an early mid-life crisis. She'd heard he was thirty-six. She'd also heard he was divorced. Not that it was her business.
"Leaving a life behind is difficult," she mused, thinking about her own situation.
"Not when it involves mistakes and painful memories." "I guess it depends on the person. Running away versus finding a new life." She kept the defensive note in her voice to a minimum, or so she thought, until another probing look pinned her to her seat.
"Ma
ybe there's no difference," Nash suggested.
She didn't comment and only broke the silence to give Nash directions to her house. When he made a turn without her telling him to, she tried to relieve the awkwardness she was feeling. "You know where you're going."
He nodded. "Usually. I don't like to get sidetracked."
"A narrow focus and one direction. You sound like my mother. She's always told me to keep my eyes on the endpoint."
"You don't?"
"Sometimes the unexpected is more exciting. I don't want to lose out on life by being too pragmatic. My father calls me creative."
Nash grinned. "And your mother?"
Beth sighed. "She says I have my head in the clouds too often."
"What do you think?"
"I think I achieve my goals with a combination of creativity and hard work."
"Then we're not so different."
Nash slowed down the Corvette to follow the house numbers. He parked at the curb and through streaks of rain peeked at the Victorian monstrosity looming over them like something out of a gothic novel. "Is that yours?"
"I wish! I rent the downstairs." She tried to see its immensity, its gables and bay windows through his eyes. "You can't see its beauty today. All the gingerbread trim, its character." The house had a personality. It was secure and protective and when she was inside, she felt as if she had a safe hand on her shoulder. How could she explain that?
Nash's brows arched. "I'll bet the repair bills are hefty. But I also bet the nooks and crannies have more charm than any house on the market today."
A glow warmed her heart. He was practical yet had an aesthetic eye. Heavens! Now she was acting as if she knew the man. He was a stranger with good and bad qualities like everyone else. Never mind the sexy bod and staggering smile. She consciously called up emotions of disillusionment and betrayal. She needed something to armor herself against Nash Winchester.
Beth grabbed her briefcase. When Nash turned toward her, gracious upbringing led her to ask, "Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?"
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