"Mr. Miller drove the school bus when I was in elementary. He's a nice old man."
"Very nice," Kate agreed, still grinning.
"And working here helps him retain a sense of self-respect."
"Absolutely."
"The customers like him."
"Yes, they do."
"If I only paid him for the hours he's able to work, he would never be able to make ends meet on the skimpy little pension he gets from the school district."
"And the bottom line that you care about so passionately?" Kate inquired gently.
Brenda glared at her a moment and then laughed. "Screw the bottom line."
"Not a very good attitude for a businesswoman."
"That's why I hired you to manage this place."
Kate shook her head, her smile taking on a rueful edge. The argument had come full circle, and she knew it would be a waste of time to continue it Brenda Duncan was more than just her employer. Over the past two years, since the death of Brenda's husband had left her sole owner of the nursery, the two of them had become good friends. Brenda was sweet and funny, kind and generous to a fault. What she was not was a good businesswoman. It was probably just as well that she'd also inherited a comfortable trust fund from her maternal grandmother and didn't have to worry about squeezing every penny from her late husband's business.
"I'd just feel better if you knew more about what we're selling," Kate said finally.
"Maybe you'd feel better but I wouldn't. I know this is going to sound like blasphemy to you, but I think gardening is about as interesting as watching paint dry." She grinned at her friend's exaggerated wince. "You might as well face the facts, Kate. You're never going to make a plant lover out of me. It's not like I bought this place. It was Larry's idea, though why he thought a nursery was going to be his personal road to riches, I don't know. No one gets rich selling plants."
Kate lowered her head and made some meaningless notes on the clipboard. She had her own theories about that. In the year she'd worked for Larry Duncan, his main occupation had been hitting on every moderately attractive woman who set foot in the nursery. In his spare time, he'd occupied himself with issuing various—often conflicting—orders to the small staff just so they wouldn't lose sight of his importance. She didn't think he'd been interested in profits nearly as much as he had been in setting himself up as king of his own little empire, but she could hardly say as much. Not that it would have come as a surprise to his widow. Brenda had been in the process of filing for divorce when he died.
Brenda's thoughts must have been going along the same lines because she glanced around at the display of healthy greenery, the customers browsing among the tables of plants and her wide mouth curved in a smile that held more than a touch of malice. "I take a certain satisfaction in knowing that this place is doing so much better now than it did when he was running it. Running this store isn't quite as much fun as firebombing it would have been, but there aren't as many legal hassles involved."
"Isn't there some quote about revenge being a poor motivation for taking action?"
"If there is, whoever said it would have changed their minds if they'd known Larry," Brenda said flatly.
Kate opened her mouth to protest and then closed it without speaking. She hadn't known Larry Duncan long, but it was long enough to know that he'd been small-minded, tightfisted and lecherous—and those were his least objectionable qualities. It was no surprise if Brenda was a less than grieving widow. The only real surprise was that she'd ever married him in the first place.
"I think there's also a quote about revenge tasting sweet," she said with a wry grin.
"I like that one much better." Brenda glanced at the big round clock on the wall above the desk. "You'd better get going if you want to have time to shower and change clothes before having dinner at your in-laws."
"Future in-laws," Kate corrected her. Following Brenda's glance at the clock, she dropped the clipboard onto the cluttered desk. "They won't be my in-laws for another six months."
"One thing about marrying Gareth Blackthorne, you know you're not going to have in-law trouble," Brenda commented. She reached up to push a mass of unruly red curls from her face. The scrunchy band of elastic that was supposed to be holding them in place had gradually yielded to a superior force and dangled forlornly from the ends of her hair. Sighing, she tugged it loose and began the process of trying to capture the heavy mass and force it into some semblance of order.
"In-law trouble is the least of my worries," Kate agreed with a smile. "Sara and Philip are so wonderful that I'd be tempted to marry Gareth just so I could be a part of their family."
"But you're not, are you—marrying Gareth because of his family, I mean?" Brenda's tone made the words half-statement, half-question and Kate gave her a startled look.
"I was just kidding."
"Of course you were." Brenda shook her head, her fair skin flushing. "I know that. I guess I just feel a little responsible, since I'm the one who introduced the two of you."
"Lucky for me you did." Kate pulled open the deep drawer where she kept her purse.
"Lucky for Gareth," Brenda said loyally.
"Thanks." Kate slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder and glanced around the office to see if there was anything she'd forgotten.
"I mean, I know you're marrying Gareth because you love him madly!," Brenda said.
"Why else?" Kate asked with a smile.
Sometimes, Kate worried that life might be going too well. After spending her entire childhood following her father from one city to another while he chased some dream that only he understood, she'd wanted a home, a place to put down roots. Eden, California, had seemed nearly as idyllic as its name. The town was small enough to feel cozy yet big enough for her to find work. The first couple of years, she'd worked odd jobs—waiting tables, checking groceries, anything she could find to keep body and soul together. In those days she'd gone to school part-time, taking every class on botany and landscape design she could find. It hadn't been easy, but it had all paid off when she was hired to work at a nursery.
Putting up with Larry Duncan's heavy-handed flirtation and pompous posturing had been a small price to pay for the chance to indulge her love of green, growing things. A year after she was hired, Larry, assisted by half a dozen margaritas, managed to wrap his car around a telephone pole, leaving his wife the new and extremely reluctant owner of a fledgling nursery. Brenda had planned to sell the place but Kate had convinced her that it could be turned into a profitable business. So Brenda had given her a chance to prove herself.
Kate treasured her success with Wisteria, but her friendship with Brenda meant even more. Her father's peripatetic life-style had made childhood friendships such fleeting things that she'd soon given up trying to make friends. It hurt too much when each new move broke the fragile ties. Settling in Eden had given her a chance to develop lasting friendships for the first time in her life.
As if that wasn't enough, she was engaged to marry the kindest, most decent man she'd ever met. Gareth Blackthorne was solid, dependable, settled— all the things she wanted in her life. She'd never have to worry about him waking up one morning and deciding it was time to move a thousand miles away because of some wonderful opportunity he'd heard about.
Gareth had been born and raised in Eden. He'd spent four years attending college in Los Angeles, getting an English degree, and then, when he came home, he'd surprised everyone by becoming a cop rather than a teacher. As far as Kate knew, that was the last time he'd done anything completely unpredictable, which was one of the things she liked most about him. She could count on Gareth.
And there was his family. The Blackthornes were the embodiment of her childhood fantasies about what a family was supposed to be. They had welcomed her with open arms, making her feel as if her marriage to Gareth was the best thing they could imagine. Philip Blackthorne was a minister, and his wife, Sara, was a doctor. They had two children living. A third, a son, had died
at a tragically young age. Gareth was the eldest at thirty-six, there was another brother a couple of years younger than Gareth. Kate knew little about him beyond the fact that he hadn't been home in several years. When his name came up, it seemed to carry with it an indefinable air of regret and sadness. All she knew about him was that he'd left Eden soon after the death of his wife and son.
Kate assumed there had been some split with the family, and her sympathy for his loss had been diluted by the pain his memory seemed to cause the Blackthornes. She hadn't asked Gareth for an explanation. She told herself it was because she didn't want to bring up a painful topic, but she was guiltily aware that she didn't really want to know anything that might tarnish her image of the Blackthornes as the perfect family. Whatever had happened between Gareth's brother and his family, it had nothing to do with her. Privately, she labeled him "The Black Sheep" and dismissed him. Anyone who could walk away from a family as special as this wasn't worth thinking about.
"Kate?" The sound of her name startled her and Kate blinked, her eyes meeting Gareth's across the table. The quizzical way he was looking at her made it obvious it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get her attention. She smiled apologetically.
"Sorry. I guess I faded out for a minute."
"I was going to offer you a penny for your thoughts but you looked so absorbed, I figured the price might be higher."
"Not even that much."
"No doubt you were lost in admiration of my chicken casserole," Philip Blackthorne said.
"It's delicious," Kate said sincerely. The Mexican-style casserole, with its layers of cheese, tortillas and chicken, was sharply flavored with jalapenos and the more subtle tang of cilantro.
"I think I did a particularly fine job with it," he said expansively.
"Nobody can reheat a casserole the way you can, dear," Sara told him, her tone dry. "Did Annie write down the microwave instructions or did you manage to remember them this time?"
"I remembered them," Philip said with obvious pride.
Neither of the elder Blackthornes were known for their skill in the kitchen—or household tasks in general. Sara's medical practice kept her busy and Philip's duties with the church were equally demanding. Virtually all of the cooking and a good portion of the housework were done by Mrs. Annie Pickle, a tiny woman with a personality as tart as her name, who seemed to view the care and feeding of the Blackthorne family as an assignment handed down from above. Kate had met her soon after she began dating Gareth and had been thoroughly intimidated by the older woman's sharp, assessing look that seemed to weigh her and find her sorely lacking in qualifications to marry a Blackthorne.
"You let Dad in the kitchen?" Gareth asked, his eyes widening in shock. "After the last time?"
"One small fire, two years ago, and you still haven't let me live it down." Philip looked aggrieved.
"Small fire?" Gareth's brows went up. "The kitchen was gutted."
"It needed to be refurbished anyway," Sara said comfortably.
Gareth looked at Kate, his eyes gleaming with laughter. ''Some people hire a contractor to remodel the old kitchen. In my family, we just turn Dad loose and let him bum the old fixtures out."
"I forgot I had something on the stove. Everyone does that from time to time."
''But not everyone manages to set the house on fire while reheating a pan of soup."
"I didn't set the whole house on fire. Merely the kitchen. What's the world coming to when a man can't get any respect in his own household?" Philip demanded.
"I have lots of respect for you. Dad. Particularly when you're armed with a match."
Philip's stem expression was at odds with the laughter in his eyes. "Sara, I'm afraid we've nurtured a viper in the very bosom of our family."
"Probably," she agreed, spreading butter on a roll with no real sign of concem.
Kate listened to the exchange with a mixture of delight and envy. This kind of foolish, teasing conversation was new to her. There had been laughter in her childhood, but it had usually come from outside sources—television and movies. She couldn't imagine either of her parents indulging in the kind of lighthearted teasing that Philip and Sara took for granted. She thought it was a wonderful gift to give your children.
The conversation shifted to a discussion of the women's shelter that was being built in town. Sara was spearheading the fund-raising efforts. Kate made an occasional contribution to the discussion but, for the most part, she was content to listen. This was another thing that was new—dinner table conversations about issues that went beyond the family.
The conversations she remembered her parents having when she was a child had generally consisted of her mother talking about the small details of her job or household matters. Her father would speculate on where the next building boom was likely to take place and make plans for their next move. If they'd thought about anything beyond the limited reach of their own lives, she'd never seen any evidence of it.
You're not, are you — marrying Gareth because of his family, I mean? Brenda's question drifted through Kate's mind as she looked across the table at her fiance. As if sensing her gaze, he turned his head and their eyes met. He smiled and Kate felt warm affection well up inside her, banishing the brief moment of question. She was marrying him because he was a kind and wonderfully gentle man, but becoming a member of the Blackthorne family was certainly a lovely bonus.
The roar of a motorcycle cut through the quiet conversation, the sound sharp and intrusive. Philip broke off in the middle of a sentence, his dark brows drawing together in a slight frown as the sound grew louder until it was obvious the bike was not simply passing by on the lightly traveled main road but was coming up the long driveway.
"Who on earth could that be?" he asked, speaking as much to himself as to anyone else.
Kate saw the sweep of a headlight cut across the sheer curtains and the roar grew louder, until the room nearly vibrated. When the engine was cut off, the abrupt cessation of sound was almost as startling as the noise had been.
"I'll go see who it is," Philip said. He set his napkin next to his plate and pushed back from the table.
"Philip, you don't think..." Sara's voice trailed off, the thought unfinished. Kate was startled by the sudden vulnerability in her voice.
Her husband's expression gentled. His hand settled on her shoulder for an instant as he walked past her chair. "Don't get your hopes up, my dear."
Bewildered, Kate glanced at Gareth, her brows raised in question, but he was looking after his father, his expression uncharacteristically stem. As Philip left the room, he shifted his attention to his mother.
"What did he say when he called?" he asked.
"Not much." Sara frowned. "He just said he'd be home soon."
"Is he coming home for good?"
"He didn't say. Just that he was going to be helping Harry fix up the house." Her frown deepened.
"Nick said Harry was going to sell the old place. I can't imagine that."
Gareth and Sara seemed to have momentarily forgotten her presence, so Kate dabbled her fork in the last few bites of her casserole and tried to look invisible. But her thoughts were tumbling over each other. Nick was the mysterious missing brother. Obviously, Sara thought the motorcycle might be his.
Kate shivered a little. It was eerie that she'd been thinking about him just minutes ago and now, here he was, popping up in the conversation—maybe even standing on the doorstep. The coincidence sent a chill down her spine. It seemed odd that Gareth hadn't said anything to her about his younger brother coming home, but the past couple of weeks had been exceptionally busy. Maybe he just hadn't had the chance to tell her.
"He said he'd be home as soon as he could put things in order in New York." Sara shifted her wineglass from one side of her plate to the other and then back again.
The agitated movement surprised Kate. It was the first time she'd seen the other woman less than serene. She looked at Gareth again, her brows raised in question. This tim
e, his eyes met hers and she thought he was about to say something, offer some explanation perhaps, but the sound of the front door opening cut off whatever he might have said.
"Anybody home?" The voice was masculine, low and a little raspy, as if from too many nights spent in smoke-filled bars.
Kate was looking at Gareth and she saw something flare in his eyes, a quick flash of emotion that was there and gone too quickly for her to read it Relief? Anger? Happiness? Some impossible combination of the three?
"Nick." Sara spoke quietly but her voice held so much suppressed emotion that the name seemed to echo.
"Nick?" Kate repeated as Sara pushed her chair back and stood up. "Isn't that—"
"My brother," Gareth said, his tone as flat and emotionless as his expression. She might have thought he was indifferent to his brother's sudden arrival if it hadn't been for the tension in his shoulders as he rose stiffly, careless of the scrape of the chair's legs on the polished wooden floor. She'd never seen Gareth anything but calm and in control. It was one of the things she liked most about him, one of the things that made her feel as if she could depend on him not to change, not to go off chasing rainbows. But, just now, there had been that flash of emotion in his eyes, and the hand he rested on the back of his chair was white-knuckled with tension.
Interest vied with uneasiness inside Kate. She wondered what it was about Nick Blackthorne that his arrival should send such powerful ripples through his family. Why hadn't she asked Gareth about him long before this?
"Nick. It's been a long time. Too long." Philip's beautifully modulated voice wavered a little on the last word.
There was a pause, and Kate tried to imagine what was going through his son's mind. Guilt? Affection? Was he moved by his father's welcome? Indifferent to it? She couldn't even hazard a guess.
"I'm home now," was all he said and, try as she might, Kate couldn't read anything from his tone. "Where's Mom?"
"In the dining room. We didn't expect you to make it home so soon."
"Neither did I, but when I looked around, I realized my life wasn't nearly as full of terribly important things to take care of as I'd thought at first." There was a rich note of self-directed amusement in the husky voice. "It was quite a shock to find out how completely dispensable I was."
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