by Mary Manners
“You never know what sort of surprises tomorrow might bring.”
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”
“I suppose both of us.”
“Maybe you haven’t given Clover Cove—and Cutler Nursery—a chance. Your dad loved it, and your mom still does. Maybe you’ll acquire a fondness, as well. After all, you can’t beat the location. Pappy’s Pizzeria draws a crowd like honey draws flies. Folks are bound to notice the nursery when they stop in for a bite to eat.”
“Now you’re being facetious.”
“Nope, just offering a reality check. It’s possible to build a future here, you know—one that doesn’t include groveling to the higher-ups.”
“Groveling? I hardly think working hard to climb the proverbial career ladder includes groveling.”
“No? Then why does the suggestion launch daggers from your eyes?”
“You have a way with words that’s slightly…unsettling.” Wyatt draped one hand over the steering wheel and leaned toward her. His breath whispered along her cheek. “But the reality is this: I prefer not to pursue a future that’s elbow deep in mulch and manure. The only reason I came home was to work the books, and I haven’t even seen the inside of the office yet—not that there’s much to see in that department. Reese has all these ideas, and no concept of the money it will take to pursue them. While he buys overstock in rose bushes the parking lot washes away and greenhouses topple around him.”
“Maybe he’s got a long-term vision for the nursery.”
“Yeah, I have one, too—only at the opposite end of the spectrum. It’s called a date with bankruptcy court.”
“Bite your tongue, Wyatt Cutler.” Kami jabbed a finger into his ribs. She found solid muscle, and lots of it. She pulled back, folded her hands in her lap. It was much safer that way. “How can you even utter such words?”
“Because, without the help of fervent prayer, losing the nursery is a very strong possibility.”
“Well, then we’d all better start praying, because relinquishing Cutler Nursery would destroy your mom just as much as losing the pizzeria would crush my dad. We can’t let either happen.”
“You don’t need to waste time worrying over me or my family.” Wyatt waved her off. “I can manage things.”
“I’m sure you can. But I care about your mom. Worrying is what friends do when they care about someone who’s on the brink of a serious hurt. You used to know that, Wyatt.”
“I still know it. And you’ve got enough on your plate. Your dad—”
“Has taught me that money isn’t everything while family is the most important of all things.” Kami slipped from the passenger seat and followed him around to the front of the truck. “Losing someone you dearly love ought to drive that point home. If anything happens to Dad—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to him.”
“You, better than anyone, should know there’s absolutely no guarantee about what may or may not happen tomorrow—or even this afternoon, for that matter.”
“But I do know what’s going to happen here, now.” He smoothed a finger along her jaw, sending a flash of warmth up the length of her spine. Suddenly, she could barely manage to breathe. Wyatt leaned in and his breath whispered across her brow. “Do you…know what’s about to happen?”
Her traitorous pulse skipped into a double-time cadence as his scent, a battle of hard work and clean soap, settled over her. “I’m not…sure.”
“Then I’ll fill you in.” He lifted her chin with the flick of his finger so their gazes locked. His dark eyes held a hint of challenge. “You’re going to tell me where you want all this stuff, and I’m going to haul it for you while you brew me a cup of coffee.”
“Oh, right.” Kami eased back and smoothed a hand over her rumpled blouse. “Of course.”
“Is there anything else…you want?”
“And if I did…?”
“Hmm.” His grin, a hint of mystery fused with a heady challenge, swept her as he asked, “For now, I suppose that will have to do. Unless…”
“I think you’ve said enough.” She shook her head slightly, brushing strands of hair from the cheek that his breath had caressed. “Yes, more than enough.”
“In that case, you do own a coffeemaker, don’t you?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes. But I can haul my own stuff.” It would do her well to remember that he was the leaving kind. No point in allowing herself to dive into that pool. As appealing as the water might be, there was no room to swim. “I manage all the time just fine.”
“With those willowy arms of yours?” To drive the point home, he wrapped his fingers around her bicep. “You might break.”
“I carry armloads of platters that weigh more than those plants, thank-you-very-much.” She shrugged from his grasp, wishing her breathing would return to normal. But now her temper was spiked. How dare he insinuate she couldn’t manage on her own? She’d managed just fine while he’d been holed up in New York. She leaned into the passenger window of the truck and grabbed her purse, then turned on her heel toward the front door of her house. “But if it’s coffee you want, I’ll make it. Maybe a cup or two will turn you human.”
Wyatt’s heart flickered with an unfamiliar palpitation. Good grief, could it be a nip of desire—for the scrawny Kami Moretto? Okay, face it…she was no longer scrawny, but gently curved in all the right places. He hoped she couldn’t hear the thump of his pulse as he pulled a ball cap from his back pocket and tugged it tight over his scalp. His voice was a little too raw for his own good—or hers.
As she retreated toward the front door, he called after her. “So tell me, boss, where should I dump this stuff?”
“You’re the expert. Lob me some ideas.”
“I’ll need a dose of caffeine first.”
“Yes, I got that memo. I’m on it. Be right back. In the meantime, just pile—oops, I mean place—the potting soil over there beside the garage. And the hanging baskets can go on those hooks. And—”
“Coffee, I’m begging you.”
“Right. Yeah.” Kami tossed him a look as she headed up the walk. “Begging will get you places. The brew’s coming right up.”
When she’d gone inside, Wyatt lowered the truck’s hatch and began to unload. He dropped bags of potting soil at intervals along the base of the garage wall before adding flats of wave petunias, the spikes, and a trio of cheerful, burnt-orange ceramic planters Kami had selected from stock. Rose bushes would soon add color to wooden stairs, front and back, while daffodils and monkey grass would fill a flower bed that ran the length of a generous wrap-around front porch. The place had character and an armload of potential. It just needed a little elbow grease. He could start with the hanging baskets. He lifted them onto hooks already placed along the porch ceiling and the generous splash of petunias added a homey touch to the white-framed house. Then he stepped back, reached into the cab of the truck for the pad of paper and pencil stored in the console.
“What are you doing?” Kami’s tennis shoes slapped over gravel as she came toward him carrying a tall coffee mug in each hand. Wyatt took one as she joined him to sit on the truck’s tailgate.
“You asked for suggestions, so I’m making a sketch.” He drew a sip of the coffee and sighed long and hard. “That’s good…perfect. Thank you.’
“You’re welcome.” She dipped her head to peer over his shoulder. “That’s a very nice rendering, Wyatt. I like it. Do your suggestions come with a fee?”
“Yes. One steaming cup of coffee—maybe two.”
“I’m good with that.”
“Okay, then.” He tilted the sketch her way. “You’ve got some nice soil here…won’t need much. I’ve outlined in the sketch the combinations of plants that I think will complement each other.”
“How do you know what works best?”
“A person doesn’t grow up soaking up the ins and outs of greenery and not retain something. Just don’t let on to my mom and Reese or I’ll never get bac
k to the office.”
“No worries. They won’t hear it from me.” Kami lifted her fingers to her lips, gave a pert little twist. “Mums the word.’
“There’s just one stubborn area that I see, and you’re going to need more than a shovel to sink anything into the ground over there.” Wyatt adjusted the ball cap to block the sun as he made quick work of the coffee. The caffeine began to work its magic. “The soil is hard as bricks.”
“I can manage. It will just take a little time.”
“Maybe so, but you’ll tear up your hands in the process.” He eyed her long, delicate fingers capped by neat but unpolished nails.
“I’ll worry about that later. I don’t have time to do anything more this afternoon anyway. I have to get back to the restaurant soon.” She glanced at the hanging baskets, swaying in the gentle breeze along the porch ceiling. “Thanks for hanging those. They look beautiful.”
“Adds something, doesn’t it?”
“For sure.”
“Well, we’ve got a tiller at the nursery. I’ll come back in a while and turn the soil for you, work in the peat and get the ground ready so all you’ll have to do is sink the plants into holes.”
“Really, Wyatt, that’s not necessary.”
“I’m aware of that. Even so…” His gaze drifted to the house next door. A sign sat on the front lawn, close to the curb. “Is that place for sale?”
“It’s for rent. The placard just went up yesterday.”
“Even better.” He drained his coffee mug and set it on the tailgate as he slipped down and strode across the lawn. Kami followed, two-stepping to keep up with his long strides. “Perfect timing.”
“Are you looking for a house?”
“Yes, or an apartment—unless I want to bunk with Reese or my mom indefinitely. Reese is a slob and Mom, well, she’s Mom. So, neither is a viable option. I need something quick, and I’d rather have the space of a house instead of a cramped apartment. Either way, renting is perfect until I know for sure how things will go around here.”
“So, you’re really not planning to stay?”
“Depends. Not if the nursery folds.”
“It’s not going to fold, Wyatt.” Kami crossed her arms tight over her midsection, as if shielding herself. “Prayer is a powerful thing. The realtor handling the rental is a friend of mine. She can probably give you a showing as early as tomorrow morning, if you don’t mind her kids tagging along if she can’t find a sitter on such short notice.”
“That’s no problem.” Wyatt pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and scrolled through his contact list, adding the name and number displayed on the sign. “I’ll give her a call and work it out.”
“Are you sure you want to...”
“What?”
“Live next door to me?”
“I admit it might be a challenge.” A grin caused his lips to twitch as he closed the distance between them, “And it very well might develop into something dangerous.”
She stutter-stepped back, remained an arm’s-length away from him. “How so?”
“Let me tell you.” He reached over to snatch a lock of her hair that had spilled from her braid. “How tough is your heart, Kami Moretto?”
“Tough enough to handle you, Wyatt Cutler.” Yet she backed away from him to settle into the white-planked porch swing that swayed gently in the breeze. “More than tough enough.”
“You think so?” He plunged his hands into his pockets because he itched to use them—to caress her soft skin in a way that was sure to get him into trouble. “Well, we’re sure to find out, aren’t we?”
Chapter 5
WYATT TOSSED HIS PENCIL ONTO the desk and sat back in the chair, stretching kinks from his neck. It was no use…nobody had given the nursery’s books more than a cursory glance in the year since Dad passed. To say they were a mess was an understatement. Taxes, due to be filed in less than two weeks, were sure to be a bear. Just thinking about it gave him a headache. He’d have to schedule a family meeting quick, to bring Reese and Mom up to speed.
“Hey there.” He glanced up to find Kami in the doorway. Her sleek black hair was twisted into a braid that ran the length of her back. His heart slammed against his ribs as he suddenly wondered what that mass of hair would look like if he reached over and loosed the band, setting it free. She propped one shapely hip against the jamb and his throat turned to sandpaper.
“Hey yourself.”
“You look flustered.”
“The books.” Wyatt set his reading glasses on the desk, willing his pulse to find a normal cadence. Since he’d moved in next door to her two days ago, he’d been hard-pressed to keep his mind on anything else. The traitorous state of his heart was as annoying as a paper cut and putting a serious dent in his ability to accomplish anything of merit. The last thing he needed was for Kami to catch wind of his frazzled disposition. So he twisted in the chair and turned away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as a migraine threatened to take hold. “They’re like a code that’s impossible to crack.”
“You’ll manage.”
“That’s reassuring, coming from the very woman who had her own meltdown just last week, while working on books for the pizzeria.”
“That was different. I want to stay here, Wyatt, want to help make my family’s business viable and watch it grow. I like what I do. You, on the other hand, seem to loathe the nursery and just want to…leave.”
“Loathe? I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Oh?” She crossed the room to place a stainless steel thermos on his desk. “Convince me, then.”
“Is that…?”
“Yes. Coffee—just the way you like it.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Thank you.” She eased one hip onto the edge of his desk. “Has something changed in the past week to put the brakes on your…distaste for the nursery?”
A lot had changed. He was beginning to adjust to the flow of the business again and, as a result, missed his dad more than ever. Somehow, being home again brought everything to the surface. Every action, the myriad of scents and simple tasks, reminded him of all he’d lost. All he’d squandered…precious time with his father.
And then there was Kami. She understood how he felt when no one else did. Just last night, after he’d finished hauling boxes into his house, they’d shared sweet tea on his front porch, talking things over. So many childhood memories were now not much more than a blur. Why had he thought he’d captured the details of those moments, tucked them safely in his heart, forever? Time had a way of fading the images, melding them into a blurry and indecipherable soup.
“Maybe I’m beginning to change.”
Above them, rain drummed against the nursery’s roof. For once, Wyatt was thankful for the splatter; at least the incessant downpour kept customers away long enough for him to begin his assault on the books. The longer he was back at the nursery, the more he realized their financial hardship wasn’t due to a lack of sales, but the mismanagement—or rather lack of management—of funds. The newfound knowledge provided a glimmer of hope—if he could get a handle on things and plot out a plan. Both his mom and Reese were geniuses when it came to design and plant care, but neither had a clue as to how much cash was coming in or going out. The lack of communication was worse than a pedestrian playing chicken with a train.
“You, change? That’s a thought to ponder.” Kami grinned and inched the thermos toward him. “But I like it. Maybe a cup or two of the pizzeria’s coffee will chase the cobwebs from your brain, then we’ll talk some more.”
“Works for me. I enjoy talking with you.” He reached for the thermos and unscrewed the cap, sniffing. A groan of satisfaction erupted. “This smells too good for words.”
“It’s strong with light, non-flavored cream, just the way you like it, and brewed only minutes ago.”
“You remembered.”
“Of course.” She unzipped her rain jacket, shrugged out of it and draped it over
an empty chair. “Thanks for finishing my flower beds. With all you have going on here, it was really nice of you to take the time.”
“I promised I would help you with that part of it, so you’re welcome. I noticed you got the rose bushes in.”
“And the daffodils this morning before this storm moved in. Jada showed up for the breakfast shift and was in the mood to stay for a while. I think she’s developed a fondness for Fred, who’s been coming around more often to help Dad with the food preparation.”
“That’s a nice turn of events.”
“I think so, too. With both of them on the clock, I made good use of a little free time.”
“What’s next on your landscaping agenda?”
“Your mom suggested a magnolia bush for my front bed, near the road and beside the driveway. She said they’re easy to care for and nearly impossible to kill, so that works for me.”
“Yes, magnolias are known for their hardiness.”
“And I thought a handful of begonias might add a splash of color around the mailbox. I especially like the red ones.”
“That’s the most popular color, due to the vibrancy. But they’re annuals, so you’ll have to replace them every year. Have you considered that?”
“Oh, no I haven’t.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, let it go again. “I suppose that’s okay. I’m developing a fondness for digging in the dirt. There’s something very calming about the feel of soil between my fingers and the kiss of sunshine on my back.”
“Nice visual.” He’d watched her bring the ceramic planters to life with a waterfall of wave petunias just last night. “I think you have a gift with words…among other things.”
“Tell my dad. I’ve tried to convince him to update our menus and some of the signage in the diner, but convincing him to move forward is like drilling a hole through a brick wall.”
