by Nora Roberts
“But what about watering all this?”
“Drip hoses, self-watering pots. Low-maintenance.”
“Honey, this is … ambitious to say the least. And even if I said yes, you can’t take on all this expense.”
Darby tracked her gaze up to Emily’s. “We had a house. I sold it. And sold the business. Then there was my mom’s life insurance. I’ve run a business already, and I have a business plan now. This is an investment in that. If you like it, you might hire me to do another bungalow. You’ll tell your neighbors I do good work. They’ll see it for themselves.”
She sat back on her heels. “You run a business, so you know what goes into it. Yours came through your family, too, so you know the pride and responsibility of that. Worst case, you don’t like my vision once it’s realized. Best, you do. And there’s a lot between worst and best.”
So young, Emily thought, but good God, confident.
“You’re taking all the risk.”
“I’ll be doing what I love, and what I’m good at. I have a degree in landscaping, and one in business management, and I’ve worked in the field for fourteen years. I’m confident in my skill, enough to offer this knowing you’re going to be happy with the result. If you let me try.”
“God, girl, you really know how to make a pitch.”
Now Darby flashed a smile that danced into those deep blue eyes. “It’s part of my charm.”
“If I agreed, when would you start?”
Inside her head, Darby pumped fists in the air. “If you say go, I can have the slate and builder’s sand I have on hold here this afternoon.”
“On hold?”
Darby’s smile only pumped up brighter. “Optimism’s also part of my charm.”
“I don’t know why I’m more nervous about this than you are, but I am.” There was something, Emily thought, something about the girl. “Okay, Darby, we’ll try it out.”
“I want to yell yay, but the baby fell asleep. I’ll wait until I’m outside.” But she gripped Emily’s hand. “You won’t regret it.”
“Lord, honey, I hope you don’t.”
“Not a chance. I am really damn good at this.”
“Aren’t you going to need help? Stone has to be heavy.”
“Stronger than I look, but I’ve got a helper in mind. Joy and Frank said Roy Dawson’s a good worker.”
“He is,” Emily agreed. “Affable, too. He mostly does odd jobs. He’s prone to wander from one to the next, when the whim strikes him.”
“So they said. Anyway, I talked to him yesterday. He said he’d give me a hand, so I’ll give him a call.” Darby pushed to her feet. “Thank you, Emily. I’m going to send you my client list—you can contact anyone on it. I shut down our web page when I sold, but you can still get to some of it. I’ll send you the URL.”
She blew out a breath. “Now I’m going to go get started.” She bolted for the door, stopped. “I’m going to make you a low-maintenance showpiece.”
Emily sat, a little shell-shocked, and heard the echoing “YAY!” as Darby raced back to the cabin.
CHAPTER NINE
Roy Dawson proved a good and affable worker. He sang or whistled as he worked, didn’t haggle about salary, and had no problem taking cash as payment as casual labor until Darby’s business license came through.
A beefy guy with a scraggly beard, he wore more scraggly hair under a faded New Orleans Saints gimme cap. With his help, Darby removed the old gravel, widened the existing path, leveled it, poured the builder’s sand.
Though she wanted the path to look organic, she rented a wet saw to trim some of the slate to suit her. The first time she used it, Roy had shaken his head.
“I’ve seen girls use saws before, but never seen one use one of those. You’re a caution, Miss Darby.”
He wouldn’t drop the Miss, so Darby ran with it.
And since the man was as strong as a pair of oxen and didn’t quibble about sweaty work, they had the path nearly done in two days.
“Here come the po-lice,” Roy said as she laid the level on the next piece of stone.
Darby looked around when the cruiser pulled into the driveway.
The man who got out had a strong build, a lot of gray shot through his hair. He didn’t wear a uniform, but jeans and a T-shirt.
Rising, Darby brushed off the knees of her own jeans, hoped she didn’t smell too bad after a day of hauling and placing stone.
“Hey there, Roy. Ms. McCray. I’m Chief Keller, Emily’s husband.”
“Nice to meet you.” She pulled off a work glove to shake. “I’m grateful for the opportunity here.”
“I haven’t had a chance to get down, take a look before this. You’re damn near done with the walk. Looks—it looks good.”
“Miss Darby says it won’t have grass growing up in the cracks. She’s gonna plant stuff there instead.”
“Irish moss. You’ll have Irish moss planted by somebody named Darby McCray—it’s lucky. We’ll finish the stone today.”
“I have to say, it makes a difference.”
“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” She grinned at him.
“Well, what I see looks pretty good. I came down to take a look, and to let you know the town planner said your business license came in.”
“It did? Oh my God. Oh my God, Roy, we’re in business!” She threw her arms around him, made him blush bright red, then swung away to dance.
“She’s a caution,” Roy told Lee.
“I can see that.”
It took most of a week to lay the patio, mortar the joints. Then she dug in, literally.
In Roy’s truck—she’d trade her car in for one of her own when her first job was finished—they loaded her selected plants in the bed. For this job, she dealt exclusively with Joy and Frank. Nothing too fancy. She selected the pots, the annuals, and because it struck her as just right, a good-size wind chime she’d hang on a branch at the edge of the woods.
She ended each day filthy, sweaty, and blissfully happy.
After each completed project, she took pictures. She needed to build her website again.
She dug, planted, placed, pruned, edged, spread the yards of mulch Roy hauled in his truck.
He stood back as she placed a pot on the front porch.
“It looks a picture, Miss Darby. I swear I can’t hardly believe I had a part in it.”
“You sweat—and you bled a few times. You had as much a part as I did. That’s why you’re going to be my first official employee.”
“Oh, now, Miss Darby—”
“I’m not going to take no.” She knelt to fill another pot with the flowers she’d picked. “You already know I’m a good boss, I know you’re a good worker. You’ve got a good eye for this work, too, which is why I’m giving you a dollar raise over what I’ve been paying you. Starting tomorrow.”
“You said we’re done here today. We got no work tomorrow.”
“We will have.” Please, God. “If we don’t, you’re going to go with me to look at that house I’m thinking about. If I buy it for the business, I’m going to need to build a greenhouse. And an equipment shed.”
“You move so damn fast my head’s in a spin most of the time.”
“You can fill out the paperwork tomorrow.” She looked up at him.
She knew he more or less worked when he pleased as a man-of-all-work, had a girlfriend of four years, a mother he visited nearly daily.
“I couldn’t have done this without you. Not just the muscle, Roy. I needed the company, your eye, and your connections. So you be here at seven sharp, ready to work. You’re High Country Landscaping’s most valued employee.”
“You ain’t got but me.”
“I will have, but you’re the first, and the best. See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t you work too late, Miss Darby.”
“Just going to finish the pots, give them a good drink.”
“It sure looks a picture,” he repeated, and got into his truck.
/> She planted in the quiet, just her and the breeze off the lake, the scents of the heliotrope, the dianthus, the sweet alyssum in her pots wafting up.
Once she’d finished, watered, wandered, cleaned up—because dear God she was a mess—maybe she’d call Emily, ask if she would come down and see how it all looked.
When she placed the pot, she sat, rested her chin on her fist, and looked out at the lake. Lots of boats now on this late afternoon as March moved in. So much green in the woods, on the hills, and wildflowers celebrating.
Yeah, she’d water, clean up, call Emily.
Even as she pushed to her feet, she heard the voices. Emily’s laugh—pure and happy. A man’s with it, warm and easy.
She looked down at herself, thought, Crap, then, Oh well. Then walked down to meet them.
The man—not the chief—had his arm slung around Emily’s shoulders. They looked at each other as they walked, and the love, affection, mutual delight just shined.
Taller than Lee—easily six-three—and somewhere in his thirties by her gauge. A lot of dark hair tousled every which way by the breeze. Jeans covered long legs she imagined could eat up the ground, but he paced himself to Emily’s stride.
Probably the lawyer nephew come home from Raleigh. No one had mentioned said nephew was gorgeous.
He glanced over then, spotted her, gave Emily a little nudge.
“Darby! Zane, this is Darby McCray. My nephew, Zane. He’s barely gotten home, and I’m dragging him out. We were outside when Roy drove by. He called out you were done.”
“Nice to meet you.” She looked down at her hand, decided it was clean enough, and offered it to shake.
“You, too. She didn’t drag me, but apparently Emily’s been waiting until you finished to take a look.”
“I know. First client I’ve ever had who never looked, peeked, changed the plan, or wondered when I’d finish. And now you’re ten minutes early.”
“Early?” Emily repeated.
“I still have some tools out, and I haven’t swept up. But since you’re here … Just—remember, if there’s anything you don’t like, I can change it. If you hate it all, well, I’ll rip it all out, then kill myself. But that’s on me.”
“Pills, the rope, or the bullet?”
Darby couldn’t see Zane’s eyes through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, but decided they smiled. “The lake’s right there. Might as well drown.”
“Let’s take a look, Em, see how long Darby here has to live.”
“God, you two. Now I’m nervous.”
But she rounded the curve in the road.
Darby didn’t hold her breath—exactly. She only mentally crossed her fingers for luck as Emily stopped, stared.
“You see the—” And broke off whatever she’d wanted to say when Emily waved a hand at her.
Then Emily pressed both hands to her mouth as tears swam in her eyes.
“Oh God, please be happy tears.”
“You did this?” Zane murmured.
“Roy and I did this. Emily—”
This time the words cut off when Emily threw her arms around Darby.
“Oh! I’m filthy, and sweaty, and smelly.”
“Shut up.” Emily just hugged tighter. “You have no idea. No idea.”
So Darby hugged back, looked up at Zane over Emily’s shoulder. “No idea’s good, right?”
“Definitely.”
Zane saw the bungalow, so familiar, transformed. The same structure, sturdy and simple, in a setting that turned the sturdy and simple into the charming, the welcoming.
The stone path meandered—the word that came to mind—as if to say nobody had to rush. Flowering shrubs swept along the porch, others kind of danced in and out of the woods. He spotted a pawpaw, one of the few he could name, and heard music.
He scanned, found the long copper tubes of a wind-chime swaying in the breeze. Flowers spilled out of pots on the porch. They just looked happy.
“You painted the porch chairs.”
“It wasn’t in the plans, but once things started going in, they looked a little dull. The lake can get that deep blue color, so I thought we’d bring it into the scheme.”
Emily drew back, kept her hands on Darby’s shoulders. “I got so used to seeing what was, always. We’d update the interior, you have to. But I never thought about this. My boys—you met my boys.”
“Yeah, they’re great. Gabe helped us out a few times.”
“They’d start to tell me what was going on, and I’d shush them because I wanted to come to it finished. I knew it would look better. I never expected it to look amazing.”
She turned to Zane. “You’ve got your phone on you. Can you take some pictures we can send to Grams and Pop? My parents are going to flip, just flip.”
“You haven’t seen the back patio.”
“I forgot about it.” Emily let out that rolling laugh, grabbed Darby’s hand. “What’s growing in the walkway cracks?”
“Irish moss,” Darby said as they walked. “It’s already taken a good hold. You can walk on it, it’s easy to maintain, and it’ll fill the cracks, add to the natural look of the walkway.”
“Everything smells so good.”
“I added some fragrants.”
“Oh my God, Zane, look at this!” Emily broke away to step onto the slate patio.
“You laid the stone?”
Darby nodded at Zane. “Roy and I.”
“Roy’s no stonemason.”
“He’s a good worker, and a fast learner.”
“You built a window box—I love it. For herbs.” Still beaming, Emily brushed her fingers through basil, oregano, sage, parsley, thyme. “I know herbs even if I can’t grow them.”
“You can. I’ll teach you. I thought, some of the guests will want to stay in, cook. It’s a nice kitchen. So you can tell them to use the herbs if they want. And that rosemary against the corner of the house? It’s sheltered there, and will grow to a nice-sized shrub. It’ll smell great, and you can use it.”
“You painted the chairs here, too,” Zane commented.
“So it flows. I used bigger, vertical planters here because it’s more open. They’re all—like the porch pots, the window box—self-watering. They have a reservoir for water, a wicking basket to prevent root rot. Housekeeping only needs to check them every couple of weeks, fill the reservoir as necessary. And we can switch out the plantings seasonally.”
“The little picnic table and benches.”
“All Roy.” It gave Darby pride to say so. “He sanded, stained, sealed. It doesn’t look showroom new—we didn’t want that. But it looks fresh.”
“Get some pictures, will you, Zane? I’m just going to…”
As she wandered off, Darby took a step after her. Zane laid a hand on Darby’s arm.
“She needs a little alone.”
“Okay.”
“She loves this place, all of it. We all do, but for Emily it’s always been home, and legacy and pride and responsibility. You added to that. It looks great. More, it looks right, and—this is a compliment—as if it’s always looked like this.”
Darby felt a little misty herself. “That’s a perfect compliment.”
He pulled out his phone, then took off his sunglasses to frame in a shot.
Her heart knocked once. Silly, but there it was. “You have her eyes.”
“Sorry?”
“Emily. You have Emily’s eyes.”
“Walker green.”
“Brody has his mom’s eyes in his dad’s face, Gabe his dad’s eyes in his mom’s face.”
Zane took a couple of shots, lowered the phone. “I never thought about it exactly that way, but you’re right.”
“The whole family’s happy you’re moving back.”
“It seemed like time. And you’re moving here. Bigger change for you.”
“It seemed like time.”
She liked his smile. It started slow, ended a little crooked. Like his nose, she thought. He’d broken it a
long the way—she knew how that felt.
Emily came back, heaved a big sigh. “Okay. Zane, I have to ask you for a big favor.”
“Sure.”
“I need you to go back to the house, get a bottle of wine.”
“I have wine.”
Emily angled her head at Darby. “Enough for the three of us to sit and have a conversation?”
“Conversational wine.” Darby nodded. “I can handle that.”
“Great. Zane, give her a hand. I’m going to sit here and bask while you do.”
“I love that she’s basking,” Darby said as they went inside. “I like clients to kind of check things as we go, but she just wouldn’t.”
She got the wine, and didn’t have to tell him where to find the glasses, the corkscrew. “You’ve put in some time in the bungalows.”
“You don’t live with Emily and not work the bungalows. Family business,” he added as he pulled the cork.
Family business she understood. But the “live with Emily” came as new information.
What about his parents? And now that she thought of it, she’d heard not a word about any sibling of Emily’s along her chatty journeys.
They took the wine and glasses outside where Emily sat with a dreamy smile at the picnic table.
“I’m coming back tomorrow—unless I’ll be in your way—and taking some pictures for the website.”
“You won’t be in my way.” After pouring the wine, Darby sat. “Plus, I’ll have the potting soil swept up by then.”
Emily took a sip of wine, studied the glass. “I know a little about wine, and this is nice. I know nothing about flowers that don’t come in a vase. I know a little about trees and can recognize an azalea.”
She took another sip. “I know business, customer service, raising kids. Adding business to what my eyes tell me, I know once I put photos on the website, add them to the brochures, I’m likely, very, to see an increase in interest and rentals for this bungalow. Considering that, and everything else, I’m not going to let you bear the expense for all of this.”
Darby’s shoulders went from relaxed to stiff. Zane saw the change from across the table.
“We had a deal.”
“I’m changing the deal,” Emily said easily. “And I have my lawyer right here. If you’re as good a businesswoman as you are a landscaper, and I suspect you are, you have all your receipts and a good accounting of the materials, the time and labor that went into this project.”
