Secretly Smitten (36 page)

She stared at him, searching for a reason, any reason, to say no. Something besides his too-deep voice, his all-seeing eyes, and the memory of his warm hand.

But she came up empty, and he was waiting. “All right.”

His lips lifted in something just short of a smile. “All right.”

She cleared a space as he walked his bike past her, out the door, onto the wet gravel. He straddled the seat and started the engine.

She wondered where he was going. Night had fallen, and Timber Lake Lodge was likely full. She doubted he could afford it anyway. Carson’s cabins were no cheaper, and besides, she couldn’t picture the man under a down duvet or in a heart-shaped tub . . .

“What time?” he asked.

She stared at him blankly. “What?”

“In the morning.”

She crossed her arms against the chill. “Oh. Eight, I guess.”

He nodded once and let off the clutch, then sped down the dark gravel drive.

Well, Clare, there goes your spontaneous decision. I hope you don’t live to regret it
.

CHAPTER TWO

E
than closed his Bible. He couldn’t make his mind stick on the words tonight. Instead, he reviewed the confrontation with his new boss until he’d memorized every detail. Clare Thomas.

He flicked off his flashlight and slid deeper into the sleeping bag. Not even the cold was going to shatter his good mood. It had been a productive night. First he’d found a camping spot with a picnic table, a fire pit, and a grove of evergreens, complete with a soft bed of pine needles. Then he’d scored a job. Plus he’d discovered a coffee shop in town that opened early enough for a hot cup of coffee before he had to show up for work. A lucky night for sure.

He pictured Clare again, sopping wet in those baggy overalls, wielding a rake, and gave in to the grin he’d smothered earlier. A rake. Really? Did she think he couldn’t see the fear sparking in her smoky blue eyes?

It hadn’t been the best way to get a job, but it had worked. He closed his eyes, letting his body sink into the bag, and whispered a prayer of thanks. He’d found no work in the last three Vermont towns, and gas and food had dwindled his resources to nothing. Then he’d entered Smitten and had liked the cozy, small-town feel, the bustle of tourists.

What
do
you
have
in
store
for
me
here, God?

As he pillowed his head with his arm, the image of the long-legged Clare returned. She wasn’t used to feeling threatened, but she’d faked courage pretty well. And she’d surprised him by giving him the job. That didn’t happen often—people surprising him. She’d probably regretted her decision before the sound of his bike had faded in the distance.

But he’d prove her wrong. Just as he’d done with so many before her. Maybe he could even have an impact somehow. After all, that’s why he was here.

Clare’s alarm pierced the morning, startling her awake. Her arm ached. Her whole body ached. She shut off the annoying bleeping and fell back onto her pillow. Her pajama top stuck to her stomach. Her head throbbed.

Perfect.

She’d made it through the whole winter without so much as a sneeze, and now when the nursery was a zoo, when Mr. Lewis was out of town—

—when a new employee was starting!

She closed her eyes, hoping to shut out reality for a few minutes. She needed a little healthy denial. It worked for the mentally unstable. Some days she qualified.

Maybe she’d feel better in a few minutes. Maybe if she just rested a bit. Maybe . . .

A loud continuous chirping chafed the corners of her mind.
Hush, stupid martin.
Her eyes flew open. 7:42 a.m. She’d fallen back asleep!

Muscles protesting, Clare rolled from bed and dragged herself into the shower. Her skin crawled as she dried off and dressed. She pulled her damp hair into a low ponytail and topped off her morning rituals with two Tylenols.

Just before she pulled into the nursery drive, she glanced in her visor mirror. Her eyes looked glassy and her cheeks were flushed. Oh well. There was no help for it. The clock read 8:00 as she turned off the ignition.

Ethan Foster waited outside the red barn in work boots and work clothes. He turned as she approached. “Morning.”

The double-take made her head throb. She wouldn’t have recognized him if not for those gentle eyes.

“You shaved.” She cleared the croak from her voice as she unlocked the door and let him in.

The facial hair had hidden a square jawline, a cleft in his chin, a tiny scar by the corner of his lips.

The lights hurt her eyes when she flipped them on. Her limbs dragged as if working through molasses.

“This is the garden center. My Grandma Rose and Aunt Violet help out in here, plus a couple of part-time high school kids. You’ll mostly be helping me out back.”

He followed her to her office, where she checked her schedule.

“We have some deliveries today.” She cleared the frog from her throat again, but that only made her cough.

“You okay?” he asked when her fit ended.

“Fine.” She picked up the stack of invoices.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll find you a map for the deliveries, then we’ll load the truck.”

So much for sitting Grandma and Aunt Rose down for a nice long chat. For once she didn’t care about their ongoing war, as long as they handled the walk-ins.

Clare had Ethan pull the company truck around back while she set aside the bushes and trees Reese and Griffen Parker had purchased. They’d bought the old Halverson place after they’d married in the fall. Now that spring was here, a little landscaping was in order. They were taking the day off work to put the plants in the ground.

She helped Ethan load the bed. Her heart raced and her head pounded. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep up. She wiped away the sweat that beaded on her forehead as he pulled away. She could only pray he’d follow her unloading instructions . . . and didn’t have a secret history filled with dead bodies.

She couldn’t believe she’d hired him without checking his references. She sent Reese a text while she caught her breath, letting her know who was doing the delivery.

Grandma and Aunt Violet arrived shortly after Ethan left. She waved hello and acted busy so they’d get to work right away. If they took one look in Clare’s glassy eyes, they’d send her straight home.

The morning moved slowly. She heard Grandma and Violet advising customers, but they never spoke to each other. She had to do something soon. How could two sisters be so stubborn?

Aunt Violet came into the greenhouse at noon. “I’m headed home for lunch if you’d like to—oh dear, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Clare brushed some dead fronds from a Boston fern.

“You’re flushed.” Her penciled-in eyebrow twitched. “Maybe it’s something to do with that new young man you hired.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Where’d he come from anyway?”

“He’s new to the area. Needed a job.”

“Well, heaven knows you can use the help around here. Jim Lewis should’ve let you hire someone long ago.”

“Clare, dear, do you want to grab a—” Grandma froze when she spotted Violet, her lips thinning. “Oh.”

“Clare’s going to lunch with
me
.”

“Maybe that’s because she hasn’t had a better offer.”

“Oh, you think your offer is—”

“Ladies! I appreciate your offers—both of you. But I’m working through lunch today.” The sooner to get home and fall into bed. “Why don’t you keep each other company?”

“Ha! Fat chance,” Violet said.

Grandma’s chin lifted. She turned on her heel, her slim shoulders square and high.

“You two can’t keep at it like this. You’re sisters.”

“She’s the one who’s making this difficult, not me,” Violet said.

Clare covered the floor for Grandma and Rose while they took their lunches—separately. Aunt Violet returned just before Ethan. Two deliveries down, three to go. Clare met him out back.

“How’d it go?” She’d been nervous about sending Ethan on that run. Mr. Metcalf was so particular.

“You still here?”

“Was Mr. Metcalf satisfied with the trees?”

“Seemed to be.”

Clare felt her cheeks warm more as he looked her over good. She didn’t like the way he seemed to see right into her.

“You should go home.”

She began loading Ellie Draper’s annuals. A flat of violas and pansies. Larkspur. The amethyst petunias looked especially nice. Ellie would love those.

“I can finish here,” Ethan said.

“You don’t know what she wants.”

He slid the flat of pansies deep into the bed. “Says right on the sheet.”

“Well, you didn’t talk to her, don’t know her or her garden space.” She turned into him with a mature hosta.

He took it from her. “Suit yourself.”

When he left, she prepared the next load, the fatigue getting the best of her. She was relieved when she finished deadheading the flowers. She had three minutes to grab some water and rest before she heard the truck rumble up to the yard.

Just
two
more,
she promised her body,
then
you
can
rest.

A wave of dizziness flooded over her when she stood. She took a second, then left her office.

Ethan lowered the tailgate as she approached. “Nice lady.”

“She owns the fudge shop in town.”

He tossed her a grin. “Good thing I was nice. She was pleased with the flowers.”

“Good.”

They loaded six window planters for the Maple Valley Inn. Clare had arranged them herself. Despite her dragging body, she perked at the aesthetically pleasing mixture of annuals and greenery. The rustic green boxes matched the inn’s canopies, and the purple petunias and pansies added a splash of color. She couldn’t wait to see them up on the lodge-style inn.

She bent down for the large porch planter.

“Let me help.”

They squatted opposite each other, getting under the ceramic planter. They lifted together, balancing the pot between them. As they set the planter on the tailgate, a wave of dizziness crashed over Clare, making her waver.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Darkness closed in, fogging her sight until only two points of vision remained.

Panic welled up, loosening her tongue. “Ethan,” she said. Or thought she did.

And then, darkness.