Secretly Smitten (37 page)

Ethan lowered Clare to the grass, her body as limp and light as a flower petal.

“Clare.” He pulled off his gloves, brushed her bangs from her eyes, then set his hand on her forehead. Burning up, just as he thought. Her glassy blue eyes and flushed cheeks had given her away. She had no business being here, stubborn woman.

“Clare, wake up.”

He was about to go for help when her eyelids fluttered.

Her blank stare slowly focused on him. “What—what am I—”

“You passed out.”

She blinked, tried to sit up.

He stopped her. “Lie still.”

“I just stood up too fast. I’m okay.”

“You’re sick as a dog. Oughta be home in bed.”

She ran a hand over her face. Smoothed back her glossy brown hair. “I just need some Tylenol.”

And her head examined. “There’re only two deliveries left—I can handle it; you go home.”

She sat up. “It’s mulch and gravel—haven’t done that yet. Won’t take long.”

Was she that stubborn or did she think him incompetent? He pulled out the big guns, eyeing her hard. “Don’t make me get your grandma.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but they closed in a slow blink as if that was too much work. Sick or no, she was cute as a button.

He took her arm. “I’m taking you home. Ready to stand? Up you go.”

She wobbled as she came to her feet but pulled from his grasp anyway. “I can do it. And I can drive myself.”

“And pass out on the road? I don’t think so. You should probably see a doctor.”

“I just need rest.”

He helped her to the truck, then retrieved her purse from the office. Her head fell against the seat back as she directed him to her house. In between directives, she talked him through the mulch and gravel deliveries, her speech slow and groggy.

Clare lived just outside town in a neighborhood with generous wooded lots. Her beige Craftsman featured a quaint porch edged with a proliferation of well-groomed flowering and climbing plants.

He shut off the truck and helped her into the house, where a lively golden retriever met them at the door.

“Down, Dixie. Thanks for the ride,” she said, already on her way to her bedroom.

“I’ll lock up,” he muttered to himself.

Dixie followed Clare around the corner. He noticed the dog bowls in the kitchen. No telling when Clare would be up again. He topped off the water bowl and gave Dixie a pat when she returned to lap up the fresh water. Then, just like that, the dog was trotting back to Clare, tail wagging, nails clicking on the hardwood floors.

He turned the lock on the door and let himself out.

CHAPTER THREE

C
lare woke to sunlight streaming through her lacy curtains.

She squinted at her nightstand. 8:39. Beside her clock, an empty bowl, a glass of water, a limp rag, a thermometer.

She had vague recollections of Grandma stopping by earlier —yesterday?—checking her temp, setting a cool cloth on her forehead. Staggering back and forth to the bathroom. Mom and Zoe coming in with soup. Tess with Tylenol and tea.

Good grief, how long had she been sick? She sat up and found her cell phone plugged in and charging. May 25. . . Saturday? It was Wednesday when Ethan had practically carried her into her house.

She threw off the covers, startling Dixie, who was curled at her feet.

“Morning, sweetie.” She took a moment to scratch behind the dog’s ears in case she’d been worried, then headed to the shower on rickety legs.

Memorial Day weekend, one of their busiest. And Mr. Lewis was returning today! She rushed through her shower, dressed, and pulled her hair back. Then she remembered that her truck was still at the nursery. But when she glanced outside, she found it parked in the drive. Breathing a sigh of relief, she fed Dixie, then grabbed a granola bar and OJ on the way out.

She forced herself to keep to the speed limit on her way to work. The place was probably in ruins. She’d hired a stranger—a drifter, no less—and taken to her bed for three days! The man drove a motorcycle, no doubt had a wardrobe of black leather, probably had tattoos up and down his spine. What had she been thinking? Mr. Lewis would never leave the hiring to her again.

Worse, she’d had no time to train the new man. He didn’t know how to deadhead the plants or tell a healthy tree from an unhealthy one. Plus she was supposed to approve an ad for today’s newspaper, and Mulligan’s Mulch had been scheduled to deliver a fresh truckload on Thursday. Ethan wouldn’t have known how to handle any of that; how could he? He’d probably quit on day two, and Mr. Lewis, no doubt, had arrived home to a complete mess. Why had she made that stupid decision to be impulsive?

See? This was why sensible worked. This was why she didn’t go off all willy-nilly, taking reckless risks.

God, please. Don’t let Mr. Lewis fire me, because I don’t know what else I’d do. It’s not like I have other skills. And the nearest nursery is miles away, remember, God?

She forced down the granola bar, her hands shaking. When she pulled up the drive and down the lane, she found the parking area full, the grounds buzzing with life. She prayed the newspaper ad hadn’t gone to print with something like
Free
perennials!
instead of
Fresh
perennials!
It had nearly happened two years ago.

Clare rushed through the barn. Rose was busy assisting Shelby Majors with a hanging planter of asylum and phlox. Aunt Violet was on the phone. Clare headed straight back to Mr. Lewis’s office and tapped on the door.

“Come in.”

“Mr. Lewis, I’m so sorry about—”

Ethan stood, removing his baseball cap.

Still here.

Mr. Lewis brushed a thin hand over his ruddy cheeks. “Clare, for heaven’s sake. Whatever’s the matter?”

“I—” She looked at Ethan. His expression gave away nothing. She faced Mr. Lewis. “I’ve been sick.”

He patted her arm. “I know, your grandma filled me in. You should go home. You still look a little peaked.”

“I’m fine. I—is everything okay here?” She looked back and forth between them.

“Everything’s fine. Ethan was just filling me in on everything I missed. Good hire, by the way.” He nodded toward Ethan. “Well done, Clare. I can always count on you to do the job right.”

“Thank—thank you, Mr. Lewis.”

She picked up the newspaper from the corner of his desk and opened it to the ad on the back of the Living section.

“The ad’s perfect,” her boss continued. “Rose said she was collecting a lot of coupons this morning. Sure you’re up to working?”

Clare glanced through the open door into the store, where everything appeared to be running like clockwork. “I’m fine now. Just a quick virus, I guess.”

“Your grandma was worried. She said you passed out on Wednesday.” He forked his fingers through the dozen or so hairs left on top.

“Well, right as rain now.” She looked at Ethan. “I’m sure we have some deliveries to make. Ready to get to it?”

Moments later she and Ethan were headed toward the loading area. Everything was in its place. It was as if she’d never been gone.

“How did you do all this, know what to do?”

He shrugged. “Been around, worked a lot of jobs. You do the work of two people around here. You really feeling better?”

“Much.”

“We’re about out of hanging baskets. Design is where my skills end.”

“And where mine begin. I’ll get started on those if you can get the first delivery set to go.”

“Already loaded, boss.” He gave a crooked grin that made her heart stutter.

“All right then.”

He placed his cap on his head and started for the truck. She watched him retreat, noticing his broad shoulders, his muscled arms, bronze already from the spring sun. The man might be a drifter, might look like a rebel, but he was capable enough, she’d give him that. He’d sure saved her rear end this week.

“Hey, Ethan.”

He turned, the sun hitting his eyes, making them like caramel.

“Thanks.”

He jerked his chin up and gave a hint of a smile.

CHAPTER FOUR

I
miss Grandma and Aunt Violet.” Zoe fished a spoon from the silverware drawer and put it in her orange Jell-O. “It’s been weeks since they’ve joined us.”

Anna shooed Clare out of her way and lifted the Crock-Pot lid. “Church is like a war zone. Who to sit with? I hate it.”

The savory smell of slow-cooked roast made Clare’s mouth water. “If you think that’s bad, try working with them. Smells good, Mom.”

Zoe stole a forkful of roast and winged it to her mouth before Anna could swat her hand.

“I don’t envy you.” Tess poured lemonade at their mom’s oak table.

“I’ve tried talking to your grandma, but the more I talk, the deeper in she digs.”

“I’ve tried too,” Clare said. “They’re both stubborn.”

Sunlight streamed in from the window and a light breeze fluttered the quilted valance.

“How are the spinning classes going, Mom?” Tess asked.

“I can’t believe how many have signed up. It’s become my most popular class. And I’m actually enjoying the sheep.”

“She named them and everything,” Zoe said.

Anna set the roast on the table and touched Clare’s cheeks. “You look so much better, sweetie. I didn’t like seeing you all flushed and lifeless.”

“Did McBad Boy really carry you into your house?” Zoe asked.

“Who?” Clare took a seat.

Tess added a sly grin. “That’s what they’re calling him.”

“Word is he’s a convict just released from prison,” Zoe said.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Anna frowned as she took her seat. “What do you know about him, Clare? Where’d he come from?”

After a full week in her employ, Ethan was still a mystery. “I—I’m not sure. He doesn’t talk about himself.”

“You mean you hired him without a background check?” Zoe asked. “Without a healthy dose of truth serum or at least a lie detector test?”

Clare narrowed her eyes. “Obviously my intuition was spot-on. He happens to be the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Whoa-ho!” Zoe smiled.

“You know what I mean. Besides, he’s no convict. He was even at church today; didn’t you see him?”

“No . . . ,” Tess said. “But then, I wasn’t looking for him.”

Clare flicked her napkin at Tess. “Can we bless the food? It’s getting cold.”

They joined hands and Anna said grace, then they passed the dishes.

Clare took a bite of Tess’s maple baked beans. “Mm. These are so good, Tess.”

“Eat up, honey,” their mom said. “That virus took a few pounds off, I think. You look a little gaunt.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“I’ve been thinking about your birthday, Clare,” Tess said. “It’s only two months away.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Natalie said we could take over the coffee shop for a few hours. Does that sound good?”

“Thirty . . .” Clare blew on a forkful of broccoli. “I’m getting so old.”