A Summer Romance (2 page)

In the center of the grand room was a
beautifully carved wooden table, shined to a high gloss. An elegant
glass vase adorned the table overflowing with fragrant lilies.
Resting against the vase was an envelope with her name on it.

Maggie approached the table slowly, afraid
that any sudden movement would wake her from this wonderful dream
and she would find herself back in that dreadful motel in Virginia.
She opened the envelope and found a note inside, along with the
$3,000 that was promised to her.

The note outlined a very specific set of
instructions. Harvesting of the peach orchards would begin in July
and Maggie’s main purpose was to be present at the home while the
workers were on the property, however, the groundskeeper would
actually oversee the harvesting crew. It also explained that the
groundskeeper would be maintaining the property around the home and
that a housekeeping service would arrive weekly. Maggie was
required to be at the home when the landscaping and housekeeping
personnel were present. Otherwise she was free to come and go as
she pleased.

The letter also explained that the West wing
of the second floor contained several guest bedrooms, of which
Maggie could have her pick, however, she was expressly forbidden
from entering the East wing at any time, for any reason. No
explanation was given.

Finally it gave a brief explanation for the
owner’s absence. Apparently the elusive Ms. Devereaux preferred to
spend her summers up North. Now that Maggie had experienced a few
minutes of the Georgia summer heat she could clearly understand
why. The message ended with the instruction that Maggie was
expected to remain on the premises until the last day of August
when harvesting would be complete.

Maggie looked around at the magnificent room
that she was standing in and then down at the cash that she was
holding in her hands. It all seemed too good to be true. For some
reason she had been chosen to look over this amazing house, somehow
deemed trustworthy by this woman from a thousand miles away. The
absurdity of the situation had still not left her. More importantly
Maggie couldn’t believe she was being paid so well to live in a
mansion rent-free just to oversee a maid service and a gardener.
She read the note over carefully, looking for the catch, but she
found none.

In addition to her instructions Maggie found
a small hand drawn map giving her directions from the plantation to
the nearest town of Sweetwater. To Maggie’s relief it didn’t seem
too far and if it wasn’t for the oppressive heat it might even be
considered walking distance. However under these conditions even
walking to her car seemed a near impossible feat.

That thought suddenly reminded her of poor
Fred still sitting on the passenger seat in Old Betty, probably
being baked alive. Maggie hurried back out the front door to rescue
her poor little plant from the Georgia heat. Stepping outside felt
like stepping into a sauna; however, this time she had been
prepared for it so it was slightly more bearable. She scurried down
the steps and was relieved to find Fred was still alive and well,
if not slightly wilted. She popped the trunk and juggled her few
bags with one hand while securely holding Fred with the other. She
was grateful that she didn’t have much, because making two trips
just really wasn’t worth it.

Even in her rush to get back inside she was
able to once again appreciate the beauty that surrounded her. It
really was a shame that this heat would probably keep her indoors
most of the summer. At least the view from the windows would be
nice.

Once back inside she set her bags at her
feet and placed Fred beside the elegant vase on the centerpiece
table. He looked so sad and scraggly next to the extravagant
lilies, completely out of place, a perfect metaphor for how Maggie
felt at the moment.

As Maggie woke the next morning she was
momentarily disoriented. It took her a few minutes to remember time
and place. She was entirely too comfortable and the smell was all
wrong. Instead of the dusty smell of old brick which had permeated
her living quarters for the last several years she instead smelled…
roses?

All it took was for her to open her eyes to
remember that she was not in the small confines of her old dorm
room but instead sprawled out in the middle of a four poster
feather bed located in one of the most luxurious bedrooms she’d
ever stepped foot in.

It had taken Maggie nearly three hours to
explore the house, at least the portions she was allowed, and she
still was sure that she hadn’t seen it all. The main highlight of
the first floor was the library. She imagined she could spend her
entire summer locked in that grand room and not even put a dent in
the volumes of books that it housed. The parlor on the opposite
side of the circular foyer was also quite inviting with all its
southern charm and antique furniture. Being in that room really
gave the illusion of having stepped back in time. For Maggie it was
the perfect escape from the modern world from which she’d fled.

The second floor had nine bedrooms in the
West wing alone. All of the bedrooms had full bathrooms, walk-in
closets, sitting areas, queen size beds and French doors leading to
a wrapping balcony that circled the back of the house. Each room
was distinguished by a different arrangement of fresh flowers that
corresponded with the color palate and décor. Maggie had chosen the
rose room.

On both of the nightstands near the bed were
small glass vases, each holding a single white rose that matched
the pearl-white embroidered bedspread and plush white carpet. In
the sitting area was a larger bouquet of pale peach roses that
accented the sheer peach curtains that were draped over the French
doors leading onto the balcony, and the tiny sprigs of light blue
baby’s breath in this arrangement were a near identical match to
the soft blue settee and Queen Anne chairs.

The large walk-in closet had built-in
mahogany shelving and a beautiful mahogany centerpiece table
adorned with vibrant blood-red roses. And finally in the large
bathroom a small bouquet of stunning yellow roses sat in the window
where the morning sunshine flowed through, giving the appearance
that the flowers were absorbing the color of the sun.

Again Maggie was overwhelmed with the
abundance of color surrounding her. Her world of late had seemed so
drab, full of nothing but brick and concrete, dark and dusty. As
she allowed the magic of this place to envelop her, it made her
past seem a distant memory, a bad dream.

Maggie skipped down the stairs feeling
refreshed and alive. She quickly found her way to the large kitchen
which she had located the day before. For all the traditional charm
of this old plantation home the kitchen was entirely modern and
comparatively minimalist.

A wall of windows ran from the high ceilings
all the way to the granite countertops which wrapped around nearly
the entire circumference of the kitchen, only interrupted
occasionally by the stainless steel appliances. An island in the
center of the kitchen held an impressive bouquet of large
sunflowers throwing a splash of color into this room of glass,
steel, and stone.

Maggie crossed to the commercial sized
refrigerator only to find that it was entirely empty. A quick scan
of the freezer revealed only a bag of gourmet coffee grinds, which
in Maggie’s estimation was far more important than anything that
could have been held in the fridge anyway.

She began happily brewing a pot of coffee
then retrieved her fern from the table where she’d left him. She
carried Fred back into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to give
him some water before unlatching one of the window panels above the
sink and pushing it open. The air outside was pleasantly cool, not
at all the stifling heat of the previous day. She placed Fred on
the ledge to soak up some morning sunlight and then turned back to
her coffee.

Maggie poured herself a rich, steaming cup
of coffee and headed back upstairs to her room. The cool morning
air was so inviting that she decided to enjoy her coffee on the
balcony overlooking the grounds.

The view from up there was amazing. Rolling
hills extended as far as she could see, covered with rows upon rows
of peach trees glistening with dew in the morning light. The sweet
smell from the orchards drifted up lazily to the balcony where
Maggie sat enjoying the peaceful morning.

She closed her eyes and slowly rocked her
chair, listening to the sounds of nature: birds singing, tree frogs
chirping. Suddenly a god-awful noise ripped through the air,
metallic and guttural and completely out of place in this idyllic
setting. The sound continued to grind louder and seemed to be
getting closer until it was nearly deafening compared to the
peaceful silence that had preceded it. Maggie jumped from the
rocking chair and leaned over the edge of the balcony to see what
on Earth could be making that horrible sound.

For all the offense the noise was causing,
the visual image below completely made up for it. A tall, muscular
man stood below Maggie in the backyard, completely unaware that he
was being watched as he revved the motor on a large, tractor-sized
lawnmower and tinkered with the engine. Maggie realized this must
be the groundskeeper. She’d imagined some weathered old man. She
was pleasantly surprised as she leaned against the banister sipping
her coffee and ogling unobserved.

He wore a white tank top revealing broad
shoulders and strong muscular arms, with faded jeans riding low on
his narrow hips. A red bandana was tied around his head holding
back a mess of blonde waves. His skin was tanned a light golden
brown and his muscles glistened with sweat as he worked on the
equipment. Maggie tried not to drool.

After several minutes he achieved whatever
repairs he was after and mounted the large mower, driving it around
the side of the house and out of sight. Maggie sighed
disappointedly. She’d been enjoying the show. She set down her
coffee and headed back into her room.

She decided that the claw foot bathtub was
better saved for late evenings accompanied by glasses of wine, and
instead opted for a long, leisurely shower. After her shower, she
made her way into the large closet wrapped in a big plush towel.
She laughed at how little space her small selection of clothing
took up. Coming from Boston she didn’t have a very big summer
wardrobe. With the heat down here in Georgia she decided she’d
definitely need to shed a few layers from her usual outfits.

She slipped on a pair of jeans and a blousy
tank top which she’d only previously worn as an undershirt. She
brushed out her auburn hair and pulled it up into a messy bun. A
quick glance in the full length mirror met her approval and she was
off.

Her first order of business was to find her
way to the small town of Sweetwater and stock up on some groceries.
She ventured back out onto the balcony to retrieve the coffee mug
she’d left sitting on the small wrought iron table. She glanced
over the banister casually in hopes of getting one last peek at the
sexy gardener. Of course he was nowhere in sight. She didn’t even
hear the mower any longer. Perhaps he was already gone. A glint of
sunlight caught her eye and she leaned over the banister. Craning
her head around, she could see the wall of windows that enclosed
the kitchen. To her horror she also saw poor Fred spilled across
the brick patio with some furry creature digging through the
scattered soil.

“You killed Fred!” she cried in genuine
horror, then rushed out of her room flying down the stairs and
racing into the kitchen where she had left her cherished plant. She
reached the sink in seconds, flinging herself to the window to look
out at the massacre below.

“No!” she screamed as she saw the plant
completely uprooted and strewn across the bricks. The furry
creature continued to root around in the mess completely
undisturbed. Maggie ran for the backdoor, throwing it open and
running straight into a hard, unyielding chest.

Strong hands gripped her arms and steadied
her. She looked up into startling blue eyes and lost her
breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a charming
southern lilt.

“I…” Maggie couldn’t form a coherent
thought. She immediately recognized him as the gardener she had
been secretly watching earlier. A million things flitted through
her mind at once, none of them sticking long enough for her to come
up with anything intelligent to say.

“Who’s Fred?” he asked as he glanced behind
her, clearly concerned and still holding onto her in a protective
way as he scanned their surroundings for any sign of danger.

His question reminded her of the problem at
hand. She slumped in his arms.

“Fred was my fern,” she admitted woefully.
“And that thing killed him!” she accused, pointing behind him at
the scraggly cat that was now watching them curiously.

He released his hold on her and turned to
look in the direction she was pointing.

“Your fern?” he asked slowly, in the way you
would speak to someone whose sanity was in question.

“Yes,” she confirmed, defeated. She pulled
away from him and walked to the mess, dropping to her knees and
trying to scrape the scattered soil back toward the mangled plant.
The cat looked annoyed that she was claiming his prize.

To her surprise, a few moments later the
gardener knelt beside her with a small pot in his hands. He
delicately reached out and scooped up the root ball, lifting the
remains of the plant and gently placing them into the pot. He
continued to scoop up handfuls of soil into the pot as she watched
in silent awe. He finally looked up at her, his cerulean blue eyes
capturing her full and undivided attention.

“It will be touch and go for a while, but he
just might make it.” He delivered the line with such grave
seriousness that she couldn’t help but laugh. He cracked a lopsided
grin showing off one adorable dimple. He wiped his hand on his
jeans and then extended it toward her.