Secretly Smitten (35 page)

She hadn’t even found love, much less a husband. Somehow her looming birthday hadn’t seemed so terrible when she’d had a relationship in the works. Now there was a countdown clock ticking toward an unavoidable deadline. Was she headed toward an Aunt Violet/Aunt Petunia future?

Her mom nudged her. “What’s wrong, Miss Perfectionist? Did you miss a wilted leaf?”

Clare began gathering the empty plant containers. “I was thinking about Aunt Violet.” Sort of true. “I wonder if she and Grandma Rose are getting along.” Gardening enthusiasts, the two older women helped out at the nursery during the busy spring and summer, mostly giving advice to customers.

“I hope they’re not at each other’s throats,” Anna said. “I shouldn’t have pulled you away.”

“Hopefully they’re too busy to argue. Besides, I needed a break from all the tension.” Clare intended to sit them down tomorrow and talk some sense into them. Their argument over Grandma’s old beau, who had also been her sister Violet’s secret crush, was getting old.

“Some break.” Tess sipped her lemonade. “I hope Mr. Lewis finally gets you some help. You about worked yourself into the ground last year, literally.”

“I forgot to tell you,” Clare said after downing half the lemonade. “He said I could hire someone. I put up some notices around town. Just hope I can find time for the interviews and such. Memorial Day weekend is coming up, and after that it’s a zoo.”

Zoe sat next to Tess on the porch step. “Speaking of Memorial Day, can you ask Josh to bring his camping chairs?”

“Uh . . . Josh won’t be coming.” Clare dumped the containers in the trash bin, mentally dumping the remnants of any feelings she’d had toward Josh. The memory of their date two nights ago still left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Tell me you didn’t break up with him,” Zoe said.

She supposed she deserved that. “
He
did, actually.” She eyed Zoe just as her sister opened her mouth. “And no, I do not need your help. That’s how I got into this mess to begin with, if you recall.”

Zoe’s lips puckered in a rosy pout.

“Oh no,” Anna said. “What happened, honey?”

Clare shrugged. “Nothing, Mom, really. We’re just too different, I guess. No chemistry, no spark.” No interest, especially on his part.

“Oh rats,” Tess said. “I thought you liked him.”

Their breakup, if you could call it that, had nothing to do with the fact that he’d called her boring. Just remembering it made heat flood to the back of her neck where her hair was gathered in a loose braid. She couldn’t believe Josh Campbell, Mr. President of the high school chess team, had the nerve to call
her
boring.

Okay, so he hadn’t used that exact word, but she could read between the lines. She’d been raised in a female household. Reading between the lines was necessary for survival.

So she liked her routines. So she liked to look before she leaped. That was just smart, sensible
. Not boring, Josh Campbell. You should learn the difference.

Clare rolled the wheelbarrow up the board and into the truck bed, then checked her watch.

“Uh-oh. She’s going to be late for her tea run,” Tess said.

“Better hurry, Clare,” Zoe said. “Nat will faint dead away if you fail to appear at 7:17 on the dot.”

Clare frowned at her sisters. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, honey, they’re only teasing,” Anna said.

“We like that you’re predictable,” Tess said.

“I’m not predictable.”

Zoe grinned and flipped her dark hair from her eyes. “Please. There’s a picture of you by the word on Wikipedia. I just saw it yesterday.”

“I go to the coffee shop at 7:17 because I get off work at 7:00. Besides, there’s no line then. It just makes sense.”

“And we love that you’re so sensible, dear.” Her mom rubbed Clare’s rigid shoulders, but it failed to calm her. “It’s a very comforting quality in a world of constant change.”

Zoe stood, brushing off her jeans. “I have to run too. William’s coming over in a bit, and I need to de-grime.” She looked down at her hands. “So much for my manicure.”

Clare shut the tailgate with more force than necessary, then turned to say good-bye.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Tess asked, giving her the hand tools she’d gathered.

Clare stashed them in the pockets of her handy-dandy coveralls. “I’m just touchy today. No worries.”

Her mom thanked her with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“See you later,” Zoe called as Clare pulled from the drive.

The first droplets of rain hit the windshield when she pulled onto Lookaway Lane. Within seconds the slow, fat drops turned into a hard, heavy downpour. She turned on her wipers, her sisters’ words ringing in her ears, louder than the pattering on her roof.

She wasn’t boring. Or predictable. Well, maybe a little predictable, but that didn’t make her boring.

Did it?

Man
bored
to
death
by
girlfriend. News at eleven
.

She squashed the thought, though the mood persisted as she entered town. Tourists huddled under colorful canopies, waiting for the storm to pass. Judging by the gray abyss above, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

She parked in a parallel spot on Main Street and dashed in for her warm tea. Her cousin Natalie had it ready, and Clare was back out the door in sixty seconds flat. See? No line, no waiting. Sensible.

She put the truck in gear and headed toward the nursery. It was closed, but her own shed was full, and she couldn’t let the tools sit in the rain all night.

When she passed the Wind Chill Creamery, her mind returned to Saturday night. Josh had ordered two medium razzmatazz cones.

“Oh, make mine vanilla,” she’d told Bethany Hopkins, who was looking frazzled on their first open night of the season.

“You don’t like razzmatazz?” Josh asked.

Truth be told, she’d never tried the multicolored fruit-flavored ice cream. She shrugged. “I just prefer vanilla.”

The other comments had come three licks into her cone, and the night had only gone downhill from there.

So she liked vanilla. That didn’t make her boring. Maybe it was the whole sensible thing that made her come off as boring. Now that she thought about it, she recalled Josh saying something about taking a chance once in a while. He probably thought she wasn’t spontaneous enough.

Her sisters obviously agreed. Maybe she
was
stuck in a rut. Well, she could be spontaneous if she wanted to be, take a chance now and again.

And she would. She nodded her head once, confirming the promise. That’s what she’d do. Her next decision— completely and utterly spontaneous. No weighing it out, no pondering for days, and above all, no safe choice. It would be good for her. Healthy. And she’d be sure to let her sisters and Josh know about it. Not that she had anything to prove.

She turned onto the rutted shady lane, passing the old wooden sign that read T
HE
R
ED
B
ARN
N
URSERY AND
G
REENHOUSE
, S
INCE
1973. Clare had started working there as a cashier during her high school summers and had learned everything there was to know about growing healthy trees and plants. When she graduated, Mr. Lewis, wanting to cut back his own hours, hired her full-time as manager.

Last year she’d talked him into staying open year-round. With the added tourists, she thought it was a feasible plan. They’d offered holiday plants and decorations, and Clare had started growing tropicals in the greenhouse. They’d made a nice profit selling them to the local flower shop, but the gift shop hadn’t done as well as they’d have liked. Sure would’ve been nice if Smitten had gotten the train contract. She didn’t want to go back to finding winter work.

The sun was long gone by the time Clare crested the hill, the night pressing in through the woods. She passed the deserted barn with all the artistically arranged potted trees and bushes and rounded the corner, pulling up to the old lopsided shed.

Thunder roared and rain pelted her as she dashed from the truck and lowered the tailgate. She guided the wheel–barrow down the plank and hurried toward the shed. The door opened with a loud squeak, and she pushed it inside.

A movement against the far wall caught her eye. The sight of a man hunkering in the shadows made her jump. Even in the dim light, she could see he was big. And hairy.

She grabbed for a tool and came up with the rake. Her heart thudded as loudly as the rain on the roof. “Who’s there?”

The stranger stood slowly, unruffled.

She’d been right. He was every bit of six foot three and broad as a boxwood hedge. He remained by the wall, his body seemingly on full alert.

Clare raised the tool over her head. She wished she wasn’t alone, wished she’d taken the time to lock up earlier, wished she was holding something more substantial than a rake.

“I said, who’s there?” She heard the fear in her voice and knew he did too.

Thunder cracked.

Hairy Man stared back. “Name’s Ethan Foster. Just taking shelter till the storm passes.” His voice was deep as a country well. He nodded his chin toward the corner.

Her eyes darted to a motorcycle parked against the wall, then back to him. He had longish dark hair and a face that hadn’t seen a razor in weeks.

Without taking her eyes from him, she reached for the string on the naked bulb. Sixty watts flooded the dank space. He was a little older than she’d first thought. Not some kid, but a man of thirty-three, thirty-five. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans that had seen better days.

She gripped the rake. The nursery was well off the road, not the most convenient place to seek shelter. “What are you doing all the way back here?”

Dark eyes stared back, calm and knowing. “Sorry I scared you. Looking for Thomas.”

It was her last name, but all the better if he thought there was a man on the premises.

“About . . .”

He shifted. “A job.”

Her heart started to settle to a dull throb. He seemed less threatening now that the light was on. She wasn’t sure why; he hadn’t shrunk. Maybe it was his gentle eyes.

She lowered the rake a smidge, loosened her grip. “I don’t charge by the word, you know.”

“Heard he was hiring. What is this place anyway?”

She knew he wasn’t referring to the nursery. “Smitten is a honeymoon destination . . . home of country star Sawyer Smitten . . . Haven’t you heard of it?” After Sawyer’s wedding the year before, she didn’t think there was a soul left in the country who didn’t know about their little town.

“Not from the area. Thomas around? I could really use the work, and I heard he was hiring.”

“We’re closed for the night.” She looked at his motorcycle. There was a big bundle on the back. Was he a drifter? Homeless? One thing was sure, Mr. Lewis would have her head if she let him bunk here tonight.

“You can’t stay here.”

“When will he be back?”

She sighed, lowered the rake to the ground, keeping hold of it—just in case—and stuck out a hand. “Clare Thomas.”

His eyes flickered with comprehension. He reached across the space and wrapped his hand around hers. It was warm despite the spring chill. He squeezed her hand before releasing it. She missed the warmth immediately.

Great. Now she was going to have to turn him down. The rain let up, ushering in sudden silence.

“I’m a hard worker, good with my hands.” He looked away as a flush crawled up his neck. A moment later he found her eyes again. “Good with plants. And I’m a fast learner.”

Clare pushed her wet hair from her face, not letting go of the rake just yet. “Listen, I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“I have references.”

From people she didn’t know. “I don’t think so. Sorry.” Someone else would apply soon. She wasn’t desperate enough to hire a stranger. A big, tall, hairy stranger.

“I’ll work a day for free. Give me a chance.”

Chance. She thought again about Josh and vanilla ice cream. About the vow she’d made only moments before to make her next decision spontaneously.

She looked him over, instantly regretting the promise. This wasn’t a matter of her blue blouse versus the white one. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Two days free.”

She swallowed hard. Stupid economy. “The job’s temporary. Probably only through July.”

“Suits me fine.”

“It doesn’t pay much.”

“Didn’t expect it would.”

Of course he didn’t. Her pulse sped, not liking this spontaneity thing one bit.

I
don’t like it either, heart.

It felt wholly unnatural. Like when your food comes up instead of going down.

“Tomorrow then?” he asked.