WITH HER HANDSon her hips, Roz studied her newly arranged In the Garden potting soil preparation area. It had taken two full days, eking out time between other chores and working with the precise-minded Stella to set it up.
In Roz's estimation it would have taken her half that time alone, but it wouldn't have been nearly as practical a work space. There were tubs of soil she'd already mixed herself, the worktables, the bag storage, the scale, scoops, bag sealer, stools.
Everything was arranged in assembly-line efficiency.
The outlay had been relatively little, which had pleased Stella, who had a head for profit as well as precision. With the simple design of the bags, some clever marketing, and what she knew to be an excellent product, Roz felt confident they'd do very well. Very well indeed.
Her mood was very bright when she turned to greet Harper as he came through the door of the work shed.
"What do you think of our new enterprise?" She held out her arms. With a laugh, she picked up a five-pound bag she'd already filled and sealed and tossed it over to him.
"Good look," he said, turning the bag over. "No frills. It says this is serious dirt. Looks like something you'd see in a high-end garden boutique."
"Exactly, and we'll keep the price down initially, to get it moving. I'm having the bags overfilled by a couple ounces to give me a safety zone. I thought we'd put Ruby on the job, for a start anyway. Maybe see if Steve wants to take some part-time work. It won't be that labor intensive, or take that much time."
"It's smart business, Mama." He laid the bag down. "You've got a knack for it."
"I like to think so. We still mad at each other?"
"No, but we might be after I finish telling you I went into Memphis to see Mitch Carnegie."
Her face went blank; her voice turned cool. "Why would you do that, Harper?"
"One, I was pissed off. Two, David and Stella talked me out of hunting up Clerk and beating his face in. Third, I wanted to hear for myself what Mitch had to say about what's going on between you."
"I understand one perfectly. I appreciate two, on several levels. But I fail to comprehend why you would assume to interrogate a man I'm seeing. It's unpardonably rude and interfering. I don't run around snooping on the women you choose to see."
"It wasn't snooping, and I've never chosen to see a woman who stole from me or set out to interfere with my life or smear my reputation."
"You're young yet." Ice dripped from the words. "Do you think I'm the only woman foolish enough to get tangled up with an asshole?"
"No, I don't. But I don't much care about other women. You're my only mother."
"That doesn't give you the right to - "
"I love you."
"Don't use that weapon on me."
"I can't help it. It's all I've got."
She pressed her fingers to the center of her forehead, rubbed hard. "It would help if you added a little trust and respect to that love, Harper."
"I've got all the trust and respect in the world for you, Mama. It's the men I'm not so sure about. But if it helps any, I worked up plenty of trust and respect for Mitch last night. He might almost be worthy enough to court my mama."
"He's not courting me, for God's sake. Where do you get this sort of . . . We went to a college basketball game, we had dinner."
"I think he's stuck on you."
She stared, and this time lifted both hands to the sides of her head. "My head is reeling."
He walked to her, slid his arms around her, and drew her in. "I couldn't stand to see you get hurt again."
"Bryce only hurt my pride."
"That's a mortal wound for us Harpers. And he did more than that. I don't think Mitch will do the same, at least not deliberately."
"So, you approve."
He grinned when she tipped her head up to look at him. "That's a trick question, and my mama didn't raise any fools. I say yes, and you'll rip my butt reminding me you don't need my approval. So I'm just going to say I like him. I like him a lot."
"You're a slippery one, Harper Ashby. Tell you what." She patted his back, eased away. "You can give me a hand in here for a while. I want to do up twenty bags of each weight category."
"I thought you wanted Ruby to do that."
"Changed my mind. Doing some uncomplicated and monotonous work ought to give you some time to reflect on the error of your ways."
"Talk about slippery."
"The day you can outwit me, my baby, is the day I see about moving myself into a home. Let's get started."
AFTER WORK SHEwent straight home, and directly upstairs to clean up. Wary now, she checked the mail on her desk, looked through the bills. She couldn't say she was relieved when she found nothing. It was like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
There had been a similar sort of harassment right after the divorce, then a nice period of peace. When, she assumed, he'd had some other woman on the string and was too involved to waste his time poking sticks at an ex-wife.
She'd handled it then; she'd handle it now.
As she was dressing the phone rang. When it hit the third ring, she assumed David was otherwise occupied and answered herself.
"Good evening. Is Rosalind Harper available?"
"This is she."
"Ms. Harper, this is Derek from the Carrington Gallery in New York. We're just following up to let you know the Vergano will be shipped to you tomorrow."
"I don't think that's a good idea, Derek, is it? I didn't order anything from your gallery."
"The Cristina Vergano, Ms. Harper. Your representative spoke with me personally only last week."
"I don't have a representative."
"Ms. Harper, I'm very confused. The charge has already been cleared to your account. Your representative indicated that you were very taken with the painting, and wished to have it shipped as soon as the showing was over. We've had considerable interest in this work, but as it was already sold - "
She rubbed hard at the back of her neck where the tension had settled. "It looks like we both have a problem, Derek. Let me give you some of the bad news." She explained briefly, caught herself pacing as she spoke, and as a fresh headache brewed. She noted down the credit card company and number.
"This is very upsetting."
"Yes," she agreed, "it certainly is. I'm sorry you and your gallery have been inconvenienced by this. Would you mind, just for curiosity's sake, telling me the name of the painting?"
"Vergano's a very powerful and dynamic artist. This oil on linen, custom framed by the artist, is from her Bitches collection. It's calledThe Amazing Bitch ."
"Of course it is," Roz replied.
She went though the routine, calling the credit card company, and her lawyer, then writing to both to document the incident.
She took aspirin before going down to the kitchen and pouring herself a large glass of wine.
David's note sat propped on the counter.
Hot date. An exceptional lasagna's on warm in the oven. Hayley and the baby went over to Logan's with Stella and the boys. They're having a little painting party. More than enough lasagna for two. Dr. Studly's in the library. Just warm up the bread, toss the salad - in the fridge - and you're set.Buon appetito!
David
P.S. Appropriate CDs already loaded in the player. Nowpleasego up and put on those Jimmy Choo's.
"Well." She noted David had set the kitchen nook with festive plates, fat candles, a bottle of San Pellegrino, pale green glasses. And it explained why a bottle of good Italian red was breathing on the counter.
"Lasagna's fine," she said aloud. "But I'm not putting on those shoes to eat it."
Content and comfortable in the thick gray socks she habitually wore around the house, she walked to the library.
He was sitting at the table, wearing his glasses and a Memphis Tigers sweatshirt. His fingers were moving quickly over the keyboard of his laptop. On the desk was a large bottle of water. David's doing, no doubt. He'd have nagged Mitch to rotate water with his habitual coffee.
He looked . . . studiously sexy, she decided, with his intellectual glasses and the mass of thick, disordered hair. That rich brown, with just a hint of chestnut.
There were good eyes behind those glasses, she thought. Not just the color, so deep, so unique, but good, direct eyes. A little intense, unnervingly intense, and she had to admit she found that exciting.
Even as she watched, he paused in his typing to scoop the fingers of one hand through his hair. And muttered to himself.
It was interesting to hear him mutter to himself, since she often caught herself doing the same.
It was interesting, too, to feel this long slow pull in her belly, and the little dance of lust up her spine. Wasn't it good to know those instinctive charges still had spark? And wasn't she curious to see what would happen if she took a chance, and lit the fuse?
Even as she thought it, books flew off the shelf, slammed into each other, then the walls, the floor. In the fireplace, flames leaped in hot reds, while the air shivered with cold.
"Jesus Christ."
Mitch shoved back from the table so fast his chair hit the floor. He managed to duck one book, then block another. As Roz rushed forward, everything stopped.
"You see that? Did yousee that?" He bent, picked up a book, then dropped it on the table. It wasn't fear in that lovely, liquid drawl, she noted. It was fascination. "It's like ice."
"Temper tantrums." She picked up a book herself, and the cold nearly numbed her fingers.
"Impressive ones. I've been working in here since about three." Grinning like a boy, he checked his watch. "Nearly four hours. It's been quiet as, you'll excuse the expression, a tomb. Until now."
"I suppose I set her off, as I was about to ask if you'd like to have dinner. David left a meal."
Together they began to retrieve the rest of the books. "No question that she doesn't like the two of us together."
"Apparently not."
He set the last book on the shelf. "So . . . what's for dinner?"
She glanced over at him, smiled. And in that moment realized that beyond the lust, there wasn't anything about him she didn't like. "Lasagna, which David bills as exceptional. As I've sampled it in the past, I can vouch for his claim."
"Sounds great. God, you smell good. Sorry," he added when her eyebrows lifted. "Thinking out loud. Listen, I've been able to eliminate more names, and I've been transcribing the interviews we've done so far. I've got a file here for you."
"All right."
"I'm going to work on tracking down some of the descendants of staff, and what we'll call the outer branches of the family tree. But what I'm seeing as the oldest living relative is your cousin Clarise - and happily she's local. I'd like to talk to her."
"Good luck with that."
"She's still in the area, at the . . ."
"Riverbank Center. Yes, I know."
"She puts me a full generation closer to Amelia. It'd be simpler, I'd think, to approach her if you spoke to her first."
"I'm afraid Cousin Clarise and I aren't on speaking terms, or any sort of terms whatsoever."
"I know you said there was a rift, but wouldn't she be interested in what I'm doing with the family?"
"Possibly. But I can assure you, she wouldn't take my call if I made one."
"Look, I understand about family schisms, but in this case - "
"You don't understand Clarise Harper. She dropped her surname years ago, choosing to go legally by her first and middle names. That's how entrenched in the Harper name she is. She never married. My opinion being she never found anyone soft or stupid enough to take her on."
Frowning, he hitched a hip on the table. "Is this your way of telling me you don't want me contacting her, because - "
"I hired you to do a job, and don't intend to tell you how to go about it, so don't get your back up. I'm telling you she's chosen to banish me and mine from her plane of existence, which is just fine by me. The one good thing I can say about her is once she's made up her mind on something, she follows through."
"But you don't have any objection to me talking to her, involving her."
"None. Your best bet is to write her - very formally - and introduce yourself, being sure to use the doctor part, and any other impressive credentials you might have at hand. If you tell her you intend to do a family history on the Harpers, and play up how honored you would be to interview her, and so on, she might agree."
"This is the one you kicked out of the house, right?"
"In a manner of speaking. I don't recall telling you about that."
"I talk to people. She's not the one you chased off with a Weedwacker."
Amusement, very faint, ran over her face. "You are talking to people."
"Part of the job."
"I suppose. No, I didn't chase her with a Weedwacker. That was the gardeners. And it wasn't a Weedwacker, come to that. It was a fan rake, which was unlikely to do any serious damage. If I hadn't been so mad and thinking more clearly, I'd've grabbed the loppers those idiots had used on my mimosa trees. At least with those I could've given them a good jab in the ass as they skeddadled."
"Loppers. Would those be . . ." He made wide scissoring motions with both arms.
"Yes, that's right."
"Ouch. Back to your cousin. Why'd you give her the boot?"
"Because when I invited her, to my lasting regret, to a family barbecue here years ago, she called my sons disreputable brats and stated - she without chick or child - that if I were a proper mother I'd've taken a switch to them regularly. She then called Harper a born liar, as he was entertaining some of his young cousins with stories about the Bride, and told him to shut his mouth."