Home at Rose Cottage Page 7

  But even after convincing herself that it was time to go, Melanie reminded herself that it would be a shame to leave Rose Cottage before she finished doing something with her grandmother’s garden. She’d studied that photo Mike had found so fascinating, and she was beginning to envision making the yard look like that again. It was the least she could do in her grandmother’s memory.

  Of course, if the rains kept up like this, it would be summer before the ground dried up enough for her to get the first flower planted. Melanie wanted to be back home before that, making plans, embarking on her new life.

  She bit into another too-crisp cookie, then tossed it aside in disgust. If only she had Maggie’s talent in the kitchen. Instead, she was an absolute disaster. Who else could manage to destroy slice-and-bake cookies?

  Her pity party was in full swing when someone knocked on the front door, startling her. Melanie was so relieved by the prospect of a distraction, she practically ran to the door, then faltered when she glanced through the window and spotted a dripping-wet Mike and Jessie on the porch. The little twinge of excitement that formed low in her belly was a warning. She was way too eager to see these two. A smart woman would leave the door firmly closed.

  Since she tended to listen to her heart, not her head, she opened the door. “Did you two come by boat?” she asked, standing aside to let them in. Jessie clung to her father’s hand and regarded Melanie silently.

  Mike grinned. “You sound edgy. Getting a little cabin fever?”

  “Something like that,” she admitted. “Hi, Jessie.”

  Jessie peered up at her and finally smiled. “Hi.”

  “I thought for a minute a cat had got your tongue,” Melanie teased.

  Jessie looked perplexed. “There’s no cat here.”

  Melanie chuckled. “No, there’s not. It’s just an expression. Here, let me take your coats. Can I get you something hot to drink? Maybe some hot chocolate, Jessie?”

  At last Jessie gave her a full-fledged smile. “I love hot chocolate. So does Daddy.”

  Melanie met his gaze. “Is that so?” she asked him as she led the way into the kitchen. She hung their coats on the drying pegs beside the back door, then glanced once more at Mike. The rain had put a bit of wayward curl into his hair, which gave him a rakish look that was even more appealing.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer coffee or tea?” she asked him.

  “Whatever’s easiest. We just stopped on the way home from school to make sure you hadn’t floated away.”

  “As you can see, I’m still here. Since I finished up most of the work I can do inside the house, I’ve been reduced to baking cookies.” She gestured toward the plate. “They’re a little overdone, but help yourselves.”

  Jessie gave her father a hopeful look. At his nod, she grabbed one and took a bite. Melanie waited for some comment about the burned edges, but Jessie climbed onto a kitchen chair and munched happily, seemingly oblivious to the cookie’s flaws. Melanie turned to Mike. “What about you? Are you brave enough to try one? I know they don’t look like much.”

  He laughed. “Actually they look a lot like mine—right, Jessie?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jessie said, her mouth full. “Daddy burns everything.”

  “Not everything,” he protested indignantly, then shrugged. “I’m great with cereal.”

  Melanie laughed. “Since you have such low expectations, maybe I’ll risk inviting you to dinner.”

  “Tonight?” Jessie asked hopefully. “Daddy was gonna make spaghetti from a can.”

  “I definitely think I can improve on that, if you’d like to stay,” she said, meeting Mike’s gaze. “Maybe real pasta with some garlic bread. Of course, the sauce will be from a jar, but that’s still better than canned spaghetti, right?”

  “Anything’s better than that,” Mike agreed. “But if we’re staying for dinner, then no more cookies, Jessie. You’ll spoil your appetite. Besides, you’ve already had enough sugar for one afternoon.”

  Jessie seemed about to argue, but Mike’s steady gaze never wavered and she backed down.

  “Can I watch TV?” she asked instead.

  Melanie glanced at Mike for permission. At his nod, she took Jessie into the living room and left her happily watching a PBS children’s show.

  “I really only came by to check on you,” Mike said, when Melanie got back to the kitchen. “Not to invite ourselves to dinner.”

  “Believe me, I’m glad of the company,” Melanie told him honestly.

  “Too much time on your hands to think?” he asked.

  “Way too much.”

  “Want to talk about whatever brought you here? You’ve listened to me. I’m willing to return the favor.”

  She shook her head. “It was bad enough wallowing in all that self-pity by myself, I don’t want to inflict it on you. I’d rather have you talk to me. Tell me about your latest project or how you ended up here at the end of the earth. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “End of the earth?” he inquired. “Isn’t that a little bit of an overstatement?”

  “It’s not Boston.”

  “But apparently Boston hasn’t been all that great to you lately,” he reminded her. “Maybe you should think about giving a place like this a chance, instead of dismissing it out of hand.”

  “I am,” she said. “At least for the short term, but I was asking about you. Were you born here?”

  “No. I came from Richmond. I actually started my business there, but when Linda and I split up, I realized Jessie and I needed to get away, not just to put some distance between us and my ex-wife, but so I wouldn’t be so consumed with work that I couldn’t spend enough time with Jessie.”

  “What made you pick this area?”

  “It’s beautiful. It’s near the water. There’s a lot of building going on, so there’s a need for a good landscape designer. It’s not that far from home, so Jessie can see her grandparents from time to time. It’s been a good fit. I like being part of a small, growing community.”

  “Had you been here before, or did you just drive around till you found a place that suited you?”

  “Actually I have a friend who’s in the nursery business here, Jeff Clayborne.”

  “That was his nursery we went to the other day,” Melanie recalled.

  “Exactly. He was out on a job, or you would have met him.” He gave her a rueful look. “Actually he’s heard all about you.”

  She regarded him with surprise. “Really?”

  “Word travels fast around here. When I saw him Monday, Jeff had already heard about Jessie and me being at the nursery, the ice cream shop and the bookstore with a gorgeous woman. I’m pretty sure he’s up to speed on your entire family history by now, too.”

  “Now, there’s one of the obvious disadvantages of small town living, don’t you think? Everyone knows your business.”

  Mike shrugged. “Seems to me like gossip gets around in a big city, too—at least to your own family and circle of friends and business associates.”

  Melanie thought of how a fear of gossip had sent her scurrying out of Boston and realized he was exactly right. “I guess ‘good’ gossip does circulate wherever you are,” she agreed.

  “So, what do people back in Boston say about you?” he asked.

  “Hard to tell,” Melanie said evasively. “I try not to give them much to talk about.”

  “You told me once before that there’s no special man in your life, right?”

  “None,” she said tightly.

  He studied her closely. “Something tells me there’s a story behind that. You’re too beautiful to be alone.”

  “I was with the wrong man. It ended. That’s the whole story.”

  “In a nutshell,” he conceded. “Someday I’d like to hear the unabridged version.”

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t that what friends do? Tell each other their deep, dark secrets?”

  She laughed. “Girl friends might do that. I’m not su
re I’ve ever shared my deep dark secrets with a guy. What about you? Do you pour out your secrets to, say, Brenda?”

  “Not exactly. Not that she hasn’t tried to pry them out of me. And Jeff’s wife, Pam, is a master at the poking and prodding game. Her degree’s in horticulture, but you’d think she graduated magna cum laude in investigative reporting.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Edgy,” he admitted. “Uncomfortable.”

  Melanie smiled. “There you go. That’s exactly how your poking around makes me feel. Why don’t we move on? We could discuss whether or not you’re any good at all at making a salad.”

  Mike looked as if he might argue, but then he gave her a chagrined smile. “Whatever you want. I happen to be excellent at making salad. There’s no cooking involved.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “And Jessie can set the table.”

  Mike opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but Melanie cut him off. “The dishes are old. If she drops something, it’s no big deal.”

  “Then by all means, let her set the table,” he relented.

  Melanie regarded him curiously. “Doesn’t she have chores at home?”

  “Sure. She makes her own bed. It’s not pretty, but she does it. And I’m teaching her to do laundry. We’re a little shaky on the sorting process, which is why I’m sometimes wearing pink underwear.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Melanie said without thinking.

  He gave her an amused look. “Oh, really?”

  She frowned at the glint in his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

  “Of course I do,” he said, though he couldn’t seem to stop grinning. He stood up. “Where’s the salad stuff?”

  “I generally keep my salad ‘stuff’ in the refrigerator. How about you?” Melanie teased.

  He scowled at her. “I meant the bowl you want to use.”

  “Ah, that would be in the cupboard over here,” she said.

  But just as she opened the cabinet door, Mike stepped in behind her and reached over her head. She could feel the press of his legs along the backs of her thighs. His hips cradled her derriere. The intimacy sent a wave of longing washing over her, to say nothing of the kind of heat she’d sworn to avoid.

  He set the bowl on the counter in front of her but didn’t back away. Instead, he sighed.

  “I swore I wasn’t going to do this again,” he murmured just before he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Damn, but you smell good. I couldn’t get this scent out of my head all day after I kissed you on Monday. It about drove me crazy.”

  Melanie trembled, as much from the helpless dismay she heard in his voice as from the touch of his lips on her skin. She knew precisely how he felt, understood exactly what it was like to have sworn off something only to be unable to resist it.

  In fact, she was clinging to the counter with white-knuckled determination right now to keep from turning in Mike’s arms and transforming that tender kiss into something filled with heat and urgency. There was no mistaking the press of his arousal against her or the wanting in his voice. She understood all of that, too.

  Slowly, inevitably—and all too soon—he backed away.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

  Melanie had lived with too many regrets for too long now. She didn’t want another one—her own or his—on her conscience. “Don’t be,” she said harshly. “We’re both adults here. Sometimes things just happen. The only mistake would be in making too much of it.”

  He faced her then. “Just a kiss, right?”

  It was like equating an earthquake with a little shiver, but still she nodded. “Just a kiss.”

  He smiled, his eyes smoldering in a way that told her he understood the depth of the lie as well as she did.

  “Maybe we’d better get Jessie in here now,” he suggested. “Before I get any other bright ideas.”

  Melanie laughed and the intense moment was broken…for now.

  Mike had never thought of himself as the type to play with fire, but apparently he’d been mistaken. He was playing with a whole damned inferno when it came to being around Melanie. She could send him up in flames in a heartbeat.

  He told himself it was only because he’d been a celibate saint since he’d moved to town. After all this time, it was perfectly natural to assume that sooner or later some woman was going to set him off.

  Unfortunately, it just happened to be a woman who was hurting and vulnerable, rather than someone like the very willing Brenda, who could fend for herself. If he took advantage of the chemistry between him and Melanie and wound up hurting her, he’d feel like a first-class jerk. And if he let her into his life, already knowing she was going to run out on him in the end, it would prove him to be an even bigger jerk.

  That meant he ought to be steering clear of her, avoiding her like the plague, maybe finding some new route to get to work that wouldn’t take him directly past Melanie’s house every morning and night. Instead, he punished himself for his wayward thoughts by driving by Rose Cottage and testing his willpower.

  Since he appeared intent on pulling into her driveway not two days after lecturing himself on avoiding her, apparently his willpower sucked almost as much as his judgment.

  Mike slogged through the mud, telling himself he wouldn’t stay long. He’d tell her that it was still too wet to plant the flowers they’d picked up last weekend, despite the sliver of sun that had finally worked its way through the clouds on Thursday afternoon and seemed to be struggling against this morning’s gloom, as well. Then he’d leave. No big deal.

  Famous last words.

  He found her outside whacking at the rosebushes with an oversize pair of hedge clippers and a deadly gleam in her eyes. The sight of it horrified him on so many levels it had him tearing across the lawn to snatch the clippers away from her before she did any more damage.

  She stared at him as if he’d gone mad. “Why’d you do that?” she demanded indignantly. “Aren’t you the one who’s been carrying on about getting these bushes under control?”

  He barely contained a groan. “Under control, not murdered in their sleep.”

  She scowled at him. “I’m not murdering the damn bushes. I’m trimming them back.”

  “Heaven save me from amateurs,” he murmured. “Where are your garden tools?”

  “In the shed over there,” she conceded grudgingly, then followed him when he stalked off in that direction, still muttering.

  “Whatever you’re saying about me, say it so I can hear it,” she said.

  “You don’t want to hear this,” he retorted, yanking open the door and staring at the excellent collection of gardening implements. It was yet more testimony that Cornelia Lindsey had been an expert gardener who’d cared for the tools she used as well as she had for the garden itself.

  “Ever heard of dusting?” he grumbled, as he found some first-class pruning shears.

  Melanie glowered at him. “In the house. Not in a tool shed.”

  “The same rules apply.” He shook his head. “Never mind. Just come with me. Try not to get in my way.”

  “If you’re this charming when you’re teaching Jessie, I’m not surprised she rebels,” Melanie said.

  There was a little too much truth in the observation, so Mike chose to ignore it. Instead, he led the way to the rosebush Melanie had been attacking. “Watch and learn,” he said as he began gently shaping the bush, snipping carefully so it would flourish, not wither and die.

  “Why is that one bit different from what I was doing?” Melanie asked after watching him awhile. “It’s just going to take longer.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s one of those times when patience will be rewarded. If you chop at it the way you were doing, you’ll destroy it. See here? There’s new growth. And here.”

  He showed her the markers he was using in making each careful cut. When he’d trimmed one entire bush, he handed the pruning shears to her. “Your turn.”

  She accepted
the shears gingerly, then frowned at the bush. She immediately reached for a branch and was about to lop it off, when he winced.

  “What?” she demanded, shooting him a look of disgust. “It’s dead.”

  “Not entirely. Look again.” He pointed to a nodule that would eventually produce new leaves. “See? If you cut above that, the new leaves will appear anyday now.”

  “This is going to take forever,” she said, but she diligently cut where he’d told her to. “What about this branch?”

  He grinned. “You tell me.”

  She bent over to study it, giving him a very nice view of her lovely derriere. He was so absorbed he almost missed the quizzical look she was giving him as she pointed out where she thought she ought to cut.

  “Looks good to me,” he said, enjoying the flash of triumph in her eyes. It was almost as bright as the sun that was finally beating down from a clear, blue sky.

  She’d made several more careful snips without any need for his interference before she finally turned and frowned at him. “You could help, you know.”

  “I am helping.”

  “How?”

  “I’m supervising. Without me watching over you, who knows how much damage you might do?”

  “Very funny. How many rosebushes do you suppose there are in the yard?” she asked plaintively, wiping the perspiration from her brow and leaving behind a streak of dirt.

  Mike had to work hard to resist the desire to brush away that streak on her forehead.

  “Enough to keep you out of trouble for a good long while,” he said cheerfully. “How about some iced tea? Now that the sun’s back out, it’s hot out here.”

  “I’m surprised you noticed, since you’re standing around in the shade doing nothing.”

  He ignored the sarcasm. “Keep at it. I’ll bring you a sandwich along with your tea.”

  “You trust me enough to leave me alone for ten whole minutes?” She feigned shock.

  “Thirty actually. I’m going to pick up lunch in town.” He gave her a stern look. “And no sitting down on the job the minute my back is turned. I expect one more bush trimmed when I get back.”

  “It’s my damned yard!” she shouted after him.