Wife by Design. Tara Quinn Taylor
and I can build the benches ourselves. And, with your permission, I’d like to hit my suppliers up to donate the plants and the rest of the materials. I bring them more than a million dollars of business a year—I think they’ll carry me on this one. But for the initial rock work, I’ll need to bring in Luke and Craig—my two full-timers. They’re good guys, as your background check will show you. As I said before, Luke’s been with me since college and Craig’s someone he met working at Habitat for Humanity.”
Very familiar with the volunteer organization that built homes for needy families, Lynn’s mind was reeling. She was used to being the one most on top of things, of taking control and making things happen.
Grant was...impressive.
The oasis he was describing would be a godsend to their work. Grant was talking about providing a place of serene beauty, of aesthetic wonder. A place that could help heal the soul. And that was the part of these women that was damaged most of all.
They’d made it back to the area where Darin had left Grant.
“I’ll talk to Lila tonight,” she told him. “But I can pretty much guarantee she’ll be delighted.”
“As soon as you get an official go-ahead, let me know and we’ll get started.”
Just like that.
He was watching her watch him. She moistened her lips with her tongue, and his gaze lowered to them, then rose back up to meet hers.
What were they doing here?
“How long do you think it will take?” Her words were a little too slow. Too soft.
“A week. Tops.”
She said something appropriate. Told him she had to get going. He glanced at her mouth again.
And Lynn fled.
* * *
LATE THE FOLLOWING Monday, after putting in a full day as owner and CEO of Bishop Landscaping, Grant was in the Garden of Renewal with design software opened on his tablet, measuring off distances and envisioning finished results. With the help of the software, which would take his inputted measurements and choices and display outcomes, his idea would materialize into a working plan.
“Darin said I’d find you here.” The voice startled him. Turning, Grant almost dropped his tablet.
“Wow!” He’d said the word out loud before realizing he was doing so. In a pair of tight black jeans, high-heeled black leather sandals and a button-down, tapered white blouse, Lynn looked...nothing like a nurse. Her hair, loose and curling around her shoulders, was longer than he’d suspected. She was wearing makeup.
And not meeting his eyes as she handed him a manila folder. “This is the signed letter with our nonprofit tax ID that should be all your vendors need for their donations,” she said, her tone unusually subdued.
She seemed to be looking right through him. Or over him.
Taking the folder, Grant wanted to touch her hand. Her face. To bring her back to him. She was at the Stand for a reason. Had left her job at the hospital to live here.
Because she’d been abused? He knew for certain she’d been wearing a wedding ring four years before. He’d checked. He didn’t ever flirt or even think about flirting with another man’s wife.
Her fingers were unadorned now.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sounded so surprised,” he said, making certain that he didn’t touch her at all. “I’ve just never seen you out of uniform.”
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