Spring Flowers, Summer Love. Lois Richer
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Whatever humor Connor had begun the morning with had long since dissipated. No way was he putting those filthy garments back on. Instead, he dug through his uncles’ belongings, scrounged up a pair of pants six inches too large around the middle and six inches too short on the legs, a flannel shirt with seven different buttons and a pair of wooly socks that did nothing for fashion but kept his feet and ankles warm.
Two pairs of rubber boots sat at the back door. Resigned to wearing the odious footwear, Connor slipped on one of them, squinching his toes to fit. Then he went to find the dog.
Tobias was gone, the leash dangling on the ground.
“I should have known,” Connor grunted, trudging back toward the house. “If it weren’t for bad luck—”
A rumble overhead warned him the day wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. He hauled himself inside as the heavens unleashed a mixture of snow, rain and sleet, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the hall mirror.
“Dogs know how to take shelter,” he told it. “Animals have a sixth sense about self-preservation.”
Animals that have resided inside posh New York apartments for their entire lives? A picture of Cecile’s face—chiding, sad—wavered through his mind.
Guilt was a terrible thing. And right now it had a choke hold on him.
Connor sighed, pulled on a yellow slicker, dragged the hood over his head and squeezed his feet into the other pair of boots. They were no bigger. His toes ached painfully.
Grimacing, he headed outside to hunt for the dog.
Cecile had died saving Tobias. After their conversation that day he was probably the last person she’d have chosen to take care of her beloved pet, but there wasn’t anyone else. The least he could do was make sure her dog got a bath and some dinner.
Chapter Two
Rowena’s fingers moved nimbly over the twigs she’d received from Oren Yelland’s personal nursery. With any luck she’d get the cuttings finished and into the rooting compound tonight. Ash, elm, poplar. She counted mentally, nodded. Three thousand so far.
It was a start.
A noise outside made her pause.
Not that there hadn’t been noises before. Every night she was out here she heard something. So different from living in the city. She’d forgotten that. If the rain ever stopped she’d take a walk, see what else was sharing her land.
A soft “woof” made her smile.
“Hello, Tobias.” She opened the door, let him inside. “My goodness, you’re soaked.” She stepped back as he shook himself off, then bent to rub his ears. “Does your master know where you are?”
He gave her a soulful look then flopped down in front of the heater she’d turned up just enough to take off the chill. The cuttings wouldn’t be in here long enough to notice.
“Make yourself at home.” She chuckled. “Are you hungry?”
His ears lifted as if he understood that word. Rowena tugged the lunch bag from her coat pocket, took out the half sandwich that was left and tossed it to him. It disappeared in a millisecond.
“Wow! You’re starved. Either that or you’re not very polite.” She held up her hands to show they were empty. “Sorry, chum, but that’s all I’ve got.”
Rowena turned back to her work, musing about the dog’s owner. Connor Wingate had been stressed today. She’d noted the weary lines beside his eyes, the tired droop he’d tried so hard to hide. It couldn’t have been easy to put his own life on hold and move up here to take over while his uncles recovered from their accident. From all reports the brothers were healing nicely but it would be a while before either would be able to manage on their own, let alone run Wingate Manor.
Another noise. More like a loud thump this time. Then she thought she heard a voice. Somebody was out there.
Rowena set down her knife and moved to the door. She glanced at the dog. His head was up, his ears perked. A low growl rumbled from his throat.
“Quiet now, Tobias,” she murmured. She dragged on her coat, pulled up the hood, switched off the lights then yanked open the door.
The night was dark. She’d deliberately left the yard light off to save on power. But a ripple of lightning illuminated two figures racing away from her. A moment later they disappeared behind the greenhouse structure which the Wingates had erected years earlier.
Rowena walked to the end of the planting shed, aware that the dog padded along beside her. But though she watched in the pouring rain for several minutes, she saw no one else.
“Probably teenagers sneaking back from Lookout Point,” she mused. Turned back toward the shed, she stopped.
“You’d better go home, Tobias. Your master is probably wondering where you are.”
The brown tail swished happily back and forth at the words but the dog never moved.
“Go home, Tobias.” She ignored him, slopping over the grass.
At the door Rowena paused, peeked over one shoulder. He’d followed her. She stepped inside, closed the door and went back to work. But her conscience made her check outside the door five minutes later. He was still there, sitting, waiting.
“Oh, all right,” she mumbled. “Come on in and get dry. But when I leave you have to go home. Got it?”
A funny squawk of sound emerged from the dog. Apparently he’d accepted her terms. He flopped down in front of the heater and closed his eyes. Rowena picked up her knife and resumed cutting. It was rather nice having company, even if it was just a dog.
By the time she’d finished, her stomach was complaining bitterly. That half a sandwich would have come in handy about now. She carried the bundles into the adjoining room, thrust the fragile stalks into the rooting compound.
A rap on the door scared the wits out of her.
Tobias, on the other hand, didn’t seem too bothered. He was on his feet, but he didn’t bark or growl.
“I sense that being a watchdog is not your forte,” she scolded as she opened the door.
Connor Wingate glanced over her shoulder, shoved down his hood and stepped inside. “I might have known.”
“Pardon?”
“That animal is in here safe and warm while I’ve been slogging through acres of mud, worried that he was hurt.” He looked as if that was her fault.
“He showed up here a while ago. I tried to send him home but he wouldn’t go.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.” He glanced around. “Oh!” His eyes glowed like topaz.
“Oh?” What on earth was wrong with him?
“I’ve just put two and two together. Davis Nurseries. You’re Davis Nurseries.”
Rowena motioned him inside, closing the door to shut out the cool air.
“Actually that was my father.”
“And now it’s you.”
She grinned. “Yes, I guess it is. For now.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Cuttings.” She showed him. “Most of the trees on the property are too large or too old to sell as nursery stock so I have to start new ones. These will root and I’ll plant them this summer. By next year I’ll have some to ship out.”
“It’s a long time to wait for a return on your investment.”
She nodded, surprised by his knowledge.
“Yes. But I have to start somewhere. Besides, I’ll have