I'd like to see one of your designs, on paper, at some point. Which leads me to a thought I'd had."
"Bet you got lots of them."
"My boss told me to play nice," she said, coolly now. "How about you?"
He moved his shoulder again. "Just saying."
"My thought was, with some of the reorganizing and transferring I'm doing, I could cull out some office space for you at the center."
He gave her the same look he'd sent his men over her shoulder. A lesser woman, Stella told herself, would wither under it. "I don't work in a frigging office."
"I'm not suggesting that you spend all your time there, just that you'd have a place to deal with your paperwork, make your phone calls, keep your files."
"That's what my truck's for."
"Are you trying to be difficult?"
"Nope. I can do it without any effort at all. How about you?"
"You don't want the office, fine. Forget the office."
"I already have."
"Dandy. But I need an office. I need to know exactly what stock and equipment, what materials you'll need for this job." She "yanked out her notebook again. "One red maple, one magnolia. Which variety
of magnolia?"
"Southern. Grandiflora gloriosa."
"Good choice for the location. One weeping cherry" she continued, and to his surprise and reluctant admiration, she ran down the entire plan he'd tossed out at her.
Okay, Red, he thought. Maybe you know a thing or two about the horticulture end of things after all.
"Yews or winter creeper?"
He glanced back at the shed, tried both out in his head. Damn if he didn't think she was right, but he didn't see why he had to say so right off. "I'll let you know."
"Do, and I'll want the exact number and specimen type of other stock as you take them."
"I'd be able to find you ... in your office?"
"Just find me." She turned around, started to march off.
"Hey, Stella."
When she glanced back, he grinned. "Always wanted to say that."
Her eyes lit, and she snapped her head around again and kept going.
"Okay, okay. Jesus. Just a little humor." He strode after her. "Don't go away mad."
"Just go away?"
"Yeah, but there's no point in us being pissed at each other. I don't mind being pissed as a rule."
"I never would've guessed."
"But there's no point, right at the moment." As if he'd just remembered he had them on, he tugged off
his work gloves, stuck them finger-first in his back pocket. "I'm doing my job, you're doing yours. Roz thinks she needs you, and I set a lot of store by Roz."
"So do I."
"I get that. Let's try to stay out from under each other's skin, otherwise we're just going to give each
other a rash."
She inclined her head, lifted her eyebrows. "Is this you being agreeable?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I'm being agreeable so we can both do what Roz pays us to do. And because your kid has a copy of Spider-Man Number 121. If you're mad, you won't let him show it to me."
Now she tipped down her sunglasses, peered at him over the tops. "This isn't you being charming, is it?"
"No, this is me being sincere. I really want to see that issue, firsthand. If I was being charming,
I guarantee you'd be in a puddle at my feet. It's a terrible power I have over women, and I try to use
it sparingly."
"I just bet."
But she was smiling as she got into her car.
SIX
Hayley Phillips was riding on fumes and a dying transmission. The radio still worked, thank God, and
she had it cranked up with the Dixie Chicks blasting out. It kept her energy flowing.
Everything she owned was jammed into the Pontiac Grandville, which was older than she was and a lot more temperamental. Not that she had much at this point. She'd sold everything that could be sold. No point in being sentimental. Money took you a lot more miles than sentiment.
She wasn't destitute. What she'd banked would get her through the rough spots, and if there were more rough spots than she anticipated, she'd earn more. She wasn't aimless. She knew just where she was going. She just didn't know what would happen when she got there.
But that was fine. If you knew everything, you'd never be surprised.
Maybe she was tired, and maybe she'd pushed the rattling old car farther than it wanted to go that day. But if she and it could just hang on a few more miles, they'd get a break.
She didn't expect to get tossed out on her ear. But, well, if she was, she'd just do what needed to be
done next.
She liked the look of the area, especially since she'd skirted around the tangle of highways that surrounded Memphis. On this north edge beyond the city, the land rolled a bit, and she'd seen snatches
of the river and the steep bluffs that fell toward it. There were pretty houses— the neat spread of the suburbs that fanned out from the city limits, and now the bigger, richer ones. There were plenty of big
old trees, and despite some walls of stone or brick, it felt friendly.
She sure could use a friend.
When she saw the sign for In the Garden, she slowed. She was afraid to stop, afraid the old Pontiac would just heave up and die if she did. But she slowed enough to get a look at the main buildings, the space in the security lights.
Then she took a lot of slow breaths as she kept driving. Nearly there. She'd planned out what she would say, but she kept changing her mind. Every new approach gave her a dozen different scenes to play out
in her head. It had passed the time, but it hadn't gelled for her.
Maybe some could say that changing her mind was part of her problem. But she didn't think so. If you never changed your mind, what was the point of having one? It seemed to Hayley she'd known too many people who were stuck with one way of thinking, and how could that be using the brain God gave you?
As she headed toward the drive, the car began to buck and sputter.
"Come on, come on. Just a little more. If I'd been paying attention I'd've got you gas at the last place."
Then it conked on her, half in, half out of the entrance between the brick pillars.
She gave the wheel a testy little slap, but it was halfhearted. Nobody's fault but her own, after all. And maybe it was a good thing. Tougher to kick her out if her car was out of gas, and blocking the way.
She opened her purse, took out a brush to tidy her hair. After considerable experimentation, she'd settled back on her own oak-bark brown. At least for now. She was glad she'd gotten it cut and styled before she'd headed out. She liked the longish sweep of side bangs and the careless look of the straight bob with its varying lengths.
It made her look easy, breezy. Confident.
She put on lipstick, powdered off the shine.
"Okay. Let's get going."
She climbed out, hooked her purse over her shoulder, then started the walk up the long drive. It took money—old or new—to plant a house so far from the road. The one she'd grown up in had been so close, people driving by could practically reach out and shake her hand.
But she didn't mind that. It had been a nice house. A good house, and part of her had been sorry to sell
it. But that little house outside Little Rock was the past. She was heading toward the future.
Halfway up the drive, she stopped. Blinked. This wasn't just a house, she decided as her jaw dropped.
It was a mansion. The sheer size of it was one thing—she'd seen big-ass houses before, but nothing like this. This was the most beautiful house she'd ever laid eyes on outside of a magazine. It was Tara and Manderley all in one. Graceful and female, and strong.
Lights gleamed against windows, others flooded the lawn. As if it were welcoming her. Wouldn't that be nice?
Even if it wasn't, even if they booted her out again, she'd had the chance to see it. That alone was worth the trip.
She walked on, smelling the evening, the pine and woodsmoke.
She crossed her fingers on the strap of her purse for luck and walked straight up to the ground-level doors.