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  putting one in for her.”

  She stood silently for a moment while he eyeballed the hole, then the rootball, then dug some more.

  “That’s the sweetest thing. That just coats my heart with sweetness, Harper. Can I help, or is it something you want to do alone?”

  “Hole’s about right. You can help me put it in.”

  “I never planted a tree before.”

  “See, you want the hole about three times as wide as the rootball, but no deeper. Get the sides of the hole loose so the roots have room to spread.”

  He picked up the tree, set it in the hole. “How’s that look to you?”

  “It looks right, like you said.”

  “Now you peel the burlap back, from the main stem, then we’ll see the original soil line, at least we will if you turn on that flashlight over there, because it is getting dark. Took me a while to get everything I needed for this.”

  She turned it on, crouched down and aimed. “How’s that?”

  “Good. See?” He tapped a finger on the mark at the base. “That’s the soil line, and we’ve got the right depth here. We’ve just got a little bit of roots that need pruning off. Hand me those.”

  She got the clippers, passed them to him. “You know digging a hole for a tree sounds the same as digging a grave.”

  He flicked her a look. “Have you ever heard anybody digging a grave?”

  “In movies.”

  “Right. We’re going to fill the hole, but we do it little by little and firm the soil down as we do. I don’t have any spare gloves. Here.”

  “No.” She waved him back when he started to pull off his work gloves. “A little dirt won’t hurt me. Am I doing this right?”

  “Yeah, that’s good. You just keep filling and firming, hilling it up toward the base and leaving a kind of shallow moat around the edge of the hole.”

  “I like the way it feels. The dirt.”

  “I know what you mean.” When they’d finished to his satisfaction, he took out his knife, trimmed off the exposed burlap, then pushed to his feet. “We’ll give it plenty of water, pour it into the rim around the mound, see?”

  He hauled up one of the buckets he’d filled, nodded when she lifted the other.

  “There, you planted a tree.”

  “Helped plant one anyway.” She stepped back, reached out a hand for his. “It looks lovely, Harper. It’ll mean a lot to her that you thought to do this.”

  “It meant something to me to do it.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then bent to pick up his tools. “Probably should’ve waited until next spring, but I wanted to do it now. A kind of nose-thumbing. Go ahead and knock them down, we’ll just put them back up. I wanted to do it now.”

  “You’re so angry with her.”

  “I’m not a kid, charmed by lullabies anymore. I’ve seen her for what she is.”

  Hayley shook her head, shivered a little in the close evening air. “I don’t think any of us have seen her for what she is. Not yet.”

  thirteen

  THE GRAFTING HOUSE was more than a work space for Harper. It was also part playhouse, part sanctuary, and part lab. He could, and often did, lose himself for hours inside its warm, music-filled air, working, experimenting, or just reveling in being the only human among the plants.

  A lot of times he preferred the plants to humans. Though he wasn’t altogether sure what that said about him, he wasn’t all that concerned about it.

  He’d found his passion in life, and considered himself fortunate that he could make a living doing something that made him completely happy.

  His brothers had to leave home to find theirs. It was the bonus round for him that he’d been able to stay where he loved, and do what he loved.

  He had his home, his work, his family. Throughout his adult life he’d had women he’d liked and enjoyed. But none of them had ever made him think, had ever nudged him to consider the next step on the rung of what he’d thought of vaguely as The Future.

  He hadn’t worried about that either. His vision of marriage was reflected in what he knew his parents had together. Love, dedication, respect, and tempering it all, like an alloy in steel, an unwavering friendship.

  He understood his mother had found that a second time, with Mitch. Not so much lightning striking twice as a true and perfect graft that united to make a new and healthy plant.

  In his mind, nothing less strong, less important was worth the time or risk.

  So he’d enjoyed the women who’d passed through his life, and had never pictured any of them as The One.

  Until Hayley.

  Now, so much of his world had changed, while other parts of it remained, comfortably, the same.

  He’d flipped on Chopin for his plants’ enjoyment today. And had P.O.D rocking the party on his headset.

  The space might not appear efficient with its groupings of plants in various stages of growth, the buckets of gravel or wood chips, the scatter of tapes and twine, clothespins and labels. There were scraps of burlap, piles of pots, bags of soil, tangles of rubber bands. Trays of knives and clippers. But he knew where to find what he wanted when he needed it.

  There might have been times he couldn’t put his hands on a pair of matching socks, but he could always put them on the tool he needed.

  He walked along, airing the tents and cases that housed his plants, as he did every morning. A few minutes without their covers would dry off any surface moisture that might have condensed on his rootstocks. Fungal disease was always a worry. Still, too much air might dry out the union. As he aired them, he checked specimens for progress, for any signs of disease or rot. He was particularly pleased with the camellia he’d cleft-grafted over the winter. His specimens would take another year, perhaps two to flower, but he believed they’d be worth the wait.

  The work required his passion, but it also required his patience, and his faith.

  He made notes to be transcribed to his computer files. There was active, steady growth in the astrophytum seedlings he had protected under a bottle cloche, and the nurse grafts of his clematis looked strong and healthy.

  Making the rounds once more, he retented the plants. He’d need to check the pond later to study the water lilies and irises he’d hybridized. A side and personal experiment he hoped would prove rewarding.

  Plus, it would give him an excuse to take a cooling dip in the heat of the day.

  But for now, he had several cultivars to see to.

  He gathered the tools he’d need, then selected a healthy rootstock from his pot-grown lantana, made the oblique cut, then matched it with a scion of viburnum. The girths were similar enough that he was able to use the simple slant of each cut to place them together so the cambiums on each side met truly.

  Using elastic bands, he kept the pressure light and even as he bound them together. Judging the graft good, he used grafting wax to seal the joining. He set it in a seed tray, covered the roots and graft with moist soil—his mother’s mix—then labeled.

  Once he’d repeated the process several times, he tented the tray, and swiveled to his computer to log in the work.

  Before he started on the next house specimens, he switched his music to Michelle Branch and pulled a Coke from his cooler.

  By the time he’d finished, Michelle had played through and his morning’s work was completed.

  He gathered a bag of tools and supplies, left his headset behind, and went out to check his field-grown and water plants.

  There were a few customers wandering around, scouting out the discounted stock under shade screens or poking into the public greenhouses. He knew if he didn’t make his escape quickly, one of them might catch him.

  He didn’t mind talking plants or directing a customer toward what they were looking for. He just preferred keeping his mind in the game, and right now that game was checking his field plants.

  He made it past the portulaca before someone called his name. Should’ve kept the headset on, he thought, but turned, readying up his cust
omer smile.

  The brunette had a curvy little body, which he’d had occasion to see naked several times. At the moment, she was showing it off in belly-baring shorts and a brief top designed to make a man give thanks for August heat.

  With a delighted laugh, she bounced up on her toes, clamped her arms around his neck and gave him a loud smack of a kiss. She still tasted of bing cherries, and brought back a flood of equally sweet memories.

  Instinctively he gave her a hard hug before stepping back to get a better view. “Dory, what’re you doing in town? How’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been terrific, and I just moved back. Just a couple weeks ago. Got a job with a PR firm here. I got tired of Miami, missed being home, too, I guess.”

  She’d probably changed her hair from the last time he’d seen her. Women were forever changing their hair. But since he wasn’t absolutely sure, he fell back on the standard: “You look great.”

  “Feel the same. And look at you, all buff and tan. I was going to call you but I wasn’t sure you were still living in that sweet little house.”

  “Yeah, still there.”

  “I was hoping. I always loved that place. How’s your mama, and David, and your brothers, and oh, just everybody.” She gave a bubbling laugh, threw out her arms. “I feel like I’ve been living on Mars for the past three years.”

  “Everybody’s good. Mama got married a few weeks ago.”

  “I heard. My mama caught me up with some of the local news. I heard you haven’t.”

  “Haven’t what? Oh, no.”

  “I was thinking you and I could do some catching up.” Dory trailed a finger down his chest. “I’d love to see your place again. I could pick up some Chinese, a bottle of wine. Like the old days.”

  “Ah, well . . .”

  “A kind of welcome-home and thank-you for you helping me pick out some houseplants for my new place. You’ll do that, won’t you, Harper? I’d like a few nice ones.”

  “Sure. I mean, sure I’ll help you pick out some plants. But—”

  “Why don’t we go inside, out of this heat. You can tell me what you’ve been up to while you help me out. But save some of the good stuff for later.”

  She took his hand, squeezing it as she tugged him with her. “I’ve missed seeing you,” she continued. “We barely had a chance to talk when I was up for a few days last year. I was going out with that photographer then, remember? I told you.”

  “Yeah.” Vaguely. “And I’m—”

  “Well, that is so over. I don’t know why I wasted a year of my life on a man so self-centered. It was always about him, you know what I mean? What made me think I wanted to hook up with the artistic, broody type?”

  “I—”

  “So I shook him and the sand out of my shoes, and here I am.”

  Inside, she turned and slid her hands in the back pockets of his jeans. An old habit of hers that brought on another memory flash. “I really have missed the hell right out of you. You’re glad to see me, aren’t you, Harper?”

  “Sure. Sure, I am. The thing is, Dory, I’m seeing somebody.”

  “Oh.” Her full bottom lip pouted. “Some serious somebody?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh well.” She left her hands in his pockets another moment, then drew them out. Gave his ass a little pat. “I guess I figured it would take a lot of luck on my part for you to be flying solo. How long have you been seeing her?”

  “Depends. What I mean is, I’ve known her awhile, but we’ve only started . . . we’ve only been involved recently.”

  “Looks like I should’ve gotten here sooner. We’re still friends, right? Good friends.”

  “We always were.”

  “That’s what I remembered, and I guess what I missed with Justin, the photographer. We never managed to be friends, and we sure as hell weren’t anything close to friends when it fell apart. You, on the other hand. I was telling another friend of mine not long ago how I’ve never been dumped as sweetly as I was with you.”

  She laughed, rose on her toes to kiss him lightly. “You’re a rare one, Harper.”

  She stepped back, and seconds later, Hayley came through the glass doors. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting? Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, thanks. Harper’s giving me a hand.” Dory patted hers on his arm. “I’m clueless about plants, so I came to the expert.”

  “Hayley, this is Dory. We went to college together.”

  “Is that right?” She smiled, widely. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

  “I haven’t been, for a long time. I’ve just moved back from Miami. New job, fresh start, you know how it goes.”

  “Don’t I just,” Hayley purred with that wide smile still in place.

  “I decided I’d come see Harper, and catch up, and get a few plants to liven up my new apartment. Wait till you see it, Harper, it’s a big step up from the hole I rented off-campus back in the day.”

  “Anything would be. I hope you got rid of that futon.”

  “I burned it. Harper hated that thing,” she said to Hayley. “Even offered to buy me a bed, but all I had was this tiny little place—just one room. If I had three people over, we were so crammed together we were halfway to an orgy.”

  “Those were the days,” Harper said, and made Dory laugh.

  “Weren’t they? Well, you’d better show me what I’m going to need, or I’ll keep you talking the rest of the day.”

  “I’ll just leave y’all alone.” Hayley backed out the doors.

  She got back to work, but made certain she wasn’t on checkout duty when Dory was ready to pay for the plants Harper selected for her. But she could hear Dory laugh—a particularly grating laugh, in her opinion—as she stocked shelves across the room.

  Harper leaned on the counter through the process, she noted out of the corner of her eye. And just look how he wore that lazy smile of his while they talked about mutual friends and the good old days.

  And damn if that Dory didn’t keep touching him. Little pats and pokes in between her hair flips. The steam began to rise from her belly up to her throat as Harper pulled the cart of potted plants out to Dory’s car.

  Hayley decided she really needed to check the stock of the shelves by the window. And if a person happened to look out while they were working, it wasn’t spying. It was glancing.

  Enough of a glance that she saw Harper lean down and exchange a liplock with his college buddy.

  Bastard.

  Then he waved her off before strolling around the side of the building like he wasn’t a low-life cheating scum. Worse, the sort that did his low-life cheating right in front of her face.

  You’d think he’d have the courtesy, the good breeding, to at least do it behind her back.

  Well, that was just fine. She wasn’t going to let it matter. She wasn’t going to give a single wrinkled, balled-up damn.

  And she wasn’t going outside to kick him in his two-timing balls either. She was just going out to see if any customers needed her assistance.

  That’s what she got paid for. Not for flirting, not for spending half the day reminiscing. And certainly not for kissing customers before she waved bye-bye.

  She was nearly to the grafting house when she saw him out in the field. He was already crouched down, examining grafts on the magnolias she’d helped him graft and plant weeks before.

  He flicked her a glance and a smile as she approached. “Take a look. These are coming along. Couple of weeks we can remove the tape.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Yeah, they’re looking good. I need to check some of the other ornamentals. I think we’re going to have some nice weeping pears and cherries for next season. Have I shown you the fruiting pears I did? The dwarfs?”

  “No. Did your friend get what she was after?”

  “Hmm. Yeah.” He rose, walked across to check the balance of the canopies on his weepers. “Kept it simple,” he said absently as he studied the tre
e. “Low maintenance. What I did here was use pyrus communis for stock—three-year-olds, and grafted three pendulas. You gotta make sure you get the spacing right, so you produce a nice shape.”

  “And you know all about shapes.”

  “Yeah. I like chip-budding these. I did these two springs ago, and these this spring. See how they develop?”

  “I see how a lot of things develop. I was surprised you didn’t go with her, carry the plants to her door.”

  “Who? Oh, Dory?” He flipped Hayley an absent look as sarcasm sailed, visibly, over his head. “She’ll be able to handle it. A couple trips.”

  He continued to walk, continued to examine.

  “Here? For these weeping cherries, I used a semi-dwarfing rootstock. Should make a nice specimen tree for smaller spaces. ’Round October, I’m going to take some ripe shoots from the Colt stock. What you do is bundle them, and drop them root-end down in a trench in the nursery bed, and hill ’em up so they’re about three-quarters buried. Then next spring, we’ll lift the bundles, plant the cuttings, and by summer they’ll be ready to use for rootstocks.”

  “That’s all just fascinating, Harper. Did you spend all that time with Dory lecturing her on how to make a damn rootstock?”

  “Huh.” His distraction was evident on his face as he glanced around. “She’s not interested in this kind of work. She’s in public relations.”

  “Private ones from what I saw.”

  “What?”

  “I was about to come back and suggest the two of you get a room. You ought to know better than to make out in one of the retail areas.”

  This time his mouth dropped open. “What? We weren’t. We were just—”

  “Those doors are glass, Harper, in case you’ve forgotten. I saw you, and you ought to have more respect for your workplace than to fool around in one of the public areas during working hours. But as you’re the boss, I guess you can do what the hell you like.”

  “My mother’s the boss, and I wasn’t fooling around anywhere. Dory and I are old friends. We were just—”

  “Kissing, touching, flirting, making dates. It’s unprofessional, in my opinion, to do that during work hours. But it’s downright rude to do it in front of me.”

  “Behind your back would be better?”

  Because it echoed her own nasty thoughts, her eyes went hot, searing like suns. “Let me just say, fuck you, Harper.”

  Since it was as good an exit line as she could think of when her brain was ready to explode, she turned on her heel. And spun right back when he grabbed her arm.

  He didn’t look distracted now, she noted. He looked ice-cold mad. “I wasn’t flirting or making dates.”

  “Just kissing and touching then.”

  “I kissed her because she’s a friend, a good one, who I haven’t seen in a while. I kissed her the way you kiss a friend. Which is nothing like this, for instance.”

  He gave her a yank that threw her off balance so her body collided with his. Then was scooped up, pulled in. He got a fistful of her hair, gave it a quick tug. And had his mouth crushed to hers.

  Not sweetly, not warmly, but with the stark heat of raw temper. She struggled, shocked that she was clamped so hard and tight she couldn’t fight her way free. A thread of fear snaked through her anger, and began to tighten just before he let her go.

  “That’s how I kiss women I don’t feel friendly toward.”

  “You think you have the right to treat me that way?”

  “As much as you do to accuse me of doing something, of being something I’m not. I don’t cheat and I don’t lie, and I’m not going to apologize for my behavior. If you want to know something about my relationship with Dory, or anyone else, past or present, then ask. But don’t come tearing into me with