"Thank God I had sons."
"Oh, yeah." She laughed again, comfortably now. "My parents divorced when I was very young.
I suppose you know that."
"Some of it. As I said, I like your father, and Jolene."
"So do I. So rather than stick a pin in a map, I decided to come here. I was born here. I don't really remember, but I thought, hoped, there might be a connection. That it might be the place."
They walked back through the retail center and into a tiny, cluttered office that made Stella's organized soul wince. "I don't use this much," Roz began. "I've got stuff scattered between here and the house. When I'm over here, I end up spending my time in the greenhouses or the field."
She dumped gardening books off a chair, pointed to it, then sat on the edge of the crowded desk when Stella took the seat.
"I know my strengths, and I know how to do good business. I've built this place from the ground up, in less than five years. When it was smaller, when it was almost entirely just me, I could afford to make mistakes. Now I have up to eighteen employees during the season. People depending on me for a paycheck. So I can't afford to make mistakes. I know how to plant, what to plant, how to price, how to design, how to stock, how to handle employees, and how to deal with customers. I know how to organize."
"I'd say you're absolutely right. Why do you need me— or someone like me?"
"Because of all those things I can—and have done— there are some I don't like. I don't like to organize. And we've gotten too big for it to fall only to me how and what to stock. I want a fresh eye, fresh ideas, and a good head."
"Understood. One of your requests was that your nursery manager live in your house, at least for the
first several months. I—"
"It wasn't a request. It was a requirement." In the firm tone, Stella recognized the difficult attributed to Rosalind Harper. "We start early, we work late. I want someone on hand, right on hand, at least until I know if we're going to find the rhythm. Memphis is too far away, and unless you're ready to buy a
house within ten miles of mine pretty much immediately, there's no other choice."
"I have two active young boys, and a dog."
"I like active young boys, and I won't mind the dog unless he's a digger. He digs in my gardens, we'll
have a problem. It's a big house. You'll have considerable room for yourself and your sons. I'd offer you the guest cottage, but I couldn't pry Harper out of it with dynamite. My oldest," she explained. "Do you want the job, Stella?"
She opened her mouth, then took a testing breath. Hadn't she already calculated the risks in coming here? It was time to work toward the goal. The risk of the single condition couldn't possibly outweigh the benefits.
"I do. Yes, Ms. Harper, I very much want the job."
"Then you've got it." Roz held out a hand to shake. "You can bring your things over tomorrow—morning's best—and we'll get y'all settled in. You can take a couple of days, make sure
your boys are acclimated."
"I appreciate that. They're excited, but a little scared too." And so am I, she thought. "I have to be frank with you, Ms. Harper. If my boys aren't happy—after a reasonable amount of time to adjust—I'll have
to make other arrangements."
"If I thought differently, I wouldn't be hiring you. And call me Roz."
* * *
She celebrated by buying a bottle of champagne and a bottle of sparkling cider on the way back to her father's home. The rain, and the detour, put her in a nasty knot of mid-afternoon traffic. It occurred to her that however awkward it might be initially, there were advantages to living essentially where she worked.
She got the job! A dream job, to her point of view. Maybe she didn't know how Rosalind—call me Roz— Harper would be to work for, and she still had a lot of boning up to do about the nursery process in this zone—and she couldn't be sure how the other employees would handle taking orders from a stranger. A Yankee stranger at that.
But she couldn't wait to start.
And her boys would have more room to run around at the Harper... estate, she supposed she'd call it.
She wasn't ready to buy a house yet—not before she was sure they'd stay, not before she had time to scout out neighborhoods and communities. The fact was, they were crowded in her father's house. Both he and Jolene were more than accommodating, more than welcoming, but they couldn't stay indefinitely jammed into a two-bedroom house.
This was the practical solution, at least for the short term.
She pulled her aging SUV beside her stepmother's snappy little roadster and, grabbing the bag, dashed through the rain to the door.
She knocked. They'd given her a key, but she wasn't comfortable just letting herself in.
Jolene, svelte in black yoga pants and a snug black top, looking entirely too young to be chasing sixty, opened the door.
"I interrupted your workout."
"Just finished. Thank God!" She dabbed at her face with a little white towel, shook back her cloud of honey-blond hair. "Misplace your key, honey?"
"Sorry. I can't get used to using it." She stepped in, listened. "It's much too quiet. Are the boys chained
in the basement?"
"Your dad took them into the Peabody to see the afternoon duck walk. I thought it'd be nice for just the three of them, so I stayed here with my yoga tape." She cocked her head to the side. "Dog's snoozing
out on the screened porch. You look smug."
"I should. I'm hired."
"I knew it, I knew it! Congratulations!" Jolene threw out her arms for a hug. "There was never any question in my mind. Roz Harper's a smart woman. She knows gold when she sees it."
"My stomach's jumpy, and my nerves are just plain shot. I should wait for Dad and the boys, but..."
She pulled out the champagne. "How about an early glass of champagne to toast my new job?"
"Oh, twist my arm. I'm so excited for you I could just pop!" Jolene slung an arm around Stella's
shoulders as they turned into the great room. "Tell me what you thought of Roz."
"Not as scary in person." Stella set the bottle on the counter to open while Jolene got champagne flutes out of her glass-front display cabinet. "Sort of earthy and direct, confident. And that house!"
"It's a beaut." Jolene laughed when the cork popped. "My, my, what a decadent sound in the middle of the afternoon. Harper House has been in her family for generations. She's actually an Ashby by marriage—the first one. She went back to Harper after her second marriage fizzled."
"Give me the dish, will you, Jolene? Dad won't."
"Plying me with champagne to get me to gossip? Why, thank you, honey." She slid onto a stool, raised her glass. "First, to our Stella and brave new beginnings."
Stella clinked glasses, drank. "Mmmmm. Wonderful. Now, dish."
"She married young. Just eighteen. What you'd call a good match—good families, same social circle. More important, it was a love match. You could see it all over them. It was about the time I fell for your father, and a woman recognizes someone in the same state she's in. She was a late baby—I think her mama was near forty and her daddy heading to fifty when she came along. Her mama was never well after, or she enjoyed playing the frail wife—depending on who you talk to. But in any case, Roz lost
them both within two years. She must've been pregnant with her second son. That'd be... shoot. Austin,
I think. She and John took over Harper House. She had the three boys, and the youngest barely a toddler, when John was killed. You know how hard that must've been for her."
"I do."
"Hardly saw her outside that house for two, three years, I guess. When she did start getting out again, socializing, giving parties and such, there was the expected speculation. Who she'd marry, when.
You've seen her. She's a beautiful woman."
"Striking, yes."
"And down here, a lineage like hers is worth its weight and then some. Her looks, her bloodline, she could've had any man she wanted. Younger, older, or in between, single, married, rich, or poor. But