Daffodils and Danger
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Endorsements
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Thank you
Daffodils and Danger
Wildflowers & Wishes #1
Mary Manners
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Daffodils and Danger
COPYRIGHT 2014 by Mary Manners
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible with Revised New Testament (c) 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2014
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-374-2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my husband, Tim...my real-life hero.
Endorsements
Mary Manners is one of those authors...I know that I will always love and enjoy any of her books...
~Paula Phillips on Wounded Faith
Between the beautiful view she paints with her opening words, and the emotional turmoil in the hero’s heart, Ms. Manners drew me into this story from the start.
~Donna Basinow on Lesson in Lone Creek
Manners spins a tale of second chances, tender love, and family relationships that touch the soul.
~Marianne Evans on Kate’s Kisses
Faith and love can get you through anything. That is the message that is woven throughout Mended Heart. An engaging couple and vibrant supporting cast are the star players in this tale of two people finding peace... and each other.
~The Romance Reviews on Mended Heart
A heartwarming tale you won’t want to miss.
~Happily Ever After Reviews on Mended Heart
This book is unputdownable as its believable and loveable characters leap from the pages. Ms Manners conveys a rich depth of emotion on each page, going from laughter to tears to heart stopping moments almost effortlessly.
~Clare Revell on Buried Treasures
The Lord will be your confidence and will keep your foot from the snare.
~Proverbs 3:26~
1
Wyatt Cutler grimaced as he pulled into the gravel lot of Cutler’s Nursery. The day had dawned overcast and dreary, and heavy rain had followed him as he forged a path along the interstate from New York City. Hours of endless navigating through a gray-sheet downpour had turned an eleven hour trip into nearly fourteen, leaving him in a foul mood and hungry for something solid to fill his growling belly. Strong coffee would be nice, as well, but he doubted he’d find anything decent here in modest Clover Cove.
At least the skies showed signs of clearing, and the rain had dwindled to thready spittle. He switched off the truck’s worn wiper blades, which had commenced to squealing somewhere between Lexington and Roanoke. Even the blast of the radio had failed to drown out the nerve-grating, methodic whine. He’d have to have them replaced, and wasted no time in adding the fact to a growing mental list that had begun to take shape in the back of his mind. Locate an apartment to rent, replace wiper blades...
Good grief, find coffee.
Wyatt killed the truck’s engine and slipped from the cab, careful to sidestep a yawning puddle just beneath the driver’s door. One quick sweep of the rain-splattered lot told him the grounds were in serious need of attention. Scattered gravel had all but washed away, leaving gaping holes that posed a danger to anyone foolish enough to stumble into one. Wyatt’s weary mind whirred with all the possible outcomes—none good. Twisted ankle. Broken arm… He added a few truckloads of gravel to his mental list, all the while wondering if his family might swing the cost of blacktop instead. Scratch that—funds were sorely lacking, and the timing was all wrong, given the season. They had to focus on sales this spring, not renovations.
The mental list grew as he crossed the lot. Sub-par lighting cast an anemic glow over mulch mounded in a variety of shapes and colors, and stacked pallets of river rock. Wyatt added updated fixtures to the list. They could work those in, at least, without interrupting sales. And a couple of the smaller, working greenhouses had seen better days; one in particular listed a bit to the east like a sinking ship; the task of shoring it up was penciled into Wyatt’s memory right beneath a lighting note. So much that required attention, and he hadn’t even wound his way inside yet.
The scent of flowers and damp earth enveloped him as he neared the shop, turning his hollow stomach. He’d never liked the overpowering, sickly-sweet smell. A few flowers—perhaps a bouquet or a flurry of potted plants—were acceptable. An army of them, in his opinion, was the worst kind of sensory overload, evoking memories best left buried. But he guessed when it came to owning a nursery the overpowering aroma was just one in a long line of nuisances.
Soft, classical music drifted from speakers strung along the area where rectangular wooden platforms hand-built years ago by his dad were set end-to-end to showcase the finest plants found in all of East Tennessee…Cutler plants.
At least the plants had a vibrant look to go along with the overwhelming odor. And, through years of hard work by both his parents, the reputation of Cutler plants had matured to an impeccable status. Despite the rundown appearance of the grounds, people came in droves. Everyone who knew anything at all about plants knew that no finer blooms existed in all of East Tennessee.
Even so, Wyatt wanted to sell the place. He’d practically begged his mom to just let it go. Dad had been sick for months before he passed last April, and in that time, it had become painfully obvious the nursery was just too much for Mom and his younger brother, Reese, to handle on their own. Profits plunged while expenses soared. Things began to break down and advertising ran out—not that they really needed advertising. Yet, given the situation, Wyatt asserted they’d be better off to cut their losses and move on.
But Hattie Cutler was a proud woman, and she would have none of that. She’d been married to Wyatt’s dad for going on thirty years and Cutler Nursery had been his dad’s lifelong dream as well as a family business for a good chunk of the past two decades. It had been a part of the family for so long that it was like a fifth child. His mom wouldn’t see her husband’s hard work handed over to a buyer for any amount of money.
So Wyatt had, with a great deal of reluctance, moved on to Plan B; he quit his lucrative job at Messer Dynamics in New York and
returned home—painfully swallowing his oath never to follow in his dad’s footsteps. Now, he had no choice but to pull up his proverbial boot straps, dig in, and rescue his mom from her own stubborn pride, no matter the cost. It was what Cutler men did and, if nothing else, when it came right down to it he was a Cutler through and through.
Wyatt sighed and scrubbed a hand across his jaw as a stray raindrop splattered his cheek. At twenty-seven, he was still loath to go against his mother’s wishes. She’d raised him to be respectful and, though he felt sorely tested, he’d honor his father’s memory by making a go of righting this place—even if the aggravation put him in the ground right beside his dad.
“Wyatt.” His mother rounded a corner, nearly plowing into him as she carried an oversized hanging basket in each hand. Waterfalls of blooms spilled to cover her petite frame from the waist down. Dark eyes, a Cutler trademark, swept over him as a smile curved her lips. Her gaze twinkled. “Oh, you made it. I didn’t hear you pull up.”
“Let me get those, Mom.” Quickly, Wyatt stepped in and grabbed both planters. “You shouldn’t be carrying things so heavy.”
“Oh, I’m just fine.” She edged forward and wrapped her arms around his waist to come in for a hug.
The scent of Shalimar—the same perfume she’d been wearing as long as he could remember—whispered. For the slightest moment, nostalgia grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed.
“You’ve lost weight, son. Is everything OK?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He gave her a peck on the forehead. “Where’s Reese?”
“He left half-an-hour ago with a load of black mulch—last minute phone order by Mr. Stuckey over on Cross Creek Road. He should be back any minute. Oh, he’ll be so glad to see you.”
“Ditto.” Wyatt swiped damp hair from his brow. “I’m surprised anyone’s working outdoors in this weather.”
“Why? The rain never hurt anyone. Plus, it wards off the heat.” His mother smoothed a hand over his chest, frowning as her fingers swept his ribs. “I’m going to have to fatten you up. How long has it been since you’ve had a decent meal?”
“Last night, about six.” Actually, he hadn’t had a decent meal in…he couldn’t remember when he’d actually sat down at a table to eat something that wasn’t some variety of lukewarm fast-food. “And your theory about the rain would work if it was hot out here, but this precipitation is cold. It feels more like winter than spring.” He jostled the baskets, stepping on a few blooms in the process. Buds scattered along the packed-dirt floor. “Where do you want these?”
“Over there in the corner.” His mother motioned up and away, toward a steel rod running the length of the display area. “Just above the daffodils. Aren’t they beautiful this year?”
“Yeah, they look great.” Wyatt forced enthusiasm as he placed the baskets, but he really couldn’t care any less. Flowers were flowers, right? He might share his mother’s dark looks, but her love of flowers had skipped a generation, as far as he was concerned. Reese, on the other hand, lived and breathed to work the nursery. The very fact presented an ongoing bone of contention between them. “Speaking of a decent meal, have you had dinner, Mom?”
“No. Today’s been crazy.” She raked a hand through her hair and Wyatt noticed an abundance of salt-and-pepper sprinkles throughout—more than he remembered seeing at Dad’s funeral.
His heart tugged a bit; she’d aged in the months since Dad died. The work must be wearing on her more than he realized. Maybe he should have come sooner.
“But that’s a good thing,” she said. “More business equals higher profits, right? We should be millionaires, since this is the first breather I’ve had today.”
“Then you’ve done enough work. I’m treating you to a good, hot meal.” Wyatt nodded toward the opposite side of the street to where the sign at Pappy’s Pizzeria flashed in welcoming red neon. “How about Italian? Does the pizzeria still serve that mouthwatering double-meat lasagna and garlic knots?”
“They do. That’s perfect. I’d love to go check on Kami, too.” She adjusted a row of potted daffodils in full bloom before moving on toward the check-out area. “She’s been tackling a rough spell lately.”
That was so like his mom to notice the troubles of others way before her own. She’d just suffered through the loss of her husband and was facing the possibility of losing her business, as well. Wyatt would have given better odds of survival to the Titanic. But his mother didn’t see it that way. No, Wyatt knew she placed her trust in the only father she’d ever known—her Heavenly Father.
“Really?” Wyatt followed her down the aisle, pausing for just a moment along the way to hang the planters. “What’s going on with Kami?”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate us standing out here in the street, gossiping over her.” His mother waggled a finger in his face and then turned to roll a flat-bed cart back against the wall. “No, sir. That’s a matter you’ll have to take up with her.”
“Then why’d you mention it?” Wyatt stepped around her to tend to the other scattered carts. The wheels wobbled and squealed in protest, making the carts hard to maneuver as he lined them along the side wall near the check-out area. Add wheel repair to the list.
“Just because.” She shrugged and emptied cash from the register into a night-drop bank bag before locking the machine and switching off the power. “It’s on your radar now, isn’t it?”
“I suppose, along with a million other things.” Wyatt, painfully overloaded by details, pressed one palm to his chest. His mind reeled like a ricochet in a cinder-block room. So many things on the list and yet it continued to grow exponentially. With Mom here alone in the evening while Reese ran deliveries, security was an issue. Well, that was about to end—he’d see to it. Yes, this was quiet and cozy Clover Cove, but times were changing, and it would serve them all well to become more aware. “I hope Kami knows how to make a decent cup of coffee.”
“Holding down the fort the way she’s managed since her mama passed, I’m sure she’s added that skill to her arsenal.” His mother shimmied out of an oversized patchwork smock and brushed soil from her khakis. “I’ll text Reese and let him know where to find us.”
“You text?”
“Why not?” She reached into her pocket and drew out a cell phone. “My fingers work as well as yours.”
“Wow. OK.” Wyatt shook his head in disbelief. Too much had changed around here since his dad was gone. His gaze slipped to the pizzeria across the street, its expansive front windows bathed in light. Beyond the glass, he caught a glimpse of a slender woman flitting among the tables as the enticing aroma of marinara mingled with Italian sausage and garlic. “I’ll just walk the grounds out front while I wait for you.”
2
Kami Moretto glanced out the front window of Pappy’s Pizzeria to find a pick-up truck barreling into the Cutler Nursery parking lot across the street. Beneath a halo of lights, water splashed from the wheel wells while gravel fishtailed in all directions like shrapnel. Music roared with a heavy beat from the cab. Someone was sure in a hurry.
“Kami, would you mind to pour me a refill on my coffee?” Mrs. Baker called from one booth over. Her nasally, high-pitched voice grated on Kami’s fraying nerves. It had been a long day, starting at seven-thirty when she got word that Jada had called in sick—again. It was hard to find good help. Kami had scurried to fill the gap once again, but the extra hours weighed on her. She ached from head to toe, and her head danced with the makings of a monster migraine. Mrs. Baker’s incessant taps along the tabletop with her soup spoon didn’t help at all.
The woman continued her soliloquy, “All the shopping today has me plumb tuckered out. Who imagined that every grandchild—all six of them—would have an April birthday? And they all fancy different things. Newfangled gadgets and all those addictive video games that are sure to rot their brains.”
“Now, dear…” Mr. Baker leaned across the table and patted her veiny hand. “Remember your blood pressure.”<
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“Of course. How could I forget it? I’m not getting any younger.”
“You’re still beautiful to me, dear.”
“Thank you, honey.” She smiled, revealing yellow teeth smudged with ruby-red lipstick. “But a day at the mall has done me in. I’m liable to fall asleep in this bowl of scrumptious gazpacho.”
“Now, we can’t have that.” Kami stifled a yawn as Mr. Baker rolled his eyes at his wife’s over-dramatic interlude. With nearly fifty years of marriage under their belt, the two were a pair, for sure. “I just brewed a fresh pot. I’ll grab it and be right over.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Mrs. Baker nodded and the large gap between her front teeth flashed as she smiled. “And bring over a few more of those delicious garlic knots. Your father has outdone himself today.”
“I’ll let him know you said so.”
Kami strode from the front window before whoever was driving the truck climbed out of it, leaving her curiosity piqued. With a truck like that, it was probably someone desperate for a load of mulch. The current storms were supposed to ease through the night, promising clear, blue skies in the morning. Tomorrow would be perfect weather for planting. Perhaps she’d finally even tackle the flower beds at the front of her small house if she could spare an hour or two away from the restaurant.
If Jada showed up. Kami vowed to march straight to the woman’s house and drag her from her bed and all the way to the restaurant, if necessary. If she wasn’t a cousin by marriage, although twice removed, Dad would have canned her months ago.
Considering options and making a mental list of the supplies she’d need, Kami went after the coffee carafe. As she rounded the service counter, she breathed in the tangy scent of pizza sauce mingled with oregano and fennel from the Italian sausage links her father had prepared from scratch sometime between the lunch and dinner crowds. Pappy’s specialized in Sicilian style pizza, but everyone loved Anthony Moretto’s spaghetti with fennel sausage, too.