Magnolias and Mercy (Wildflower Wishes Book 1)

  Magnolias and Mercy

  (Wildflower Wishes #1)

  Mary Manners

  Copyright 2020

  Mary Manners

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Delia Latham/Heaven’s Touch Designs

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Warning: No part of this book may be copied, scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the express, written permission of the author. Unauthorized duplication and/or distribution is illegal. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Sweet Dreams Publications

  First Edition, 2020

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact information:

  Mary Manners: sunriserun63@aol.com

  Scripture taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® NIV®

  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society®. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  ~ Dedication ~

  To Sharon Meinke...

  Your smile brings the warmth of sunshine, while your kindness and strength inspire the hearts of all who know you.

  My life has been richly blessed by your friendship!

  ~ About Magnolias and Mercy ~

  Can mercy be found in the struggle between past and present…

  Wyatt Cutler manages to break away from family-owned Cutler Nursery—and small-town Clover Cove—until his father perishes in a tragic accident. With no choice but to abandon his prestigious position at world-renowned Messer Dynamics and return to home, Wyatt's only goal is to help his mother and brother, Reese, keep the family business afloat.

  The laughter has faded for Kami Moretto as she struggles to keep her family’s business running. With her mom gone and her dad in a deep depression, Pappy’s Pizzeria hangs on by a thread. Kami longs for days of the past and a time when her faith carried her through every storm, while she wonders how Wyatt can take his family—and his business—for granted when hers is in such shambles.

  When tragedy strikes, Wyatt realizes he must let go of the past and cling to hope for the future; he’s in danger of losing his family, his business, and the only woman he’s truly loved.

  ~ Key Verse ~

  The Lord will be your confidence and will keep your foot from the snare.

  ~Proverbs 3:26~

  Chapter 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 winding path in his pickup truck 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. A mug of strong black coffee would be nice, as well, but he doubted he’d find anything decent at this late hour in small-town 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 some 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. His weary mind whirred with all the possible outcomes—none good. Twisted ankle. Broken arm…

  Wyatt 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, as well as stacked pallets of river rock. He added updated fixtures to the list. His family could manage that project, at least, without interrupting sales.

  He rounded a corner and noted that a couple of the smaller, working greenhouses had seen better days. The one closest to him listed slightly to the east like a sinking ship, and the task of shoring it up was penciled into Wyatt’s memory right beneath the lighting note. There was 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, causing his hollow stomach to churn. He’d never liked the overpowering, sickly-sweet smell of compost mingled with blooms. A cluster of flowers—a bouquet or a flurry of potted plants—was acceptable to his senses, while an army of them proved 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 distraction in a long line of nuisances.

  Soft, classical music drifted from speakers strung along the area where rectangular wooden platforms that had been hand-built years ago by his dad were set end-to-end to showcase the finest foliage found in all of East Tennessee…Cutler plants.

  At least the blossoms 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 from far and wide in droves. Everyone who knew anything at all about plants knew that no finer blooms existed in all of East Tennessee, or anywhere in the state, for that matter.

  A twinge of pride coursed through Wyatt, and for a fleeting moment the citrus-honey scent of magnolias brought a smile to his lips.

  Wyatt paused to roll the ache from his shoulders. He swiped at his nose, chasing away the magnolia scent. What had gotten into him? He’d returned to convince Mom and Reese to sell the place. He’d practically begged his mother 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. 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 hear none of that. She’d been married to Wyatt’s dad for going on thirty years and Cutler Nursery had been Dad’s lifelong dream, as well as the family business, for a good chunk of the past two decades. It had been an integral part of the family for so long that it was like a fifth child. Hattie 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 mother from her own stubborn pride, no matter the cost. Taking the proverbial
bull by the horns in difficult situations was what Cutler men did and, if nothing else, when it came right down to brass tacks, he was a Cutler through and through.

  The eldest male Cutler now. The man of the house, per se. Like it or not, this mess had perched firmly upon his shoulders.

  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, despite the negative instincts that shouted at him to throw in the towel and close up shop. Mom had raised him to be respectful and, though he felt sorely tested, he’d honor his father’s memory by forging a genuine attempt to right 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. Dark eyes, a Cutler trademark, swept over him as a smile curved her lips. Her gaze twinkled. “Thank goodness you made it safely through the storm. 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.”

  “Nonsense. 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 for 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 okay?”

  “As okay as can be. 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.” Her eyes twinkled merrily. “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 since the last time he’d come home for a visit. Since then, he couldn’t recall 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, causing Hattie to wince.

  “Careful.” She cautioned.

  “Sure.” Wyatt did a little two-step to avoid amputating any more of the fragile blossoms. “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 magnolias. Aren’t they beautiful this year?”

  “Yeah, they look great.” Wyatt forced enthusiasm as he placed the baskets, but he really couldn’t care quit less. Flowers were flowers, right? He might share his mother’s dark looks, but her love of all things floral 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. 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 continued. “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 flashing red sign at Pappy’s Pizzeria welcomed them. “How about Italian? Does the pizzeria still serve that mouthwatering double-meat lasagna and garlic knots?”

  “It sure does. And, lasagna sounds perfect. I’d love to go check on Kami, too.” She adjusted a row of potted magnolias 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 along the rail there. “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.”

  But now Kami’s at the top of the list.

  Wyatt, painfully overloaded by details, pressed one palm to his chest. Thoughts

  ricocheted through his mind like a bullet in a cinder-block room. So many things on the list and yet it continued to grow exponentially.

  “You shouldn’t handle the cash alone at night, Mom.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “It isn’t safe.”

  “Pish posh, I’m perfectly safe, son. This is Clover Cove, not New York City.”

  Wyatt knew there was no point arguing with her, so instead he bit his tongue while the mental list grew ever longer.

  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. But, for now, he switched gears.

  “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.” Hattie 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.”

  Wyatt paused and turned to her as surprise took hold. “You text?”

  “Why not?” She reached into her pocket and drew out a cell phone. “My fingers work as well as yours.”

  “Wow. Okay.” Wyatt shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll just walk the grounds out front while I wait for you.”

  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 cheerful 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 strawberry cheesecake.

  Kami.

  The sight of her drew him closer, and he headed toward the road.

  Chapter 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 whee
l 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 to the tips of her toes, 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 plump, elderly 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.”

  “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 yellowed 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 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 of coffee. I’ll grab it and be right over.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Mr. Baker nodded and the large gap between his front teeth flashed as he smiled. “And bring over a few more of those delicious garlic knots. Your father has outdone himself today.”