Freesia and Faith Page 2

  “I’ll bet. But which has won the war?”

  “There is no war.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Reese flipped open one brochure and scanned the information, nodding. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes caught the light of the sun, turning the irises to rings of gold. “Nice spread…reasonable prices. That labels you the competition.”

  “Not exactly.” Peyton recoiled at the flippant words. “I was thinking more along the lines of a partnership—Cutler Nursery and Langley Florist. Hattie has agreed to a more than reasonable rental fee for the brownstone. And, when I order my plants from you, in bulk and at a discount, it will be a tremendous boost to my business and, most likely, to yours as well.”

  “You think so?” His gaze narrowed, and the gold tint darkened as the sun played hide and seek with the clouds. “And, in the meantime, the grafting building I’ve been planning to launch for more than a year gets put on the backburner once again. Mom and Wyatt know what an asset a grafting house can be to our future. Why would they overlook that to help someone like you?”

  “Like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t have experience, or roots here in Clover Cove, or, well, anything of substance, at least in a business sense.”

  “I have a dream and the ambition to accomplish it.”

  “Like that will put any bread on the table.”

  “Could you possibly be any more disagreeable?” She stepped toward him, her anger flaring. “Hattie and Wyatt think my floral shop paired with your nursery is a good idea, a profitable plan. Kami does, as well.”

  “Kami Moretto?” Reese closed the brochure, stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans along with her business cards. “What does she have to do with this?”

  “She’s a friend.”

  Peyton frowned at Reese’s careless manner with the materials that had taken countless hours to design and create. She’d done them herself, thus saving a good portion of her meager start-up budget for the floral shop.

  “She suggested Clover Cove as a place to build my floral shop. She encouraged me to accept Hattie and Wyatt’s offer.”

  “This was their idea?” He shook his head. “I was only gone a month, and I’ve returned to an alternate universe. That’s the only explanation I can come up with, here.”

  “They want this, Reese.” She stomped her foot, feeling like a two-year-old who lacked the skills to effectively communicate. “I want it—need it—too.”

  “Well, you can save your breath. I’m going to veto my family’s reckless decision and overturn your so-called partnership offer with a firm no.”

  “No?” Heat rose from the nape of Peyton’s neck to kiss her cheeks. “You can’t do that.”

  “Oh, but I can.” Reese crossed his arms, his gaze narrowing. “Cutler Nursery doesn’t need a partner. We’ve been in business since I was old enough to dress myself and, though we’ve hit a few bumps in the road, right now we’re doing just fine on our own.”

  “Dress yourself? Looks like you can still use a little help in that department.” Peyton scanned the length of him, frowning. “Too bad adult clothes don’t come in matched sets.”

  “You’re not earning any bonus points here, slick.”

  “I don’t need your bonus points” She tore her gaze from him to fan a slow sweep of the nursery grounds. “Because there’s always room in any business for expansion and improvement, as well as a bit of risk.”

  “That’s your opinion.”

  “I beg your pardon, but last I checked it was the firm opinion of your mother and brother, as well.” The kiss of heat exploded into an inferno. “As a matter of fact, I’m attempting to discuss a situation that’s very likely a home run for all involved. I’d appreciate a little help here.”

  “Very likely doesn’t cut it in a business like ours. Very likely”--Reese emphasized with air quotes-- “can only mean trouble.”

  “Kami pegged you as more of a risk-taker.” Peyton crossed her arms, lifting her chin to tip back the flash-fire of tears that burned her eyes. “But I guess she was way off the mark. It may come as a shock to you, but I know a great deal about the floral business. I’ve studied various aspects and have the degrees to prove it—multiple degrees.”

  “And it may come as a shock to you, but on-the-job experience means more than accolades on fancy paper.” Reece’s gaze swept her head to toe as a smirk caused his lips to flatten into a thin, white line. “And your hands—not to mention the rest of you—look like they’ve never seen a day in the dirt.”

  “My hands have seen plenty of dirt.”

  “Oh?” He lifted the ball cap from his head, swiping a palm across his forehead as his lips curled into a taunting grin. He nudged his rear end onto the rear bumper and leaned against the tailgate. “Tell me about it.”

  “Arrogant…rude.” The words rushed out in a clipped whisper as Peyton took a step toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “And Kami sang your praises. How could she be so off base? Better yet, how have you managed to stay in business with such a charming attitude? It’s a complete and utter—” The heel of her shoe, skewered in the mud, refused to release. Her foot slipped from the pump and she tumbled into Reese with a startled cry as the final word of her analysis spewed. “—mystery.”

  “Whoa, easy there.” He dropped his bottle of water, splattering them both as he caught her just before her forehead connected with the truck’s tailgate. “Are you OK?” His T-shirt held the warmth of the sun as his arms, strong and sure, circled her.

  “Ouch. That could have been…” Peyton pressed a hand to her forehead as she caught a whiff of damp earth with an undertone of clean, crisp soap. “I’m…oh, this is less than pointless. All I’ve managed is to make a fool of myself trying to talk some sense into you.”

  “That’s not all you’ve managed.” He motioned to where her pump was buried in the mud. “It appears you have a wounded soldier.”

  Peyton’s pulse stammered and a freight train screamed through her ears as the nursery swirled around her before coming back into focus. She drew a breath and pushed back from Reese, staggering as her equilibrium righted. She bent, tugged at the uncooperative shoe, and groaned as the genuine leather upper separated from the spiky heel with a sick-sounding squish while her bare toes, painted in the same perky Cajun Shrimp as her fingernails, curled along the muddy ground. Mortified, she released the mangled shoe and carefully righted herself to find Reese laughing.

  “Stop that.” One hand went to her hip as she glared. “Your behavior is deplorable, you know.”

  “Sorry.” He clamped a hand to his mouth, disregarding the soil-stained skin across his palm, then lowered it to his chin. “Can’t help myself.”

  “Then, I guess that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Well, this ought to be a show.” Reese readjusted the cap on his head as sunlight broke through the clouds once again. “Let me at least get you a towel first. The mud is slippery.”

  “No, thank you. You’ve done quite enough.” Peyton glanced across the lot, sizing the distance back to the floral shop. What had seemed like a short walk on the way in had morphed into the gaping mouth of the Grand Canyon. How would she ever get there from here with her dignity intact? And what about her meeting with Hattie, and the blooms she needed? How would she ever get the memorial arrangements made now? It wouldn’t help her business at all to miss filling the first order she’d received. But, her shop, not to mention the pizzeria, might as well be clear across the country. She blew damp hair from her eyes. “I’m perfectly fine without your help.”

  “Man, you’re stubborn.” Reese tugged the hem of his T-shirt from his jeans and, before she could lodge a protest, reached for her hands. Two quick swipes and the splatter of mud transferred from her fingers to the fabric. “There you go. That’s better.”

  “Wow. Oh, wow.” Flames licked along Peyton’s spine as Reese released her. Her fingers tingled as her belly cartwheeled. His hands, warm and rough with calluse
s, were much gentler than she’d imagined. Warning sirens screeched through her head…no time for this unwelcomed tumble of emotions, no time at all. “I really should go.”

  “You can’t walk away covered in mud like that.” Reese grabbed a roll of paper towels from the bed of the truck. “At least take these.”

  “No, thank you.” Peyton managed to hop away from him a few steps before nearly stumbling once more. She gave up the fight, slipped her second shoe off, and, hiking up her pencil skirt just enough to gather a bit of leverage, squished across the lot, hobbling toward the shop. Glancing back as she neared the sidewalk, she was mortified to find Reese doubled over against the bumper of his truck, belly-laughing.

  Jerk.

  Dismissing him with a stiff shake of her head, she caught sight of herself in the reflection of a car window. The image had her scowling in mortification. Not only had her hair loosed from the sleek chignon she’d painstakingly twisted that morning, but smudges of dirt shadowed her right cheek. To top it off, her blouse was splattered with mud; might as well pair it with Reese’s ripped jeans.

  Now that would be a vision.

  A quick tap on her shoulder launched her pulse to a gallop.

  “What now?” She turned, her heart pounding, to find Reese’s face dead-even with hers. The scent of sweat and aftershave, pure male, drifted as she sucked down a breath. “I told you I don’t need a towel.”

  “I got that memo.” He winked, grinning. “I just thought you might like to know Mom’s crossing the street now, on her way over, so if you want to hash this all out you’d better hike on your mangled stilt and get back to the nursery.”

  “I…oh.” She avoided her reflection—no point reminding herself of the disarray she was in. “Yes, I see her.”

  “And, FYI, I’d just love to sit in on this conversation.”

  2

  Peyton crossed her ankles and tucked her feet beneath the padded desk chair as they settled into Wyatt’s office. Hattie had graciously offered a pair of rubber gardening clogs to replace the ruined pumps and, after hosing the dirt from her feet, she’d slipped them on. The hunter green shade clashed like sandpaper on glass with her navy pencil skirt and mud-splattered blouse.

  Reese settled in across from her, his eyes dark and dangerous. He looked like a panther eyeing its prey, sizing up just the right moment to pounce. She tried not to make eye contact with him, but it was difficult with the way his gaze held to her as if she were part of a circus sideshow. She shifted in the seat, turning away from him as a nip of dread sent small bursts of heat up her spine. She was thankful for the rush of cool air from an overhead vent. If his stubborn, pigheaded, stick-in-the-mud attitude ruined this deal, she’d—

  “Here we are.” Hattie stepped into the room carrying a handful of foam coffee cups and a carafe, and the tension eased from explosive to sizzle. “No meeting is complete without a round of fresh, steaming coffee. Kami saw you here, Peyton, and sent over some of the pizzeria’s brew.”

  “Mom, let’s just get down to business here. I have to get that soil delivered to Mr. Jenkins.” Reese waved her off as she handed him a cup. “I don’t have time for coffee—or a long, drawn-out conversation.”

  “You’ll make time. Marcus took the load, and Wyatt just phoned from Chattanooga.”

  Not to be denied, Hattie pressed the cup into his hand. As mother and son faced off, Peyton saw just where Reese’s stubbornness branched from the family tree.

  “He’s caught up in his own meeting out there, so the tux fitting has been rescheduled for tomorrow night,” Hattie said.

  “Tomorrow?” Reese exhaled loudly, his relief at getting out of the fitting—at least for the next twenty-four hours—evident. Peyton would bet her life that he’d never stepped foot into a tux shop—probably didn’t even own a suit, for that matter—and wouldn’t even bother if it weren’t for Kami and Wyatt’s wedding. But, if he was being fitted for a tux that meant he was in the wedding.

  Great…just great. The festivities were penciled into her schedule, also. Could the day get any worse?

  “Well, I guess that will work,” Reese paused to sip the coffee and then ran a callused hand along his shadowed jaw. “But this other business—”

  “We’ll get to that.” Hattie filled a second foam cup and handed it to Peyton. The older woman’s thick, dark hair, sprinkled with a touch of salt and pepper, was brushed back into a mass of shoulder-length waves that accented a face rich with memories. Eyes the color of honey smiled so the outer corners creased in lines that must have been formed by a lifetime of sweet laughter. “There you go, dear. You’ve been through the wringer this afternoon, haven’t you?”

  “I’ll survive. I’m resilient.”

  “Of course you are.” Hattie filled her own cup and set the carafe on the desk. She settled into the chair beside Peyton to face Reese, who leaned against a bookshelf. “So, what is this all about? From my view at the diner window, you two looked like you were about to launch World War Three.”

  “You know how long I’ve had my sights on the brownstone.” Reese pushed away from the shelf, paced a few steps before turning back, his dark eyes dangerous as a summer storm. “How could you and Wyatt make an agreement with her”—he swept his arms wide in Peyton’s direction, grimacing as if she were every bit the enemy—“without consulting with me?”

  “Reese Cutler, don’t you take that tone with me.” Hattie waggled a finger at him, the southern lilt strong in her voice. It didn’t matter that he dwarfed her by nearly a foot; Hattie maintained firm authority. “Your father and I raised you better than that. You may be all of twenty-six, but I’m still your mother. I’ll…” She paused, sputtered a moment. “Well, I’ll ground you.”

  “Ground me?” A long sigh, punctuated by a hint of exasperation that ended with a slight bout of laughter, rippled from Reese. The razor-sharp glower in his eyes slackened just a bit as he turned his gaze to Hattie. “From what?”

  “I don’t know.” A smile creased Hattie’s lips and in it, Peyton felt the love of a mother for her child. Her heart tugged with a bite of envy. She hadn’t felt that kind of unconditional love for a long, long time—not since her dad drew his last breath. “But I’ll think of something.”

  “You would, no doubt. And I’m sorry for being…difficult.” Reese’s knee bounced, the storm fleeing as it was replaced by the slightest twitch of a grin. “But I don’t understand what’s going on here. I spent a lot of time drawing up plans, jotting details, and then she shows up spouting plans for a floral shop. It’s just not—”

  “I wasn’t spouting.” Peyton stood to pace. The garden clogs slapping against the floor reminded her of how ridiculous she looked. “If you weren’t so pomp—”

  “Just a minute.” Reese swung back to face her. “You’ve had your chance. It’s my turn now.” He lifted a hand as he addressed Hattie, his tone moderate. “I thought we had an agreement to run things, especially things as huge as this, by each other. I thought my opinion mattered.”

  “It does matter.” Hattie lowered her chin, her gaze narrowing. “And if you had been here for the preliminary conversation, when we hashed this all out, you would have agreed to it, as well.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have. I want that grafting house.”

  “Are you done whining, son?”

  “I am not whining.” Reese folded himself into the chair across the desk from them. “I’m just…stating the obvious.”

  “Package it however you want, but in my book it’s still whining, nonetheless.” Hattie crossed her legs and sipped her coffee, eyeing Reese over the rim of her cup with a glower that matched his. “You know, when your father and I started this business, there were people like you, Reese, who didn’t want to give us a chance, who didn’t believe we could fashion something profitable out of little more than nothing, who didn’t want to share. They were people who couldn’t look beyond their own nose to see the benefit of growing something new, quite literally, in this town. But a few gen
erous souls had a glimpse of the bigger picture and they helped make Cutler Nursery what it is today—steady, strong, and profitable. Thank goodness for them.”

  “I’m perfectly willing to share—just not my grafting house.” He shook his head. “Isn’t there another storefront, anything that she can use instead?”

  “I’m standing right here, you know.” Peyton’s spine stiffened. “I can hear you.”

  “It’s OK, honey.” Hattie patted Peyton’s arm. “He gets worked up—he’s got his father’s temper. But he’ll come to his senses, eventually.”

  “Of course I’m worked up.” Reese stalked over to the carafe, refilled his cup. “We’re family, working together. We’ve always trusted each other to do the right thing in all situations, no matter what.”

  “So, you should trust me now, son.” Hattie set her cup on the desk and took Peyton’s hand in hers, drawing her close. “Peyton is good friends with Kami, who will soon be Wyatt’s wife and a treasured part of our family. This young woman has got knowledge, common sense, and a great deal of talent. I believe in her, and want to help her grow what will surely be a profitable livelihood as well as make her happy. It’s time to pay it forward—all the kindness and prayers we’ve enjoyed over the years—with this simple act.”

  “And if this business venture—this partnership that you call a simple act—fails?”

  “It won’t fail.” Peyton squeezed Hattie’s hand, nodding vigorously as her heart danced with the knowledge that the kind and generous woman believed in her. “Because I’m so thankful to your mom—to Wyatt—for this opportunity, that I won’t ever quit.”

  ****

  There was no point in trying to reason with two headstrong women who had their hearts set on something, even if that something put a hitch in Reese’s plans and was destined to go down in a blazing inferno. Then, for good measure, toss in Wyatt—who was supposed to be the pragmatic and logical one of the three. Had the entire world gone crazy?