That she didn’t doubt.
“Mama, please let him take us on the mower. It’s so much fun!” Rory thrust his bike helmet on his head as he spoke. “I’ll wear my helmet for that too, I promise.”
She and Rye had negotiated that safety procedure even though her brother thought it was crazy.
“You make them wear bike helmets when they ride the lawn mower?” John Parker asked, obviously fighting a smile.
So another man thought she was crazy—or uptight. Okay, she was a mix of both.
“Lawn mowers are no different than three-wheelers, which Rye also loves to ride around on. Helmets are a must.”
John Parker held up his hands. “Safety first. I get it.”
“Mama, I want to stop swinging,” Annabelle cried.
“Here honey, let me help you.” John Parker caught her and the swing in his big hands, making her squeal like a banshee, and plucked her into his arms.
“Can I go riding with you and Rory?” she asked. “Uncle Rye just took the training wheels off my Barbie bike because I can ride like a big girl now.”
“She’ll slow us down,” Rory muttered, scuffing the dirt with his shoe.
Her son was usually good about playing with Annabelle, but he was right. Annabelle still wobbled like there was an earthquake beneath her when she rode her bike.
“Annabelle, why don’t you and Barbie help me get dinner started and then you can be the first to ride on the lawn mower with Mr. McGuiness when he and Rory return?”
She knew Rory missed Rye and, as Tory called them, the manly things they did together. This would be good for him.
But her daughter stomped her foot. “Mama, why can’t I go with them on the bike ride? I can ride fast.”
Part of her liked her daughter’s rebellion. She would never have even dreamed of stomping her foot at her own mama.
“Sugar, what have I told you about stomping your foot?” she said gently.
“That it’s not nice.”
“Exactly, now why don’t you take Barbie into the house and wait for me in the kitchen? I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’ll get my bike, Mr. McGuiness.” Rory raced off, the dogs streaking ahead of him.
Annabelle stomped off toward the house, muttering.
With the kids out of sight, John Parker smiled. “Annabelle’s a pistol. She reminded me of Rye when she stomped her foot like that.”
Her brother had always had fight in him, and even Mama hadn’t been able to squelch it. Cultivating Annabelle’s spirit while encouraging respect was like walking a parental tightrope.
“Rye laughs when she does it. I’ve told him that he’ll get his when he and Tory have kids.”
John Parker’s chuckle raised the hair on her newly exposed nape. “They’ll have strong kids. No doubt about that.”
“Thank you for taking Rory bike riding, John Parker. I know Rye put you up to all this.” Best put it out in the open.
They walked side by side through the gardens she’d created for Rye as they headed toward the house. It gave her pleasure to see the roses blooming in a wild array of pinks, whites, and yellows. Of course, she needed to deadhead the spent blooms, but she could do that after the kids went to sleep…when she was also planning to look at all the other paperwork Daddy wanted her to review for her business. Sometimes there just wasn’t enough time in the day.
“Honey,”
he said, and just that one word—and the way he said it—made the fading sun feel hotter on her neck. “Rye didn’t put me up to anything, but he did ask me to make sure you knew you had someone to count on. If you need anything, you just call, all right? Besides, you know I love the kids.”
And it was true. He always paid attention to them, and not in that begrudging way that many adults treated kids. “Thank you, then.”
John Parker trailed a finger over a lush pink hydrangea with lime green leaves as they walked by it. “Have you given any thought to coming over to see what kind of a garden you could design for me?”
She’d even dreamed about it, her hands in the hot, loamy soil, his eyes on her as she laid another seedling in the earth.
“Yes, Daddy and I have been furiously setting things up for my business. I even ordered my new business cards this morning. But I have to ask, are you really sure you want me to do it, John Parker? You could hire the best designer in Nashville. I don’t want you to do this because of…well, Rye.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, making her jump at his touch.
“Look around you, Tammy. You created this, and it’s magical.” He massaged her tense shoulders. “How could I want anyone else?”
His words comforted her. “Okay, then. Do you have a budget for this?” she asked.
“Nope. I want you to go all out, honey, just like you did with Rye’s place. Why don’t you come over Wednesday to take a look at the property? Bring the kids with you.”
All out? Her other inquiries had been for smaller jobs, and her inner gardener wanted to dance at the thought of having free reign. “That sounds lovely, but I’ll have to see if Alice can watch the kids.”
“They won’t bother me on our tour.”
All she remembered from her one visit to his house were its homey atmosphere and the lovely acres of emerald grass out back. “No, I don’t want them underfoot when I have my first consultation with you. I want to give you my full attention.”
And boy, she knew drinking in his handsome face would hardly be a chore. She eased away from his touch even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. That was twice he’d touched her today, and it had felt…way too exciting.
“You didn’t tell me your company’s name.”
Her smile seemed to rise in her heart before fanning out across her face. “Visionary Gardening.”
“My, how I like the sound of that.”
His words sent a shiver down her body. Before walking again, she deadheaded a few more spent flowers to do something with her hands and because she loved to feel them between her fingers. Who would have guessed that snapping off a dead bloom would generate a fresh one? She loved that notion.
They walked to the house, and it was pleasant to have him stroll alongside her without pressing her for conversation. Funny how that said more than words.
The new Tammy knew what she wanted to do next.
“Will you stay for supper?” she asked before she could lose the nerve.
His dimple winked at her as he smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
Nerves washed over her like ants. He thought she was making a move, and the very idea flustered her. God, she so wasn’t ready for that. What in the world would a move from a woman be like anyway?
Oh heavens
, she thought. Mrs. Augusta’s motto had been:
Always let the man make the first move, but there’s nothing wrong with nudging him in the right direction
.
“It’s the least I can do since you’re taking Rory on a ride and mowing the yard,” she said, her words a tangled ball of politeness and clarification.
His smile dimmed then, like the waning afternoon sun, and she was sorry to be the cause of it. “Of course.”
She turned and walked ahead of him to the house, realizing that this new Tammy still had a lot more growing to do, especially in regards to one particular handsome man.
Chapter 6
You could tell a lot about a woman’s experience with men based on how she reacted to offers of assistance in the kitchen.
When John Parker asked Tammy how he could help prepare dinner after he’d returned from his bike ride with Rory, her cool expression gave way like Moses through the Red Sea.
“I take it Rye doesn’t cook much,” he commented with a wry smile.
“Well…only if Tory is cooking,” she responded and touched a hand to her hair again, something she’d probably done ten times since he’d come inside. “Then he’s around in the kitchen, all right. Usually teasing and grabbing at Tory so much she ends up ordering him out. You know Rye.”
Yes, he did, and no one could ignore the sparks between the couple.
“When it was just Rye and the kids and me, I did the cooking. It’s not like Tory’s, but…”
A package of chicken breasts was unthawing on the kitchen counter. “How were you planning on cooking the chicken? I can throw them on the grill if you’d like.”
She pulled out some zucchini from the refrigerator and washed them, setting them on a cutting board when she was done. “That would be nice. I intended to be further along with the preparations by the time you got back, but Annabelle wanted me to sit and watch her show with her. She was cuddling so sweetly I just couldn’t pass up the moment.”
“She’s a darling. She and Rory are cuddling on the couch now, watching a movie. They’re cute together.”
“Yes, they are. Now, I have to warn you about dinner. We’re not doing anything fancy. Just some chicken, vegetables, and wild rice.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said, smiling to himself as he watched her efficiently cut the zucchini into nearly even slices. “Since I know where things are around here, I’ll start the rice.”
After filling the pan with rice and water, he grabbed the olive oil from the cabinet and added a splash before setting it to boil on the stove. “Best get the grill going now.”
“And since you know how to do that too, I won’t say a word. Holler if you need anything.”
“Do you want anything on these?” he asked, picking up the package of chicken and the bottle of olive oil.
“Not for me and the kids. But if you’d like to add something…”
He gave her a wink. “I know where Rye keeps the hot sauce.”
“Yes, he has like thirty bottles, mostly with naughty names. I think he buys them just for that.”
“You’d better believe it,” he said and headed to the back, where he let himself out to the outdoor dining area with its massive grill.
As he fired it up, he heard Rory making gun noises and, sure enough, the boy came running around the side of the house a moment later. Annabelle was in pursuit, and the four dogs were running at various intervals between them. It looked like they’d gotten bored with their movie. The kids were brandishing sticks, and while he couldn’t make out their game, the elation on their faces said it all.
They were having the time of their lives, which was exactly as it was supposed to be.
It made him so grateful to see the change in them. When they’d first moved to Dare River, they had been tentative and quiet, particularly Rory, but they’d broken out of their shells and learned to play like the kids they were.
“Hey, Mr. McGuiness!” Annabelle called out, a picture in her yellow dress with blue piping. “We’re fighting aliens.”
“Oh, you are?” he said as the kids ran right past him and disappeared from sight.
When the temperature on the grill reached four hundred, he oiled the chicken breasts and put them on the grill. The flames shot higher, and he opened the side cabinet to retrieve the grill tongs.
“Do you mind if we eat outside, John Parker?” Tammy asked from behind him.
He turned and that bolt of attraction he always felt for her knocked him in the gut. It never failed to overwhelm him. God, she was beautiful, and her new style softened her in a way that made him want to tug her to him with her apron strings.
“I don’t mind the heat,” he said, keeping one eye on the chicken. It would be embarrassing if he burned them because he was too busy staring at his hostess.
“Great,” she replied, tucking her hands in her Capris like she didn’t know what to do with them. “I’ll just set the table.”
When Rye had created this outdoor space, he’d spared no expense, going so far as to add an outdoor sink and cabinets so no one would have to run indoors for supplies. The plates Tammy pulled from the cabinets weren’t the ones he, Rye, and the boys had used when they’d barbecued here in the past. No, these were white plates with a blue chintz pattern. Cloth napkins in the same blue dressed up the table nicely. Tammy or Tory must have chosen the new things—they had a woman’s touch.
As he flipped the chicken, she came up beside him, her floral perfume intoxicating.
“I’m going to cut some flowers for the table,” she told him and then walked off.
The kids made another round, Annabelle yelling at Rory. Man, he remembered running like that with his sisters, dogs in hot pursuit. The thought made him smile.
Tammy returned with a bouquet of pale pink roses and some small white flowers that he didn’t recognize, her hands still covered in green gardening gloves.
“Those look lovely,” he commented as she headed to the sink.
“Thank you,” she said, dropping the leaves she’d pulled off the roses into the garbage.
The chicken was pouring off juices now, the fire rising in bursts. He watched surreptitiously as she cut off the roses’ thorns and trimmed the stems until she had achieved the desired height. Like an artist, she arranged them into an elegant display in a bulbous clear vase she’d retrieved from one of the cabinets.
Tammy took her time with things. Something they had in common.
“The chicken is almost ready,” he called out. “Do you have a platter?”
“Coming right up,” she announced, and moments later, she set a yellow one beside him on the grill stand.
“Thanks.”
As he checked to make sure the chicken was cooked through, Tammy filled water glasses at each of the place settings she’d set up before disappearing inside.
When the chicken was done, he stored the platter in the warming oven so the dogs wouldn’t go for it—never could tell—and went to help her finish up. She was spooning the rice into a yellow bowl with the same pattern as the platter. To the right, the zucchini were in another matching bowl.
Again, order.
He picked up the zucchini. “Anything else I can carry out for you?”
“No, I think we’re all set unless you want your hot sauce.”
“I’ll make sure to pick one without a dirty name,” he told her.
Her smile was so endearing he almost kissed her right then. “I appreciate that, John Parker. Annabelle would read it out loud if she saw it.”
Something about the way she said his name made him both want to keep his distance and tear down her reserve.
The gentleman respected her boundaries. The man fantasized about her surrender.
Patience
, he told himself again as he selected a green hot sauce with a banal name.