morning. But thanks."
"Dinner tomorrow."
She slid a look up at him. "I should tell you getting me out of the house two nights running generally takes a team of wild horses. And I've got a garden club meeting tomorrow, which for personal reasons, I can't miss."
"The night after."
"I sense a campaign."
"How's it going?"
"It's not bad." Not bad at all, she thought, enjoying the bracing air, and the warmth of his hand over hers. "I'll tell you what, you can come to dinner night after next, but I'll warn you, I'll be cooking. David's night off."
"You cook?"
"Of course I cook. Not that I'm allowed to when David's in the house, but it happens I'm a very good cook."
"What time's dinner?"
She laughed. "Let's make it seven."
"I'll be there." When they reached his car, he walked her to her side, then turned her around, slid his arms around her, and drew her toward him. Laid his mouth on hers in a long, lazy kiss.
She curled her hands around his arms, held on to them, to him, and let herself float on the sensation - the warmth of his body, the cool of the air, the simmering demand just under the lazy tone of the kiss.
Then he eased back, his eyes on hers, and reached around to open her door. "I did that now because I figured if I waited until I walked you to your door, you'd be expecting it. I'm hoping to surprise you, at least now and again. I don't think it's the easiest thing to do."
"You've managed it a few times so far."
When she slid into the car, he closed the door. And thought he might have a few more surprises up his sleeve before they were done.
Chapter Ten
HARPER COULD ANDdid spend hours a day in the grafting house without being bored or missing the company of others. The plants he worked with were an endless fascination and satisfaction to him. Whether he was creating another standard or experimenting with a hybrid, he was doing the work he loved.
He enjoyed the outdoor work as well, the grafting and propagation he performed with the field stock. He'd already selected the trees he intended to graft and would need to spend part of the week collecting his scions, and pruning the maiden trees he'd grafted the year before.
His mother left these sort of decisions up to him. The what, the how, the when. It was, he knew, a strong level of trust and confidence from her to step back and let him run that end of the show.
Then again, she'd taught him not only the basics of the work, but had instilled in him a love for what grew.
They'd spent countless hours together in the garden and greenhouse when he was growing up. She'd taught his brothers as well, but their interests had veered off where his had centered. In Harper House, in the gardens, in the work.
His college years, his studies there, had only cemented for him what would be his life's work.
His responsibility to them - the house, the gardens, the work, and the woman who'd taught him - was absolute.
He considered it a bonus round that love and obligation so neatly united for him.
Tchaikovsky played for the plants, while through his headset his choice of classic was Barenaked Ladies. He checked his pots, making notations on his various clipboards.
He was especially pleased with the dahlias he'd grafted the previous spring at Logan's request. In a couple of weeks, he'd bring the overwintered tubers into growth, and in spring take cuttings. In the Garden should be able to offer a nice supply of Stella's Dream, the bold, deeply blue dahlia he'd created.
Interesting the way things worked, he thought. Through Logan and tidy Stella falling in love - and Logan showing his sentimental side over the blue dahlia Stella had dreamed of. Dreamed of, Harper thought, because of the Harper Bride.
It sort of circled around, didn't it, back to the house, and what grew there.
There would be no Stella's Dream without the Bride. And no Bride without Harper House. None of it, he supposed, without his mother's steady determination to keep the house and build the business.
Since he was facing the door, he saw it open. And watched Hayley walk in.
She wouldn't be here, either, without his mother. There would have been no beautiful, pregnant woman knocking on the door of Harper House last winter looking for work and a place to live.
When she smiled, his heart did that quick, automatic