don’t blame you. I love the early summer here. My mother and I came here for Historic Garden Week when I was a kid. We always had a wonderful time.”
Elaine’s smile creased lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. “We’re thinking about opening up the gardens next year. That’s the week when we get to show off all the work done over the winter.”
“You have about two hundred acres, right?”
“We’re down to one hundred and fifty. Sold off fifty acres a couple of years back to cover the renovations. The new owner has started clearing the land now for his vineyard.” She grinned. “Everyone fancies themselves a wine maker.”
“Woodmont’s been in your family this whole time?”
“Basically. It’s passed between various branches of the family until my grandfather inherited the place.”
“Would you like to see some of the pictures from Ginger’s wedding?”
“I saw some this morning, as a matter of fact. You sent a link to Ginger last night, and she forwarded it to me so I could show Margaret. You made a very rainy day look remarkably cheery. My favorite shot was of Ginger and Cameron running in the rain. Drenched, hands clasped, mud splashing, and both laughing.”
Libby had had the same reaction when she had first studied the picture. “Thanks.”
“I’d like you to photograph the property as well as the renovation of the greenhouse. My daughter, Lofton, also tells me Woodmont is ripe for social media.”
“The gardens and greenhouse renovations will be a sure hit. If you decide to open up the space, it’ll get booked quickly. But are you sure you want me to take the pictures? I’m a wedding photographer, and you might want someone with still-life experience.”
“I suspect you’re up to the task.” She brushed away a strand of hair, smiling. “You’ve been to lots of places like this?”
“Yes. And I’m sincere when I say you have something special here.”
Libby reached in her bag for a gray slick folder she used as a presentation package. Affixed on the outside was a round sticker with the LM Photography logo. “I do have a price list if you want to review it first.”
Elaine accepted the folder but did not bother to open it. “I was on your website. Your prices fit with our budget.”
“I have several packages. Maybe if you show me the greenhouse, I can make a suggestion.”
“Sounds lovely.” Her gaze dropped to Libby’s high heels. “Can you walk in those?”
“Sure.”
They both rose and walked down the porch steps. “Then follow me, and I’ll give you the ten-cent tour. We’ll walk the upper grounds, and then I’ll drive us to the greenhouse on the lower property.”
Kelce picked up a stick and brought it to Libby, nudging it at her hand. She accepted it and tossed it ahead. The dog took off after it and returned, ready to go again. Sarge trotted behind, woofing every so often.
Behind the main house was a row of white cottages that looked as old as the main house. “In its original form, Woodmont was a working farm,” Elaine said. “These structures housed the overseer and laborers who tended the wheat in the fields.”
Elaine stopped at the first small white house, which was marked PRIVATE. “This is our newly renovated cottage. I’m planning on spending more time here when I have guests. I want them to have their own space.”
Elaine pushed open the door and clicked on the light. The large room was furnished with a four-poster bed made up with a white coverlet. On the opposite side was a kitchenette. While the furniture all looked antique, the kitchenette appeared freshly renovated.
“This is like a B and B.”
“If we do become an event space, my daughter tells me we’ll need every available corner of the property to maximize income.”
“She’s been involved in the property?”
“She’s a lawyer and very numbers oriented. Every time I have an idea, she crunches the numbers, tells me I can’t possibly pay for it, and then finds a way to make it work.”
The sound of a Weed Eater had Kelce and Sarge bounding out the door. Elaine leaned out the door and waved, and Libby followed.
Colton’s tall, lean frame had looked really good in a dark suit, but in jeans and a slightly sweat-stained T-shirt, he managed to look even better. Under a threadbare camouflage hat, he wore black sunglasses.
“Colton, I think you’ve met Libby McKenzie,” Elaine said.
Libby extended her hand as he tugged off garden gloves and wrapped calloused fingers around hers. Through the