Spring Flowers, Summer Love. Lois Richer

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      “Mind if I use the bathroom again?”

      “Help yourself.” Connor remained silent until she was almost out of the kitchen. “Rowena?”

      “Yes?” Surprised by his stern tone, she turned, frowned. “Is something wrong?”

      “Stay away from the terraces. I’m calling someone in to repair them. Until the work is done, they’re off-limits—to all of you.”

      That rendered her speechless for about ten seconds, long enough for him to leave the room. By then it was too late to say thank you. Connor had disappeared.

      “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.” Connor switched the phone to his other ear. “I just want it done as soon as possible. You’ll stop by to give an estimate tomorrow? Good. Thanks.”

      He hung up, paused to study the threesome working outside. Actually, his interest rested primarily on the small woman manhandling brush into some kind of chopper.

      How did she do it? She could have died out there this afternoon, yet she picked herself up, cleaned herself up and got on with the job.

      Connor knew it would be a long time before the picture of Rowena sucking in that first breath of life was erased from his brain. No way he was going to let anything like that happen again, regardless of the cost. He’d gladly pay to be free of the image of one or both of his uncles one day buried in just such a mess with no one around to help.

      “Mr. Wingate?”

      Esther Padderson had been his uncles’ trusty office assistant for as long as Connor could remember. He couldn’t get used to her calling him “Mister.”

      She stood in the doorway, shorthand tablet in one hand.

      “I don’t know why you can’t call me the same name you’ve used for years,” he complained. “I’m still Connor.”

      She ignored him. “Yes, Mr. Wingate. Chef Pierre is on the line. He says he’s not coming back this year.”

      Connor jerked upright. “According to his contract, he is. Or else he’s going to owe Wingate Manor a lot of money.” He translated the look on Esther’s face to mean she wasn’t going to be the one to tell the temperamental chef what he’d said. “Okay, I’m coming. But while I’m talking to him I’d like you to prepare some advertising copy.”

      “To replace Pierre, you mean?” She looked scandalized. “But he does this every year.”

      “Really? And my uncles put up with not knowing whether he’ll show or not?” Connor shook his head. “I don’t operate like that. Either he’s going to be here or we make other plans.”

      “He won’t like it.” Esther worried as she followed him to the office.

      “Tough. He gets top dollar for his work here, free accommodation, the winters off to spend with his family in France. He’s not hurting.” Connor accepted the phone, waited till she’d clicked a button on the console. “Hello, Pierre. I understand you’re resigning.”

      Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Esther leave the room, gray head shaking. Connor sat down, tilted back in his chair. He listened for about ten seconds, then cut in.

      “You’re not sure? Well, I’ve got an ad waiting to run. I can’t wait for you to dither back and forth. I want all my staff in place at the end of April. My uncles are counting on me to have the place in top shape for our first booking and I have no intention of letting them down. So will you be here or do I consider your contractual agreement broken?”

      Connor listened, smiled and eventually hung up. One chef hired.

      “The meat company is on line two,” Esther told him, “complaining about the distance they have to travel to get here. They’re talking a major delivery surcharge.”

      He thought for a moment. “Is there a butcher in town, Esther?”

      She blinked. “John Purdy. He and his family own the local grocery store.”

      “Get me their number, will you, please? And tell the meat people I’ll call them back.”

      “Yes, sir.” A glint of humor lit up her round face. “Would you also like the name of a cattle rancher I know who raises his animals organically?”

      “Thereby allowing us to advertise that we use only organically raised beef.” He followed her line of thought with delight. “Good thinking. Yeah, let’s talk to him, too. The uncles’ figures from last year will help us estimate how much we’ll need. You don’t happen to also know a chicken supplier, do you, Esther?”

      She shook her head, but her eyes gleamed at the challenge.

      “I’ll check around, but John might be the best resource for that, too. You wouldn’t have to pay shipping fees and he’s got tons of freezer space. If he comes across a deal, he could buy ahead.”

      “Esther, you’re a genius!”

      Her smile faded. “I wish Henry thought that.” She handed him a stack of résumés then padded out of the room.

      Connor stared after her. A case of unrequited love for his stodgy old uncle? He shook his head.

      “I can fix a lot of things around here, but that isn’t one of them,” he said to himself.

      By the time he emerged from the office it was after five. Rowena and her men were still hard at work, this time on a lower section his uncles called the dale—as in “over hill, over dale.” Connor had to admit she’d made amazing progress.

      “I’m leaving now.” Esther glanced out the window. “They must be tired and half-frozen after the day they’ve had. It’s too bad the old house at the nursery’s in such a state. I expect it needs a lot of work after all these years. I’m sure Rowena hasn’t got extra money to spend on that.”

      “Oh?”

      “Piper Franklin told me Rowena came back earlier than she’d anticipated because her father isn’t well. She thinks it will help if he can get back on the land. He always did love that nursery.”

      “But he sold it to my uncles.”

      “Didn’t have a choice after a storm nearly wiped him out. I think it almost broke his heart. Hers, too.” Esther frowned. “Several of us have invited her for meals just to give her a break. Ida Cranbrook went up there to drop off a pie for the girl. She said the place is practically falling down around her ears. Apparently she can’t even use the kitchen, it’s so bad. Just a hot plate.”

      Which meant that she was paying restaurant prices for her meals. That would cut into her nursery’s start-up capital.

      “Someone ought to do something about that house,” Esther said with a dark look in his direction. She snugged her plastic rain bonnet around her permed curls. “It should never have been passed on in that condition. It’s a bad reflection on Wingate and I intend to tell Henry so when I see him next. Good night, Mr. Wingate.”

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