Chapter 4
That’s not necessary.
The words almost escaped before Garrick could reel them back in, but he managed to remain silent.
He’d seen enough of the prickly, suspicious female in front of him to know that she wouldn’t interpret his offer as a sign of trust. She’d start looking for the trap, and that was the last thing he wanted.
“Fine,” he said amicably. “I’ll accompany you back to your office so we can get the paperwork taken care of.”
Small white teeth clamped down on a plump lower lip. He was sure she was looking for an excuse to put him off, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“Did you drive or walk?”
She gave up and released the lip with an almost audible sigh. “I walked.”
“Great. I was looking for an opportunity to stretch my legs,” he said as they set off. “I’ve been up on the roof all morning.”
She looked over his shoulder at the immense expanse of slate covering the roof of the mansion. “You’re doing it yourself?”
“Of course. I started as a roofer. I could carry two packs of shingles at a time, and I didn’t mind heights.” He deliberately fluttered his wings and saw her give them a quick appraising look.
“I imagine not,” she said dryly, trying to hide a smile.
“Roofing, framing, masonry, plumbing, electrical. There isn’t anything construction-related that I haven’t done.”
The words were out before he realized what he was doing. Preening in front of her like a male desperate to prove his worth. He’d never done that before. To be fair, he’d never needed to do that before.
Once the wealth came, the females followed, but he’d never met one who’d aroused even a fraction of the excitement that had swept through him when he opened his door and found Maris Calder on his doorstep.
I am in so much trouble, he thought.
To avoid making any more foolish mistakes, he kept his mouth shut for the rest of the trip around the block.
In spite of that, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a walk more. He slowed his pace to match her ridiculously short footsteps and simply enjoyed the sun and the breeze off the river, already carrying a hint of fall, along with her green, intoxicating fragrance.
Her office consisted of an old desk and an even more ancient chair in the back of her small garden shop, but both the desk and the file cabinets behind it were meticulously organized, and she quickly pulled up a boilerplate contract on her computer.
“We should specify the scope of work.”
“Everything,” he replied immediately, then winced. “What I mean is that I’d like the entire five acres restored. It doesn’t have to be an exact replica, but whenever possible, I’d like to retain as much of the underlying structure and as many of the plants as possible.”
She smiled at him for the first time since his unfortunate comment about money being no object.
“Good. That would be my preference as well. Although I should warn you that many of the plants will need to be severely pruned, and they’re going to be very ugly until the new growth comes in.
I also can’t promise I’ll save everything. ”
“I understand. Sometimes cutting away the dead wood is the only way to move forward.”
Another approving look before she turned back to her computer.
“Time frame?”
He shrugged. “As long as it takes. I’m not being flippant,” he added when she frowned. “You already said you have other commitments. The weather is still mild, but we both know how quickly it could turn. I’d rather you take your time than rush to get everything completed before the first snowfall.”
“In fact, I’d like to make it an ongoing engagement,” he added, warming to the subject. “Not only to restore the gardens, but to maintain them going forward.”
“I’m not sure I can commit to that.” The stiffness was back. “How about we make the contract run to the end of October and then re-evaluate?”
He wanted to argue, but he was afraid that arguing would only make matters worse.
“Very well,” he agreed. “But I’d like the right of first refusal if you have an opening for an ongoing client.”
She bit her lip again, then nodded and made a quick addition to the document.
She printed out the contract, and Garrick Stonehaven, who had never in his entire professional career signed a contract without reading every word twice, immediately picked up his pen and signed.
“There,” he said with immense satisfaction. “Now, when can you start? Based on your other commitments,” he added quickly.
“I’d like to come by and take some measurements this afternoon. After three, if that’s okay.”
“Yes, of course. Anytime. If the gate isn’t open, the key code is 0115. I imagine you’ll be coming and going frequently. There’s no reason for you to request access every time.”
It was a practical reason, and he could see her accepting the practicality despite a momentary hesitation. The fact that it gave him enormous satisfaction to know that she could come and go freely whenever she wanted, he kept entirely to himself.
“I should be around if you need anything,” he said casually, as if he didn’t have every intention of being around that afternoon.
Garrick found several reasons to be within sight of the front gates by three, and all of them were lies.
The scaffolding wanted checking. He had checked the scaffolding that morning.
The gravel by the turning circle had been chewed up by a delivery truck back in June, so he fetched a rake and leveled it.
Then he leveled a stretch that didn’t need it.
Then he stood there holding the rake, looking at the gates like a male waiting on a bus.
The truck came through a little before four, an old flatbed pickup with faded blue paint and Hardy Stock scrawled on the side.
Both doors opened. Maris stepped down with a clipboard in her hand. On the far side a small boy climbed down backwards, then turned around and looked solemnly at the house.
He’d known she had a son. Eric had mentioned it that morning.
But she hadn’t mentioned him once all morning.
Was that habit, or was it armor? This close, the resemblance to Maris was striking—the same serious hazel eyes, the same wavy blonde hair.
He was wearing shorts that had clearly seen better days and a green dinosaur shirt.
“You can stay in the truck,” Maris told him.
“Okay,” the boy said, and didn’t move.
Garrick put the rake against the balustrade and walked over, deliberately taking his time. The boy’s gaze went up and up, and his small hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Hello,” the boy said, to Garrick’s knees. “You’re very big.”
“It’s the gargoyle thing,” he said, crouching down. He’d done this with Eric’s daughter, but that was different. Birdie was a werewolf pup who would probably try to bite him if he stayed down there too long. This boy just watched him with a calm, unnerving focus. “I’m Garrick.”
“I know. Your house is big too.” Toby craned his neck, and Garrick got a sudden, dizzying view of the world from three and a half feet.
“This is Toby,” Maris said, her voice somewhere between cautious and defiant. “I pick him up at three. I don’t have anybody to leave him with, so if you’d rather I came back another—”
“It’s fine. Hello, Toby.”
Toby looked from him to the row of carved creatures squatting along the eaves with their wings half open.
“Are they gargoyles too?”
“They’re pretend ones.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the wings are wrong,” he said. “They’d never get off the ground.”
Toby studied the roofline with the gravity of a building inspector, then turned back to him.
“Can you get off the ground?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Toby said, and went back to looking up at the house.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Maris asked quietly.
“Why would I mind?”
She opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
She started on the south side, where the roses were, but all of the beds were buried under twenty years of brambles, and the tape kept snagging. She crouched and swore under her breath and shook it loose and crouched again.
“Hold this,” she said to Toby, on the fourth bed, and gave him the end of the tape.
The boy took it in both hands and walked backwards down the bed with his eyes on his mother’s face. He stopped well short of where the bed actually ended and stood there gripping the tape like it might get away from him.
Maris wrote down the number without a flicker, and Garrick, who had spent fifteen years correcting measurements taken by experts, said nothing at all.
He followed them as they moved through the garden, the air full of the scent of greenery, and honeysuckle, and sun-warmed stone.
At some point he took over the clipboard so he could write down the numbers Maris called out.
Toby carried the other end of the tape from bed to bed with tremendous seriousness.
And Garrick stopped thinking about the roof or the board or the door at the end of the west corridor.
“There are steps over here,” Maris said as she reached the edge of the rose garden and pushed aside another thicket of brambles. “Did you know that?”
“No.”
“Someone terraced this garden. That’s why the water isn’t sitting on the upper beds. If your mother did it, she knew exactly what she was doing.”
“She knew what she was doing,” he said quietly, and she looked at him and nodded.
“I can put two of my crew on the brush clearance,” he said, when they finally circled back to the house. “It’s a week’s work with a brush cutter and they’re idle until the Asheville job starts.”
She took the clipboard out of his hand and frowned at him.
“I’d rather do it myself.”
“It’s five acres of brush.”
“I know exactly how much it is.” She started winding in the tape, her voice just a hair short of irritated.
“But clearing the brush is when you find out what’s underneath.
If you turn a crew loose with brush cutters I’ll lose half the plants I’m meant to be saving.
I’m planning to do most of it myself, but if I need to hire someone, I’ll hire them and I’ll bill you for it. ”
He wanted to argue—it was going to be a long, difficult job—but he forced himself to nod instead.
“All right.”
“All right?” Her face was so suspicious, he had to bite back a smile.
“I’m the one who hired you to find out what’s under there,” he said. “I trust you know the best way to do that. It isn’t a complicated arrangement.”
She looked at him for a second longer, as though checking the ground for a trap, then went back to winding up the tape.
“Mama.” Toby walked towards them with the other end of the tape wound twice around his wrist. “Dot says her nana can fly but only downhill.”
“Does she?” she asked, smiling at her son with the softness she seemed to reserve specifically for him.
“Dot says it isn’t proper flying. She says it’s mostly falling with style.”
Maris’s smile widened until her whole face lit up, and he immediately wanted to see it again. He wanted to be the one who put it there.
“You know what, Toby? I think Dot might be right.”
Toby nodded, then looked up at him with his head tilted to one side. “Is that what yours is?”
“No,” he said solemnly. “Mine is proper flying.”
Toby nodded, satisfied, and went back to helping with the tape. When they were done, Garrick walked them to the truck. Toby climbed in while Maris put the clipboard on the dash and stood for a moment with her hand on the door.
“I’ll have numbers for you by Thursday,” she said.
“I’m free Thursday. You can bring them by anytime.”
She nodded and got in, and he shut the door for her because it stuck and because he wanted to.
“Goodbye, Mr. Garrick,” Toby said politely, leaning out the window.
“Goodbye, Toby. I’m glad you came to visit.”
Maris looked as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she simply started the engine.
The truck shuddered to life with a noise like a dying dragon.
He stayed on the drive and watched them turn the corner and disappear.
He didn’t realize until after they were out of sight that he had one hand raised in farewell.
Then he stood there for another ten minutes with the scent of green growing things and warm skin lingering in the air around him and a deep, primitive satisfaction settling in his chest.
He went back inside and made himself a sandwich and ate it standing at the kitchen window overlooking the neglected garden and the wall beyond.
He didn’t think about the contract or the budget or the scheduling logistics.
He thought about the curve of her smile and the look on her face when she talked about dirt and plants, and he thought about the small boy who had looked at him without any fear at all.