Lois Richer - Spring Flowers, Summer Love

All she could do was keep going. It was too late to back out now.

“April showers may bring May flowers, but this is only March and we’re drowning. Lord, can’t You put an end to this rain?”

The downpour splashed even harder against her yellow slicker as if to chide her for her complaint.

With a sigh of acceptance that she’d be soaked in less than an hour, Rowena set her chain saw inside the truck bed, added a handsaw, a couple of shovels and some rope. A movement to the left caught her eye. Somebody was here and they hadn’t arrived in a vehicle. She froze, waited for the husky figure in jeans and a thick rain jacket to approach her.

“Are you the woman who’s been looking for help?”

“Yes. You have experience in landscaping?”

“Some.” He glanced around. “Place needs a lot of work.”

Her bristles went up. “And it’ll get it. But this isn’t the job I’m worried about. Can you tell me about your experience? And your name. I’m Rowena Davis, by the way.”

“Kent Ardell. Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand, his grip strong, powerful. “Ever hear of Ardell and Son?”

“Sorry. I haven’t been around the Bay for a long time.”

“Our place was farther west.” He named a small town about three hours west of Serenity Bay. “My son and I started it up about five years ago. He got into some financial trouble and we lost our business. I’ve been doing odd jobs ever since. Felled trees for the forestry service. Worked for the federal parks department for a while. Did a couple of jobs in Toronto, too. I saw some of your work. You’re good.”

“Thank you.” Rowena described the basics of what Wingate needed. “Is that going to be too heavy for you?” she asked.

“Meaning am I too old?” A slanted grin tilted his mouth. “I’m fifty-eight. Not quite in the grave.”

Two years younger than her father. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just that—”

“Don’t apologize. You’re about the age of my son and I’m quite sure he’d have asked the same thing if some fellow had waltzed into his yard the way I just did yours.”

“You don’t have a vehicle?”

“Broke down halfway up the hill.”

“I see.” It took only a couple of minutes for her to think it over. “Why don’t we go to the site and you can show me what you can do? Maybe you’ll change your mind when you see the place.”

“Not likely. I like the challenge of making a difference.”

Exactly her sentiment. “I can’t pay you city rates.”

“It’s fine.”

This was better than she’d expected. “Okay. Hop in. I was just about to leave.”

They rattled toward Wingate with Kent sitting silently in the cab. That was all right with Rowena. She preferred to get her thoughts organized. They passed his truck on the way down. The lettering on the side backed his story. She turned through the gates of Wingate, slowing down, waiting for his assessment.

“Wow! Somebody did a number on this place.” Kent surveyed the grounds and whistled. He climbed out of the truck, waved one hand. “You’ll want to start in the east and work your way down, I’m guessing.”

“Yes. We’ll take out as little as we have to, but make sure every tree that stays is healthy.”

“You got any other help?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Not yet.”

“Then I’d best get to limbing. One person can do a lot of that without help. Specially on those evergreens.” He pulled on a helmet from the box in her truck bed, checked the gas tank on the power saw. “Are you looking to hire more people?”

“Eventually.” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“My kid’s out of work and he’s got a baby on the way. He’s a big, tough guy who could give you a good day’s work, if you want.”

A solid month of praying and advertising had turned up no one with the skills and experience she needed. Maybe this was God answering her prayer.

“Give him a call,” she said, handing him her cell phone. “I don’t know about accommodations around here, but—”

“I rented an apartment in town, above the florist’s shop. It’s got two bedrooms. Quint can bunk in with me. The owner, Mrs. Michaels, is really sweet. She even packs a lunch for me.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but what about your own home?”

“My wife died.” His voice dropped but he cleared his throat, continuing, “When the business went bust, all I had left was the land. I turned that over to Quint and his wife. Now I go where the work is.”

“I see.” She waited while he talked to Quint, who promised to be there after lunch. Maybe the deadline she’d agreed to wasn’t quite as impossible as it seemed. She hoped. “You ready to start?”

“Just tell me where.”

She did, then used her phone to contact a disposal company who would bring a Dumpster to the site. That arranged, Rowena put on her hard hat and ear protection, grabbed the second power saw and began work.

They stopped for lunch at noon, sitting on the tailgate as they basked in the few rays of sun peeking from behind dark clouds.

“Got a few more minutes?” Connor Wingate appeared, holding out two steaming mugs of coffee. “I thought this might warm you up. Looked like you were going at it pretty hard.”

How long had he been watching them?

“Connor, this is Kent Ardell. Kent, meet Connor Wingate. He’s holding down the fort until his uncles are back.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Kent shook his hand. “This is a beautiful place. Or it will be. I’ve seen Rowena’s plans. You’re lucky to have such a good designer take this on.”

“Oh?” His gaze switched to her.

“You don’t know her work?” Kent studied him. “Have you been to Toronto lately?”

“Not that I can remember. I drove straight up here from New York.”

“You should go back midsummer.” He listed three public gardens Rowena had worked on. “She’s got real talent.”

Then what’s she doing here, in the middle of nowhere? Rowena could almost hear the question, though Connor was too polite to ask it.

Just as well. Because she was not going to explain.

“Those clouds are rolling in fast. Guess we’d better get back to work.”

“I see they brought the Dumpster,” Connor said. “Do you mind if I help you haul the brush to it?”

Rowena almost dropped her saw. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I’m sick of being cooped up inside. I need a break and some exercise. You can use the help, I’m guessing.”

She opened her mouth to respond but a half ton pulled onto the grounds near hers. A tall man, younger than Kent but with all his features, climbed out, grabbed a pair of gloves and a climbing harness, then began walking toward them.

“This is my son, Quint,” Kent said, introducing them.

“Pleased to meet you, Quint.”

“We’re just getting back to work. You had lunch?” Kent asked him.

“On the way. I’m used to climbing if you want me to start on the tops of some of those,” Quint offered.

“He’s like a monkey up there,” Kent assured her.

Rowena checked his equipment, nodded. “It would be great to get them down before the wind does any more damage,” she agreed. “There are ladders in my truck. Kent, you’ll man the safety lines?”

“Sure. Thanks for the coffee, Connor.”

“You’re welcome.”

Father and son walked across the grass, teasing each other good-naturedly. A few moments later the whine of the power saw sliced through the valley and branches began to drift to the ground.

“I might as well start hauling,” Connor said, turning away.

“Wait.” Rowena frowned. He certainly looked strong enough but she was used to working with an experienced crew. Then there was the whole liability issue. She tried to explain that.