Black Rose - NRoberts - G2 Black Rose

Then grabbing gloves and her loppers, she headed out to finish up some end-of-the-year pruning.

When Mitch found her, she was shoving small branches into a little chipper. It rattled hungrily as it chewed, with its dull red paint looking industrious.

As she did, he thought, in her dirt-brown and battered jacket, the black cap, thick gloves, and scarred boots. There were shaded glasses hiding her eyes, and he wondered if she wore them against the beam of sunlight, or as protection against flying wood chips.

He knew she couldn’t hear him over the noise of the chipper, so took a moment just to watch her. And let himself meld the sparkling woman in rubies with the busy gardener in faded jeans.

Then there was the to-the-point woman in a business suit who’d first come to his apartment. Roz of the tropical greenhouse with a smudge of soil on her cheek. And the casual, friendly Roz who’d taken the time to help him select a child’s toy.

Lots of angles to her, he decided, and likely more than he’d already seen. Strangely enough, he was attracted to every one of them.

With his thumbs hooked in his front pockets, he moved into her line of vision. She glanced up from under the brim of the ballcap, then switched off the machine.

“You don’t need to stop on my account,” he told her. “It’s the first time I’ve seen one of those things in action except in Fargo .”

“This one isn’t quite up to disposing of a body, but it does the job for garden chores.”

She knew Fargo , he thought, ridiculously pleased. It was a sign they had some common ground. “Uh-huh.” He peered down where most of a branch had gone inside. “So you just shove stuff in there, and chop, chop, chop.”

“More or less.”

“Then what do you do with what’s left?”

“Enough branches and leaves and such, you get yourself a nice bag of mulch.”

“Handy. Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but David said you were out here. I thought I’d come by, get in a couple hours of research.”

“That’s fine. I didn’t figure you’d have much time to spare on it until after the holidays.”

“I’ve got time. I’m getting copies of official records, and I need to make some notes from your family Bible, that sort of thing. Get some order before I can dig down below the surface.”

He brushed a good-sized wood chip from her shoulder and wished she’d take off the sunglasses. Her eyes just killed him.

“And I’d like to set up times for those interviews, for after the holidays.”

“All right.”

He stood, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He was stalling, he knew, but she smelled so damn good. Just a hint of secret female under the woody scent. “Funny, I didn’t think much went on in a garden this time of year.”

“Something goes on every time of year.”

“And I’m holding you up. Listen, I wanted to see if you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Just fine.”

“It’d be stupid for me to pretend I didn’t hear murmurs about what was behind that scene last night. Or what would have been a scene if you hadn’t handled things so . . . adroitly.”

“Adroitly’s how I prefer handling things, whenever possible.”

“And if you’re going to get your back up when a conversation between us touches on the personal, it’s going to be tough to research your family history.”

Because he was watching carefully, because he was learning to read her, he saw the annoyance flick over her face before she composed it. “Last night has nothing whatsoever to do with my family history.”

“I disagree. It involves you, and this . . . thing going on in your house involves you.”

She might kick him out as . . . adroitly as she had Bryce Clerk, but if so, it would be because he was honest and up-front.

“I’m going to pry, Roz. That’s what you’ve hired me to do, and I won’t always pry gently. If you want me to move forward with this, you’ll have to get used to it.”

“I fail to see what my regrettable and thankfully brief second marriage could have to do with the Harper Bride.”

He didn’t have to see her eyes clearly to know they’d chilled. He heard it in her voice. “Bride. Whether or not she was one, she’s referred to as such through your family lore. When she . . . manifested herself,” he decided, “last spring—in spades—you said she’d never bothered with you when you’d socialized with men, or when you’d married—as she had with Stella.”

“Stella has small children. My children are grown.”

“Doesn’t make them less your children.”

Her shoulders relaxed, then she bent to scoop up some smaller twigs and toss them in the mouth of the chipper. “No, of course, it doesn’t.”

“So, we can theorize that she didn’t feel threatened by Bryce—and what the hell kind of name is that anyway? Stupid. Or that she considered your maternal duties done, and didn’t care what you did regarding your sex life. Or that after a certain point, she stops showing herself to whoever’s living in the house.”

“It can’t be three, as I’ve seen her recently.”

“Since June?”

“Just a few days ago, and then again last night.”

“Interesting. What were you doing, what was she doing? I should have my notebook.”

“It was nothing. She was there, then she wasn’t. I don’t expect you to solve the puzzle of why she comes, or to whom. I want you to find out who she was.”

“One puzzle’s connected to the other. I really want some time to talk to you. And this is obviously not it. Maybe we can have dinner, next evening you’re free.”

“It’s not necessary for you to buy me dinner to get an interview.”

“It might be enjoyable to buy you dinner. If you have strong objections to mixing business and pleasure, I’m going to be sorry to wait to ask you out until I’m finished with this project.”

“I don’t date anymore, Mitch. I gave it up.”

“The word date always makes me feel like I’m back in college. Or worse, high school.” He took a chance and reached out to slide her glasses down her nose. Looked directly into her eyes. “We could just say that I’m interested in spending time with you on a social level.”

“That says date to me.” But she smiled before she scooted the glasses back in place. “Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“We’ll settle for an interview for now. I’m going to be in and out the next couple of weeks, so you can let me know when you’ve got time to sit down for an extended period. Otherwise, you can call me at home, and we’ll set it up.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll go in, get some work done. Let you get back to yours.”

When he started to walk away, she reached for the switch on the chipper.

“Roz? Any time you change your mind about dinner, you just let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.” She switched on the machine, pushed the branch in.

SHE WORKED UNTILshe lost the light, then stowed her tools before climbing the steps to the second-floor terrace and her outside door.

She wanted an endless hot shower, soft clothes, then a cold glass of wine. No, she thought. A martini. One of David’s amazing, icy martinis with the fancy olives he squirreled away. Then she’d make a sandwich out of that glorious leftover ham. Maybe she’d spend most of the evening playing with sketches and ideas for the florist expansion. Then there were the bag selections Stella had gotten for her, for the in-house potting soil.

Dates, she thought as she shed her clothes and turned on the shower. She didn’t have time, certainly didn’t have the inclination to date at this stage of her life. Even if the offer had come from a very attractive, intelligent, and intriguing man.