Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(16)
Author: Irene Hannon

Kyle dug out another shovelful of dirt. “I like how you’re proposing to salvage a fair number of the existing plantings rather than start from scratch. The rhododendrons, for example. Pruning them and stripping away the berry vines that are choking them rather than replacing the bushes will save your client serious dough.”

 

“I know. The rhodies at Edgecliff have been neglected, but these babies”—he toed the one beside him—“can live for hundreds of years. Besides, antique plants go with an antique house.”

 

“Makes sense.” Kyle turned over another shovelful of dirt. “I liked your ideas for the planting bed in the middle of the loop road in front of the house, and I agree the gardens on either side of the walk leading to the porch should be colorful. First impressions and all that. But why not use some hostas there instead of all annuals? If you interspersed them with hardy annuals for season-long blooming, the client wouldn’t have to replant everything each year. A little more expensive up front, but a cost saver in the future.”

 

Also less maintenance in the long haul.

 

“Excellent idea. Anything else?”

 

As they dug and planted, Kyle offered several other suggestions that proved he had more to offer than dirt-under-the-fingernails type work, as he’d called it.

 

“I do have one final comment.” Kyle finished filling in around his last bush, set the edge of the shovel blade on the ground, and rested one hand on top of the handle. “I’m not a numbers guy, but the prices seem on the low side.”

 

That was true—and it wasn’t surprising Kyle had picked up on it. While his foreman hadn’t been privy to previous bids, the man had been working for him long enough to have a feel for the cost of both labor and materials.

 

Jon loosened the last rhododendron in its pot and removed it. “They’re lower than usual, so our margin will be minimal. But the job should be worth a fortune in promotional value.”

 

“Who’s paying for all the renovations and restoration?” Kyle began spreading mulch around the bushes.

 

“Ashley didn’t share those details with me.”

 

Given her comments, though, at least a portion of the money was coming out of her pocket—and she didn’t have limitless funds. Another incentive to pare the numbers back as much as he could.

 

Which his foreman didn’t need to know.

 

“So how old is this Ashley?” Kyle sent him a sidelong glance.

 

Uh-oh.

 

This could get sticky.

 

“On the young side.” He began loosening the roots with his fingers.

 

“How young?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Not in terms of the job. I was just curious.”

 

Jon bit back the why hovering on the tip of his tongue.

 

In light of Kyle’s concern last week about his boss’s hermit-like habits, the answer was obvious, if absurd. Kyle had seen him without any of his concealing paraphernalia. He, of all people, should realize the futility of harboring any far-fetched notions about matchmaking.

 

As the silence lengthened, Kyle arched an eyebrow at him. “So is her age a state secret, or what?”

 

“We didn’t exchange personal data.” He pulled a twisted root free from the gnarled mess.

 

“An estimate would work.”

 

The persistence he’d always admired in his foreman was coming back to bite him.

 

And the more he played dodgeball, the more suspicious Kyle would get.

 

“Thirtysomething.” He kept his tone casual as he continued untangling knotty roots.

 

“Pretty?”

 

Oh yeah.

 

“That would be a fair assessment.”

 

“Nice?”

 

“Pleasant.” After she’d gotten over the shock of seeing his scars.

 

“Maybe you should lower the price even more.”

 

He frowned at his foreman as he placed the rhodie in the hole and spread out the roots. “Why would I do that?”

 

“Working with this woman could have personal as well as promotional value. She may be able to coax you out of your cocoon.”

 

Enough.

 

Gritting his teeth, Jon stood, jammed his shovel into the wheelbarrow of mulch, and swung it toward the newly planted bush, sending chunks flying Kyle’s direction.

 

“Hey!” The other man jumped back.

 

“Sorry. You may want to step back, or you could end up with a faceful of my bark.”

 

The man smirked. “Which, as I’ve learned, is worse than your bite. I’ll go check on the guys.”

 

“You do that.”

 

Kyle sauntered off, shovel slung over his shoulder, whistling an off-key rendition of an old Sinatra classic.

 

Very funny.

 

But contrary to what Kyle thought, Ashley Scott hadn’t gotten under his skin.

 

Yes, she was pretty. Charming. Engaging.

 

Yes, she’d awakened long-suppressed hormones that had kept him awake too many nights since they’d met.

 

Yes, she’d reminded him how lonely he was, despite Daisy’s agreeable company.

 

But she was also off-limits.

 

All women were off-limits.

 

An image of the horror and disgust on Melinda’s face when she’d come to visit him in the hospital strobed through his mind. She may not have broken up with him that day, but he’d known the Dear Jon letter was coming. It had just been a matter of time.

 

And not all that much time either. Less than two weeks. The actual note had been almost anticlimactic.

 

Jon filled in the hole with dirt, spread mulch around the base of the plant, and went in search of a hose to water the bushes. They’d need to be coddled after the shock of having their roots ripped apart. Watched over closely until they adapted to their new surroundings.

 

Not a bad parallel to his own situation five years ago.

 

Thank God he’d had Laura in those early, traumatic days. Without his sister’s steadying hand and constant calls and visits, he might have given up. As Cal had.

 

His stomach twisted.

 

The world had lost a fine man the day Corporal Cal Mueller decided to leave all the pain and heartache and bleakness behind after the grievous injuries he’d suffered.