Spring Flowers, Summer Love

“Not just winter.” She pointed to the chopped trees. “Vandals did that.” She turned to Connor. “You didn’t notice anything wrong inside, did you? I could look around but I wouldn’t be much help. I barely glanced around last fall.”

“Everything seems fine.” He frowned. “Is there any way to catch whoever did the damage?”

“Likely long gone but I’ll keep an eye out for transients.” Bud turned to Rowena. “Checked out the mine. You were right. Someone was poking around. Best to get it closed up again.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” she promised, inwardly groaning at her expanding to-do list. “Thanks for checking.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you go getting a soft heart if they’re kids trespassing, Rowena. Any problems and you call me immediately,” he ordered.

Bud Neely might look like a hick but he had a steel-trap mind and an eye for detail.

“Yes, sir.” Rowena stood to attention and saluted.

“Don’t give me any of that back talk, girl. I was here when you and those two chums of yours were terrorizing the tourists’ kids with your smuggling stories. I know your history.”

“Forgive and forget, Bud. That’s what the Bible says.” Rowena stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for looking after us, you old softie.”

“Hey. Don’t be doing that in public!” He scrubbed his cheek but his eyes sparkled. “Folks on the Bay gotta watch out for each other. That’s just part of living here. Say, how’s your dad? Is he up here with you?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping I can bring him a little later on, once I’ve got Wingate on track.” If he isn’t too depressed, she didn’t add.

“You let me know. I’ve missed him. Nobody else around here can play a decent game of chess. Victor used to give me a run for my money.”

“Dad hasn’t played in a long time, Bud,” she warned. “He hasn’t been well.”

“Best thing is to get him up here in the fresh air, then. Anyway, playing chess is like riding a bike—the mind never forgets.”

Rowena glanced at her watch and waved. “Gotta get back to work. Thanks, Bud.”

“You’re welcome.”

While Connor continued to talk to the sheriff, she hauled brush. A short while later Bud left. Connor looked mad about something.

Because her arms were sore again, Rowena changed jobs, sliding down the wet slope to take a quick look at the first flower bed.

“What do you think? Are you going to meet the deadline?” Connor stood beside her, watching.

“No problem.” Rowena quickly schooled her face to hide her doubts that being finished by June 1 was possible.

“What are you doing now?”

“Checking out this soil,” she explained, scooping out a handful to get a better look. She leaned against the brick supporting wall to balance herself and dipped her hand into the soil again. The wall shifted.

“Uh-oh.” She moved from one terrace to the next, checking for stability. In each terrace, mud oozed through gaps in the corners where the mortar had broken down, in some cases given way completely.

Wingate needed a stonemason before it needed a landscaper and that would cost time and money—neither of which had been calculated into the original project.

“‘Uh-oh’ means something bad, guessing by your face.”

“I need to show you something. Can you handle some mud?”

He favored her with a mocking look, glancing at his filthy jeans. “I’ll try not to fuss too much,” he promised as he stepped down, holding out a hand to help her.

Rowena accepted his hand but let go as quickly as she could, her fingers feeling scorched by the contact.

“See here?” She pointed out the defects, forcing her breath to modulate. What was wrong with her? “The mortar isn’t holding. The saturated ground is straining the wall. It’s oozing out here.”

He hunched down beside her, slid his fingers into the gaps she indicated. “Can’t you patch it?”

“It’s been patched too many times. It needs to be rebuilt.”

“Or what?”

“Or it will slide down into the next one. It’s unstable. The walls will collapse as soon as I try to work on it.” She noticed his eyes were a kind of liquid gold. That made her knees rubbery. She needed space, oxygen—something.

“What’s your solution?”

Solution to what? Oh, yeah…

“You’ll have to hire a stonemason to install some new bricks.” Maybe she shouldn’t have had that coffee. Her nerves were way out of control.

“You said I’ll have to hire. But this is your project, Miss Davis.”

“I don’t do stonework. That was never part of the agreement.” She cleared her throat. “I did ask your uncles about the condition of the terraces when I agreed to take on the work. They assured me the masonry was solid. It looked okay under drier conditions. It’s not now.”

“I see.” His face tightened; his eyes grew stormy. “How much?”

“I told you, I don’t do masonry. If I had to guess—” She thought for a moment, then offered a figure. Connor’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to protest but Rowena kept talking. “A man in town does excellent work. Whether he’d be able to fit Wingate in is another question. He’s always booked fairly heavily.”

Connor Wingate glared at her.

“There is no way I’m prepared to authorize such a huge expenditure. You’ll have to come up with something else.”

“I’m not deliberately trying to cause problems, you know. And there’s no other way. Unless you want me to remove the terraces completely?”

He frowned. “But then everything would eventually slip downhill, wouldn’t it?”

“As it’s doing now, yes.” She pulled out a diagram she’d drawn yesterday. “This is Wingate now. This is what I propose.” Using her pencil she outlined the small changes. Anger had chased away her case of nerves, thank goodness.

“Cost?”

“It wouldn’t cost any more to do it at this stage. We could slip in an underground watering system, make your uncles’ lives a lot easier in future drier years.”

“It sounds great but the uncles are hoping to retire soon. They haven’t got the cash on hand to cover something like what you’re talking about. You’ll have to come up with something else, Miss Davis, or work with what’s already here. That’s my decision.” He turned to leave.

Why didn’t he call her by name? And would it hurt him to unbend just a bit?

“I want it on the record that I feel the terraces are unstable, Mr. Wingate.” Rowena sighed. “As soaked as they are now, they’re dangerous. I can’t begin really working with them until they dry out, so my timetable is on hold indefinitely. I’ll try a couple of ideas on the lower one, see how it reacts. That’s all I can promise.”