Restoring Fairhaven: Greener Gardens Romance, #1

Chapter One

W hat do you mean you’re taking on Greener Gardens?

Samantha Green eyed the man, raising her brows in the manner her ex had always said made him feel like a fool. My father’s recent heart attack made him realize he does not want the stress of running a business anymore, and so he’s handed the reins to me. She pasted a smile on her face. I’m happy to be here.

Well, happy to be here was an overstatement. Resigned to it might express things better. Regardless, it seemed she was the only one here expressing any form of joy. The quartet of men watching her certainly didn’t give that impression, judging from their matching crossed arms and expressions ranging from scowls to bewilderment.

What’s wrong with what I’ve been doing these past weeks? the deepest scowler of the four asked.

Samantha sucked in a breath. Slowly exhaled. God, give me patience. And wisdom. Don, my father has appreciated you stepping up and helping run the business while he’s been in the hospital—she glanced at the others, her smile easing into genuine—he’s appreciated all your help, and wanted you each to know that.

The other three met her gaze with nods and sympathy in their eyes.

She braced herself to continue. But as Greener Gardens is a family business, and—

You want us to believe your father actually thinks a girl can do this job better than me? Don Murray interrupted, waves of animosity flowing from him.

Sam internally writhed at the casual sexism. How could her sweet, loving dad have put up with such a dinosaur in his team? Don, I understand that you have been the second-in-command for a little while now, but—

You call five years a little while?

Her eyes narrowed. Do you mean to keep interrupting every time I speak?

He said nothing, his gaze shifting away.

But my father has asked me to come on board and take charge. She smiled, silently pleading for a sign of anything friendly from the other three, anything that might make this massive step not feel like the giant leap of folly she suspected it would prove to be.

To no avail. They each met her gaze, shuffled their feet, and glanced away.

But Samuel as good as promised the business to me, Don whined.

She pressed her lips together. Squinted at him with lowered lids as she might a toad.

The eldest of the men, Bob Watkins, cleared his throat. That’s news to me.

And to me, swarthy Dermott Reilly said, his frown directed at Don Murray. Tim Franklin, the man in his late twenties, said nothing.

Don shrugged. He said I could take it on when he retired.

Take the business on, or sell it to him? Yet another question she’d need to ask Dad when a minute became available. If a spare minute ever became available.

Regardless of what you’ve believed in the past, my father has asked me to head the Greener Gardens team. So, here I am and I look forward to working with you all. Her smile felt like it might soon slide off. To be honest, she didn’t relish the thought of working with Don Murray, although the other three might have some redeeming qualities. Probably. Possibly. Maybe.

Guilt panged. She would have known more about the men her father worked with if she’d spent more time than the cursory visits home these past ten years.

I still don’t believe you. Don put his fists on his hips, his gaze an intimidating stare.

She clenched her fingers to stop the tremble. That is your prerogative. You can choose to believe, or you can choose to leave.

Don’s mouth hung wide, his little piggy eyes getting smaller and more piggy-like by the second. A word not blessed by heaven fell from his mouth.

Bob laid one hand on Don’s shoulder, which was angrily shrugged off. Ms. Green, I’m sure Don doesn’t mean it. It’s just the shock speaking.

I know. Her throat closed at the compassion she now recognized in Bob’s eyes. Talk about a shock. That phone call a month ago had tipped her world on its axis, family obligations uprooting her life from one side of the country to the other, and forced her dreams of a European vacation—including the chance to work at an English castle!—to be kissed goodbye.

She’d flown east immediately, her mother’s panicked call seemingly speeding Sam and her sister’s connecting flights, and time with her father making it patently obvious that Dad didn’t need the business stress anymore. Mom had begged him to let Sam have the reins so they could finally retire, and Sam could sympathize with the men’s shock at the speed in which things had been done.

That sympathy softened her voice now as she glanced at the men before her. Greener Gardens has been an important part of the Independence Islands for the past twenty years. I know that it must seem strange to have me take over, but I was here when Dad first started the business, and I still remember helping him when I was a girl. She resisted looking at Don at this subtle reminder of his earlier sexist remark. You could say I have Green blood in my veins.

She chuckled at her little joke, which raised a twitch of the lips from the eldest and youngest of the men, a frown from the next, and another muttered curse word from Don Murray, who dragged out his phone.

I’m calling Sam, he said, stabbing in numbers.

I wouldn’t if I were you, she cautioned.

No? You don’t want me to speak to your daddy?

From within her capacious handbag a phone began to ring. She hunted through the bag lying on the desk then fished out the near-antique phone and pressed talk, her eyes on Don. Greener Gardens, this is Sam.

He looked incredulously at her, then stabbed at his phone with a hefty forefinger, and shoved it in his back pocket. He doesn’t even have his own phone anymore?

It’s the business phone. And Mom had expressly forbidden Dad to keep it, sure the constant access had been a major contributor to his heightened blood pressure and ill-health.

I’m not going to work for a girl! His scowl grew suddenly reminiscent of an enraged boar.

You’re right, she said as sweetly as she could. I’m over eighteen, so the law says that makes me a woman.

Don mouthed something else unsavory, which earned him twin frowns from Dermott and Tim, and a murmured caution from Bob. How had Dad put up with Don for so long?

Where is he? he demanded. At home?

She nodded, then remembered. Actually— He paused from his movement to the door. He’s not at the big house anymore. The big house at the other end of the property from this shed that served as Greener Gardens’ office.

Then where is he? he stepped closer, his large frame intimidating.

Don, Bob cautioned.

Her stomach tensed. She swallowed. Refused to move an inch or show him fear. He’s in Savannah. Mom had insisted Dad move to where he’d not be tempted to meddle, and they’d moved back to the house she’d known for the first ten years of her life: Grandma’s. Well, Mom had moved there. Dad was still in the hospital.

Savannah? Without telling us?

He doesn’t work for you, she said softly.

Well, I’m certainly not working for you, missy.

Fear clutched her chest as she eyed his clenched fist, the memory of her ex-boyfriend rising up with awful power.

You’re little, and soft, and look like you care more about your makeup than know the difference between a spade and a shovel.

Her lips pressed together. She knew she should have chosen the Greener Gardens-logoed cap and work shirt instead of her favorite white blouse she’d worn for courage.

—look like you couldn’t pick up a branch let alone move a barrow full of rocks!

Her lips shifted upwards. Oh, if only he knew.

I’m not working for you.

So you keep saying. Well, there’s the exit, she pointed to the office door.

You leave me no choice!

You always have a choice, she said softly.

Fine. I quit! he screamed.

Dude, but what about Mindy and Jon? Dermott said, his brow pleating.

Don snarled, as if the reminder of these people—his wife and child, perhaps? his parents?—was anathema to him.

Goodbye, Mr. Murray, she said, hitching up her chin. Thank you for your service to Greener Gardens.

He said something most uncomplimentary to her and stormed away, snatching his cap and keys on his way out the door.

Sam exhaled a wobbly breath, her legs suddenly feeling very unsteady, and longed to sink into a seat. But with three employees waiting for her to take the lead she needed to push down the emotion and assure them that the business could remain afloat. Literally.

She cleared her throat. God, help me not to sound shaky. Well, I certainly didn’t expect such a welcome, she said, mustering up a smile. Is there anything else anyone would like to say? Anyone else want to quit, or have objections to working for someone like me?

No, ma’am, Bob assured.

Nope, said Dermott, still frowning.

Tim just shook his head.

Then how about you fill me in on what jobs you—we—have on at the moment. I’m afraid you’ll have to help me get up to speed as Dad hasn’t really been well enough to tell me very much at all.

Bob met her gaze again. We’re real sorry about all of this.

She felt a flare of offense, then realized he referred to Dad’s illness. She really ought not jump to such defensiveness. Thank you. As I said, this has been such a shock, for Dad as much as for the rest of us. This place has been part of his life for so many years, she said, gazing out the office window to the yard crammed full of plants, the makeshift plant nursery that lay between the office and house.

The yard seemed to sway, and she rubbed her forehead. She needed to sit. Now. Her blood sugar was protesting the stress of the morning.

Miss? Tim asked. Are you okay?

I’ll be fine, she answered, clutching the corners of the desk. Stay upright. Just stay upright.

You look pale, Dermott said, his frown deepening.

Sit down, Ms. Green, Bob said. I’ll get you a coffee.

She nodded and obeyed, glad for something firm to rest on, as the scent of burnt grounds emanated from an ancient coffee machine.

She thanked him for the cup, and took a sip, winced, and forced herself to swallow. Ugh. The sooner that was replaced by something drinkable the better.

Let’s talk about the business, she said, and invited the others to sit at the makeshift table, covered with dog-eared catalogs of tree and shrub companies and stock suppliers. Yet another thing she’d need to do; get this office space into order. Now, tell me more about what you do.

Explanations followed, the jobs on at the moment, the roles each member played. Don had been second-in-command for much of Dad’s past few years in the business, organizing jobs and the men as the business travelled between the Islands, the crew working in teams or individually as need demanded. She felt another pang of guilt at Don’s abrupt departure. Would he need—or want—a reference? Who were these people Dermott seemed concerned about? How would Don’s job loss affect them? She’d need to somehow, one day, explain all this to her father. How would he take the news of his right-hand man’s departure? Her lips twisted. That day certainly wouldn’t be today.

While Bob called himself a handyman, building and repairing small structures and the like, Dermott and Tim seemed to have more experience with plants. She’d enjoy learning where they’d studied, and if it compared to her—

The phone rang. She snatched it up, pressed receive. Hello, Greener Gardens. This is Sam.

Her breath suspended at the long list of vile words that spewed down the line. She pulled the phone away from her ear, ending the call with the stab of a finger, then switched it off, in case he rang again.

Who was that?

Prince Charming, she muttered. She eyed the phone, anger roiling inside. How dare Don treat her like that? Not for nothing had she gone through all that pain with her ex. She pulled out the phone, switched it on, then scrolled back to the last number. A few taps later and Don’s number was blocked.

So, she glanced up again, dredged up a smile, begged it not to waver, where were we?

The phone rang again. Her pulse spiked. She eyed it. Shook her head at her fear and answered. Hello, Greener Gardens, this is Sam.

The woman at the other end asked for Sam to come and visit this morning.

Certainly. Is ten okay? Yes? Perfect.

After noting the address and ending the call, she exhaled and studied the men whose expressions now seemed to veer closer to respect. Well gentlemen, we’ve got work to do. Now let’s go green those gardens.

And God help her lead this crew.

Chapter Two

Y ou did what?

Max eyed his personal assistant whose placid countenance didn’t change. It never seemed to, even when he’d been brusque and had despaired and even threatened. Callie Steele always appeared unflappable. His nerdy-wordy brain ticked over. Did that mean she could not be flapped?

Mr. Fairhaven?

He blinked and forced his attention back to the matter at hand. I beg your pardon?

Forgive me, but when you said you wanted to see out your window and have the jungle cleared away, I thought you meant it.

I did. But…

He hated change. Had never been good with alterations. They usually meant things were only going to get worse.

Sir, you must admit that the gardens here are well overdue for maintenance.

I admit nothing, he grumbled, knowing—hating—that he sounded like a spoiled child, heart sinking as he saw with fresh eyes the truth of her words.

Okay, so maybe he had let things go a tad wild in the past three years since Meggie had gone. And not just with the garden.

He scrubbed a hand over his bristled face. But honestly, what was the point when he never saw anyone save Callie, and rare glimpses of Maria, his Greek cook and housekeeper? They didn’t care. Well, maybe they did. Callie was always pointing out invitations to various bookish events, as if she thought they were genuine enticement to engage in the so-called real world. Real world? He hated it.

But maybe the trees and other things could do with a trim…

Fine. But don’t expect me to show my face.

I never do, she assured him.

But that twinkle in her eyes gave him pause. Was she amused by him? Laughing at him? Go away, Callie.

Of course, sir. Happy writing.

His relief at her constant patience with his curt ways sank into familiar tension. He didn’t write happy. Happy endings were for fools. He needed things dark and problematic and painful. Words with grit that left nobody clinging to false hope. That was his métier.

He shook his head at himself and plunged back into the Spanish Wars, and a young soldier named Nicholas who fought bravely, little knowing he would never see his beloved Georgia shores again.

Two hours later, he was deep in the throes of battle when a sound plucked him to the present. Irritation surged as he glanced out the window. What?

He sighed, and in the echo of that sound, felt the muse tiptoe away. Wonderful. It would likely take hours to return to that headspace where words flowed like a mountain stream, appearing in his brain with a certainty that they were meant to stay. His lips curled in self-deprecation. Despite what Melanie, his editor, might say.

His eyes narrowed, as the distraction outside demanded further perusal. Who was that? He pushed