Home at Rose Cottage (4 page)

“Sure,” she said at last.

When they walked into the brightly lit café, it was
already crowded with a mix of locals and tourists, each type readily identifiable. The locals wore slacks, long-sleeved shirts and ties or dresses and heels, while the tourists were armed with cameras, maps and local guidebooks.

Mike spotted a table in the back and led the way, pausing to greet several people he knew. By the time they’d reached the vacant table, he’d introduced Melanie to so many friendly people, many of whom had known her grandmother, that the names were a jumble in her head.

A pretty blond waitress in her late twenties made a harried pass by their table to drop off menus and water. Melanie noticed that, rushed as she was, the woman managed a warm, lingering smile for Mike. He, however, barely seemed to notice.

“The crab cakes are good here,” Mike told Melanie without bothering to pick up the menu himself. “And the burgers.”

“How’s the grilled-chicken caesar salad?” Melanie asked and got a raised eyebrow in response. She chuckled. “Too girlie for you?”

“Hey, I burn a lot of calories in my work. I need more protein than some little chicken breast and a bunch of lettuce leaves for lunch,” he said disdainfully.

“And the fries that go with the burger, are they an important source of sustenance, too?”

“Absolutely,” he said, poker-faced. “But it’s the chocolate shake that really keeps me going.”

To Melanie’s surprise, after days of having very little appetite, her mouth was suddenly watering. “I’ll have that, then.”

“The shake?”

“No, all of it,” she said decisively.

His eyes widened. “All of it?”

“Burger, fries and shake,” she confirmed. “If the pies are homemade, I might have to have dessert, too.”

When the waitress returned, she gave Melanie only a passing glance before focusing her attention on Mike.

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you and Jess in here in ages.”

Mike seemed vaguely uncomfortable. “We’ve been busy.” He gestured in Melanie’s direction. “Have you met Melanie D’Angelo? She’s living at the Lindsey place. Cornelia Lindsey was her grandmother. Melanie, this is Brenda Chatham. She owns this place.”

Brenda barely spared a nod in Melanie’s direction—acknowledged and dismissed—before giving Mike another broad smile. “How about that dinner I’ve been promising you? I have an awesome recipe for barbecued ribs.”

Mike frowned. “Thanks anyway, but my schedule’s pretty tight right now. Speaking of that, we’d better get our orders in so I can get back to work.”

Brenda didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “Your usual?”

Mike nodded. “And Melanie will have the same. How do you want your burger, sweetheart?”

Melanie ignored the endearment, because she saw exactly what he was trying to do, create an intimacy between them that would finally get Brenda’s attention. “Medium rare,” she told Brenda.

“Sure thing,” Brenda said.

After she’d gone, Mike regarded Melanie with a rueful expression. “Sorry about that. Brenda has some crazy idea that we’d make a good couple. I’ve tried to set her straight, but she’s persistent.”

“Have you considered just telling her you’re not interested?”

He looked horrified at the thought. “Wouldn’t that be rude?”

Melanie couldn’t help chuckling, though she should have found his lack of candor troubling. “Actually I’d prefer to think of it as being honest, assuming you really aren’t interested. She is an attractive woman, after all.”

He stared in the direction of the kitchen, looking perplexed. “Is she?”

A man who didn’t notice a willing blonde with huge brown eyes and a gorgeous figure? Melanie shook her head. She hadn’t realized such men existed. Of course, maybe his lack of interest had something to do with the mysterious Jess Brenda had mentioned. “Who’s Jess?”

Mike seemed taken aback by the question. “My daughter,” he said eventually. “She’s six. Most people call her Jessie.”

Memories of Jeremy and his silence on the subject of his very real family slammed into her. “When were you planning on telling me about her?” she asked tightly.

His gaze narrowed. “It’s not as if she’s a secret. Most people in town know I have a child.”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay, then, now you know. I have a daughter.”

“And a wife?”

“No,” he said tersely, almost as visibly tense now as Melanie was. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as?”

“Boston and why you ran away from it,” he suggested.

Melanie immediately saw what he was doing. She had her off-limits topics and so did he. She couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that she at least needed to know if Jess’s mother was completely out of the picture or not.

“One last question and I’ll get off the subject of your personal life, okay?”

He gave her a grim look. “You can ask, but I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Are you and Jess’s mother divorced?”

“Yes.”

Relief, out of all proportion given the circumstances, flooded through her. Whatever secrets Mike had about his family, at least she knew they weren’t likely to come back and bite her in the butt the way Jeremy’s had. Of course, the tension in his shoulders and the dark shadows in his eyes suggested there were things he
was
hiding.

So what? she chided herself. It wasn’t as if she were dating the man. This was a casual lunch with a near stranger who’d offered to save her from another lonely meal. Nothing more. She was only here for a few weeks, anyway. Nothing would come of it, even if she were inclined to let another man into her life—which she wasn’t.

The burgers arrived just then. Brenda plunked Melanie’s down with a little less care than she did Mike’s. It also looked suspiciously as if it had been deliberately burned to a crisp. Melanie put ketchup and mustard on it without comment.

“Trade with me,” Mike said at once, his expression grim.

She stared at him. “Why? You didn’t order yours burned, either.”

“No, but yours came that way because of me. I’ll eat it.”

“Mike, it’s okay. Really.” She bit into the burger to prove the point, then chewed the tough-as-leather meat as if it were the best she’d ever eaten.

He sighed, then looked around till he caught Brenda’s
eye. “Brenda, there’s a little problem here. Melanie’s burger is beyond well done. She ordered medium rare. So, since we’re both on a schedule, here’s what we’ll do. Her meal is going to be on the house, okay? And the next time I bring her in here, you’re going to go out of your way to see that her food is prepared exactly the way she orders it.”

Melanie wasn’t sure whether her mouth or Brenda’s dropped more, but they were both obviously startled by Mike’s deadly serious tone.

“You think I did that on purpose?” Brenda demanded, using indignation rather effectively.

“I know you did.”

“I’m not the cook,” she reminded him.

“But you do write the tickets, and Boomer wouldn’t do a thing on that grill except what you tell him to do,” Mike said. “He knows you’ll fire him otherwise.”

Brenda forced a tight smile and turned to Melanie. “Sorry about the mix-up. The lunch is on me.”

“That’s not necessary,” Melanie began, only to have Mike interrupt.

“Oh, yes, it is,” he said. “Brenda wants all of her regular customers to go away happy, don’t you?”

“I pride myself on it,” Brenda said, not looking any too happy herself.

“Thank you, then,” Melanie said graciously. “I know anyone can have an off day in the kitchen. I’m sure that’s what happened here.”

“Exactly,” Brenda said, seizing on the proffered out. “Boomer’s a little distracted today, that’s all it is. I’d better go have a talk with him.”

After she’d gone, Melanie frowned at Mike. “You didn’t need to make such a big deal out of it, you know.”

“Yes, I did. Weren’t you the one who said Brenda deserved honesty?”

Melanie bit back a grin. “I was referring to your disinclination to go out with her.”

He shrugged. “Honesty is honesty. I’ll work up to the other thing.”

“You’re just afraid if you tell her, once and for all, that you’re not interested, she’ll start burning your burgers,” Melanie accused.

“Damn straight,” he agreed without the slightest sign of repentance.

“Can I ask you another personal question?” When he didn’t immediately shake his head, she went on, “She’s an attractive woman and she seems nice enough. Why aren’t you interested?”

“My life’s complicated enough. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Melanie could relate to that. “And I imagine it’s a whole lot easier to give a rosebush what it needs than it is to deal with a woman.”

His lips quirked slightly. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Even though she could relate all too well to where he was coming from, some traitorous little voice deep inside her couldn’t help murmuring, “Lucky rosebush.”

Mike regarded her oddly. “What was that?”

Oh, Lord, had she really said that out loud? “Nothing,” she insisted, her cheeks burning.

“I thought you said something about the rosebushes,” he persisted.

She feigned confusion. “Really? I was thinking about what you’ve been saying about what bad shape they’re in. Maybe I said something about that without thinking.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Now who’s being dishonest, darlin’?”

“I’m not your darling,” she said irritably.

“I notice you didn’t deny being dishonest, though. Maybe you’re just telling a little white lie to spare my feelings.”

She frowned at him. “Are you always this impossible?”

He laughed at that. “So they say.” He stood up and grabbed the check. “Gotta run, darlin’.”

She was about to utter yet another protest at the endearment when she spotted Brenda heading their way. To Melanie’s shock, Mike leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips. No doubt it was only meant to add to the impression that they were a couple, but Melanie’s lips felt singed, anyway. She couldn’t have uttered a word if her life depended on it. Instead, she grabbed her shake with trembling fingers and drank the last drops of thick chocolate. It was still deliciously cold, but it wasn’t half as frosty as the look Brenda gave her when she finally managed to make her exit. She had a feeling that through no fault of her own, she’d just made her first enemy in town.

I
t was the scent of lilacs that brought Melanie out of the house on a rainy Saturday morning the second week in April. It had been years since she’d smelled that aroma, and it never failed to remind her of her grandmother. For all the showy roses in her grandmother’s garden, it was the lilacs she’d loved most. She’d filled the house with huge vases of them during the short blooming season. And, rain or shine, she’d thrown open the windows for yet more of their sweet scent.

Now, though, the clusters of lavender flowers were fighting for breath on the overgrown bushes that had been invaded by the twisting vines of honeysuckle. Melanie stared at the mess with dismay, understanding fully for the first time why Mike was so thoroughly disgusted by the neglect. These once-thriving bushes were about to be destroyed.

Inspired to save the lilacs, she went inside, found the key to the garden shed, then headed outdoors with some trepidation to see what tools were available. With any luck, she wouldn’t find any snakeskins dangling on the hooks along with the clippers and rakes.

It took several tries to get the old key to work in the
rusty lock on the shed, but inside she found every gardening tool imaginable, all kept in pristine condition aside from way too many spiderwebs to suit her. She gingerly selected one and wiped it off with the old rag she’d brought with her, then went outside to begin the daunting task of putting things to rights in the garden.

Oblivious to the light rain, she began snipping the honeysuckle vines, then tugging the endless strands out of the bushes and piling them into a garbage can. Yanking the roots from the ground was an even more thankless task, one that quickly had her sweating and cursing a blue streak.

She’d filled three cans when she heard the crunch of tires on gravel and a car engine cut off out front. A door slammed, then there was a low murmur of voices suddenly punctuated by a scream.

“No, Daddy! No!”

Melanie dropped her clippers and ran to the front to find Mike bent over beside the car trying to extricate a screaming, kicking child.

“What on earth?” she murmured.

Mike’s head snapped up and hit the edge of the door frame.

“Don’t get any wild ideas,” he said, looking thoroughly defeated. “My daughter’s terrified of this place for some reason. She thinks it’s haunted.”

Melanie took in his weary expression, then glanced at the stricken child whose sobs were finally beginning to lessen as she eyed Melanie with wariness. Nudging Mike aside, Melanie said, “Let me give it a try, okay? I assume this is Jessie.”

“Right.”

Melanie gazed into deep blue eyes, several shades darker than her father’s. They were glistening with tears.
Her fine blond hair was slipping free of a bright-pink scrunchie.

“Hey, Jessie. I’m Melanie,” she said quietly. “I live here.”

The little girl stared back solemnly, taking in that news. Melanie waited.

“Are you a ghost?” Jessie finally asked in a voice barely above a frightened whisper.

Melanie bit back a smile. “I don’t think so. Want to find out for sure?”

Jessie looked intrigued. “How?”

“Pinch me.”

“Really?” Jessie glanced up at her father, who shrugged.

“Won’t it hurt?” she asked Melanie, her brow creased in a worried frown.

“Not if I’m a ghost.”

Jessie reached out with her dainty little hand and gently pinched Melanie’s arm.

“Ouch,” Melanie said with an exaggerated grimace.

“I’m sorry,” Jessie whispered at once.

“It’s okay. I guess we know now that I’m not a ghost, right?”

“I guess so,” Jessie said, though she still sounded doubtful.

“Want to come into the house?” Melanie asked. “We can check to see if there are any ghosts inside, and your dad can chase them away. What do you think?”

Jessie nodded shyly and held out her arms. Melanie released the seat belt, then lifted the girl out and set her on the ground. She immediately clutched Melanie’s hand.

When they stepped through the gate, Melanie caught the look of surprise in Mike’s eyes when he spotted the cans filled with vines.

“Been working, I see,” he said.

“For hours.”

“It’s a start,” he said grudgingly.

Melanie stared at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “That’s all you’ve done.”

Because Jessie was regarding them with another worried frown, Melanie held back the sharp retort she wanted to make. Instead, she asked, “Why are you here, Mike? Did you stop by just to annoy me?”

“Actually we came because we’re going to a nursery over in White Stone. I thought you might want to ride along and get some ideas.”

Melanie gave him a wry look. “Don’t you think I should get rid of what I have before I start thinking about what to put in the ground?”

“Never hurts to plan ahead. Bring that picture you showed me. I’ll show Jessie the swing while you get it.”

His arrogant assumption that she would fall in with his plans was almost enough to force a rebellion, but something about Mike Mikelewski’s quiet determination to restore her grandmother’s gardens got to her. Since he hadn’t asked for a dime for his advice or his help, she had to assume it was because he genuinely cared about setting the neglected landscape to rights. She’d be foolish to ignore such an offer out of pure stubbornness.

Even so, a cautionary alarm sounded in her head. Mike might be divorced, but his tense tone the other day suggested there was not only an ex-wife lurking somewhere, but quite possibly an ex-wife who liked to stir up trouble. Melanie wasn’t inclined to get tangled up in the middle of that kind of complicated situation.

She’d make this innocuous-enough trip to the nursery with Mike because it was something she’d need to do
sooner or later, anyway. But after this, she vowed, she’d discourage any further contact between them.

Not that Mike had actually shown one iota of personal interest in her, she was forced to admit. But every time she looked into his eyes, she suddenly wanted things she’d sworn never to allow into her life again. And that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

“I promised Jessie a tour of the house,” she told him. “We’re ghost busting.”

His lips quirked at that. “Then, by all means, let’s go inside.”

“You’re in charge of banishing any ghosts we find,” Melanie added.

He nodded. “Got it.”

Jessie peered up at him. “Are you scared, Daddy?”

“Nah,” he said. “No silly old ghost is a match for me.”

While Mike was showing Jessie around and conducting dramatic searches of closets and cupboards for signs of ghosts, Melanie took the time to wash her hands and run a brush through her tangled hair.

“No ghosts,” Mike eventually hollered from downstairs. “We’re going out to the swing.”

“I’ll be right there,” Melanie called back.

On her way out, she grabbed the photo of the garden. Outside, she could hear Jessie’s squeals of delight echoing from the backyard. Obviously, her earlier fears had been calmed by her father’s ghost-busting expedition.

Melanie rounded the house and spotted the little girl sitting atop Mike’s broad shoulders as he stood at the water’s edge. She had her hands fisted in his hair in a way that had to hurt like the dickens, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Daddy, no!” Jessie shouted, giggling.

“You don’t want to go for a swim?” he teased, taking another step toward the bay.

“No!”

Melanie listened to them for several minutes, enjoying the banter and feeling just a little like an outsider. Oddly, it reminded her of the way she’d felt when Jeremy had finally admitted the truth about his family. Aside from the burst of anger, she’d immediately known he had something important that was missing from her life, something she might never have. It was as if she were being taunted by possibilities, and the unfairness of it had hurt.

Mike chose that moment to turn around, and the laughter on his lips promptly died. He studied her intently. “Everything okay?”

Melanie forced a smile. “Fine.”

“You saved me,” Jessie told her. “Daddy was going to make me swim in the water and it’s too cold.”

“Oh, I don’t think you were ever at risk,” Melanie told her. “Something tells me your dad takes very good care of you.”

Jessie nodded. “He does, but he’s not a mom. Moms know it’s too soon to go swimming.”

Melanie didn’t miss the tiny flash of hurt in Mike’s eyes, but he didn’t respond.

“Dads know stuff like that, too,” Melanie assured Jessie. “My dad used to take my sisters and me to Cape Cod in the summer, and he knew all the important stuff about swimming. My mom never even got her toes wet.”

Jessie studied her solemnly, as if she were trying to process such a thing. “Not even once?”

“Never,” Melanie told her. “So, you see, it seems to me like you haven’t been giving your dad nearly enough credit.”

Mike gave her a grateful look as he tucked Jessie into the backseat and snapped the seat belt.

“My dad knows lots about flowers and stuff,” Jessie volunteered proudly, obviously eager to jump on the bandwagon about her father’s unique talents. “People pay him to make their gardens grow. He’s teaching me.”

“And do you have your own garden?” Melanie asked her.

Jessie nodded. “I will this summer. It’s gonna have squashes and tomatoes and beans for the bunnies.”

Melanie chuckled. “I thought people ate beans.”

“They do, but bunnies like them better than I do, so I’m growing them just for the bunnies. I got it all planned out. We’re gonna buy seeds today. I get to pick ’em out.” She peered intently at Melanie. “What are you gonna plant in your garden?”

“I’m not sure,” Melanie admitted. “Your dad’s going to help me figure that out.”

“You probably need to grow some beans, too,” Jessie advised her. “There’s lots and lots of bunnies and I can’t feed ’em all.”

Melanie chuckled. “I’ll think about that.”

“I think we’re going to concentrate on flowers for Melanie’s garden today,” Mike chimed in. He glanced at her. “And maybe think about an herb garden.”

Melanie envisioned how happy an herb garden would make Maggie. “Definitely,” she said. “Though I don’t recall my grandmother having one.”

“You don’t have to recreate what she had exactly,” Mike said. “Gardens evolve over time. Personally, I like a combination of the beautiful and the practical, but not everybody cares about growing their own food or herbs, not when there are farmer’s markets all over this area offering fresh produce.”

“I wouldn’t mind growing tomatoes,” Melanie said, thinking of how fabulous it would be to pick one for dinner and slice it to serve with mozzarella cheese and fresh basil, also from her own garden. Never mind that she was unlikely to be here when the time came to harvest the tomatoes.

Mike gave her a lingering look. “There you go,” he teased. “You’re beginning to envision the possibilities.”

“How long does it take for a tomato plant to produce its first ripe tomato?” she asked.

“Sixty days or so, depending on the variety and the weather,” he replied.

“Too long,” she said, unable to contain a sigh of regret.

“Maybe you’ll decide to stick around.”

She shook her head. “Impossible.”

“You have a job to get back to?”

“No.”

“A boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then what’s to stop you from staying till you pick your first homegrown tomato?”

“I don’t have an endless supply of money,” she told him frankly. “Sooner or later I’ll have to go back to Boston and find another job.”

“Find one here,” he said. “There’s lots of seasonal work, if you don’t want something permanent. Hell, Brenda’s always complaining that she can’t find good summer help for the restaurant.”

Melanie laughed. “Yes, I imagine she’d be absolutely delighted to hire me, since we got off to such a great start.”

“I could put in a word for you,” he offered.

“Thanks, but if I should happen to decide to stick
around, I’m capable of finding my own job. And having you intercede for me with Brenda would only add fuel to the resentment she already feels toward me.”

“You have a point,” he agreed. “What field were you in before?”

“My degree’s in marketing, but I took a job as a receptionist when I got out of college.”

He shot her a disbelieving look. “How long ago was that?”

“Not that long ago,” she said defensively. “I worked my way through college—waiting tables, as a matter of fact—so I’ve only been out a couple of years.”

“You have a degree in marketing, but you’ve been working as a receptionist? Are entry-level jobs in marketing that tough to find?”

“Actually this one was supposed to lead to a promotion, but it didn’t work out that way,” she said, unable to keep a defensive note out of her voice. She could hear how ridiculous it sounded that she’d wasted so much time waiting for the right chance to come along, instead of making it happen.

The management at Rockingham Industries had dangled the prospect of a marketing position in front of her, but she realized now that she’d made herself all but indispensable as a receptionist, doing the job so well that they’d left her right where she was. Jeremy had repeatedly promised to remind the executives that she was a good candidate to move up into his department, but somehow it had never happened. What a fool she’d been!

Fortunately Mike pulled into a parking lot at the nursery just then, so she didn’t have to try to defend her decision. She scrambled out of the car and would have gone on ahead, if Jessie hadn’t demanded that Melanie be the one to take her out of the car.

Mike gave Melanie an apologetic look. “Would you mind? Once she gets an idea into her head, there’s no peace unless I go along with it. Some things aren’t worth arguing over.”

“No problem,” Melanie assured him, helping Jessie out of the car. When the girl tucked her hand trustingly into Melanie’s, something in Melanie’s heart flipped over.

“Can you help me pick out seeds?” Jessie asked. “I know where they are.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have your dad do that? He’s the expert.”

“I want you to do it,” Jessie insisted.
“Please!”