The Cottage on Juniper Ridge (20 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Life runs so much more smoothly when we don’t delay saying, “I’m sorry.”

—Muriel Sterling, author of
Simplicity

G
arrett arrived at his rental just as Billy Williams was driving away. Jen Heath stood in a corner of the yard by a section of torn-up earth, looking like a mourner at a graveside.
Oh, no. The drain field.

Garrett clenched his jaw. Damn it all, he’d known his day was going to get turned upside down the minute he saw her name on his phone. “It’s hard to explain,” she’d said when he’d asked what was wrong. “I think you’d better just come over.” And that had left his imagination free to run rampant. She’d run into a ditch again. She’d caught the kitchen on fire. She’d... Who knew? With Jen Heath it was always a surprise.

Bill Will stopped his truck, which had the instrument of destruction sitting in the bed, and Garrett pulled up alongside it. “What happened?”

Bill Will reached under his hat and scratched his head. “Well, Garrett, she wanted to put in a garden.”

Garrett swore under his breath.

“I thought she’d checked it out with you. Didn’t realize she had me digging up your drain field. I quit as soon as I figured it out.”

Garrett supposed he could thank God for small favors. “I appreciate that,” he managed.

“Don’t be too hard on her. She didn’t know.”

Don’t be too hard on her? He wanted to throttle her. Bend her over his knee and spank her. A vision of his hand on that cute, curvy little butt sent his thoughts skittering in a whole other direction, and that did nothing to improve his temper. The last thing he needed was to be attracted to another Ashley, which, of course, was exactly what Jen Heath was turning out to be.

He nodded and said a curt thank-you to Bill Will, who skedaddled. Then he parked his truck and got out.

“I’m so sorry,” she greeted him as he made his way across what had once been a perfectly good drain field. “Can it be fixed?”

“It can.” He took in the cracked pipes and the gurgling water, the clumps of grass and soil, and clawed his hand through his hair.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it,” she said.

An ache was starting behind his right eye. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

“Are you mad?” she ventured.

“Mad? You just tried to take out my drain field. Why would I be mad?”

A moment ago she’d looked ready to cry. Now she looked ready to smack him. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“If you’d checked with me,” he began.

“I didn’t think I needed permission to put in a garden.”

“I could have told you where the drain field was and saved us both a lot of trouble,” he said, finishing his sentence. In his aggravated state, he couldn’t help adding, “But then I’m beginning to think that trouble is your middle name.” Suddenly he was on a roll and it felt so good he kept on rolling. “Is this a gift you share with everyone or are you just out to get me? First you try to burn my place down, then you’re sliding around on the road like a guided missile, trying to take me out. Now this. You’re like the twelve plagues of Egypt. What’s next, locusts?”

“Well, that was rude,” she said in a shaky voice.

Yeah, it was. But she was driving him nuts. So was the fact that the idiot part of him somehow felt the need to give her a hug.

No! No hugs.
He clawed through his hair again, took a couple of steps away and let out his breath in a hiss. “You tried to destroy my drain field and you’re getting on
me
about being rude?”

“It was only a few pipes.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to tell the septic guy that when he gives me the bill for this mess.”

“I said I’d pay to fix it.”

Oh, no. Here came the tears. He held up a hand. “Okay, okay.” He pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket and started for the truck.

“Where are you going?” she called.

“Away.”
Far away.

She trotted after him. “Are you calling someone to come and fix this?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“You’re welcome,” he said, equally stiff. And now they were done talking. He hoped.

“Um, Garrett.”

Or not. He forced himself to stop, to turn and look at her.

“Obviously, that wasn’t the place to put a vegetable garden. Is there any place I can—”

He knew exactly where she was going and he cut her off. “No.” The word almost exploded from his mouth. “No more digging. Anywhere. Understand?”

She took a step back, bit her lip and nodded.

“Good,” he said curtly. “I’ll get someone out here as soon as possible. Meanwhile, try not to use any water. Don’t wash any dishes, don’t do any laundry, don’t flush the toilet.”

She frowned. “How long will it take to fix?”

“A lot longer than it took you to wreck it,” he snapped, and started for his truck again. But not before he saw her face flush fire-engine red.

“Okay, that was so uncalled for,” she muttered.

The ache behind his eye wasn’t an ache anymore. Now it felt as if his eyeball had been pierced with a flaming arrow, and the flame was spreading across his forehead. “You’re right. Sorry.”

That obviously wasn’t enough. (Big surprise, since he’d said it grudgingly.) She put her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe I thought you were so nice when I met you. Boy, was I wrong.”

This made him mad all over again. He was the nicest guy he knew. The fact that he hadn’t murdered his ex was proof of that.

“Yeah, well, first impressions are deceiving, aren’t they?” he retorted. He completed his trip to the truck and yanked open the cab door. “I thought you had your act together.”

“I do!” she cried. “I pay my rent on time, and I’m paying you a lot more than this dump is worth.”

If she figured she was going to skip out and leave him high and dry, she could think again. “Well, you signed a lease on this ‘dump’ for a year,” he reminded her.

“And it’s going to be the longest year of my life,” she retorted, her voice quavering.

“Mine, too, babycakes.” Now her eyes were flooded with tears. It was definitely time for him to go.

He climbed into the cab and yanked the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows. He got his friend Dan Masters, who owned Masters Construction, on the phone and Dan referred him to someone who could fix the mess. “Can you do it today?” Garrett asked the man after explaining his problem.

“Yeah. It’ll cost you, though, being a weekend and all.”

“Just so it gets done,” Garrett said. He ended the call and roared off down the road, shooting gravel in all directions. The sooner the job was finished, the better. Who knew what further damage Jen Heath was liable to do if he waited?

That was all it took to turn his mind back to their conversation at the cottage. What a jerk he’d been. His reaction had been completely inappropriate. He’d not only been rude, he’d been downright mean. Maybe he wasn’t such a nice guy.

He was going to have to apologize.

Best not to go empty-handed, he told himself, and drove to Lupine Floral.

At the flower shop Heinrich, one of the owners, helped him pick out an arrangement of pink-and-white roses with a small box of Sweet Dreams chocolates tucked in the bouquet. Chocolate and flowers—Garrett knew enough about women to know that was a good combination. He carefully set the box on the seat next to him and then headed...for home. No sense going over there until the pipes were fixed.

You’re stalling.

Okay, he was, but he needed time to figure out what he was going to say to Jen. He went back to his place. The house was pretty much bare bones. The living room was furnished with a sofa and armchair that he’d bought to replace the furniture Ashley had made off with, an old coffee table his folks had given him and his big-screen TV (another thing he’d had to replace after Ashley left). Timmy had a nice bed and dresser, but Garrett was using an old brass bed similar to the one in the cabin; he’d scrounged it from his grandma. He went into the kitchen and made himself a ham sandwich, then sat down at the vintage red Formica kitchen table, which had also been his grandma’s. (Ashley had wanted that, too, but he’d managed to pry her greedy fingers off it.)

His belated lunch tasted like ashes.
You are such a jerk,
he told himself, shoving away the plate.
Get over there and admit it.
Instead, he stalled for another couple of hours.

Finally, his cell phone rang and he saw that it was his drain field expert. He answered with, “Are we good to go?”

“Good as gold.”

And he’d probably need a fortune in gold to pay the guy, Garrett thought as he ended the call. Jen had offered, but after the way he’d treated her, well, he knew who needed to foot the bill. Anyway, he was willing to bet she couldn’t really afford to pay for the repairs.

Now he had no excuse to delay. He climbed back in his truck and drove to the cottage, all the while trying different word and sentence combinations like working the pieces of a puzzle, hoping to form the perfect apology. The pieces still hadn’t come together when he pulled the flowers from the truck and walked up to the front door of the cabin.

He didn’t have to knock because the door opened.

“I saw you coming,” she said.

He held out the flowers. “I was a jerk.” Impressive, he thought in disgust. Hey, he was a firefighter, not a poet. Anyway, that about said it all.

She took his offering and buried her face in the flowers, inhaling. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“There’s chocolate in there, too,” he said, pointing to the little gold box.

Speaking of chocolate, what was that he smelled? Cookies? His nose directed his gaze to the kitchen where he spied a plate of cookies covered in plastic wrap and tied with a red ribbon.

“I love chocolate.” She stepped aside. “Come in.” He was about to say he had to get going when she added, “Please?”

He nodded and walked in.

“I have something for you, too,” she said, and hurried over to the kitchen counter. She picked up the plate of cookies and returned, holding it out to him. “This can’t make up for...for the accident, but I wanted you to know I was sorry.”

He sighed. He’d been a shit and here she was, baking him cookies and apologizing. That never would have happened with Ashley. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I was way out of line.”

She smiled and wrinkled her nose, making the freckles on it dance. “Yeah, you were. How about some milk to go with those cookies?”

He should leave. But it would be rude to take her cookies and run, especially after their earlier confrontation. “Sure,” he said, and settled on her white couch.

She beamed at him. Just the way Ashley used to when she’d talked him into doing something he hadn’t wanted to do.

Except he realized he wanted to sit on Jen Heath’s couch and drink hot chocolate and eat those cookies she’d made him. Ashley had never made him cookies.

She set two glasses of milk on the coffee table, as well as a second plate of cookies. “Those others are for you to take home,” she explained.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Not that he was objecting to home-baked cookies, but he knew he didn’t deserve them.

“I wanted to. Anyway, I like to bake.”

Tilda’s idea of baking cookies was to pick up a bag of Oreos. Not that it mattered. He liked Oreos fine, and Tilda was perfect.

Jen joined him on the couch and she picked up her glass and raised it. “Let’s toast.”

“Okay,” he said, and picked his up, too. “What should we toast to?”

“New beginnings.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, and they clinked glasses. He took a cookie and bit into it. Just like the kind his mom made. He nodded. “Good.”

“Cookies are my specialty,” she said. “I’m trying to master bread.”

Cookies and bread...and home-grown vegetables. He’d been unreasonable earlier. “About the garden,” he began.

“Oh, let’s not talk about that,” she said quickly. “I want to forget the whole thing.”

“Me, too,” he admitted. “I’m not usually like that.” At least he hadn’t been since he and Ash got divorced.

She studied the contents of her glass. “I can’t blame you for being mad.”

“I want you to have your garden,” he said.

Now she brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah. Let me come over and till it for you, though. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

They had just started talking about what she wanted to plant when his cell phone played the theme music for the old TV show
Law & Order.
Tilda.
Crap!

“Dude, where are you?” she asked.

They were supposed to be playing racquetball at Bruisers about now. “Oh, man. I forgot. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Hey, if you’ve got something going...”

He did, but he already knew he shouldn’t go any further with it. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be there.” He ended the call. “Sorry,” he said to Jen. “I forgot I’d promised to be somewhere.” He set down his glass and stood.

“Oh. Of course,” she said, sounding disappointed. She fetched his plate of cookies and handed them to him.

“Thanks for these.”

She smiled. Jen Heath had a great smile. “Thanks again for the flowers. I’m glad we’re friends now.”

He smiled back. “Me, too.” Friends. Was that a good idea?

Probably not, he thought as he drove away. Friendship could easily morph into something else if his hormones had anything to say about it. He was beginning to suspect there was more to Jen Heath than met the eye. For one thing, she had a heart, which was more than he could say for his ex. But she was still impetuous and flaky. And trouble.

He was done with trouble. Now he wanted stable. He wanted emotional peace and some measure of calm in his life to balance out the storm that was his ex-wife.
Stick to the plan,
he told himself even as he pulled a cookie out from under the plastic wrap.
Stick to the plan.

Chapter Twenty

Love is never as complicated as we make
it.

—Muriel Sterling, author of
Simplicity

W
ell, there went Saturday night, Jen
thought as she watched Garrett’s truck hit the road. For a few minutes she’d
actually entertained visions of stretching milk and cookies into dinner. Those
had disappeared with an almost audible poof when his cell phone rang. Where did
he have to be? And with whom?

She remembered the ring tone.
Law &
Order.
Tilda the cop. Tilda the buff. Tilda, who probably didn’t tear
up drain fields.

You have to stop being so fixated on this
man,
Jen scolded herself.
He’s seeing someone
else.
There were other men in Icicle Falls and she needed to start
checking them out. That was how a smart woman moved on with her life.

She put in a call to Cecily Sterling to see if she’d like to
get together. “Hi, what are you doing tonight?”

“I’m meeting Juliet and her husband for dinner at Zelda’s. Want
to come?”

It was one thing to see if a girlfriend wanted to go out, but
another thing altogether to insert herself into someone else’s plans. “Oh, I
don’t think—” she began.

Cecily broke in before Jen could finish. “We’re going dancing
at the Red Barn after,” Cecily added. “A great chance to learn how to
two-step.”

Dancing did sound like fun, but... “I don’t want to crash the
party.”

“There’s no such thing here in Icicle Falls. We always have
room for one more. And you haven’t been to the Red Barn yet. You’ve got to
experience that.”

Yes, she did. “Okay,” she said. “Do I need a cowgirl hat?”

“I’m sure there’ll be at least half a dozen cowboys who’ll be
happy to lend you theirs.”

Jen ended the call with a smile. All right. Dinner and dancing.
And so what if she wasn’t doing it with Garrett Armstrong? There were other fish
in the sea, other Icicles in Icicle Falls.

She went to her closet to see what she had that would be
suitable for dancing. There was a short, black denim skirt. That would work. And
a sleeveless flowered blouse with ruffles. That would work, too. No cowgirl
boots, darn it all. She’d have to make do with flats.

Or she could spend some of her paycheck from Gingerbread Haus
on boots. And eat beans for the rest of the week. Between boots and dinner out,
she’d be making a big dent in her budget. She stood for a moment, gnawing on her
lip. Oh, what the heck. She’d get the boots. She was halfway to the door when
she remembered she had an unexpected bill for repairing a drain field looming on
the horizon. Okay, flats would be fine.

Zelda’s was packed, but Cecily and Juliet and her husband had
scored a table by the window, which gave them a lovely view of Sleeping Lady
Mountain. Juliet had barely introduced Jen to her husband, Neil, when their
waitress, Maria Gomez, arrived to take their drink orders.

“I need a huckleberry martini,” said Juliet. “Have you tried
those yet, Jen?”

“No.” And she wasn’t going to anytime soon, not until she’d
saved enough money for repairs to the drain field.

“Oh, you have to,” Juliet urged.

“Or a Chocolate Kiss,” Cecily chimed in.

“Oh, no. Those are deadly,” Jen said. The last time she’d
indulged in Chocolate Kisses she’d fallen in Garrett Armstrong’s lap.

Never mind him. You’re moving
on.

“I’ll have a Chocolate Kiss,” Cecily told Maria.

“Beer for me,” Neil said. “Diet Coke for you, babe?”

Juliet nodded. “Drinking takes away a dancer’s edge.”

“Or makes a man brave enough to dance,” cracked her husband.
“And a huckleberry martini for our friend here,” he said, pointing to Jen. “Put
it on my tab.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Jen protested.

“Sure, you can,” Juliet said. “We’re rolling in money. He just
got a raise,” she added with a grin.

“All right, Neil,” Cecily said, and they bumped knuckles.

Okay, that took care of drinks. Jen searched the menu for the
cheapest item. Soup. She liked soup.

“So, Juliet tells me you’re new in town,” Neil said to Jen.
“How are you liking Icicle Falls?”

“I love it here,” Jen replied.

“She’s in Garrett Armstrong’s rental,” Juliet said.

Neil made a face. “That place is kind of a dump, isn’t it?”

“I’ve got it fixed up,” Jen told him. “Actually, it’s perfect
for me. I don’t need a lot.”

“Not when you’re simplifying your life,” Juliet said.

“Speaking of, did you get the spot for your garden tilled?”
Cecily asked.

“Well, no.”

Juliet frowned. “Did Bill Will flake out on you?”

“No. He was wonderful. We just, uh, had a slight setback.”

“Like what?” Juliet asked.

“Um.” Jen looked around the restaurant, hoping for something to
distract them. Thank God, Maria was walking toward them. “Oh, here come our
drinks.”

They placed their orders (main course items for everyone but
Jen, who ordered smoked salmon chowder), then Maria gathered the menus and
left.

“So what happened with the garden?” Juliet was like a
bloodhound. She never lost the scent of a good story.

“We encountered a little problem.”

“Like what?” Cecily asked.

“Like the drain field.”

Neil’s eyebrows went up. “You hit the drain field?”

Jen gave a quick nod and took a fortifying sip of her
huckleberry martini.

Neil let out a guffaw. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Jen shook her head sadly. “Sometimes simplifying your life
isn’t that simple.”

“No kidding,” Neil said with a frown. “Every time Juliet does
something to make her life simpler, mine gets more complicated. I have to make
dinner two days a week now.”

“Poor baby,” Juliet teased.

“And I’ve still got to till our garden,” he said.

“Just look out for the drain field,” Jen cautioned. “I can tell
you, it’s not a good thing if you hit those pipes.”

Now Charley was showing two new customers to their table,
Garrett and Tilda the cop. Jealousy took a bite out of Jen’s good mood.

“Hey, there, Garrett,” Neil said, forcing the couple to stop.
“How’s it going?”

The two men shook hands. Garrett nodded to the other women and
said hi to Jen.

“Jen was just telling us what happened today,” Neil said.

Why had he brought that up? Jen could feel the flame of
embarrassment engulfing her cheeks. “They were asking about my garden,” she
muttered.

“It could happen to anyone,” Garrett said with a shrug.

If only it
had
happened to
anyone—anyone but her. At least they’d restored friendly landlord-tenant
relations.

Tilda raised a curious eyebrow but didn’t say anything. She
didn’t appear to be a big talker...unless she was threatening the competition
with a ticket.

Charley had realized that her parade had come to a halt and she
joined the party. “Hey, guys, how are your drinks?”

“Great as always,” Neil said. Then to Garrett and Tilda, “You
want to join us?”

“I’m sure Charley can find a couple more chairs,” Juliet put
in.

“Another time,” Tilda said, making the decision for both of
them. “Take care,” she added, and started moving away; Charley took the hint and
went with her.

Garrett nodded goodbye and followed them.

“I can see who’s wearing the pants in that couple,” Neil said.
“But hey, when you’ve got a hot woman, who cares?” He grinned at Juliet.

“You’re so full of it,” she told him.

Jen downed the rest of her martini, stuck on the whole
hot-woman thing. Tilda was attractive in a Lara Croft, Tomb Raider, way. She
wasn’t cover-model beautiful, but in that leather jacket, the tight-fitting red
top and butt-hugging jeans, she was the embodiment of all those sexy lady cops
who populated TV cop shows. Everything about her, from the way she walked—
look at my ass but touch it and I’ll break your arm
—to
the expression on her face—
I am so tough that once you’ve
had sex with me you’ll know you’re a hard-ass dude
—seemed geared to
appeal to the kind of man who liked adventure. Nobody wanted a marshmallow these
days.

* * *

“So, what garden?” Tilda asked as soon as she and
Garrett had ordered a couple of beers.

“Huh?” Garrett pulled his mind away from the image of Jen in
that flowered top.

Tilda leaned back in the booth and studied him in a way that
made him feel like a criminal in a lineup. “The garden?”

Now that he had a little distance from the event, it was sort
of funny. “Well, Jen decided she wanted to put in a garden, so she got Bill Will
out to till a spot for her.”

Tilda rolled her eyes. “Bill Will. I can see it now.”

Garrett shook his head and smiled. “Of course, she managed to
pick the part of the yard where the drain field is.”

“No way,” Tilda scoffed.

“Oh, yeah. I swear that woman has a gift for taking the
simplest thing and turning it into a sitcom.”

“I bet you weren’t laughing.”

“No,” he admitted. “I wasn’t. But we made up.” Made up. Did
that sound too personal, like he had something going with Jen? Yes, judging from
the odd look Tilda was giving him. “We fixed the problem,” he amended. “Got
Grover’s Septic to come out.”

“That had to cost a pretty penny.”

It wasn’t going to be cheap, but even though it was Jen’s
fault, Garrett wasn’t going to charge her.

“You’re gonna make her pay for it, aren’t you?” Tilda
asked.

“We’ll work it out.” Tilda didn’t need to know how.

“This chick is a pain in the butt,” she observed.

“Yeah, she can be.” Garrett thought of the cookies she’d made.
“But she’s a nice pain.”

“Yeah?” Tilda didn’t sound happy to hear it.

Garrett grabbed his menu. “I’m starving. What looks good to
you?”

* * *

After dinner Jen and company were off to the Red Barn.
Cecily had been right; Jen met plenty of men who were more than willing to lend
her their cowboy hats. Bill Will and two of his buddies taught her how to do the
country two-step, and Cecily and Juliet dragged her out on the floor every time
there was a line dance. When they finally left the noisy little honkytonk, her
ears were ringing and her feet were throbbing. She’d given her phone number to a
cowboy and a local wine grower, and her social life was looking up.

What were Garrett and Tilda doing right now?

* * *

“I really liked that movie,” Tilda said as Garrett drove
her back to her house. “Bruce Willis still kicks ass.”

“Yeah, he does,” Garrett agreed. He and Tilda had enjoyed a
pleasant evening—a good dinner followed by a good movie.

Well, when he’d been paying attention the movie was good. His
mind had wandered, straying to thoughts of Jen Heath. What was she up to? He’d
been willing to bet she hadn’t gone straight home after dinner. He’d played on
Neil’s fast pitch team the year before, and he knew the guy and his wife went
dancing at the Red Barn on a regular basis. They’d probably all headed over
there after dinner. So who was Jen dancing with now?

None of your business,
he reminded
himself.
She’s your tenant, nothing more. You have a woman.
Right here.

They pulled up in front of Tilda’s place. She didn’t wait for
him to come around and open the door. Tilda wasn’t that kind of woman. She did
wait for him to join her once they were out of the truck, and they fell into
step, strolling up her walk.

“Thanks for the movie,” she said. “And dinner.”

When they’d first started doing things together, they’d shared
the tab, but Garrett always felt awkward doing that and he was slowly edging
them toward something a little more...traditional. Of course, when a man picked
up the tab, it meant he was interested—but now Garrett found himself suddenly
ambivalent about the message he was sending.

They reached her door. She turned and leaned against it. “You
wanna come in?”

Garrett knew what that meant. He could tell by the look in her
eyes. Tilda was ready for more than friendship. Hell, so was he. He’d been
celibate for way too long. Still, he hesitated.

She raised an eyebrow.

“We don’t want to rush things.”

“Rush? Dude, I know you got burned and you want to take it
slow, but I’ve seen slugs move faster than you.”

“Hey, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. I had to pick a gentleman.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid you did.”

She smiled and shook her head. “And I shaved my damn legs and
everything.”

That made him chuckle. He leaned over and gave her a kiss
good-night, just a friendly kiss.

She slipped her arms around him and changed it into a
friends-with-benefits kiss. Whoa. It would be so easy to keep that going, to let
the fire she’d lit turn into a blaze. Every ounce of testosterone in him wanted
it.

But it didn’t feel right. Not yet. He took her hands and gently
unlocked them from around his neck. “Hey, you do that too much and I might just
forget I’m a gentleman.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” she said.

“How did such a good cop get to be such a bad girl?” he
teased.

She grinned. “Remember who my mother is.”

Yeah, Tilda had her mother’s edgy humor. Dot Morrison was
probably something else in her day. Tilda would probably be something else in
bed if Garrett would let her. Well, he would. Soon.

And as he went back to his truck he told himself that his
reluctance to log in some sack time with Tilda had nothing to do with a certain
strawberry blonde with freckles and a tendency to wreak havoc wherever she
went.

It wasn’t only Jen Heath who had a gift for that. When he
picked Timmy up from his ex on Sunday, the kid was on a sugar high, racing
around the apartment like the Road Runner on speed.