Make You Mine, page 20
He touched her nose with one finger. “That was before I realized how brilliant this collaboration idea is. They’ll love it and they’ll love you.”
Maddie’s heart nearly stopped. “Are you sure? Maybe you should do this. I’ve never taken charge of a meeting like this before. What if I screw it up?”
“You won’t. Just go in and be yourself.” He glanced out into her bedroom where she had two outfits on the bed—the navy-blue pantsuit and a gray pencil skirt and matching peplum jacket with a red blouse. “Oh, and wear the gray—you’ve got great legs.”
She unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and lifted it to hang the tie in place. “Jack Walker, are you suggesting I use sex appeal to close this deal?”
“Hell, no. The skirt’s for me. I’m crazy about your legs.” He smiled a smile that twinkled in his blue, blue eyes. “Do my tie. We gotta get moving.”
Heart in her throat, she tied a perfect double Windsor, folded the collar back down, and buttoned it before snugging the knot up and straightening it to perfection. “There. Now get out so I can finish getting ready.” She took a deep breath. “If I’m running this meeting, I’ve got to look my professional best.”
*
Jack stood with Maddie outside the conference room in the Cotton Mill Inn. Neutral territory, but Missy had arranged for coffee and pastries from Paula’s Bread and Butter Bakery with the comment, Why not sweeten them up before you present the plan? Jack couldn’t have agreed more as he peered in the window at Annabelle, Cam, Joe, and Eli schmoozing with people from Beakins, Thatcher, and Cromwell. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits as they munched on doughnuts and coffee cake.
Next to him, Maddie, looking spectacular in her suit and red blouse with her hair tucked into a simple bun on the back of her head, clutched her iPad to her chest. He wished he knew how to ease the look of dread in her eyes. He wasn’t a bit worried; her collaboration idea was exactly the move Walker Construction needed to make. Everyone came out a winner if Hiko bought the plan, and Jack had no doubt that Jess, Greg, and Dave would be on board.
Pulling her away from the window, he peered into her face, and dropped a light kiss on her lips, careful not to smudge her lipstick. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
She straightened her spine, put her shoulders back, and when she met his gaze, the gleam in her eyes told him she was ready. “Let’s do this.” Then she paused and whispered, “I love you, Jack Walker.”
His heart soared. “I love you, too, Maddie Ross.” He held the door open, watching as she strode to the head of the table, her stance relaxed and confident. She placed her iPad where Missy could connect it to the projector. He stood back and let Anna take Maddie around and introduce her to the other builders. It was the first time in over a year that he hadn’t come into a meeting and taken immediate charge. It felt odd, but good. Maddie was going to be just fine. They were going to be just fine.
Greg Thacker sauntered over and lifted his chin toward Jack’s sling. “How’s the arm?”
“Doing well, thanks.”
“What’s this all about, Jack?”
Jack smiled. “You’ll see.”
Greg’s brow furrowed.
“It’s all good, I promise,” Jack assured him.
He poured a cup of coffee and, as everyone settled at the conference table, he found a seat midway down between Eli and Anna. Jess frowned and gave him a bewildered look as Maddie took her seat at the head. Jack simply nodded in Maddie’s direction as she began to speak with exactly the right combination of authority and affability. He could see the other three builders being visibly drawn in. When she glanced his way, he gave her an intimate smile and the slightest of nods, noting the light in her eyes as she began her presentation.
Anna had been absolutely right—Maddie Ross was his magic bullet, not only for Walker Construction, but for his life. He thought about the ring tucked safely away in his sock drawer at home. An emerald that matched the passion in her green eyes when he made love to her. It wasn’t time, not quite yet. But Maddie was his future—of that he was certain—and he intended to make sure every day she knew how much he needed, wanted, and loved her. It was a new beginning.
Jack didn’t know exactly where things were headed, but he didn’t need to know as long as his future included his family, his company, and Madeline Ross.
The End
I hope you enjoyed Jack and Maddie’s story—Make You Mine. One of the best ways you can invite other readers to River’s Edge is to leave a review with a star rating and maybe a few words about why you loved this book. Authors depend upon and appreciate readers who help spread the word about their books. Won’t you please take a moment to click Make You Mine and then click review this book. Thanks from the bottom of my heart, and welcome home to River’s Edge!
Exclusive Sneak Peek: Make it Real
Book 2 in The Walkers of River’s Edge series
Keep reading below or get now!
Kara Sudbury loved watering. It was a Zen thing, moving from pot to pot to pot outside the entrance to one of the greenhouses that were part of her family’s nursery and garden center. Inside the greenhouse, the huge sprinklers took care of making sure the plants and starts stayed moist, but outside was all Kara and a hundred feet of hose. Watering required little focus beyond making sure every pot got a drink; being careful that she didn’t overwater the succulents; and being certain to get enough water into the burlap-covered root balls of the deciduous trees on the south lot.
The Zen part was simply basking in the warm sunshine and the cool breeze off the river. Another perfect midsummer day in River’s Edge, Indiana, and Kara turned her face up to the sky. She closed her eyes for a second as she sprinkled water over the ready-made pots of geraniums and begonias that lined the sidewalk up to the old farmhouse that was Sudbury’s nursery, garden center, and patio shop.
Kara’s grandparents, Hunter and Ginny, opened Sudbury’s back in the seventies when they were first married. The shop had only been a tiny greenhouse out back and a cash register in the front sunroom. It had grown over the years. Hunter and Ginny added to their acreage on the far west end of River’s Edge, bought more frontage along Main Street to the south and stretched for five acres to the north, where they grew mums for fall and lavender for drying and vegetables for selling in the shop and produce stand. On the west side of their property was the sunflower field—ten acres of golden yellow extending to the tree line that separated their property from their neighbor’s. They sold the harvested seeds to a small oilseed crusher in Evansville for a tidy enough profit that it paid to plant the field every third year, rotating between sunflowers, winter wheat, and letting the field lie fallow for a season. Her granddad had mastered the art, and Kara realized that despite her degree in horticulture, she still had lots to learn.
Kara delighted in every single plant, from the flowers out front, to the trees they nurtured and sold, to the vegetables that grew in the huge truck garden on the eastside of the property. She’d only been back in River’s Edge since the first of May, but she’d rushed headlong into the summer flurry, falling back into the nursery routine as if she hadn’t been gone nearly seven years.
“Hey, Kara.” The greeting jolted her out of her reverie. “Welcome back!” Judge Harry Evans’s smile warmed Kara down to her rubber garden shoes. Over the last few weeks, she’d seen dozens of old friends—folks who wandered into the garden center or stopped her at Mac’s Riverside diner or at the Tea Leaf or on the River Walk. Getting back into her hometown brought so many memories, mostly good, some not so much. But Judge Evans was one of her very favorite people.
“Harry!” Kara turned off the sprayer, stepped over the coil, and went in for a hug from the older gentleman. His embrace was one-armed because in his other hand he held a gaily painted terra-cotta pot with a rather pitiful red begonia in it. “You’re out bright and early. How are you?”
“I’ve got court in an hour.” Harry explained his early arrival, and gave her a rueful smile. “I’m good, hon, but Bosco here is another story.” He held out the pot. “I did everything your grandma told me to do—partial shade, moist, well-drained soil, trim off the dead . . . He looked great for a while, but now look at him. And it’s only July!”
She couldn’t help chuckling. “You named your begonia Bosco?”
Harry shrugged. “It fit.” He handed over the pot. “I even talk to him every morning . . . nicely.”
“Let me take a look.” Kara led the judge along the brick path to the greenhouse, noting as she glanced back that he was still as straight and spry as a man half his age.
“Hiya, Scout.” Harry bent down to give the Sudbury’s pet beagle a pat. Scout, a rescue from the local county shelter, came to the shop every day with Grandpa and usually followed him and Gram wherever they were. However, since Kara had been home, Scout had been her constant shadow, sleeping under the potting table where she worked, chasing bees as she watered, or wandering alongside her among the mum pots or in the lavender field. He’d even taken to sleeping in the studio apartment that Grandpa had made for Kara in the walkout basement of their house on the property instead of going upstairs with her grandparents each night.
She set Harry’s plant on the potting table that took up the center of the vast humid space, turning the sad little flower this way and that. “I think he’s pot-bound, Harry.”
The judge squinted. “He’s what?”
“This pot’s too small for his roots. We need to repot him.” She pointed outside to a stack of used pots in a corner. “Pick out one about 50 percent bigger than this one.”
Kara went deeper into the greenhouse and brought back some delicate white lobelia while Harry carried a round Talavera pot painted with bright-yellow, red, and blue designs to the table. “How about this one?”
“Perfect.” She smiled. “And let’s give Bosco a friend. This lobelia will fill out the pot nicely, I think.”
Harry grinned. “I had an aunt Lobelia. We called her Aunt Lobby and she was a corker.” He shook his head. “Smoked unfiltered Chesterfields in a long black cigarette holder that fascinated us kids.” He gave her a wry smile. “You’re too young to know about cigarette holders, but they were very cool way back when, before we knew how bad smoking was for you. Aunt Lobby kept her cigarettes in a gold case that had her initials in rhinestones on the cover and a matching lighter. She lived in Cincinnati, wore red lipstick, and to us kids, she was the height of sophistication.”
Kara chuckled. “Sounds like a character from Dorothy Parker’s era.” With quick, efficient moves, she deadheaded Bosco and eased the begonia and the lobelia into their new home.
“How does a kid like you know about Dorothy Parker? And by the way, Aunt Lobby truly was a Dorothy Parker character.”
She pressed the soil around the plants, added a bit of plant food, and then some more soil on top. “Comparative Literature was my minor at Purdue with an emphasis on Women’s Lit. Dorothy Parker is one of my favorite writers.”
“You have taste, kiddo.” He accepted the pot from her. “Thanks, Kara. Does Aunt Lobby need any special care, or the same as Bosco?”
“Just keep them both moist, give them some sun each day, and pluck off the dead flowers.” Kara walked with him to his ancient Mercedes. “Harry, you still driving this old diesel?”
“We bought this car new in Germany in 1974—our tenth-wedding anniversary trip. Shipped it here and went to Norfolk to pick it up. Alicia loved it . . .” He paused, a faraway look in his eyes as he set the pot on the towel he’d spread across the front seat and buckled the seat belt across it. Stepping around to the other side of the car, he started to get in the driver’s seat, but stopped. “What’s your favorite Dorothy Parker quote?”
Kara only had to think for a few seconds. “Easy one. I’ve never been a millionaire, but I know I’d be just darling at it.” She gave her shoulders a little shimmy and winked.
Harry laughed out loud, a gritty laugh that she heard even over the sound of the diesel engine as he started the old car.
She stood in the gravel parking lot, watching as he drove away, warmth flooding her soul as she inhaled the scent of the river breeze and the flowers that filled the edges of the parking lot. Damn, it was good to be back home. Birds flitted among the branches of the ancient maples that shaded her grandmother’s produce stand on the other side of the road. The vegetable garden was Ginny’s bailiwick, and her fresh produce stand was a favorite stop along the highway that followed along the Ohio River into town. A couple of cars were already in the parking area in front of it, and Kara peered across the highway to make sure Grandma didn’t need any help.
All of a sudden, a sharp report quickly followed by another sounded to the west. Kara spun around, almost tripping over a whining Scout. The dog ran toward the sound, then stopped to stare at Kara as if to say, Are you coming or what? Who on earth would be shooting a gun at seven o’clock in the morning in the middle of July? Was it even legal to hunt anything this time of year? She peered into the sunflower field but didn’t see anyone, so she went back to the shop and asked Grandpa and Meredith, the only full-time employee at Sudbury’s, if they’d heard the shot. They hadn’t, but Kara was certain the sound was a gun. She switched out her rubber shoes for her sneakers and headed out to the field.
She got no more than about fifty feet into the sunflowers before she heard another shot, and, as she raced to the far edge of the field, away from the sound and along the rows of flowers, yet another. What the hell?
Joe Walker stomped across his backyard, armed with his trusty .22. The red fox had been at his chicken coop again, digging under the mesh fence, terrorizing the girls as it tried to nab one for its breakfast. Well, by God, that freaking fox has taken its last chicken. The hens’ noisy clucking and the rooster’s crowing had awakened him from a delightful dream, and he’d jumped from his cozy bed, grabbed the rifle from above the kitchen door, and raced out into the yard to see the red-haired beast sauntering through the garden with a hen between its jaws. The shot he fired merely sent the fox racing away.
“Dammit!” Joe had already lost two chickens to the thieving critter in the last month, and his hens were barely laying, they were so traumatized. Plus, fear had made his rooster even crabbier than usual.
He followed a trail of feathers to the tree line and saw movement low in the brush bordering Sudbury’s sunflower field. Eyes narrowing, he stopped and spotted a flash of white tail, heard a faint squawk, then silence. There he is! Joe lifted the rifle, aimed, fired . . . and missed. Suddenly, there was movement on the far side of the field and as he aimed that way, a sole sunflower rose in the air above the others, waving frantically.
Okay, not the fox.
He lowered the gun and watched as Sudbury’s beagle, Scout, emerged from the tall sunflowers and right behind him, a girl—no, a woman—he didn’t recognize. She was medium height with the slim, athletic build of a tennis player or a runner. Curly light-brown hair covered her head like a cap, a few wisps flopping into her eyes. She swatted at the recalcitrant curls with one tanned hand as she walked out of the rows of flowers with purpose. Before she even got to the tree line, she shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you, idiot?”
Joe blinked and scratched at a bug that had landed on his bare chest, realizing a little late that he was clad only in his sleeping shorts and the untied canvas tennis shoes he’d slipped his bare feet into at the kitchen door. “Me?” he called back, taking a couple more steps to the trees. “Who the hell runs toward the sound of gunfire?”
She raised both hands in a gesture of utter frustration. “I was way over here to the side of the sound. Besides, who shoots a gun into their neighbor’s property? You could’ve hit our greenhouse, or worse, a customer.” As she drew nearer, he could see she was pretty—really pretty—and pissed.
“Your greenhouse?” Joe peered through the trees and brush, wishing he had his contacts in because his old glasses simply weren’t strong enough anymore. Who was this woman? As far as he knew, Ginny and Hunter Sudbury hadn’t sold their nursery. He did business with them every once in a while; Hunt would’ve said something. Still gazing at her, he stormed into the trees and promptly tripped over a fallen log, accidentally pressing the trigger on the .22 as he went down on his face into a blackberry bramble.
The gun went off, the woman screeched, and Joe let out a loud oof, then a groan of pain. He released the gun and lay still, his head, face, neck, and bare chest stinging from the blackberry nettles and his left leg feeling very weird. Scout barked and ran up to him, licking Joe’s cheek and panting dog breath all over him.
“Did you shoot yourself?” The woman was there, too, stepping carefully through the brush until she was about a foot from him, her smooth, tanned legs only inches from his head. “Oh my God!” When he opened one eye and looked up at her, her face, which was vaguely familiar, had turned from angry to ashen and horrified. “Your leg!”
The sting of the blackberry thorns had somehow kept him from noticing what was now agonizing pain in his left shin. He started to turn over, but she stooped down and put a dirty gloved hand on his shoulder. “No, don’t move.”
“My face,” he managed, but it was hard to even speak because of the brambles sticking him everywhere, and shit! Was that poison ivy under his cheek? Inanely, his mind went to a couplet, his cousin Jack had taught him and Cam and Eli years ago—leaves of three, let it be; leaves of five, let it thrive. His glasses were gone, and his eye was blurry, but yep, that was three leaves. No. No. No. “I gotta . . . gotta get up,” he mumbled. “Poison ivy.”
The woman held him in place. “That’s the least of your problems. Your leg is really messed up.”
He lifted his head and shoved up with his arms, bringing his upper body out of the brambles, but dropped right back down again as pain shot through his left leg, leaving him nearly breathless. He attempted to peer over his shoulder, but all he could see was his own butt in the slipping-down sleeping shorts. When he tried to move the leg, pain, more excruciating than before, shot through him.
