Defy the World Tomatoes (2 page)

The landscaping, however, consisted of scattered clumps of badly trimmed camellias. Darcy couldn’t imagine why Griffin wished to begin at the rear of the house when the front cried out for attention, but she was elated to discover so much work needed to be done.

She swung her Chevy truck around the circular drive and parked by the front door. She’d brought the requested Otavalomanta CD and picked it up along with her clipboard. “This is just a job like any other,” she whispered as she moved up the brick walk, but her wildly beating heart failed to agree. As she raised her hand to the bell, she prayed the door wouldn’t be opened by a pair of stunning twins in skimpy fuchsia bikinis.

The bell rang with a faraway echo, and Darcy strained to hear the click of high heels across what would surely be a tiled entryway. The thickness of the carved wooden door blocked the sound of Griffin’s approach, and Darcy was startled when he suddenly swung it open.

Much to her delight, his sunglasses were tucked in his shirt pocket, for without their shadow his eyes shone with a lively intelligence and wit, and she envied him his dark sweep of thick lashes.

His large, expressive eyes were definitely as handsome as the rest of him, but as deep a brown as dark chocolate, and with that knowledge came a sharp sting of disappointment. Darcy had to swallow a revealing moan, but even knowing the likelihood of his ever caring for her was extremely slight, she felt a real sense of loss.

“Good afternoon,” she managed in a breathless rush. “Here’s your CD.” She thrust it into his hands, then silently scolded herself for not having done it with more grace.

Griffin, meanwhile, began studying the musicians pictured on the CD. They wore blue ponchos, long braids, worn fedoras, and looked convincingly like modern-day Incas.

“Thanks. Do you want to just add this to my bill, or would you rather I paid you now?”

“I don’t really care, but our bookkeeper insists that we keep the landscaping commissions separate from the gift shop sales.”

Griffin reached into his pocket, withdrew a gold money clip and peeled off a twenty-dollar bill. “Will this cover it?”

“Yes. Just a minute, I think I have change.”

“No, keep it as a delivery charge.” He stepped back to allow her to precede him into the house. “I hope the scent of fresh paint doesn’t bother you, and you’ll have to excuse the lack of furnishings. I haven’t had time to move in more than a bed and my piano.”

The high, beamed ceiling caught Darcy’s notice first, then the wide staircase which curved up to the second floor. The interior had been painted a rich ivory which glowed against the dark wood but cried out for colorful paintings and tables to display huge bouquets of fresh flowers. On their left, she caught a glimpse of what appeared by the level of the chandelier to be the dining room, and on the right, a spacious living room.

The highly polished dark hardwood floor was covered by a magnificent Oriental carpet with a navy blue background setting off a writhing pattern of gold and terracotta flowers. The stylized design was so intricate, Darcy thought she would have to crawl over it on her hands and knees for hours to truly appreciate its beauty.

When her gaze finally reached the far end of the room, she found not simply a piano, but a concert grand in gleaming ebony wood. Amazed by the impressive instrument, she turned back to Griffin.

“Do you play the piano, or is it merely for show?”

A faint air of puzzlement filled Griffin’s expression, but, after a strained moment, he shrugged. “I enjoy playing it upon occasion. Let’s go out through the french doors.”

He led the way through the living room to the three sets of french doors which opened out onto the terrace. He unlocked the center set and again waited for Darcy to precede him.

The house was built in an L shape and, as they stepped outside, the kitchen and maid’s quarters were to their left. The brick terrace was bordered by an expanse of parched grass which Darcy agreed would be improved by the addition of a Zen garden. Beyond, the hillside sloped away to provide a panoramic view of Monarch Bay. The afternoon sun danced on the Pacific Ocean with a shimmering sparkle, and Darcy drank it in for a long moment before glancing up at Griffin.

He appeared to be equally lost in the splendid view, and the seriousness of his expression again hinted at melancholy while his posture remained proud. Darcy had known several men with his height who had adopted a stoop-shouldered slouch, perhaps in an effort to reduce the distance between themselves and others. She’d always thought it a shame that they hadn’t stood up straight and had even told a couple to do so. From what little she’d observed of Griffin, however, she doubted he ever walked with a dejected slump, regardless of his mood.

She wondered if he’d come there alone willingly, or perhaps had chosen a solitary exile at the end of a painful love affair. Who would leave him? she scoffed silently, but she knew only too well that love did not always guarantee happiness. Griffin glanced down at her, caught her observing him rather than the proposed site of the Zen garden and, embarrassed, she quickly directed her attention to the overgrown plot.

“I bought the house from the daughter of the original owner,” Griffin explained. “She’s in her eighties, hasn’t lived here in half a century and was elated to find someone who’d restore the beauty, rather than merely throw together a careless remodel of her childhood home.

“The interior renovations were all completed before I moved in last week, but I wasn’t certain what I wanted to do with the grounds until I got here. What do you think of my idea?”

Had he asked for her suggestion before offering his own, Darcy would have proposed replanting the lawn and surrounding it with a flowering border that would provide color without obstructing the magnificent view. Now she believed the stark beauty of raked sand suited him.

“This is an enchanting spot for a Zen garden,” she responded. “It should provide the perfect respite from the cares of the day.”

Griffin shoved his hands into his hip pockets. “That’s the idea. The sunset is well worth watching. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it can be.”

Intrigued, Darcy waited for him to expand upon that wistful statement, but he failed to elaborate. Because he’d impressed her as being an intensely private man, she refrained from asking him to clarify his comment.

“It’ll take me a few minutes to measure the area, and then I’ll work up a sketch and quick estimate.”

Griffin shook his head. “I don’t care what it costs.”

Darcy glanced back toward the sparsely furnished house. It was clear evidence of his wealth, but she’d learned the hard way that a landscaper with only a verbal contract had nothing to hang on to but air.

“That’s good to know, but I can’t operate that way. You’ll have to approve and sign my estimate, or I won’t be able to take the job.”

When Griffin looked down at her this time, she saw something new in his gaze and recognized it as a flash of anger. Apparently he didn’t like to be crossed, and she’d just refused to do things his way. That meant a life with him would be wildly exciting, but it would be lived solely on his terms. Some women would accept that onerous condition as the price of love, but she was not among them.

She’d left his address posted on her appointment board, so the police would come calling if he flew into a murderous rage and flung her off the cliff. Buoyed by that thought, she discounted the fact he probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds and raised her chin proudly.

“One of the first commissions I had here was from a woman who wanted me to plant a rose garden that would be the envy of all her friends in the garden club. I told her it would be expensive to include the rarest varieties, but she swore she didn’t care a fig about the expense. She just wanted spectacular results and, while we conferred on the selection of roses, we never discussed the cost.

“When the work was finished, she was absolutely thrilled with her new garden, and I mean ecstatic, until I presented her with the bill.” Darcy shifted her gaze toward the sea. “In an instant, she was completely transformed into a foaming-mouthed shrew who spewed out some of the raunchiest insults imaginable. Sailors would have blushed, or maybe paid her for such inventive slurs. I mean it was really ugly.”

Now that had been frightening, she recalled. Hoping she’d aroused Griffin’s curiosity, she paused and made him wait for more. They were standing within a few feet of each other, and she could actually feel him watching her. Even if she didn’t get this job, she hoped he would shake her hand so she would have an excuse to touch him again. Her palm began to itch just thinking about it, and she wiped her hand on her overalls.

“Well,” Griffin prompted, “what did you do?”

Darcy risked a quick peek at his eyes and was relieved the fiery light had dimmed to a mere glow. She faced him squarely and continued. “I just stood there and waited for her to run out of breath, then I told her I’d have my crew back within the hour and that we’d yank out every last rose. I said I’d still have to charge her for the labor, but without the roses, her bill would be a modest one.”

“But without the roses, all she would have had was dirt.”

Darcy nodded. “That’s right. It looked like a simple choice to me, and we hadn’t pulled up more than half a dozen bushes when she calmed down enough to discuss a payment plan. Now that’s an afternoon I’ll never forget, and the whole nasty scene could have been avoided if I’d just insisted that she read and approve my estimate. Only fools don’t learn from their mistakes, Mr. Moore, and I don’t repeat mine.”

Griffin gave a grudging nod to concede the point. “I’ll not ask you to compromise your principles, Ms. MacLeod, but please be assured I’ll okay whatever figure you select.”

“Darcy,” she reminded him.

“Darcy.” His faint accent caressed her name obligingly, but he turned away without asking to be called Griffin.

Insulted, Darcy couldn’t draw a deep breath until he’d returned to the house, and even then she wasn’t certain who had actually won that exchange. Deciding it’d probably been a draw, she took comfort in the familiar, made some quick measurements of the scruffy lawn, then sat on the terrace steps to create a sketch. Knowing what was required, she’d prepared some rough figures before leaving the nursery and was about to complete her written estimate when Griffin began to play the piano.

She’d once dated a man who could produce a passable version of “Memories” from CATS, and a few Beatles tunes. That’s all she’d expected from Griffin, but he was playing an intricate classical piece whose lofty strains soared to the living room’s twenty-foot ceiling and then rolled out over the terrace in thunderous waves. The only classical selections she could name were the “1812 Overture” and Ravel’s “Bolero”, and it was neither of those.

She quickly added the costs entailed in constructing the Zen garden, then got up and crossed the terrace to stand at the french doors Griffin had left ajar. She hesitated to enter the living room for fear of disturbing him even more than she already had, and so simply propped her shoulder against the jamb and waited for him to finish whatever it was he was playing and look up.

The piece was a lengthy one, however, and Griffin demonstrated far more than mere technical brilliance. He played with the very same passionate fire she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes. The music washed through her in a sensuous rush and, far from being annoyed at having to wait, she stood transfixed, caught up in the melody Griffin coaxed from the keys with a fury that would surely have reduced a lesser instrument to a heap of kindling.

Other than the sticks Darcy had tapped together in the rhythm band in kindergarten, she had no experience in creating music. She’d been to a couple of rock concerts, even seen the Grateful Dead once in San Francisco, but she’d never attended a symphony performance. Still, even a novice such as she would have recognized Griffin’s genius.

When he finally drew the piece to a crescendo of pulse-pounding chords, she couldn’t help but shout, “Bravo! That was fantastic.”

Griffin glanced up and for a terrible moment appeared not to recall who she was. Afraid she’d disturbed him after all, Darcy approached the piano with a cautious step. “I’m sorry if I interrupted you, but I thought you were finished. I’ve never heard anyone play so well.”

She remembered hearing the Russians were passionate and mentioned the only composer who came to mind, praying she didn’t sound as ignorant as she truly was. “Was that Tchaikovsky?”

Griffin left the piano bench with an easy stretch. “Franz Liszt. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

He came forward with a slow, smooth stride, and Darcy couldn’t seem to make her feet take a step backward even after he’d invaded her personal space by several inches. He came to a halt so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. She thrust her clipboard into his solar plexus to jolt him into stepping back and create more distance between them.

“At the top of the form, I’ve made a drawing to show the placement of the cypress and boulders. My total is at the bottom. If you’d like to get other bids, please go right ahead. I’ll not be offended, and you’ll find my prices are competitive.”

Griffin took hold of her clipboard and, after a quick glance at the form, reached toward her. “Do you mind?” he asked.

Darcy was too shocked to object when he plucked the rose-topped pen from her bib pocket, but his fingertips grazed her breast to coil an electric charge around her ribcage. With an almost painful sweetness, lingering sparks drifted downward to leave her moist with desire. She shook her head, but it wasn’t simply to offer the pen.