Defy the World Tomatoes (3 page)

Griffin’s slightest touch brought such a heart-stopping thrill that she couldn’t help but wonder if she would survive should he ever show her the same unbridled passion he’d just lavished on his piano.

Then, with a slight tremble, she wondered how she could bear to exist if he didn’t.

Chapter Two

Darcy pulled into her parking space behind the Defy the World Tomatoes nursery, but she was uncertain how she’d made it down the winding mountain road. She hadn’t had a crush on a man in years
—
if fascination this intense could even be defined as such
—
while the hypnotically attractive Griffin Moore was clearly immune to her charms.

Yet that morning he had slyly admitted that women had always bothered him. His voice had taken on a breathless edge that had made her ache to hear far more intimate confessions. That proved to be his most revealing remark of the day, however, and she knew little more about him than when he’d sauntered into Defy the World shortly after she’d rolled open the gate.

His dark good looks stirred a real physical hunger, but his voice held an elusive quality that made her cling to his every word. Clearly he was American, but his faint accent made her suspect he might have spent his formative years in Europe, or some exotic isle in the South Pacific where French was the principal language.

She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel and sat back to draw a deep breath. An army brat, she’d been an only child. Her family had moved so often she couldn’t really say where she’d grown up. She’d been born in Georgia while her father was stationed at Fort Benning, but her only memory of the state was a blur of green. They’d spent three years in Germany when she was in grammar school, and she’d been to Paris, London and Rome before she was old enough to understand what a privilege being able to travel truly was.

Now she liked staying home and, with that marvelous house, perhaps that was also Griffin’s desire. Unfortunately, as self-contained as he was, he was going to have to stay put for a very long time for them to become friends.

“Not bloody likely,” she mumbled to herself. Finally leaving her truck, she entered the nursery through the rear gate.

She was pleased to find half a dozen people strolling the paths, and there were even more in the gift shop. She had to wait for Mary Beth, the clerk who also did their bookkeeping, to ring up a sale before she caught her attention.

“I gave my client a receipt,” she assured Mary Beth and then handed over the office copy of Griffin’s estimate along with five crisp one hundred-dollar bills, and the twenty for the CD.

Mary Beth wore her long, curly brown hair tied neatly at her nape. She preferred tailored clothes, and her one concession to the garden theme of Defy the World Tomatoes was a floral print vest worn over her oxford cloth shirt and denim skirt.

Dipping her head, Mary Beth sent Darcy a frantic glance over her gold-rimmed glasses. “I can’t recall the last time someone paid you in cash. Could he be a drug dealer?”

In action-adventure films, the South American drug lords were always dark and dashing. Griffin Moore definitely fit the part, but Darcy doubted he was involved in anything illegal. “I didn’t ask what he did for a living, but he struck me as an honest man. Do you actually expect some drug kingpin to turn up here in Monarch Bay, or have you just been reading too many thrillers lately?”

Mary Beth set the estimate aside to enter into the computer later, but quickly slipped the cash into the register. “I know the difference between fiction and reality,” she protested smugly, “but since you mention it, it wouldn’t hurt you to spend more of your spare time reading.”

“What spare time?” Darcy scoffed. “I haven’t had more than five minutes to call my own since Christy Joy invited me to become her partner.”

After moving to Monarch Bay, she’d bought a kayak and paddled around the bay a time or two, but that had been her single diversion. It was no wonder the sight of Griffin Moore had made her drool. Then she began to wonder if he’d ever been kayaking.

A woman approached the desk with a question about the orchids on display near the small ceramic fountains, and Darcy left the counter with her. Spare time, she fumed silently, but she smiled sweetly as she extolled the ease with which orchids could be grown.

Although Darcy was preoccupied, her customer brought a gorgeous cymbidium with a half-dozen blooms and, as Darcy went on out into the nursery, she heard Christy Joy exclaim over the plant’s beauty.

Christy Joy’s personality was as exuberant as her blond curls, and she had a talent for displaying a sincere interest in every customer, which did wonders to stimulate repeat business. She and Darcy had met their freshman year in college. Darcy never would have predicted how close they would become, but it was impossible not to love someone as genuinely sweet as Christy Joy Jennings.

Darcy’s talents lay with horticulture and, while everyone responded to the nursery’s varied selection of cacti and well-tended plants, its success was due to her professional competence rather than her somewhat reserved manner. She bent to tighten a grouping of bright red potted geraniums and felt a lingering sense of wonder that she was a co-owner in such a remarkable venture.

She looked up to find Christy Joy’s four-year-old daughter playing hopscotch across a set of scallop-shell-shaped stepping stones set in a gravel border. Her name was Catherine, but everyone called her Twink. Darcy made her way around the circular path to reach her.

“How are you doing this afternoon, Twinkle Toes?” she asked.

Twink raised her arms above her head as she twirled around on the last stone. Dressed like her mother in a bright yellow-and-blue-print pinafore and ruffled white blouse, she had the porcelain prettiness of an expensive doll. There were ribbon laces on her pale blue tennis shoes, but she’d never been able to sit still and was a tomboy at heart.

“Okay, I guess,” the little girl responded.

“Just okay? How did things go at preschool?”

Twink hopped back across the stones. “Angela threw up and got sent home.”

“Oh dear, was she embarrassed?”

Twink paused on one foot and caught her balance with outstretched arms. “No. Throwing up’s not like wetting your pants.”

“Of course, I’d forgotten.” Darcy extended her hand. “Come help me count the little stone frogs. I want to see if anyone bought one this afternoon while I was away.”

Twink took Darcy’s hand and skipped along beside her. “Let’s get some real frogs and let them swim in the fountains and hop all around.”

“Like you do, Twink?” Darcy laughed at the mayhem live frogs would surely create. “Our customers might be terrified if one came leaping out at them, and we can’t have that.”

Disappointed, Twink pursed her lips. “It would be fun though, wouldn’t it, Darcy?”

“Yes, baby, it sure would.”

With Twink’s chatty company, the afternoon passed quickly. At six o’clock, Darcy rolled the gate across the nursery entrance and locked it. Then she went inside to check the day’s receipts. It was a nightly ritual the partners had begun on opening day, and charting the slow, steady growth in business provided constant reassurance to them both.

Mary Beth made a quick tally and announced the sum proudly. “Not bad for a weekday, and with Darcy’s new landscaping commission, it’ll be a good week.”

Christy Joy wiped off the counter and straightened the selection of tiny gift books displayed beside the register. Her daughter was coloring at the little child’s table nearby, allowing her a minute to talk. “Is it something exciting, Darcy?”

Darcy provided only a brief summary of the Zen garden, and not a word about Griffin Moore. “Looks like the gift shop was busy all afternoon.”

Christy Joy smoothed a curl back into the cluster atop her head. “It sure was, but I don’t want to forget to tell you the landlord’s attorney called.”

“Jess Stevens? What’s he want?”

“It seems the elusive owner of the Ivory Corporation is in town and wants to meet with us tomorrow at nine.”

“Here or at Stevens’ office?”

“Here. I’ll bake rolls and serve coffee, you know, make a little party of it.”

Darcy leaned against the counter. “This is a business meeting. We really don’t have to entertain. The shop and nursery are doing well, and we make the lease payments on time. That’s any landlord’s dream. Did Stevens mention his name?”

“Yes, Griffin Moore.”

Mary Beth appeared puzzled. “Where have I heard that name?”

It took a moment for Darcy to recover from the shock. “Griffin Moore’s the man who ordered the Zen garden,” she reminded Mary Beth. “His name is on the estimate. He was here this morning, and I was out at his home on Ridgecrest this afternoon. I don’t understand why he didn’t mention a significant fact like being our landlord.”

“Maybe he wanted to see how we operate first,” Christy Joy suggested.

“He was working undercover,” Mary Beth interjected.

“You have definitely been reading too many thrillers,” Darcy warned. “The man’s a hunk, and there’s no way he could disappear into a crowd and work undercover.”

“Really?” Christy Joy’s expression brightened. “Is he nice?”

Darcy shrugged. “He plays the piano beautifully, but he’s rather distant. I can’t swear that he’s nice.”

“Now I’m worried,” Christy Joy admitted.

So was Darcy, but for an entirely different reason.

Griffin strolled into the Defy the World Tomatoes gift shop the next morning smartly dressed in a gray suit, white shirt and maroon tie. His attorney, the silver-haired Jess Stevens, was by his side.

“Good morning,” Griffin greeted them. He nodded to Darcy and then smiled at Christy Joy. “I’m Griffin Moore.”

“Christy Joy Jennings,” she responded and offered homemade caramel rolls and freshly brewed coffee. Mr. Stevens appeared to be delighted by her hospitality and accepted both, while Griffin declined politely and began a slow tour of the shop.

Darcy watched him examine everything from the scented candles to the lacy crocheted sweaters. When he reached the orchids, she finally felt justified in joining him. She’d worn a form-fitting pair of Levi’s and a pale lavender sweater, but, next to a man in a thousand-dollar suit, she felt as though she were dressed in rags.

“We’ve done very well with our orchids,” she remarked.

“Do the two of you run this whole enterprise alone?” he asked.

He’d dropped his voice to a husky whisper, and Darcy feared Christy Joy and Jess Stevens would assume they were exchanging secrets. She wished they were. “No, Christy Joy manages the gift shop and supervises the clerks, who will arrive at ten. I run the nursery, but I have help from George Kimble, a retired science teacher, who knows as much about plants as I do. A couple of high school students come in after school.

“When we have a landscaping job, like yours…” She tried not to bare her teeth, “…I hire a crew to handle the labor. We’re very proud of how well we’ve done, which I’m sure you can see.”

Griffin nodded. “I apologize for not being more forthcoming yesterday, but I was sincere in my request for the Zen garden. Go ahead and deposit my payment.”

“I already have,” Darcy assured him.

“Good. It’s important to keep a close eye on finances.” Griffin called over to his attorney. “Jess, why don’t you explain my plans? It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Jennings. Good day, ladies.”

Darcy stared after him as he walked out with the same self-assured grace that marked all his actions. She’d considered him distant, but that morning he’d been positively glacial. He was certainly a master of the abrupt departure, but she felt unsettled, as though nothing positive had been accomplished by their brief meeting.

She walked back to the counter where Jess Stevens was wiping crumbs from his mouth on a floral napkin. “What plans?” she prompted. “After all, we have a year’s lease, and he can’t raise our rent.”

“No, of course not,” Stevens assured them. “That was delicious, Mrs. Jennings. I’m surprised you haven’t included a bakery here.”

“Thank you, but I’m as anxious as Darcy to hear Mr. Moore’s plans.”

Stevens fortified himself with another gulp of coffee. “Yes, let me get to that. Now, as obviously you were unaware, Ms. MacLeod, Mr. Moore is a well-respected concert pianist. He began winning prestigious competitions in his teens and has been touring many years. He owns property in several cities, but he’s especially fond of Monarch Bay. Now that he’s made his home here, his plans are to turn this facility into a private recording studio.”

Darcy and Christy Joy shrieked in unison, “What?”

“Please, there’s no need to become alarmed. Your lease doesn’t expire until the end of September, so you’ll have plenty of time to relocate.”

Christy Joy’s eyes filled with tears. “Where does he expect us to go?”

“That’s really not his concern, Mrs. Jennings.”

Darcy couldn’t help but take this disaster personally. “Is he pissed that I failed to recognize his name?”

“I doubt Mr. Moore ever becomes pissed, Ms. MacLeod, but he’s not a vindictive man, I assure you.”

Darcy just shook her head. “Son-of-a-bitch. Why doesn’t he build a recording studio in that mausoleum he calls home? Why does it have to be here?”

Jess Stevens straightened. He wore a navy blue suit and brushed a crumb he’d missed from his lapel. “That’s his privilege, Ms. MacLeod. Now, I suggest that you and Mrs. Jennings begin making plans to relocate.”