A Gift for All Seasons. Karen Templeton

he’d noticed her presence. Not that she expected everyone in the world to like her, but it killed her to think she’d done something, unwittingly or not, to hurt another human being.

      Then again, she thought as she sat on one of the metal chairs, she’d been as sincere as she knew how when she’d tried to undo her gaffe. True, she couldn’t imagine what he’d been through, but despite this annoying quirk that made her want to resolve every problem life tossed in her path, she had to remind herself it wasn’t any of her business. Goodness, even Clayton had tried his best to convince her that, oddly enough, the entire world was not her responsibility. Breaking the habits of a lifetime, though—not so easy.

      And keeping this relationship strictly professional would be one small, important step toward that goal. Contractor and client—this, she could do.

      Then an image of what she realized could be the inn’s front yard appeared on the screen—a yard filled with stone paths and flower beds, blooming fruit trees and lush bushes. Of seating areas nestled into several outdoor “rooms.” A pair of evergreens flanking the porch steps, a hedge of roses alongside a low stone wall. And more, much more than she could take in.

      “It could really look like that?”

      “It really could,” Patrick said from several feet away, then began to explain what she was looking at, periodically adjusting the image as he took her on a virtual tour, his obvious enthusiasm for his work leaching past April’s not-so-hot-to-begin-with defenses. “The idea is to make it an all-season landscape—hence the evergreens. To decorate for the holidays, if you like.”

      In the heat of the moment, their gazes met. Tangled. April quickly returned her attention to the screen. Not making that mistake again, nope.

      “Oh … yes,” she said, willing her heart to stop pounding. “Perfect.”

      “And in the back …” He clicked a few keys, and the backyard appeared. “A gazebo for weddings. Or whatever.”

      Her throat clogged. “It’s absolutely amazing.”

      “It also doesn’t come cheap.”

      Ah, yes. Money. Business. Stay on track. “I wouldn’t imagine that it does.”

      “Figured I may as well give you the full monty, we can always cut back if we have to.” He reached for a slim folder beside the computer, handed it to her. “Here’s the estimate, with a complete breakdown for materials and labor. See what you think.”

      April pulled out the papers, scanned them, flipped to the last page, had a brief pang of conscience—considering all those years when she couldn’t even buy her mother flowers—then held out her hand. “Got a pen?”

      Clearly, Patrick hadn’t expected that. “You sure? I mean, no questions—?”

      “Nope.” She dug her checkbook out of her purse, discovered a pen already in it. “Never mind, I have a pen. I take it you’d like half down now?”

      “Actually, we do it in thirds—”

      She wrote out the amount, signed the contract, then handed it back to him with the check. “So when can you start?”

      He separated the copies from the original, slipped hers into another folder, then set the folder in front of her. “Next week? The weather looks like it’s going to stay decent at least through the middle of the month.”

      “Great,” she said, getting to her feet, then extending her hand, which he took. Another mistake, but too late now. And the sizzling would subside eventually.

      The folder tucked against her side, she started out the door, wanting to get away from that intense, puzzled gaze. But he stopped her with, “I don’t get it.”

      She turned, frowning. “Pardon?”

      “Why you didn’t haggle.”

      “Was I supposed to?”

      “People … usually do.”

      Somehow, she caught the subtext. “Rich people, you mean?”

      She thought his cheeks might’ve colored. “Didn’t say that.”

      “But that’s what you meant.”

      “Okay. Yeah.” His crossed his arms, high on his chest. “In my experience the better off the client, the more they’re inclined to try to get a better deal. But you didn’t. Why?”

      By rights, his borderline impudence—not to mention his assumption that all rich people thought and acted the same way—should have ticked her off. And probably would have, except for the genuine mystification underpinning his words. As well as her having to admit there’d been a time not that long ago when she might’ve been tempted to do some pigeonholing of her own. So she didn’t take particular offense. Nor, in theory, was she under any obligation to explain herself.

      Except this little exchange had only illustrated what she’d already learned, which was that people treated you differently when they thought you had money. And not always in a good way. So if she was going to be judged, at least let it be on who she was, not on who Patrick thought she was.

      Maybe it wasn’t up to her to right all the wrongs in the world, but she could at least address this one.

      His mother had always said his big mouth was going to get him in trouble one day. Judging from the look on April’s face, Patrick figured that day had come. But she was like … like a little hoppy toad, never doing what he expected. Making him crazy.

      “Sorry,” he muttered. “That was out of line.”

      So of course she laughed. And, yes, he almost jumped.

      “It’s okay, I’m used to dealing with people who say whatever’s on their mind. My mother-in-law was like that, and we got on like gangbusters. Then again, I get on with most human beings. I kind of see it like my mission in life. Anyway …” She waggled her left hand, the rings glinting in the overhead light, “the thing is, I didn’t always have money. To be blunt … I married into it.”

      “Really. Another … mission?”

      She laughed again, then glanced down at the rings, the light dimmed in her eyes when she looked up again. “No. Not at all. But what I’m saying is, this is still pretty new for me. Believe me I know what it’s like to try to make a living. To hopefully get an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work, and then—” she sighed “—to wonder if that’s going to be enough to meet the bills. So I can’t tell you what a relief it is to not worry about money any more. To be able to sign that contract without a second thought.”

      Or any thought, apparently. “Did you even get other bids?”

      “I considered it. Of course. But for one thing, your ratings on Angie’s List are through the roof. And for another, based on your discussions with Blythe, she gave me a ballpark figure for what it would probably cost. And you were right on target.” She pulled a face. “It also doesn’t seem fair to make other companies go to all that trouble when only one can get the job.”

      “It’s just business, Mrs. Ross.”

      “True. But sometimes you have to trust your instincts. This is one of those times.” Then she chuckled. “Unless you deliberately padded the estimate?”

      “No!” he said, only to smile himself when she chuckled again. “Although it will be nice to make a halfway decent profit margin on a job, for once. Especially since Christmas is coming. Bonuses for our workers,” he said when she frowned. “They were pretty lame last year, although they all said they understood. At least we didn’t have to lay off anyone, but it was touch-and-go there for a while—”

      What the hell? Talking about the business, especially with a client … he never did that. Ever.

      Her expression softening, she shouldered her giant purse and pulled on her gloves. Good leather, he was guessing. As were the boots. And