Return to Rosewood. Bonnie K. Winn

the arched trellis leading to the backyard. The glass greenhouse where he was headed was nearly as old as the house. His parents said it had been a deciding factor when they’d purchased the house. The Victorian greenhouse had fallen into disrepair with the previous owners, but his parents, then young and healthy, had lovingly restored the building.

      The arid conditions in the Hill Country weren’t a good match for Robert’s exotic orchids, but the greenhouse was equipped with steam-driven humidity. Back in the early 1900s, the lady of the house no doubt had kept her most treasured plants in the large, adjacent conservatory.

      Bret paused, glancing at the huge old magnolia tree that shaded the back porch. Dinner-plate-sized blossoms nestled amidst glossy, deep-green leaves, perfuming the entire yard.

      Hearing his father humming, Bret stepped into the moist air of the greenhouse. “Hey, Dad.”

      “Bret!” Pleasure filled his father’s voice. Then he looked closely at his son. “Something wrong?”

      “I must be completely transparent.” Bret dropped on a stool near his father.

      “It’s a parent thing.” Robert laid down his pruning shears, then pulled off his gloves.

      “Samantha’s back in town.”

      Eyebrows lifted, Robert pursed his lips. “Been awhile.”

      “Yeah.” Bret hooked one boot over the stool’s railing.

      “Something special bring her home?”

      “She had a bad accident. Her legs are paralyzed.”

      Shocked, Robert stared at him. “Permanently?”

      Bret shrugged. “She thinks so.”

      “Her parents must be frantic.”

      “They don’t know she’s here.” He explained Sam’s reasoning. “Sam knows they’ll find out. She’s just hoping to put it off for awhile.”

      Robert scrunched his brow in concentration. “I saw something in the paper about a grease fire at the Shaw home. Nothing about Sam in the article, though.”

      “That’s because she was already in the Carruthers house by the time the kid from the paper came to take pictures. And the neighbors repeated what Sam had said about it being a small fire.”

      “Hmm.”

      “She didn’t even have a ramp put in. Lucky she didn’t roast herself.”

      Concern etched deeper lines in Robert’s face. “Is she all right?”

      “That’s what I’ve been doing today, making sure…building a ramp, putting in threshold adapters.”

      Robert waited.

      “I’m going to talk to Matt Whitaker. See if he’ll build some new cabinets—try and replicate the originals. That, and round up some more volunteers.”

      “Wish I were stronger. I’d help.”

      Despite everything his dad had endured, he still reached out to help others. He donated his prized orchids to be auctioned off for charity, supplied cut flowers to the church for Sunday services. And he never felt sorry for himself. Something Sam needed to learn. “You help, Dad. Listening.” Exhaling, Bret flipped his keys.

      “Something else, son?”

      “Peter. Put him on probation today.”

      Robert frowned. He hadn’t been happy that employees who had been with him since the start of the business had retired, but he’d understood. “That boy doesn’t belong in a position where he deals with people.”

      “I know. Maybe I can find someone else. Budget’s still tighter than a bale of cotton.”

      “I hadn’t wanted to say anything, with all you’ve got on your plate, but Herb got laid off.”

      “When?”

      “Last week. Your mother and sister insist on sounding positive all the time about how he’ll get another job. I guess they’re afraid I’ll wilt under the strain.”

      Herb, Bret’s brother-in-law, had worked for an independent oil man, heading the local office. “How are they going to manage the office without Herb?”

      “They’re not. Decided to close it, consolidate it with operations in East Texas.”

      While Rosewood was a wonderful place to live, a mecca of new jobs it wasn’t. “Do you think Herb would want to work at the nursery? I know it’s not as high-tech as what he’s used to, but maybe it would help in the interim.”

      “You just said the budget’s—”

      “Herb’s family. How are Janie and the kids going to make it without his income? It’d be a cut in salary, but more than unemployment. And, maybe, if he’s around, it’ll light a fire under Peter.”

      “A tanker full of gasoline wouldn’t do that.”

      They both laughed.

      “Or Peter might get mad enough to quit.” Bret shook his head. “Of course, knowing Peter, he’ll stay on just to get under my skin.”

      Herb and Janie’s small house sat on the end of a quiet lane. His sister had the family green thumb and their yard was the prettiest on the street.

      He rang the bell. The sounds of his niece and nephews running and shrieking poured out when Janie swung open the door.

      “Wow. You never come at dinner time. What’s up?”

      Sibling shorthand made it easy for them to get straight to the point.

      “Don’t want to eat. Thanks anyway. Herb around?”

      “He’s out back.” Janie frowned. “Something wrong?”

      “Yep. You could have told me about his job.”

      Her face fell. “We didn’t want to worry you.”

      “First Dad, now me?”

      She trailed him as far as the kitchen. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

      The conciliatory gesture made him smile. Especially since Janie hated cooking.

      Out back he found Herb trimming the already precisely edged shrubs lining the back fence.

      “Hey.”

      Seeing that it was Bret, Herb smiled. “Not like you to brave the rugrats during the week.”

      “Actually came to see you.”

      Herb gestured to the padded lawn chairs surrounding a wide, planked table. “What’s up?”

      “Hoping you can help me out.” Bret outlined Peter’s behavior the last few months, ending with the disastrous morning. “So I’m wondering if you’re interested in working at the nursery.”

      Herb’s expression was knowing. “A pity job to keep me employed?”

      “Nope. I know it’s not ideal for you. And I’d expect you to keep on looking for something better—something like you’re used to. And no problems if you find a job and have to leave without notice. But I almost fired Peter today, which would leave me with no one. I probably shouldn’t have let him off with probation. I’m really hoping he’ll quit.”

      Herb rubbed his forehead, pushing back short, light hair. “If it’s really not a pity offer, I’m grateful for the work.”

      “Can you start tomorrow?”

      “You are serious.”

      “Peter’s good with the plants. But he treats people like they’re just another root vegetable. With the falloff in business, I need someone who’s good with the customers, especially to push our living Christmas trees. We’ve been setting them up for