Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe. Fiona Harper

the greenhouse, she realised she had a problem. Two hands and two cups of tea meant that she had no spare hands to open the door, or even knock on it. But it had seemed stupid to leave her mug of tea in the kitchen. By the time she’d have delivered Ben’s, discussed paying him and walked back to the house, it would have been stone cold.

      She peered inside the greenhouse and tried to spot him. The structure was long and thin—almost thirty feet in length and tucked up against the north side of the walled garden to catch as much sun as possible. Down the centre was the tiled path with wrought iron grates for the under-floor heating system. The side nearest the wall of windows was lined with benches and shelves, all full of plants, but on the other side, large palms and ferns were planted in soil at floor level.

      Halfway down the greenhouse a leg was sticking out amongst the dark glossy leaves. She banged the door with her foot. The leg, which had been wavering up and down in its function as a counterbalance, went still.

      She held her breath and tried to decide what kind of face she should wear. Not the suspicious glare he’d received on their first meeting, that was the sure. But grinning inanely didn’t seem fitting either. In the end, she didn’t have a chance to decide between ‘calm indifference’ and ‘professional friendliness’, because the leg was suddenly joined by the rest of him as he jumped back onto the path, rubbing his hands together to rid them of loose dirt, and looked in her direction.

      She held up his cup of tea and then, when his face had broken into a broad grin, she breathed out. He was obviously really thirsty, because he practically ran to the door and swung it wide. She thrust the mug towards him, ignoring the plop of hot liquid that landed on her hand as she did so.

      He took it from her, smiled again, and took a big gulp. ‘Fantastic. Just how I like it. Thanks.’

      Louise took a little sip out of her own chunky white mug. ‘No problem. It’s the least I can do.’

      Ben lent back against one of the shelves and took another long slurp of tea. He seemed completely at ease here. She tried to copy his stance, making sure she was a good five feet away from him, but she couldn’t work out what to do with her legs and stood up again.

      ‘Um … about money …’

      Ben raised his eyebrows.

      ‘I can’t let you going on doing all this for nothing.’

      He shrugged. ‘It started as a labour of love. I’m just sorry I haven’t been able to do more.’

      He wasn’t making this easy. All she wanted to do was to work out what the going rate was and write him a cheque. She didn’t want him to be nice. Men who were nice normally had a hidden agenda.

      She put her mug down on the only spare bit of space on the shelf nearest her and drew herself taller. Only, he didn’t make that easy either. Her five-foot-eight wasn’t too far away from his six-foot-plus height, but however much she straightened her spine, drew her neck longer, she still felt small beside him. But this was no time for weakness. She was the boss. She was in charge.

      ‘Well, if you could just let me know how much you’d routinely charge for this sort of job …’

      He drained his mug and looked at her with a more serious light in his eyes. ‘I can’t say any of my “routine” work resembles this in the slightest.’

      Louise crossed one booted foot in front of the other and a corner of her mouth rose. Oh, this was his game. Make it seem like he nobly didn’t want anything, but sting her with an exorbitant price when it came to the crunch. And, if he played this game well, she was probably supposed to be shaking his hand and thanking him profusely for being so generous when the moment came.

      She folded her arms, but only had to unfold them as he handed her back the empty mug.

      ‘There’s no rush for money. I’ll send you a bill if you’re really desperate for one, though.’ He smiled, and it had none of the sharkish tendencies she’d expected after a conversation like that. ‘Thanks for the tea.’ And then he turned his back on her and went returned his attention to a large plant with floppy leaves.

      If there was one thing Louise didn’t like, it was being ignored. It had been Toby’s favourite way of avoiding anything he didn’t want to talk about. All she’d had to do was utter the words, ‘You’re late. Where have you been?’ and the shutters had come down, the television or the game console switched on. Nobody liked to be rendered invisible. She coughed and Ben looked up.

      ‘No rush?’ She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be pushed around by any man again—ever. Okay, in her mind, she’d meant significant others, but suddenly it felt important to stand her ground, to have this conversation on her terms. ‘I’d much prefer it if we could talk figures now.’

      He straightened again. ‘Fine. It’s just that I know you’ve just moved in, Mrs Thornton—’

      The pause was just long enough to indicate he hadn’t meant to say that, and for the first time in their conversation he broke eye contact. She realised she didn’t remember telling him her name.

      ‘I thought you might like a little more time to get settled.’

      Louise felt her features harden. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’

      Ben looked for all the world as if he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. Boy, he was good. She’d almost fallen for that straight-talking, man of the earth and sky nonsense. So he knew who she was, and he wanted something from her. Maybe not money, but something. People always did.

      Eventually he scratched the side of his nose with a finger. ‘I suppose I felt I needed to make up for being a little … awkward … the first time we met. I was angry with someone else and I took it out on you. It’s not something I’m proud of.’

      A man who apologised! Now she knew the act was too good to be true.

      Still, she was prepared to play along for the moment. He’d show his cards eventually. ‘Well, if you’re not going to be businesslike about this, I may just have to look in the Yellow Pages and find a gardener who is.’

      He didn’t seem that worried about losing her business; he just went back to fussing with the floppy plant. After a few seconds he looked back at her. ‘Suit yourself.’

      Once again, Louise felt as if she’d been dismissed. How dared he? This was her garden, her greenhouse. Those were her plants he was messing around with. ‘At least give me your card.’ That was a pathetic attempt at gaining control, getting him to give up something, but it was all she could think of.

      He patted his pockets. ‘I don’t think I have one … ah!’ He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and rummaged around inside. The card he pulled out was creased and the edges were soft. She took it from him and backed away.

      Oliver Landscapes. Very grand for a one-man band outfit.

      ‘Feel free to let me know if you don’t want me to come any more, but if I don’t hear any differently, I’ll just assume I should pop by again next Sunday.’ This time he didn’t turn away and continue working; he just looked at her. Not with barely-concealed curiosity, or envy, or even out-of-proportion adoration. Those kinds of responses she was used to. No, this was something different. He looked at her as if she were transparent.

      She didn’t know what to do.

      ‘Just come,’ she said, and fled, leaving her mug of lukewarm tea in the shade of a wilting ficus.

      

      CHAPTER NINE

      Louise couldn’t help grinning as she climbed out of the car, even though the weather was disgusting and she was about to get on a tiny little ferry and cross an angry-looking river. Just as well she could see their destination, the village of Lower Hadwell, only a few minutes away on the opposite shore.

      The