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“Mel Porter. Pleased to meet you.”
The other woman’s gaze flicked up and down Mel’s body in a lightning-quick assessment. Mel knew what the other woman was seeing—no labels, no jewelry worth mentioning, uncontrollable hair, faded cargos, a raggedy long-sleeved T-shirt. The old self-consciousness stole over her.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here,” she said, tugging on the hem of her T-shirt.
“I’m sure we will,” Hayley replied.
“I’ve put you in Red Coat Cottage,” Mel said, gesturing toward the cottage peeking through the screening shrubs she’d planted. “I’ll give you a quick tour then leave you to settle in. I live in the main house, so if you need anything, knock on the back door or give me a buzz on the phone.”
She was talking too fast and her palms were damp with sweat. She took a deep, calming breath as Flynn opened the trunk and pulled out two overnight bags, one an exclusive Louis Vuitton duffel, the other a well-worn leather number that looked as though it had seen an adventure or two.
She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d had wealthy guests before. So why was she feeling so edgy all of a sudden?
She took refuge in action, leading the way toward the cottage, unlocking the door and stepping to one side to allow Flynn and Hayley to precede her.
Flynn was too busy examining the big terra-cotta pot of roses positioned to the left of the door to pick up on her unspoken cue.
“Red Coat roses.” His gaze met hers, bright with interest. “You named the cottage after the rose, right?”
Mel stared at him, surprised he even knew the name of a David Austin rose, let alone that he could recognize one by appearance.
“That’s right. All the cottages are named after David Austin roses,” she said slowly. “Windrush, Pegasus, Tea Clipper.”
“Clever idea,” he said.
Hayley looked amused. “Trust Flynn to find something green to fixate on the moment he arrives.”
Mel smiled politely. Clearly, this was a private joke between the two of them. “The bedroom is the first door on the left.” She stepped a little closer to the wall as Flynn brushed past her, followed by his girlfriend. They both disappeared into the bedroom.
Mel waited in the hallway. Ten seconds later, Flynn returned.
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
She gathered by the other woman’s absence that Hayley would not be joining them. She led Flynn into the living room, explained how to adjust the flue on the chimney should they wish to use the fireplace, then showed him the kitchen and bathroom.
“All pretty self-explanatory. The instructions for the appliances are in the top drawer in the kitchen if you need them,” she said as they returned to the porch.
“Nice spec. Did you renovate this place yourself or was it done when you bought it?”
“I did it. It was a little tired and worn around the edges when I took possession.”
“You’ve done a great job.” His warm gaze traveled over her face, and for some inexplicable reason she could feel heat stealing into her cheeks.
“Thanks. That’s a pretty big compliment coming from a Randall.”
She hated the nervous note in her voice, hated the on-edge, eager-to-impress feeling in her chest. She didn’t need to impress this man. He might have more money and more social pull than God, but he wasn’t her friend, and he definitely wasn’t her husband.
She needed nothing from him. He was her guest. Nothing more, nothing less.
Flynn’s gaze ran over the front of the cottage. “I’m simply stating the obvious. You have good taste.”
She was so surprised she let out a crack of incredulous laughter. “Can I have that in writing? My ex in-laws would be stunned.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them—way too much information, and way too revealing of the bitterness she was still trying to move past. All of which was made worse by the fact that he actually knew Owen. Hell, he probably knew Owen’s parents, too.
She took a step away and jammed her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants. “I’ll leave you to it. No doubt you have heaps of things you want to do and see.”
She flashed him a tight smile before turning, putting her head down and walking briskly toward the main house. She didn’t slow her pace until she was around the bend and out of view of the cottage. Then she let her breath out on a sigh.
Stupid, but for some reason Flynn Randall and his girlfriend had really rattled her cage. She didn’t quite understand why. Maybe it was simply that they reminded her of a time when she’d been miserable and full of self-doubt and constantly aware of all her shortcomings. Or maybe she was like Pavlov’s dog, forever programmed to respond with quivering servility when in the company of her social betters.
Now that’s a depressing thought.
She shrugged off her disquiet. They were staying one night, and then they’d be gone. Depending on their movements, she probably wouldn’t even see them again until they checked out.
Right now, that felt like a very good thing.
CHAPTER TWO
FLYNN WATCHED MEL stride away, her long, muscular legs eating up the ground.
She wasn’t conventionally beautiful—her facial features were too unbalanced and she was built on too grand a scale for that—but she was incredibly appealing. He’d forgotten that about her.
He wasn’t sure what it was that he found so compelling. Her gray eyes were clear and direct but otherwise perfectly ordinary, her nose was a little on the large side, her mouth slightly too wide. And yet the whole time he’d been talking to her he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.
She, however, had seemed nervous. Not at all the way he remembered her.
Hayley joined him on the porch, sliding an arm around his waist.
“I like it here already. The air smells cleaner.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
“That’s because it is,” he said dryly.
She followed his gaze up the driveway. “She was married to Owen Hunter, wasn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
“I can remember seeing her around. She’s pretty hard to miss. She always used to remind me of Xena, Warrior Princess. Or Wonder Woman.”
“She’s tall, but she’s not that tall.”
“She’s taller than me. Were you there the night she fell into the Hollands’ fountain?”
“Yes.”
“Was it as bad as they say?”
“In what way?”
“In every way. I heard her dress was transparent, and that her husband marched her off and then spent the next month apologizing for her to anyone who is anyone.”
Flynn frowned. “She was trying to help. It’s not like she leaped into the fountain for kicks.”
Hayley held up a hand. “Whoa there. I didn’t mean to step on any toes. I didn’t realize you two were friends.”
Her gaze was searching, questioning, and he realized he’d spoken a little too heatedly.
“We’re not. I hardly know her. But that fountain thing was blown way out of proportion. Gabrielle Holland needs to get a life.”
“That’s true. She dined out on that story for a very long time.” She sounded amused, but she’d always been far more tolerant of the social piranhas amongst their circle than he had.
He checked his watch. “We should get going.”
“Let me grab my bag.”
She was back in a minute with her sunglasses and handbag. He backed his vintage Aston Martin out and cruised up the driveway. They were nearing the main house when Mel appeared around the corner, lugging a tall ladder. She leaned it against the back of the house beneath one of the sash windows before looking over her shoulder toward them. She gave a small acknowledging smile then turned to her task.
He hit the brakes and wound down the window.
“Hey. It’s been a few years since I’ve been down on the peninsula and old Gertie here doesn’t have GPS.” He patted the Aston Martin’s dash. “Do I turn left or right onto the Nepean Highway if I want to go to Summerlea estate?”
Mel approached the car, bending so she could see in the window. “You take a left. Then it’s the first street on your left, and the estate is at the end of the road.”
Her T-shirt sagged as she leaned down. It took more willpower than he cared to admit to stop himself from taking a good long look at what he suspected was a pretty spectacular view.
He was only human, after all, and she was built on very generous lines. “Great, thanks.”
“I guess it’s true then, huh? It’s up for sale? I heard a rumor but I didn’t believe it.”
“The owners have gone into a retirement home, according to the estate agent.”
“Really? That’s so sad. They both loved that place so much. It must be hell to have to give it over to someone else.”
“You know them?”
“Oh, no. Not personally.” She tucked a long, dark curl behind her ear. “I used to go to Summerlea when it was part of the Open Garden tour, and Brian and Grace were always there, talking to everyone. It’s been years since they last let the public in, but I can still remember how beautiful the gardens were. I’ve never seen flame azaleas like theirs anywhere else. And the roses… Mind-blowing.”
She had a far-off look in her eyes. Then she seemed to recall herself. “Sorry. I’m holding you up.” She straightened and stepped back from the car, waving a hand to indicate he should go.
“Thanks for the directions.”
She gave an awkward little shrug. He drove out into the street.
“If you’re feeling guilty about looking, don’t,” Hayley said after a few seconds. “I looked. Couldn’t help myself. She has amazing breasts.” She sounded wistful.
Flynn glanced at her briefly before concentrating on the road. “I didn’t look.”
“Flynn. Come on. This is me. A blind man would have looked.”
“I didn’t look,” he repeated. He glanced at her again as he signaled to pull onto the highway.
She looked bemused. “Why on earth not?”
“Because I’m with you,” he said simply.
A slow smile curled Hayley’s mouth. “Sometimes I think you’re too good to be true, you know that?”
“If you believe that, I’ve got some swamp land to sell you.”
“I think I just might buy some swamp land if you were selling it.”
The real estate agent was already waiting for them when they parked in front of Summerlea’s familiar white fence. He scrambled out of his Mercedes as Flynn cut the engine.
“Flynn Randall? Spencer Knox. Pleased to meet you.” His eyes were assessing as they exchanged greetings.
One problem with being a Randall—everyone knew your net worth before you walked through the door.
“We really appreciate you moving the viewing time for us,” Flynn said.
“Not a problem, and it’s great to meet you both.” Spencer paused a moment before offering Flynn a shrewd smile. “We can talk about the weather a little if you like, but you’re a busy man and I suspect you’re keen to cut to the main event. So shall we?” He gestured toward the gate.
“Absolutely,” Flynn said, appreciating the other man’s bluntness.
Spencer walked ahead of them to the pedestrian entrance, situated to the right of the main gate. The paint was peeling off the wood and streaks of rust ran down from the lock. The main gate wasn’t in much better shape and Flynn took a step back to assess the fence line itself.
“As I mentioned on the phone, the old place has been a bit neglected in recent years,” Spencer said. “A combination of old age and money issues, I gather. So things might not be quite as you remember them.”
“Sure.”
The other man struggled with the latch for a moment before the gate swung open with a painful screech.
Hayley gave a nervous laugh. “That sounds a little ominous, doesn’t it?”
Flynn murmured something noncommittal, his focus on what he was about to discover on the other side of the gate. Adrenaline had his heart racing as he stepped into the grounds.
In many ways, Summerlea was where he’d first discovered his love of gardening. He could still remember dragging his feet as his mother led him into the grounds as an eight-year-old, past the crowds of tourists milling about the entrance. He’d been bitching and moaning all the way from the city, sure that he was missing out on doing something cool with his friends. The moment he’d gotten his first look at the garden his complaints had blown away like dust.
Rolling lawns, archways heavy with roses, whimsical benches made out of gnarled local tea-tree branches, copses of birch trees, their trunks silver-white in the sun… He’d been roped into helping his mother in the garden often enough by then to understand that he was looking at something special. A living treasure.
Twenty-six years later, he looked at the same view and saw that the rose arbor was rotted and falling down, the lawns patchy and overgrown, and the benches absent, no doubt having fallen prey to the weather or insects long ago. And still his heart soared, because he knew that not only could he fix all of the above, but he could also make it better. His fingers literally itched for pen and paper so he could start sketching and jotting down ideas and he had to stop himself from stooping to pull the nearest weed from where it sprouted between two paving stones.
He glanced at Hayley, keen to see her reaction, but she’d put on her sunglasses and most of her expression was hidden behind the lenses.
“What do you think?” he said quietly as they walked up the pathway toward the house.
“I imagine it was once very beautiful,” she said diplomatically.
He looked out across the garden once more, and again he felt the pull of possibilities. This place was special. It would be an intoxicating challenge to restore it to its former brilliance. He’d have to pare things back, rebuild. The lawn was a mess, the garden beds overcrowded and full of weeds. With water restrictions in place, the whole space would probably benefit from a modern reticulation system—
