Second Chance Match

Chapter Two

“Won’t you join us?” Hypatia asked from her chair, but Jessa shook her head.

“Oh, no. Thank you. We wouldn’t want to intrude, and it’s been an eventful day.” She glanced at Garrett, adding, “We’re both tired.”

A gentleman of the old school, Kent straightened his bowtie before smoothing the hang of his tweedy sport coat over his prodigious belly and clearing his throat. “My apologies, ma’am, concerning the situation on Charter Street.”

Jessa nodded and offered him a strained smile, her gaze again flitting to Garrett.

“Well, it will all be sorted soon enough,” Magnolia said, “once Ellie and Asher have a moment to get together with everyone.”

After seeing the boy, Garrett figured he knew just how it would all sort out.

“Bad timing,” Odelia opined, smiling at Jessa, “with the weddings and all.”

Garrett could almost see Jessa Pagett’s ears perk up at that.

“Weddings?” she echoed.

“Oh, my, yes,” Kent said with a chuckle. “First Asher and Ellie’s. Then ours.” Reaching down, he took Odelia’s hand in his and bent over it, so far as his prodigious belly would allow, to press a kiss to her knuckles. She chirped like a tree full of magpies. This, in turn, set her earrings aquiver, huge clumps of yellow beads to complement the layers of lemony gauze that she wore belted at her waist with a twist of gold rope.

Garrett smiled in sheer delight. They were just so happy, and why shouldn’t they be? At their ages, they had put aside the mundane cares that burdened most marriages and looked forward simply to spending the rest of their days together. Odelia was in alt over being a June bride, and Kent was in alt over her, his lost love restored to him after fifty years. Garrett envied them, but at least he enjoyed watching them make calf’s eyes at each other. He could hardly bear to be in the same room with Ellie Monroe and Asher. The two of them together made him feel…lonely. For some reason, his gaze went to Jessa Lynn Pagett, who stood staring at the toes of her shoes.

The sisters traded looks, then Magnolia said, “Well, we won’t keep you. Garrett, would you mind showing Jessa and Hunter to their rooms? Chester’s already taken their luggage up to the small suite.”

“My pleasure,” he murmured, moving toward the door.

The boy reached for the reassurance of his mother’s small hand, shrinking back as if literally frightened of Garrett. Garrett had seen that reaction before, and he did not like what it implied. Carefully, he signaled for mother and son to precede him toward the stairs.

They climbed the wide, tall spiral of gold marble and mahogany with all the enthusiasm of condemned prisoners. Following behind them, Garrett felt a bit offended on behalf of the Chatam sisters, who were the most generous Christian women he had ever met. If he could never quite bring himself to impose upon their kindness more than he must, well, that was to be expected. He was hired help around here, after all, and his gratitude for that fact would not allow him to forget it, even if his sister had married into the family.

Soon, he vowed, he would not even be a Chatam employee. One way or another, he would start his business. However, after seeing Hunter Pagett, Garrett could not in good conscience deny that boy a home.

So be it. If God meant the Monroe place for the Pagetts, then He would surely have another place for Garrett.

But when?

“Seriously?” Jessa muttered, emerging from the second bedroom to look around the sitting room. She’d expected a single bedroom with a trundle for Hunter, maybe two connected bedrooms with a bath nearby. This suite of rooms was twice the size of Abby’s apartment! If it had a kitchen, it would equal the house in which she’d grown up. She wouldn’t think of the house that Wayne had insisted on taking in the divorce. It had always meant more to him than to her.

“I beg your pardon?” Garrett Willows said.

Jessa turned, smiled wanly and waved a hand. “I—I didn’t expect this.” She glanced around once more, taking in the tasteful cream-and-cocoa décor. The furnishings were a mixture of antiques and modern comfort. A flat-screen TV hung above the fireplace, and Hunter was even now standing in front of it with his mouth hanging open. “It’s too much, frankly.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Garrett conceded with a crooked smile. “And this is the small suite, meaning that it’s the smallest in the house. You have to admit, it’s much smaller than the Monroe place.”

Jessa couldn’t argue with that. “I guess I’m just a bit…bewildered.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Garrett returned. “It’s been quite a day, frankly.”

“You can say that again,” Jessa muttered, glancing around once more.

“It’s been quite a day,” Garrett repeated a shade louder than the first time. That elicited a reluctant smile from her.

“I didn’t mean that you should literally repeat it.”

“I know.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “Couldn’t resist, though.”

A chuckle escaped her, and he gave her a genuine smile, obviously pleased to have lightened the mood.

Oh, this could be dangerous, she thought, forcing the delight from her face.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” he advised, pretending not to notice, “and don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need.”

“We’ll be fine,” she said blandly. “Thanks for the help, but don’t let us keep you.”

Apparently, he was in no mood to be dismissed, however. He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms.

“If you decide you’d like a little bedtime snack, the kitchen is downstairs at the back of the house,” he informed her. “Hilda keeps the pantry well stocked. Oh, and there’s a dumbwaiter down the hall so you don’t have to carry heavy trays up and down the stairs.”

“A dumbwaiter,” she echoed.

“I can show you how to operate it, if you want,” he offered.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied tersely.

He shrugged. “See you in the morning, then.”

“Y-you’re staying here?” she asked. She’d been dismayed to find him in the living room with the Chatams. Clearly, he was close to them somehow, but she’d hoped that he wouldn’t be staying. She couldn’t very well plead her case in front of him, after all. It was bad enough that she’d wasted her best outfit, but now to find that she wasn’t about to be rid of him, well, it was enough to make a girl testy.

“Not here here,” he said, pointing at the floor. “I live in the carriage house.” Great. So, was he renting? Family? Freeloading? She was dying to know.

He turned to go, then abruptly spun back to face her. “Oh, um, I should point out that there is some construction going on across the landing. Odelia and Kent are reconfiguring some single rooms into a private suite of their own, but you know how it is with old houses. It takes forever to make changes. Shouldn’t disturb you too much.”

“About those weddings,” Jessa ventured quickly, stepping forward. “I’m a little confused.”

“It’s very simple,” Garrett said with a grin. “Asher Chatam and Ellie Monroe will wed on the fourth Thursday of May, and Odelia and Kent will marry on the fourth Tuesday of June.”

“I see.”

He chuckled. “I know what you’re thinking. A June bride at Odelia’s age. It tickles me every time I think about it.”

She had been surprised to find that the elderly pair were engaged to marry, but her mother had designed arrangements for more than one such wedding at a local nursing home. Jessa’s concerns, however, featured flowers—and work.

“Actually, I was just wondering what florist they’re using.” She prayed that she didn’t sound greedy, but after finding Garrett Willows in the parlor with the family and learning that he lived on the premises, she very much doubted that she would ever claim the Monroe place, let alone open a business there. Maybe she could get a temporary job with the shop lucky enough to garner a Chatam wedding, though.

Garrett snorted and shook his head. “Florist? They don’t have a florist. Both couples only became engaged a couple weeks ago and neither is willing to wait too long. That’s why the weddings will take place on weeknights. All the weekends were taken already at the church. And, of course, it being the wedding season, all the local florists are booked solid. Between you and me, more than one offered to work in the Chatams, but the ladies wouldn’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Jessa asked. Her mother had often worked in favorite customers.

“They truly would not want to risk creating hardship for others,” Garrett divulged, “but mostly they wouldn’t want anyone to think that they were taking advantage of the Chatam name. So, Magnolia will be handling the flowers.” He shrugged as if to say she’d do her best.

Jessa blinked. “Magnolia?”

“She does all the flower arranging around the house, and she’s been reading about bouquets and corsages and such. There are some wonderful books in the library, by the way, if you’re interested.”

“Thank you,” Jessa returned automatically, her heart beginning to pound. “M-maybe I could help, though. With the flowers. It just so happens that I am a florist. I—I’ve handled quite a few weddings, actually.” Three, to be precise, but she’d helped her mom with designs for many more, and this would be a great way to pay her room and board while creating local references. And just maybe she could sway the Monroes in her favor while she was at it.

Garrett tilted his head. It seemed to her that a tiny light ignited deep within those blue, blue eyes, building into an unnerving glow. “Is that a fact?” he drawled finally.

“Yes. My mother was a florist, and she trained me.”

After a moment, Jessa began to wonder what he was staring at. Then Garrett smiled and folded his arms.

“Well,” he said, grinning broadly. “Imagine that.”

Jessa wasn’t sure if that meant the Chatams would welcome her help or not, and he didn’t enlighten her. Shaking his head, he turned and left the room, leaving Jessa puzzled in his wake.

Well, at least she and Hunter had a safe place to sleep for the night and it wasn’t costing them anything—except a home and a new life.

Jessa slept surprisingly well. Hunter had a bit of trouble settling down in the strange opulence of his room, but eventually he drifted off. Exhausted herself, she’d changed into cotton pajamas and fallen into her own ostentatious bed without even brushing her teeth. Sleep had claimed her almost immediately.

She woke at first light and lay pondering the morning’s agenda as the gray dawn yellowed into day. The sound of Hunter’s small feet hitting the floor had her sitting up to peer around the brocade hangings at the front of the bed. Hunter darted through her open door, caught the bedpost with one hand and leapt up onto the mattress.

She opened her arms, smiling even as she scolded. “Careful, Hunter. This is expensive antique furniture.”

Always quiet, he burrowed into her warm embrace without comment, sighing with contentment. She loved those happy little sounds that he made; they healed the wounds in her heart that his frightened squeaks and shivers inflicted.

He tilted his head back, asking solemnly, “When do we eat?”

She laughed. “As soon as we’re dressed, we’ll go downstairs and see what we can find.” She’d bought groceries at Abby’s, but she didn’t think the Chatams would appreciate that, and she’d feel foolish offering it.

He ran away. She knew he’d stuff his pajamas into a corner of his suitcase and put on the clothing that she’d laid out the evening before.

“Your toothbrush is in here,” she called. She’d prefer that he didn’t use the bath off his bedroom for fear that he’d break something precious.

He returned mere minutes later, allowing her just enough time to change clothes and twist up her hair. After they brushed their teeth, they wandered hand-in-hand across the broad landing and down the grand staircase. It was like something out of a movie, that staircase, all gold marble and dark, glossy wood overhung by a spectacular crystal chandelier anchored to an amazing sky-blue ceiling painted with wafting feathers, ethereal clouds and sparkling sunshine. Hunter could barely walk for gazing upward.

They passed no one as they turned around the newel post and moved down a long hallway that flanked one side of the staircase, only to wind up in a bright sunroom overflowing with wicker and tropical prints. Retracing their steps, they went in the other direction and down the hall that passed by the parlor where their hostesses had gathered the previous night. This time, they found themselves in a darker back hall. The sounds of clanking pots and clinking dishes prompted Jessa to push through a tall swinging door and into the warm, redolent kitchen. Her gaze darted about the amazing room, noting delightful features: a huge fireplace, shuttered windows open to the morning sun, stainless-steel worktables and a massive range.

A large woman with straight hair cropped just below her ears turned from the stove, a spatula in hand. She wore a loose, shapeless dress of brightly flowered fabric under her apron. “The Pagetts, I reckon,” she said expressionlessly.

“Yes. He’s Hunter, and I’m Jessa.”

“Early risers,” the woman announced. “I like early risers. I’m Hilda, the cook. Chester, the houseman, is my husband, and my sister Carol’s the maid.” She waved the spatula at a small, charmingly battered table. “Take a seat. Unless you’d prefer to eat in another room. The misses breakfast next door in the sunroom or take trays upstairs.”

“This will suit us fine, if it’s no bother,” Jessa said, shepherding Hunter toward the table.

“No bother. My job’s feeding folks. There’s tea, coffee, juice and milk. Help yourselves. How do you take your eggs?”

“We’re not particular,” Jessa assured the gruff but likable cook.

They were sitting before plates of fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and plump biscuits before Jessa could taste her coffee. No sooner did she lift a fork, however, than an outside door creaked open and Garrett Willows stepped up into the room.

“Morning, Hilda. What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs and bacon, unless you want a ham steak,” came the answer as Hilda shifted a skillet around on the stove.

Garrett clumped across the floor in heavy work boots, heading for the coffee pot. He drew up short when he realized that Jessa and Hunter were seated at the table.

“You’re up early.”

Jessa nodded and quickly forked egg into her mouth. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and carried it to the table. Pulling out the end chair, he sat and laid one forearm along the edge of the table. Lifting his cup, he sipped then smiled at Hunter.

“Sleep okay?”

Hunter nodded and dropped his gaze to his plate. Garrett turned his blue eyes on Jessa. “He’s a quiet one.”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

“How about you?”

She felt a bit off-balance, as if he’d just shaken that ladder again. Thankfully, she wasn’t about to find herself in his arms this time. Just the memory of that warmed her cheeks. “Uh, am I quiet?”

Garrett grinned. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d slept well, too.”

“Oh! I did, yes. Thank you.”

He sipped more coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his mug, before drawling, “That makes three of us, then.”

Jessa felt her face heat, as he called to the cook, “How about you, Hilda? How did you sleep?”

“Like a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound rock,” came the acerbic reply.

Garrett laughed silently into his mug, blue eyes twinkling. Was he making fun of the woman’s weight? Even if Hilda was making fun of herself, it seemed crude for him to be so amused.

Jessa tried to ignore him by eating. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop being supremely aware of him. Such fascination made no sense. The man was, if not her enemy, then at least her opponent. What difference did it make how handsome he was or how likable? Who cared if his eyes twinkled when he teased or how tanned and strong his hands looked? She was a fool to even notice such things, but notice she did. She just couldn’t seem to help herself, and that puzzled her.

Hilda came and dropped a plate onto the table in front of Garrett. “You didn’t say, so you get bacon.”

“Bacon suits me to a T,” he said, sending a smile up at her. “Is there honey for the biscuits?”

She snorted and waved her spatula. “Of course there’s honey for the biscuits. Right over there.”

Garrett looked in that direction then literally fluttered his long, inky eyelashes at her, imploring her with a look.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she huffed, even as she trundled across the room for the honey pot. She plunked it down in front of him then stayed to talk about wedding cake. “I’ve been thinking of decorating Ellie’s cake with candied violets. That seems like Ellie, doesn’t it?”

Garrett nodded, cutting into a trio of over-easy eggs. “I’ve noticed that she favors purples.”

“Well, with those eyes, who wouldn’t?” Hilda said.

Jessa had noticed Ellie Monroe’s unusual coloring when they’d met. With hair a glossy slate gray and eyes like amethysts, purple would suit Ellie very well.

“We could have candied violets in the ice ring, too,” Hilda went on. “Wouldn’t that be pretty in a grape punch? And if we had some fresh violets, we could scatter them around the serving tables.”

Garrett just grunted and crammed a huge bite of egg-drenched biscuit into his mouth.

Jessa laid down her fork, mind whirling, and carefully inquired, “Where do you intend to get your flowers?”

“From the greenhouse out back,” Garrett answered off-handedly.

She gaped at him. “There’s a greenhouse?”

He nodded, gobbling bacon. “More than one, actually. We just added the second to the original.”

“A real, proper greenhouse?” Jessa pressed.

One corner of his lips hitched up in a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you be the judge?” He tucked in more food, chewed perfunctorily and said, “I can show you around when we’re done here.”

“Really?”

She hadn’t meant to sound so eager, especially when she found his company so troubling and he’d just dashed her hopes of supplying any flowers for the weddings. She loved plants, though. They offered beauty without ulterior motive, and peace came as a by-product. In fact, she never felt God’s presence more keenly than when surrounded by His leafy creations. Garrett’s willingness to afford her the opportunity surprised her, however.

He looked up from his plate, his gaze seeming to indicate that he’d read her thoughts. “I’ll be glad to show you around. I like showing off my greenhouse.”

“Your greenhouse?”

He shrugged. “As the gardener, I have free run of the place.”

She nearly dropped her fork. “You’re the gardener here?”

“Yep. What’d you think?”

She spread her hands in amazement. “I—I don’t know. Abby thought you might be a nephew.”

He straightened. “A Chatam nephew? Nope. My sister’s married to one, though. Good guy.”

“Then you are family.”

“Nope.” He hunched over his plate again. “My sister is family. I’m just hired help.”

Hilda “humphed” but said nothing. Garrett ignored her and, using his remaining biscuit, began mopping up the mess of honey, egg yolk and bacon grease on his plate.

Jessa tried to digest this information, but she couldn’t seem to make sense of it all. Family but not family, both Monroes marrying into the family, and Garrett Willows turning out to be the gardener. Plus, there was a greenhouse!

Garrett sat back with an “aahh” and patted his flat, firm middle. “Looks like I have violet pots to divide. Thankfully, we have a few weeks left to force some more blooms.” He waved a hand at Jessa’s plate, saying, “Eat up. We’re burning daylight.”

Jessa looked down, surprised that her plate remained full while Garrett’s had been cleaned. He turned his attention on Hunter, smiling. Hunter froze, glancing to her for guidance, but she didn’t know what to signal. She didn’t know what to make of Garrett Willows yet. He could be rude or kind, nefarious or an open book, a threat or a blessing. She just didn’t know what to think of him. She recalled again how easily he’d caught her when she’d fallen from the ladder, his strong arms supporting her. It had been too long, perhaps forever, since she’d felt so safe with a man, and that, above all, she must not trust. That didn’t mean she couldn’t take a tour of the greenhouse, though.

In fact, she should tour the greenhouse, she told herself, if only to get a feel for the sort of flowers that the Chatams liked best. Yes, indeed, she told herself, that was wise. It had nothing at all to do with the man next to her with the startling blue eyes.

Nothing whatsoever.

Chapter Three

Jessa gulped down the remainder of her meal, made sure that Hunter thanked Hilda and followed Garrett out the door. She found herself on a narrow, covered walkway that linked a smaller house with the mansion.

“Carriage house,” Garrett informed her with a wave of his hand. “All the staff live there.”

He was staff, she told herself silently. And family. Almost. Sort of. She still didn’t know what to make of that.

He led them past a shoulder-high hedge that flanked an expansive patio strewn with wrought-iron furniture and bright potted plants, but the greenhouse some thirty yards away captured Jessa’s full attention. She’d seen smaller airplane hangers! Built of glass panels rather than plastic sheeting, the glittering building rose from a lush green lawn artfully transected by wandering walkways of broken paving stone.