Bed of Roses (Bride Quartet #2)(14)

"Don't you think that's kind of creepy?" Mac huffed a little, pumping through the third set. "Having them know exactly where you are. And I think, I really think, they can hear you, even when you don't push the button. They're listening. Yes, they are."

"Because they love hearing people sing off-key with the radio. It must brighten their day. Who did you call?" Parker asked Emma.

"As it turned out, I didn't have to call anyone. Jack came along before I could. So, he takes a look, and it's the battery. He jumps it. Oh, and he lent me his jacket, which I forgot to give back. So instead of having a nice quiet evening, I'm dodging Sam's lips, trying to redirect him, standing in the freezing cold on the side of the road when all I wanted was a big salad and a romantic movie. Now I have to get my car in the shop, and make a trip to Jack's to return his jacket. And I'm completely swamped today. Just can't do it. So, irritable because . . ."



       
         
       
        

She hedged, just a little, as she rolled over to do the other leg. "I didn't sleep well worrying about getting everything done today and kicking myself for getting talked into going out in the first place."

She huffed out a breath. "And now that I said all that, it doesn't seem worth getting upset about."

"Breakdowns are always a bitch," Laurel said. "Breakdowns at night, in the snow? Serious pisser. You get a pass on the irritable."

"Jack had to point out that it was my own fault, and it's worse because, yes, it was, since I haven't had the car serviced. Ever. And that was annoying. But he did save the day, plus the jacket. Plus, he followed me home to make sure I got here. Anyway, that's all done. Now I have to hassle with having somebody check out the car and do whatever it is they do. I've got guys in the family who could probably take care of most of it, but I don't want yet another lecture on how I neglect my car, blah blah. So, Parker, where should I take it?"

"I know, I know!" Mac puffed, then stopped her reps. "You should take it in to that guy who towed my mother's car for me last winter. The one Del likes? Anybody who can basically tell Linda to stick it when she's on a rant gets my vote."

"Agreed," Parker said. "And he does get the Delaney Brown stamp of approval. Del's a maniac about who touches his cars. Kavanaugh's. I'll get you the number and the address."

"Malcolm Kavanaugh's the owner," Mac added. "Very hot."

"Really? Well, maybe a faulty battery's not such a bad thing. I'll try to get it in next week. Meanwhile, is anyone going into town, anywhere near Jack's office? I really have to stick here today."

"Give it back to him Saturday," Parker suggested. "He's on the list for the evening event."

"Oh. Fine." Emma looked with avid dislike at the elliptical. "Since I'm here, I might as well work up a sweat."

"How about me?" Mac demanded. "Am I cut yet?"

"The improvement's astounding. Biceps curls," Parker ordered. "I'll show you."





BY NINE, EMMA WAS SHOWERED, DRESSED, AND WHERE SHE wanted to be. At her work counter, surrounded by flowers.

To celebrate their parents' fiftieth anniversary, the clients wanted Emma to re-create the couple's wedding and backyard garden reception. Then kick it up a notch.

She had copies of snapshots from the wedding album pinned to a board, had added some concept sketches and diagrams, a list of flowers, receptacles, accessories. On another board she'd pinned Laurel's sketch of the elegantly simple three-tiered wedding cake ringed with bright yellow daffodils and pale pink tulips. Beside it was a photograph of the cake topper the family had commissioned, replicating the couple on their wedding day, down to the lace hemming the bell of the bride's tea-length skirt. 

Fifty years together, she thought as she studied the photos. All those days and nights, birthdays and Christmases. The births, the deaths, the arguments, the laughter.

It was, to her, more romantic than windswept moors and fairy castles.

She'd give them their garden. A world of gardens.

She started with daffodils, potting them in long, moss-lined troughs, mixing in tulips and hyacinths, narcissus. Here and there she added trails of periwinkle. A half dozen times she filled a rolling cart, wheeled it back to her cooler.

She mixed gallons of flower food and water, filling tall glass cylinders. She stripped stems, cut them under running water and began arranging larkspur, stock, snapdragons, airy clouds of baby's breath, lacy asparagus fern. Soft colors and bold, she'd mass them at various heights to create the illusion of a spring garden.