And on.
And on.
Sheesh, all this serious stuff and information kept pouring from his mouth. How Jeunnesse wanted to handle the lavender. What she could choose or not choose to be involved in. Exactly what he needed to put in motion over the next three weeks; what would happen after the harvest. What she would get for this, for that, for the next thing. How she was protected. What her choices were, but also how she shouldn’t listen to him. The type of attorney and accountant she should call to help her understand the ramifications of her choices.
“All right,” Cam said finally. “Now there’s just one more thing before I can get this started.”
“Shoot,” she said, thinking that she just might curl up in his lap and snooze if they had to talk this kind of business much longer.
“Maybe you think I should take this answer for granted-but I can’t. You
“You mean, can I reproduce the strain of lavender I developed out there?” When he nodded in agreement, she lifted a hand. “Beats me. I don’t know.”
“Vi.”
“What?”
“Quit with the blonde talk. I was only fooled the first day. You know more about this than a chemist any day of the week. In fact, you could probably teach classes at Harvard. So quit goofing off and tell me straight. Can you reproduce how you did this or not?”
“I’ll have you know I’m as flaky as they come,” she defended herself.
“You can do flaky,” he agreed, obviously not wanting to insult her. “In fact, you could win an Oscar for how well you do flaky. But right now you’re just talking to me. I’m not going to tell anyone you’re brilliant if you want it kept a secret. But before we go any further with the patent process, or the harvest, I need to know. Could you go into another greenhouse and reproduce these strains? Or would we only be cloning the plants you have on the twenty acres out there?”
She was starting to feel miffed. Every guy in the neighborhood thought she was a ditsy blonde. It had been easy to fool them. Easy to fool the whole world-or at least the male half of it. So why did Cam have to be so damned different? “I’ll answer the question only if you’ll answer one for me.”
“So go.”
“All right. Then yes, I can recreate this nature of lavender anywhere. It took working with about four different strains and some specific growing techniques and conditions, but it wasn’t a fluke. I planned the experiments. I knew what I was doing.” She said firmly, “So now it’s your turn to answer a question.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Is that really the reason you took off for the spare room last night? Because of some idiotic ethics thing?”
“Idiotic… What can I say? I’m sorry. I take ethics really seriously. It’s a character flaw I’ve never completely been able to shake.”
If he teased her anymore, she might just have to slap him. Instead, she asked him the crux of the question. “So. We did the ethics thing. Now what. Are we going to sleep together while you’re here or not?”
“We are. We definitely are,” he said, as if the question hadn’t surprised him in the slightest. His tone was low, fervent and very, very clear. So was the way he looked at her. “And damn soon.”
Nine
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Cameron walked into the kitchen. At least he was wearing a T- shirt this time, but after spending two solid weeks in the sun, his bronzed skin in shorts and sandals still made five pairs of eyes instantly swivel in his direction.
“Hi, Cameron!”
“Hi, Cameron, how’s it going?”
“Good to see you, again, Cam!”
Violet rolled her eyes. Two weeks ago, Cameron would have broken out in an alpha-male sweat to see four women, sitting in bathrobes at the kitchen table, slathered in white-purple face masks and sipping wine. Now, he cheerfully fielded their greetings, reached in the refrigerator for a cold soda and promptly hiked back outside.
The tableful of women let out a collective sigh. Once a month, Violet put on a “pamperfest,” not because she needed more to do, but because the products she used invariably brought more customers. Today’s agenda had included a facial mask made from oatmeal and lavender, a foot soak and a conditioner for damaged hair. The conditioner was her own private recipe of geranium, lavender, sandalwood and rosewood, all diluted in vegetable oil, rubbed in the hair and covered in a towel for two hours.
At this point in the proceedings, all four women had the face masks on and the conditioner slathered in their hair. Originally she’d served a cooled herbal tea, but Maud Thrumble-typically-had slipped two bottles of wine onto the table before they’d even started.
“God, he’s such a hulk,” Maud said fervently.
“Hunk, not hulk,” Mary Bell corrected her. “Quit trying to be cool when you don’t know the terms. You’re so old you’d probably have called him a dreamboat in your day.”
“Whatever,” Maud said. She and Mary Bell had never gotten along all that well. “He’s to die for. That’s the point. If only I hadn’t been married for fifty years, I’ll tell you, I’d give him a good run for his money.”
The other two women hooted at this news, causing a bowl of lavender-oatmeal goo to spill and Violet to leap up for a rag.
“Aw, Violet, leave it be. We’ll all clean it up when we’re through.”
“It’s all right,” she said.
“No, it’s not.” Sally Williams frowned at her. “You’ve been quiet all afternoon, not like yourself. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing. In fact, everything’s hunky-dory. Smooth as silk. Georgy-peachy. Totally copacetic.” In fact, if things got any better, she’d have to smash her head into a door. Edgy as a wet cat, Violet swiped at the spill on the floor, then aimed for the sink. If a woman was going to make a mess, it was her theory that a woman should make a good one. Her entire kitchen looked like a witch’s trash. Clay and porcelain pots of herbs spilled over the counters. Leaves and stems and flowers strewed from the door to the sink. And the pot that mixed the oatmeal and lavender-God knew how she was going to clean it. “What’s not to be happy? It’s a gorgeous day. Life’s good-”
“Enough, already,” Maud said. “It’s that man that’s gotten you down, isn’t it?”
“What man?” She’d never been less depressed, Violet told herself. The last couple weeks had been wonderful. Every day had been sunny. Her Herb Haven business was busier than a swarm of bees. Cameron had taken over the lavender harvest completely, hiring Filbert Green, the local farmer who’d taken care of the land after the parents retired. At this very moment, in fact, there was a crew in the lavender, unseen, unheard, none of whom had bothered her for anything.
Family news had been just as peaceful. Camille had called to wax poetically on the wonders of honeymoons with teenagers. Her mom had called to convey that she and her dad had been going to vacation in Maine and somehow taken a wrong turn; they were headed for New Zealand. And Daisy hadn’t called-which was yet another good thing-because when she connected with her oldest sister the next time, Violet planned to strangle her. Daisy was very good at getting her sisters embroiled with men, but when it came to revealing what she was doing herself, suddenly she took a powder, probably somewhere on the Riviera on a nude beach.
Violet opened the fridge, put the dish rag on the top shelf and closed it. When she turned around, the women were all staring at her.
“What? What?”
“Vi, you’re just not yourself today,” Sally repeated. “Sit down and have some wine, girl.”
“It’s four in the afternoon. If I have wine now, I’ll be curled up on the floor before dinner.”
“Well, something stronger then. How about a little strawberry daiquiri?” From nowhere, Mary Bell lifted a delicate sterling silver flask in the air. Sally promptly zoomed for the cupboard and brought down a glass, then cleared a seat of damp towels so Violet could sit down. “Speaking of alcohol-”
