The Petite Gardener: And Other Stories

By Robin Thomas

Hamish MacGregor is wealthy, lonely, and longing for a bit of romance. When fate brings Gianna Grayson to work at his house, he thinks he may have found what he's looking for. But The Petite Gardener has a past and secrets of her own. When her past meets his present, it threatens to destroy everything...

First grade teacher Isla Hampstead loves "her kids," but what she really wants is a child of her own. Helping a woefully neglected student, Isla finds herself in a situation she isn't prepared to deal with. Can reaching out to a child be enough for her to find Love at Lincoln Park?

Miranda Scott broke off her engagement and moved away to start over. She's convinced it was the right thing to do; Vince isn't so sure. Will he let her go? Is she strong enough to let Weston Frank, a local architect, reveal to her The Design of the Future?

Happy on his small cattle ranch, Rick Watson is a confirmed bachelor and a recluse. Riley Bremen just doesn't have the energy to work on another relationship. But when their paths cross will they be able to ignore the electricity in The Approaching Storm?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452080703

Robin Thomas

Robin Thomas lives in Florida. Visit her on the web at: www.robinthomasbooks.com

Book preview

Contents

The Petite Gardener

Love at Lincoln Park

The Design of the Future

The Approaching Storm

The Petite Gardener

The sound of her own crying woke her up. Gianna rolled onto her back and stared at the blades of the ceiling fan turning slowly and steadily in a circle, the faint hum of the motor periodically drowned out by her sniffling, tears tickling the sides of her face as they slid down to soak the already wet pillow. She hadn’t had the nightmare for a long time, almost six months now. But all those weeks hadn’t weakened its impact. The sights were still too vivid, the sounds too acute, the pain too real. She looked around the dark empty room. She felt small lying in the big bed all alone. Her hand automatically went to her abdomen and rested on the soft cotton nightshirt she always wore, but all she felt was the scar beneath. She rolled over and curled up into a ball, hugging herself tightly and rocking back and forth as the painful sobs escaped her again. She knew she couldn’t hold them back, she didn’t even try.

Hamish MacGregor was already in his office and planted behind his large mahogany desk at six a.m. when his assistant, Steven, walked in. It was Hamish’s custom to come in very early, it was how he got the jump on his day and his competition. It was also very convenient since Hamish’s office was located in the east wing of his home. Steven Wilcox was a young, eager employee who had aspirations of someday being the one sitting behind the big impressive desk and he tried to emulate his boss in every way. Hamish wondered about his hopes of taking over The MacGregor Company since he had made it perfectly clear to his assistant that the family business would remain in the family. William MacGregor, Hamish’s father, had gotten into real estate when he immigrated to Florida from Scotland; he started his own company, made a success of it and passed it on to his only son, and Hamish had always planned to pass it along to his children someday.

Morning, Hamish. Are we ready for the Randall’s today? Big meeting… Steven liked to think of himself as Hamish’s partner rather than his assistant and behaved as such, much to Hamish’s irritation at times. But this morning Hamish was staring out the large window behind his desk and didn’t answer. Hamish? Everything all right? Steven raised his voice to get Hamish’s attention.

What? He noticed Steven then and turned back to his desk, shuffling papers but still obviously distracted. Good mornin’, Steven. Are you ready for the Randall meeting?

Yes. Steven was a little worried. Are you?

Of course I am, don’t be daft, Hamish snapped in his Scottish accent. Haven’t I been working on it for weeks?

He walked to the sideboard and put a freshly baked pastry on a delicate china plate and took it back to his desk, only to find he had already done this very thing. He hesitated then held the plate out to Steven; Here, have something to eat.

Steven took the plate and returned it to the sideboard and then sat in one of the large leather chairs in front of Hamish’s desk. This sort of thing could spell disaster in the Randall meeting; they would lose all credibility if they appeared forgetful or unprepared. Steven knew he had to do something.

Er… Hamish… you know, I’ve been thinking… I would really like an opportunity to prove to you what I can do, that I could handle things here if the need should ever arise…

I know you could. I have every confidence… Hamish interrupted, but was still only half listening to Steven.

Yes, and I appreciate that, but I’d like a chance to test my mettle, as it were, and I was hoping you might let me handle the Randall meeting today.

He waited to see how Hamish would react to his suggestion. The eldest MacGregor was tough on his best day, all business and no emotion, but he had been behaving so unpredictably of late that Steven knew his reaction could go either way. Hamish was staring at him with his best poker face; Steven couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Finally, he leaned back in his chair and tossed his gold pen onto the desk.

Well, I have been a little distracted… A little? Steven thought, but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut. And I have been thinking about taking some time…

This revelation shocked Steven even more than Hamish’s recent bizarre behavior and he had to work hard to keep the surprise from showing on his face.

Okay, Hamish said. You handle it. You can report everythin’ to me first thing in the morning.

Steven stood up and took hold of his briefcase.

Thanks for this, Hamish. I’ll do a good job, and he was out the door before Hamish could change his mind.

Steven was barely out of sight before Hamish’s thoughts had turned away from work. He couldn’t concentrate on business these days. He had to do something to get himself back on track.

Gianna struggled toward the kitchen carrying a cardboard box so large that it made her petite size appear even smaller. Barely over five feet tall, Gianna looked like her Italian mother and grandmother, with dark hair and dark eyes, a very natural look, some would even say beauty. Her small size belied the fact that she was very strong and no stranger to hard work, and working outside invigorated her, or at least that’s what she told people. Mostly it was therapeutic, especially when she had the nightmares. Somehow, getting her hands dirty made her feel better.

This morning she walked into the kitchen with the box of terra cotta pots overflowing with aromatic herbs and a tall tin pail full of freshly cut flowers. Marjorie stopped kneading the dough long enough to hold the door open with her elbow and point to an empty table that Gianna could use. The kitchen at the MacGregor house was huge but every inch of it was under the strict control of Marjorie who ran the place with an iron fist, albeit one covered with a velvet glove.

Thanks, Marjorie. Gianna sat the box on the table and began taking out the potted plants.

They look beautiful; smell wonderful too! Marjorie went back to her bread making.

I have all the herbs you asked for, but if you think of anything else, just let me know. I can bring some more rosemary, this one’s a bit small… Gianna inspected the rosemary plant, fluffing the tiny green sprigs with her finger.

How did we get on before you came along?

Gianna smiled. Marjorie always made her feel so welcome. What are you making?

Cranberry-walnut bread. It’s a favorite of Mr. MacGregor’s.

Mmm, that sounds good!

I’ll save you some.

Gianna took a pink tea rose out of her tin and dropped it into a vase on the window sill in front of Marjorie. I’ll be back then.

Marjorie watched her go out the door and not for the first time found herself curious about the woman-with-no-past as she now thought of Gianna Grayson who had come to work at the MacGregor house a couple of months ago as part of the large gardening staff. Gianna was friendly and outgoing but never talkative about her past, never too willing to share any particulars. Marjorie wondered why this young woman’s eyes were red and puffy, and even her smile had a sad twinge to it this morning.

Hamish wasn’t sure what to do with his free day. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to take one, he couldn’t remember what he had done on his last day off. One thing he did know was that he had to get his mind back on track; he had to get his concentration back before he completely lost his edge. He decided to go for a drive down the coast and see if that would clear his head.

He changed clothes and headed out the back door toward the garage when he noticed an unfamiliar woman walking in the same direction a few yards ahead of him. He didn’t recognize her and followed her to see where she was going.

Directly behind the garage was a rose garden. Hamish stopped at the corner of the building to watch as the woman meandered among the bushes of blooming flowers, talking to them and cutting some for a tin bucket she carried with her. She must be a new member of the gardening staff, he thought, although he couldn’t recall anyone on the gardening staff ever looking like this before.

It was a lovely scene and he hadn’t realized he was staring until the woman stopped and looked at him, smiling but waiting for him to speak first. He was a large man with an imposing presence.

You were talkin’ to them, he said, keeping his post at the corner of the garage.

Yes, I was.

And do they talk back?

I don’t actually hear voices, if that’s what you’re asking, she laughed, but it does seem like they tell us things by the way they look.

He walked toward her and she met him halfway. Standing so near, he towered over her. How so? he asked.

She looked around at the bushes. Well, like this one… droopy and a little brown too soon, I’d say she isn’t feeling well. She turned to another one, a small bud barely opened; and this little guy is trying with all his might… he’ll be open tomorrow.

Hamish had only glanced at the garden but was intrigued by this flower whisperer. And do all flowers speak to you like this?

Some days they do, some days they don’t, but I think it has more to do with whether or not I’m listening. His intense gaze started to make her feel uncomfortable. Well, I better get these inside.

What is your name? Hamish asked brusquely, sounding every bit the employer.

Gianna.

I’m Hamish MacGregor, he announced, his name rolling off his tongue in a thick Scottish brogue.

Yes, I know. She smiled politely and walked on toward the house.

For the second time Hamish followed her; he watched her until she disappeared into the house. Then he got in his car and drove south, his mind racing as fast as the cars that sped by on the highway, the blue water of the Gulf glistening in the sun unnoticed and unappreciated.

I told you I’d be back, Gianna said to Marjorie as she came in the kitchen door at the end of the day. And this kitchen smells wonderful!

I made you a small loaf of bread to take home, Marjorie set it on the table, and there’s fresh honey butter too, but leave that in the fridge till you’re ready to go.

Fantastic! I don’t have to cook dinner tonight! Gianna took a long whiff of the bread.

Gianna!

Just kidding. She wouldn’t admit to Marjorie that she was very serious, that she would indeed have her cranberry-walnut bread for dinner and probably breakfast tomorrow morning too.

Here, Marjorie, I cut these or they would’ve died on the bush for no one to see or enjoy. She handed Marjorie the roses she had gathered from the garden earlier.

It’s such a shame, Marjorie said, smelling the blossoms; no one ever sees anything in that garden hidden back there behind the garage.

Oh, I don’t know about that.

What do you mean? Marjorie peered at Gianna over the flowers.

Mr. MacGregor saw me out there today… talking to the roses. Gianna rolled her eyes. He was trying to decide if I needed a straight jacket or not.

Marjorie looked at Gianna wide-eyed. Mr. MacGregor’s reputation was not exactly one of tolerance. What did you do?

You mean, besides feel a little foolish? Nothing. He was very nice about it.

Marjorie visibly relaxed. "Oh! You met Robert MacGregor. At first I thought you meant Hamish MacGregor. You scared me half to death. I thought you’d been fired or something."

Gianna was confused. "No, Marjorie, it was Hamish MacGregor. She went to the refrigerator. I’m taking some of this honey butter, okay? Thanks again for the bread. See you in the morning!"

Gianna gave a little wave as she headed out the door. Marjorie stood by the stove, her mouth hanging open, wondering what sort of madness was going on right under her nose. Maybe there’s a full moon, she thought.

Hamish’s drive was enjoyable but not productive. He had hoped to sort things out in his mind, get a clear picture of what was driving him to distraction these days, but when he tried to pinpoint particular culprits he came up empty handed. He just couldn’t seem to figure out what had changed.

It hadn’t happened overnight; there was no one event he could identify that had been a turning point. In fact, everything had been exactly the same for so long he couldn’t even remember a time when life had been different.

Except when Mary was alive. But that was so long ago, ten years now, that wasn’t what was bothering him. Sometimes he wished he could talk to Mary, ask her what she thought. She would probably laugh at him, knowing exactly what was going on, and amazed he couldn’t figure it out for himself.

This had nothing to do with her, he was sure of that. He was restless, unsettled, and going mad trying to figure out why. He drove all day and didn’t get home until dusk. Coming out of the garage he hesitated, then he turned and looked around back in the garden but the roses were alone.

Gianna stayed up late, afraid to sleep in case she should have the nightmare again. There was a pattern, or at least there had been in the past, and she would have to suffer through the terror several more times before she could hope to be free again for a while. Maybe if she forced herself to stay awake until she just fell over exhausted, her mind would be too tired to dream. She turned on the television and ate another slice of Marjorie’s bread.

Her plan had worked. Sort of. Gianna only got two and a half hours of sleep but there had been no nightmare. She thanked God for His mercy and the little bit of sleep and drove to work eating the last of the cranberry-walnut bread in the car for her breakfast.

Hamish started his day wondering again why he always felt annoyed, was always in a bad mood these days. When had this started? He couldn’t remember, but he knew he hadn’t always been this way. When he heard his name being called out his irritation instantly increased at the sound of that voice. He turned to see Steven bounding up the wide staircase, grinning and waving a folder of papers.

Steven, Hamish’s tone was flat. It’s early. I’ll be down soon…

I know, but I thought you might want to peruse this over your breakfast. Results of the Randall meeting.

Steven seemed pleased with himself but Hamish was annoyed. This wasn’t the first time Steven had breached the boundary between the office wing and the personal space of the house. He took the folder and tucked it under his arm. Thank you, he said quite dismissively.

Steven didn’t take the hint so Hamish was a bit more blunt. I’ll be in the office shortly.

Right. Steven retraced his steps back down the staircase, across the marble foyer and disappeared through an archway that led to the wing of the house that housed the home offices of The MacGregor Company.

Hamish leaned over the banister to watch the woman working on the flower arrangement on the large round table in the center of the foyer. From his perch high above her he couldn’t see her face but he knew it was Gianna. Her plain white blouse and black skirt made a sharp contrast against the bright colors of the flowers. Her hair fell in one long curve down her back and swayed gently back and forth as her brown legs moved beneath her.

She finished her work and pushed the large vase back to the center of the table then stood back to inspect it. Slowly she walked around the table checking the centerpiece from every angle. When she reached the opposite side of the table she noticed Hamish at the top of the stairs watching her. Again she noticed what a big man he was and his lofty position, gazing down on her, gave him the appearance of being very powerful.

Does it look okay from up there? she asked. She looked directly at him when he didn’t answer her.

I beg your pardon? Are you speakin’ to me? It came out much rougher than he meant it, but she didn’t challenge him.

Does it look okay from there? she pointed to the flowers. No holes or gaps?

No.

She lingered only a moment. She smelled one of the yellow roses. The roses are particularly happy today, she said as she smiled up at the stern figure at the top of the stairs. Have a good day! Again she waited for no reply but was gone in an instant.

Hamish stared at the flowers. The arrangement was lovely. Had there always been flowers there, he wondered? And yes, the roses did seem to stand out from the rest… what did she say, they were happy? That’s an odd thing to say. He took the folder from under his arm and went back to his room. It didn’t really dawn on him that he wasn’t feeling quite so annoyed anymore.

But what if Dad changes his mind? What if he decides against the sale? Robert MacGregor was nervous, pacing back and forth in front of Steven’s desk, one hand in his pocket, the other nervously hovering around his mouth as he intermittently bit his nail. Hamish’s son, one of the heirs of The MacGregor Company, had had this same conversation with Steven on several occasions. What if he decides not to sell the company after all?

Don’t worry. I don’t know what’s going on with your father right now but he’s not stupid. CGM is an excellent company and this is a good deal and he knows it. He won’t let it pass by. Steven tried to reassure Robert and himself as well.

You seem to have more faith in my father than I do.

He hasn’t gotten where he is today by making bad decisions.

Robert looked doubtful but he was young and he didn’t know enough about the business to argue, so he had to defer to Steven’s expertise. But he was going to keep a close eye on Steven. Robert couldn’t quite decide if he really trusted him or not. He knew Steven was interested

Reviews for The Petite Gardener

[websilk · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Grilled Cheese Please! is not a book that you even want to glance at when you're hungry! The multitude of sandwich combinations has something for every palate. The cheese variations alone will have you standing at your local deli counter getting samples and discovering the various ways that cheese will taste on different breads and with different condiments added. The book explains which sandwiches work well with sandwich makers and on the stove top. If you have a bread maker, this book will trigger that creativity also.If you are looking for ideas for a brunch, potluck, or get together, this book has tons of easy ideas. Your idea of a grilled cheese sandwich will be forever changed.

[dms02 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

it was okay...just okay.