Digging Deep With The Gardener: Silver Springs, #4

By Violet Rae

Can the innocent, bubbly pre-school teacher convince the older, sexy gardener that love blooms in the most unexpected places?

Iris
My task over summer break is clear—tackle the overgrown jungle that is my backyard. But I'm a preschool teacher not a landscaping expert, so when my big sister suggests hiring a gardener from the local temp agency, I jump at the offer.

Logan Castillo is temptation personified with his rock-hard body, gravelly voice, and sexy AF smile. The man is a green-fingered genius, and before I know it, he's pruned my bush, fertilized my pot plants, and watered my bulbs. I have no idea what Logan sees in this green-as-grass, near-sighted woman with too many curves, but there's no doubt that something powerful and potent is blooming between us.

There's just one problem—Logan is fifteen years older than me, and if my over-protective big sister finds out he's been planting his seed in my flower bed, any chance we have at happily-ever-after will be nipped in the bud.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Violet Rae
• Release date: Apr 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223650959

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iris

Ah, crap!

I curse as I drop my glasses and they disappear into the hedge in front of me. I took them off to wipe the sweat gathered on the bridge of my nose from the heat of the summer sun, and without them, I’m pretty much blind.

God knows why I thought I could tackle this backyard jungle alone. My sister and I may be named after flowers, but it’s certainly not for our love of all things gardening. Give me a classroom full of preschoolers any day. As a teaching assistant, I can wrangle those little bundles of energy into line with my hands tied behind my back. But put me in a neglected garden with a pair of secateurs and a Dutch hoe, and I’m a force of mass destruction.

Right now, school’s out, and I’m on summer vacation. Which is why I’m standing in the backyard hacking at anything that looks like it shouldn’t be here—and probably some stuff that should. Knowing my luck, I’ve been tearing up plants which are a protected species or essential to the planet's ecosystem or some shit.

I pat my hand along the top of the hedge—one of those prickly ones that wait with sharp thorns for non-green-thumbed victims—like me.

My fingers catch the edge of something plastic, but before I can grasp it, I hear my glasses tumble down through the hedge and land at the bottom with a clunk.

"No, no, no! Please do not be broken!" I moan to the empty garden.

My glasses cost a small fortune on account of the strength of the prescription required to allow me to see like a normal person. Having them made to resemble glasses rather than a pair of binoculars perched on the end of my nose wasn’t cheap, and I don’t have the money to replace them.

Scooching down, I peer through the brambles, but it’s no use. Without my glasses, I couldn’t hit a cow’s ass with a large shovel. Not that I’d ever want to hit a cow’s ass with a large shovel—them being God’s creatures and all. It’s just one of the weird and wonderful expressions Mom used to come out with.

The thought of my mom causes a familiar pang of grief. We lost her four years ago to breast cancer. It was quick, which, for her sake, I’m thankful for. By the time it was detected, it had already metastasized. Leilani and I had less than six months with her before she lost the battle.

And then it was just my big sister and me. Our father took off with another woman when I was a baby, never to be seen again, so my memories of him are vague, at best. Being five years older than me, Leilani remembers him better than I do.

When Mom passed, everything was left to my sister and me, including the house. Leilani stepped up, seeing me through graduation and encouraging me to pursue my dream of working with kids. I love my big sister to bits, but she can be a little…overprotective. No, scrap that, not a little overprotective; she’s worse than any obsessive father could ever be. Since Mom died, she’s been so busy trying to be both parents, she doesn’t realize how much I miss her simply being my big sister.

I miss going to a movie and grabbing dinner together afterward while we dissect the plot. I miss our late-night girly chats where we laughed and talked into the wee hours. Leilani is all about responsibility and dependability these days. I know she feels the weight of running the house and making sure I’m okay, but she needs to understand I’m not a child anymore. I wasn’t a child when Mom passed. I was a seventeen-year-old trying to come to terms with life without her.

Thankfully, we both have good jobs—me at the local school, and Leilani is a manager at the real estate agency in Silver Springs. It was her idea to hire someone to come deal with the garden.

Pink Collar Temp Agency has an excellent reputation as an online agency specializing in providing men in roles traditionally reserved for women. Thank God things have changed since those Dark Ages. It’s refreshing to see men moving into careers in nursing and childcare and beauty.

When Leilani suggested we hire one of the gardeners they have on their books to come tackle our backyard, I stupidly convinced her I was more than up for the job. But much as it pains me to admit, she was right. This is a job for a professional.

So far, all I’ve managed to do is tear up a