Page 4 of A Touch of Spring Magic (Southern Love Spells #2)

O ut of habit, Jessica was up before dawn. Usually she jumped on her Peloton, but she ached from the hours pulling and hauling weeds and debris yesterday even after a long tub soak last night. Since her new life would involve a lot of manual labor, she could probably cancel her gym and Pilates studio membership.

But add a bimonthly massage, so probably not much savings.

Did she need to relook at her budget? Make more cuts? Thinking about money, Jessica rolled out her yoga matt, did a few exercises to stretch out and then headed to the shower but paused. She probably didn’t need to shower before work anymore.

“Weird.” Jessica regarded herself in the mirror. “I’m one of those people who shower after work now.”

She probably didn’t have to put her work face on anymore except moisturizer and sunscreen. She could just imagine how that would go over with her mother.

“I don’t have to tell them today,” she reassured herself, but looping Grandma Millie in needed to happen soon.

She did a quick facial cleanse, moisturized and added her tinted sunscreen. No way would she economize on skin care. But she would no longer need to buy suits. Maybe she could consign a few in her collection.

“Better wait until you have the nursery open and money coming in,” she cautioned in a low voice. Great. She was also becoming someone who talked to themselves.

And she would no longer be buying lunch out or meeting for drinks after work.

She dressed in clothes she wore hiking with Meghan and Sarah—Mountain Hardwear brand stretchy pants and a thick, long-sleeve cotton T and multi-pocketed vest.

Finger-combing her curly mass of hair, she dragged it back into a high ponytail and walked downstairs.

Still dark. She made her usual protein drink, but instead of tea, she brewed coffee and retrieved her sketch pad from the antique desk that had been in the farmhouse kitchen for as long as Jessica could remember. She’d make a list of things to do in the next two and a half months first. Then she could run it by Meghan to see if she’d forgotten any legalities. Then when it was light, she could take some pictures of the few acres of garden between the house and the barn that she thought would be ideal as a show garden for potential customers eventually, but also a place to hold Chloe and Rustin’s engagement party or bridal shower. She’d have to nail that down eventually.

Sarah had mentioned hardscape. Jessica had pictured pea gravel, sort of like a Tuscan garden, and olive trees, but after putting voice to her dream last night, she knew she’d need to run any ideas by Grandma Millie. She’d already invested heavily in the greenhouse repairs, watering system, grow lights, and replacing many panes of glass. Then the soils, enrichment, aeration. It had all added up, but Grandma Millie had been keen and had asked a lot of questions, so she couldn’t have been planning to hand over the property to her son too quickly.

Jessica realized belatedly that she should have asked Grandma Millie more questions. Not that G. Millie, as Meghan liked to call her, was free with the information when she was not in the mood. As far back as Jessica could remember, Grandma Millie had co-opted the royal ‘never complain, never explain’ and had added in her own: ‘never deign to follow another’s path.’

So Jessica sipped, brainstormed and googled European and Asian gardens as the sun slowly rose. Then, because she was a little nervous, she baked lemon-raspberry scones—Grandma Millie’s favorite. And maybe she could drop off a scone for Sarah at the clinic and Chloe at the school.

She knew she had a tendency to be a perfectionist and hide her ideas until she was ready, but her sisters had had a good point. The party was for Chloe and Rustin and all of her sisters would want to help out. She needed to be more open. The farmhouse and gardens held all of their history. But not so open that she hired Brent Stevens. He could find his résumé boost and pictures for his website and social media with someone else.

*

“I was wondering when you would come and find me,” Grandma Millie said mildly when Jessica arrived, slipping through the side door of Grandma Millie’s kitchen garden. She knew Chloe and Grandma Millie spent time on the herb and veggie garden spring, summer and fall, but Grandma Millie had a gardener for the two-acre lot that was heavily treed, shrubbed and flowered.

Jessica had dropped off a scone for Sarah and another for Chloe before heading to Grandma Millie’s. She’d expected to have to hunt her down, but found her sitting upright in her solarium, a small glassed-in room off the library.

“What are you doing home…and sitting down?” Jessica could hardly remember a time when Grandma Millie was home and sitting during the day. Usually she was a whirlwind of plans, activities and orders.

“Why are you here if you didn’t expect to find me home?”

Jessica was so shocked she answered honestly. “I saw you were home using the locator app. But I thought maybe you’d left your phone behind.” She walked fully into the room. She’d already plated the scones and poured out the raspberry and blueberry flavored tea she’d brewed at home.

“Spying on me?” A brow arched.

“No. Yes. I wanted to talk to you.”

She carefully placed the cup and saucer in front of Grandma Millie and then added a napkin along with the matching plate. “I made myself at home.”

“You always have a home here. You know that.”

Jessica nodded, feeling an unaccustomed burn of tears she quickly blinked back. As a young teen she’d often slipped over to Grandma Millie’s after school to escape some of the pressure—pressure at school and pressure at home that she’d likely created herself.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“You took a second day off work to bake me my favorite scone and ask about my health?”

Jessica sighed and sat down on a chair opposite Grandma Millie. “No secrets from you.”

Grandma Millie used the small knife to break off the tip of the scone and the spoon to scoop a little cream and raspberry jam onto it. “Do you want to keep secrets, Jessica?”

“No.” Her shoulders slumped. “How much do you know?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Jessica doctored her scone, trying to get her thoughts in order. And then she shared, far more eloquently than she had last night, forgetting her scone and the tea as she discussed how she’d been feeling empty, frustrated, unhappy with her career. She shared how she’d started to dream, why she’d wanted to stay in the farmhouse and explore first planting tea plants, making teas, but then lately she’d started wanting more, something different.

“I feel like it could become a business, sustaining not only me, but the land and the Cramer-Maye legacy.” She paused. “I’ve been saving money, hoping to at some future point purchase a few of the acres from you—and the greenhouses, of course.”

She’d used her own money for those.

“I know it’s not all worked out. Losing my job has shot everything forward and…”

“Are you going to let Meghan fight for you?”

“She’s a fighter.” Jessica relaxed enough to sip her tea. “But I don’t want to go back. Last night for the first time I can remember I didn’t need an antiacid. I slept through the night.”

“Well then, it sounds like a blessing in disguise.”

“Yes.” Jessica touched the gold cross she wore. “Yes, it feels like that, but I know I have a lot of work ahead, and I want to restore the gardens near the house for Chloe and Rustin’s engagement party regardless.”

She was adamant about that. If she had to find different land to create her nursery, then that was what she would do.

“What do you think?” Jessica asked.

“There’s something you should know, Jessica.”

She found it hard to swallow but she smiled, waited.

“This news is not yet for public consumption. I have yet to tell your father.”

“Neither have I,” she said. “I mean I will, but I wanted to speak with you first and Sarah, Meghan and Chloe and have a more detailed plan. Daddy was so proud of me landing that job. I know he’ll be disappointed and want me to join his company, but I really don’t want to just do accounting. There are things I love about it. I enjoy numbers and solving puzzles, but I want…more.” She wondered if she was explaining herself well enough.

“Sorry.” She flushed a little. “I interrupted. You had more to share.”

“I have put the farm in a trust for the four of you girls.”

“A trust?” Jessica breathed. “I’m not sure exactly what that means.”

“This is my home.” She looked around the elegant, historic home. “Your grandfather and I had many happy years here. And sorrows. But the Cramer farm was in the family for generations. I told my Jacob that he couldn’t sign over or sell my land to Sean Patrick, even though he has persistently wanted it for the past thirty years. The top twenty acres and house was mine. My siblings had sold to Sean Patrick years ago, but I didn’t want to. I wanted you and your sisters to have choices. Property that was yours free and clear. To always have a home. It is a trust in your names only, not ever transferred with marriage. We can review the legalities at some point.” Grandma Millie waved her hand casually as if what she was saying, as if what she was doing wasn’t life-altering.

“But it is all of yours, so if you want to build a nursery and restore the gardens and have an event space or a farm or anything, you can as long as you are all in agreement. I’m sure Meghan—though she is a la-di-da big-time corporate attorney—will know what to do, likely form an LLC with you four as equal board members.”

“Grandma Millie,” Jessica said faintly. “Grandma Millie.” She could hardly fathom the huge generosity of the gift.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?”

And Jessica saw the sly curve of a smile, before Grandma Millie hid her expression with another dainty sip of tea. “Are you going to serve tea and have baked goods at your nursery? Chloe has been mentioning a book she found.”

“I knew it,” Jessica verbally pounced. “I knew it. You found the book and returned it.” Relief whooshed through her.

“My dear, I’m not sure what you are so shook up about. Chloe mentioned some interesting recipes and you do like to cook and bake, far more than Chloe although Rustin has been a steadying influence on her, and she provides the light and warmth and unyielding love and adoration he so desperately needs.”

“Don’t give me that look. Chloe’s loved up. Good for her. You’ll get a great-grandbaby in a few years, and Meghan and Sarah and I are off the hook.”

“A hook. That’s so dramatic, and I fail to see how a book of recipes has anything to do with…loved up I believe you said.”

“Ha.” Jessica bit into her scone. “It’s called Southern Love Spells , and I wouldn’t put it past you to have snuck it into your mini outdoor library to trip Chloe up.”

“The thought of trying to trip up Chloe, when she’s forever falling over something.” Grandma Millie shook her head. “Since when did I become so sneaky?” Grandma Millie asked drily and regarded Jessica, making Jessica squirm a little like she was seven again and had misbehaved in church.

“The book is not magic,” she stated. It couldn’t be. Grandma Millie wouldn’t condone such a thing in her house. Would she?

“If the book is not magic, why were you so eager to discard it at the thrift shop before dawn?”

“You brought it back,” she accused. “I knew Trina was messing with me.”

What did you think had happened—it flew back and through your kitchen window?

She leaned back in her chair, picking up the tea that rattled a bit in the saucer. Her hands shook—the excitement of being able to stay in the farmhouse, build a business. Perhaps one or more of her sisters would like to move up there with her. It wouldn’t be lonely then, and she would stop thinking about getting a dog for company and protection.

Grandma Millie didn’t confirm or deny, but regarded her steadily.

“If the book isn’t magic, why are you afraid to use it?”

“I use recipes from the internet when I cook,” Jessica said, although since she lived alone, she didn’t do as much cooking unless she was hosting her sisters or friends for a dinner party. “I don’t want to use recipes from some random family.”

She side-eyed Grandma Millie, hoping to catch a clue as to the book’s origins. Even last night, the four of them had speculated with no drawn conclusions.

“Meghan is convinced the book is a family heirloom,” Grandma Millie said as she sipped her tea.

“Meghan’s an attorney—she’s always looking for dirt.”

“And an accountant’s not?”

Grandma Millie always knew how to land a barb with a smile. She also excelled at deflecting conversation yet steering it where she wanted it to go.

“An accountant is looking for clarity,” Jessica said, “and I’m not an accountant anymore.”

“You have done some pro bono work for several organizations in town, and I believe you still do Chloe’s taxes and I’m sure Chloe guilted you into helping Rebekah over at the Wild Side set up their accounting and inventory systems. You’ll still keep a hand in, I’m sure. And of course extra income is always welcome, especially if your outlay is greater than anticipated due to rushing to prepare for a special event for a beloved sister.”

A laugh burbled up. No secrets from Grandma Millie. “You know me too well, GM.”

“Can we ever know anyone too well?” Grandma Millie mused. “Is there ever really too much time?”

*

Jessica was still unsettled by Grandma Millie’s parting comment later that afternoon when Brent Stevens showed up. She wasn’t surprised, but she wished that she wasn’t wearing waders and standing in what had once been an ‘ornamental pond’ that now was black and reeked. She dug out fistfuls of rotting vegetation.

“That’s a stinky, messy job.”

Fabulous. Of course he arrives now.

She wondered if he’d still be smiling that beautiful golden boy smile if she flung a fistful of duckweed at him.

“It’s my messy job.”

“Twelve years, nothing’s changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You never did share well with others.”

“This is my home. My land. My job.” Okay, she did sound like an entitled snot. Storm, no, Brent had always brought out her competitive streak something fierce.

Brent smiled wider, hands up in surrender. “Not here to poach your audition for a new reality show about dirty occupations.”

Dirty. For some reason that word slapped her mind back to the summer before college when she’d seen Storm up on a ladder outside her parents’ house, doing some repair work, when she’d glimpsed a sliver of his tanned abs between his worn-thin Luke Bryan concert T-shirt and his brown work pants with a strip of his red plaid boxers peeking out. When he’d turned and seen her, he’d lifted his shirt to wipe his sweaty face, and she’d seen the full eight-pack, which until that moment she’d believed was a myth, and she’d been struck stupid. Always considered smooth, Jessica had spilled her sweet sun tea down her front, soaking and ruining her new white T-shirt with the ruffled sleeves.

His throaty ‘hey’ had practically melted her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

She snapped herself back into the present where she intended to stay. “My sisters work fast.”

“Persuasive, was the word I was thinking of.”

That was the last thing she needed. He didn’t look any happier to be here than she felt about his arrival.

“I’ll save us time. I don’t need help in my own garden. I have a plan.”

Best defense was a strong offense, right? She bent down and dragged up more debris that had long ago smothered the plants that were supposed to be in the pond and destroyed the filtration system. She splatted the stinking mass on the growing pile on the side of the pond.

The smell and squishy sound turned even her strong stomach.

“I underestimated you,” he said quietly.

“About what this time?”

He hesitated. Jessica, her feet and calves numb in the waders, pulled out more gunk and told herself that it was good he was seeing her at her worst. She didn’t have to play the brainy beauty queen anymore. She was building a new life. Her life. The way she wanted it, but of course, internally she was cringing that she was filthy. Stinking. Her mother would be horrified, and yes she still cared. More than she should.

“You want a list?”

“You were allergic to lists,” she recalled.

“No. Only yours.”

Wow. Hot and honest and just as sure of himself as he’d always been. “I’m busy. If you’ve come to gloat, do it quietly.”

“When Sarah called…” he began.

“Sarah?” Jessica tugged and tugged at a particularly stubborn chunk of the duckweed interspersed with millweed and once beautiful pond lilies. “I thought Grandma Millie would be leading the charge. She always does.”

“Chloe was first. She and Rustin double-teamed me on FaceTime.”

Jessica tried to swallow her irritation and failed. “My family means well.” She bit out each syllable, and he barked a laugh.

“Is this one of those bless her hearts?”

Jessica hated that he almost made her smile.

“Miss Millie hit me up this afternoon and invited me to an early afternoon tea to catch up and discuss my goals.”

Jessica winced. “I’m sure Meghan must be in a long meeting but sounds like you’re on her list. You’ve been Mayed.”

“Not the first time.”

“Let’s make it your last. Really Brent. This is important to me. The project needs to be mine.”

“So I heard.”

She bristled. “Don’t dismiss me because I don’t have the design degree.”

“Get off your high horse, Jessie, and talk to a mere mortal. The tea was good.”

“Huh?” When did he start dropping riddles?

“Miss Millie wanted to share your citrus tea blend. Said you were cultivating tea up here and had plans to start a nursery.”

As he spoke, she didn’t dare look at him. She felt like she’d been stripped bare—her dreams on display—so she tugged and gripped and strained, wondering what tool she should use to clean out the pond. She knew how to grow, graft, nurture and transplant plants, but she’d never had to excavate such a massive site. She’d figured she’d take a small area at a time and clean it out back to the bones so she’d get a vision, not only for a beautiful garden for people to enjoy, perhaps hosting small events, but also a nursery. But now with Chloe’s party, she had to not only kick the cleanup into high gear, she’d also need to do a lot of planting. Good thing she had the greenhouses upgraded and repaired after years of disuse.

He probably thought it sounded stupid. Girly. Too niche.

“Pretty impressive, Jay.”

Jay. The memory shot through her brain and clogged her throat. Her eyes weirdly burned. She blinked and tugged harder, not willing to come up empty-handed. She was getting closer and still had hours to do. Her grip slipped, and she tipped over, sitting down hard.

Her startled cry cut off as the brackish water closed over her head, and icy water that felt dense and slimy filled her waders.

Gross.

Jessica stood up quickly, eyes scrunched shut as tightly as her mouth.

Gross. Gross. Gross. It was probably the grossest thing that had ever happened to her. She wanted to scream but was terrified that she’d get a taste of the water and she’d be poisoned. As it was, she felt slippery, chilled to the bone and too heavy to walk, much less heave herself out of the water.

“Here.” Storm took her hand, tugged her forward a couple of awkward steps and then she felt his hands on the sides of her breasts, and as she slapped at him, he lifted her out of the pond, like she was a child. Water streamed off her and the stink wafted around like an evil spirit.

Storm wiped off her face with a soft cloth. “For a small fee, I won’t post this picture.”

She heard the teasing laughter in his voice. She blinked up at him. He had a blue bandana in his hand that he used to carefully wipe her lips.

“Did you swallow any?”

Mutely she shook her head. That was one small mercy in this humiliating disaster.

“Go take a shower.” He propelled her toward the house. “Then we’ll talk.”

“About what?”

“Got blueprints?”

Her hands fisted. Of course she didn’t have blueprints, and naturally that would be the first detail he’d poke at. “I knew you’d be bossy.”

“It’s good you’re prepared along with being mulish. Some things never change. Go wash up; we’ll talk after.”

They had nothing to talk about. Nothing, especially now. He’d never be able to take her seriously. He had the degree. The knowledge. She only had the dream, and when she’d been fully prepared, he’d always jumped in, took over, oozing confidence and charm, and everyone had looked to him to make it all work out.

No thanks.

Now he’d think he had the upper hand because she had a tight timeline and he’d be able to tease her about looking and smelling like a drowned rat.

“I don’t have anything to say,” she said proving his point that yes, she was still resistant to advice as well as stubborn. Her sisters had every right to interfere. This was now all of their property. But she could do this. She could.

“Good. You can listen.”