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JENNA

T he rich soil crumbles between my fingers as I dig another hole in the garden bed.

Spring blooms wait in their plastic containers.

Right now, I’m preparing to plant purple bleeding hearts in their new home in the Kean estate's flower beds. I’ve always loved the colorful heart-shaped flowers, but right now, the moment is bittersweet as I remember kneeling beside my mother as a child when this was the Ifrinns’ garden, her hands guiding mine as we planted the pretty bushes.

"Nature knows what it's doing, sweet pea," she'd say, showing me how to pack the soil. "We're just here to give it a helping hand."

I sniff away the sadness, trying to focus on the beauty of nature instead. Mom can't garden anymore. She can barely make it from her bed to the bathroom some days. The doctors say her heart is failing. When I think about losing her, I feel like mine is failing as well.

I grab another bleeding heart, pulling it from its container and lowering it into the hole.

Why can’t replacing a heart be as easy as transplanting plants?

I suppose it’s because you can’t just run down to the nursery to get a new heart.

The transplant list is so long, and Mom's getting weaker. She’s all I have in the world.

I’m not sure how I’ll survive without her.

"Girl, if you don't get your butt inside right now, I'm gonna drag you by those muddy gardening gloves!"

I jump at Debbie's voice. She stands at the garden entrance, hands on her hips, giving me her best attempt at a stern look, which mostly makes her nose scrunch up like an angry rabbit.

"Five more minutes?" I pat the soil around the plant's base.

"That's what you said an hour ago." Debbie marches over, her heels sinking into the soft earth. "The flowers will still be here after lunch, but my sanity won't be if I have to watch you skip another meal. You’re gonna waste away into nothing, and since you’re my only friend here, I can’t have that. "

"I'm not skipping—" My stomach betrays me with a loud growl.

"Uh-huh." She plucks the trowel from my hand and dangles it just out of reach. "When's the last time you ate?"

I open my mouth, then close it. The breakfast granola bar doesn't count, and we both know it.

"That's what I thought." Debbie tosses the trowel into my garden basket. "Come on, I made those cucumber sandwiches you love. You know, the ones with the fancy cream cheese spread?"

"The ones with dill?"

"And extra pepper, just how you like them." She extends her hand, wiggling her perfectly manicured fingers. "Plus, I need someone to complain to about Mrs. Adams and how she’s making me do all the work in the kitchen."

I laugh as I take her hand and let her pull me up. Debbie is around my age, twenty-three, and much more outgoing and worldly than I am. Aside from my mother, she’s my only real friend.

As Debbie heads toward the house, I pause to gather a few fresh-cut flowers from the west garden bed. The spring blooms are perfect for the foyer. Mrs. Kean always insists on fresh arrangements.

"Just a quick stop at the cutting garden," I call to Debbie, veering off the stone path. My pruning shears snip through green stems.

“Good God, girl, didn’t you already bring in fresh flowers this morning?” Debbie's voice is filled with irritation now.

"These are for the foyer." But I can’t help but wonder if Ronan Kean needs more flowers in his office. The ones I brought him yesterday might be starting to wilt.

My eyes drift to the third-floor window where I know his office sits. I can imagine him there looking powerful and handsome. He’s always been good to me and my mother, taking us in after the Ifrinns’ home burned down.

What a sad tragedy that was. The Ifrinns were good to my mom, letting her keep me around while she worked the gardens when I wasn’t in school. It’s why I know these gardens so well. I grew up in them.

When the Ifrinns were tragically killed in the fire, the Keans, close friends and associates with the Ifrinns, stepped in. They rebuilt the home and kept my mother on as the groundskeeper, and later, as she got ill, they hired me to tend the land and have helped me care for her.

I hurry to catch up with Debbie, careful not to disturb the pretty blooms. The kitchen welcomes us with the aromas of fresh-baked bread and herbs. I place the flowers in a temporary vase while Debbie slides a plate of perfectly triangled sandwiches across the marble counter.

“Did you hear the FBI wants to talk to Mr. Kean?” Debbie leans forward, lowering her voice despite our being alone.

“The father or Ronan?” I really don’t understand what all the hubbub is about. Okay, so I know that the Keans’ business practices aren’t always on the up and up, but what large business ever is? Corporations commit fraud and take advantage of laws all the time.

“The father. Questions about the fire ten years ago.”

I shake my head, not believing the rumors.

Several months ago, an article came out questioning whether the fire was an accident and hinting that the Keans may have set it to take over the Ifrinns’ business.

I don’t buy it for a minute. The Keans and Ifrinns were friends and business associates.

I know Hampton Kean respected Patrick Ifrinn.

He’d have never killed Patrick, much less his wife and possibly their four sons, none of whom have been seen in a decade.

I take a bite of sandwich, the cool cucumber and creamy spread almost making me forget my growling stomach. “Society always likes to tear down successful people. The Keans have always been good to this community." They’ve certainly been good to me, helping me with my mother.

"Good people can still have enemies." Debbie sets a glass of lemonade in front of me. “They’ve been hiring a lot of extra security lately. Have you noticed?”

I have noticed. “Security wouldn’t protect them from the FBI, though.

Do you think there’s other people out there trying to hurt them?

” There was a disturbance outside the house seven months or so ago, but I never heard any details about it.

The Keans act like it was nothing, although it does seem like they’ve been more careful since then.

Debbie's eyes dart to the kitchen door. "I overheard Mr. Kean on the phone yesterday. He was talking about 'reinforcing our position' and 'showing strength'. That doesn't sound like normal security upgrades to me."

All of a sudden, the estate feels exposed, vulnerable. "Should we be worried?"

"The pay is good, the benefits are better, and now we've got an army of professional soldiers protecting us." Debbie attempts a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I'd say we're safer than ever."

Her words don't settle my unease. I've worked on these grounds since I was old enough to hold a trowel. I know every bed, every bush, every secret corner where wildflowers peek through the manicured lawns. This place is more than just a job. It’s home.

“What if whatever they're protecting us from gets in anyway?"

"Then I guess we'll find out what all those soldiers are really made of." Debbie points to my sandwich. "You should eat. You’ll need your strength if we’re invaded."

I roll my eyes and eat my sandwich as Debbie prattles on about house gossip. Most I don’t pay too much attention to until she says, “I heard Mr. Kean wants Ronan to marry.”

For a moment, I imagine me in a white dress walking down the aisle with Ronan staring at me with loving awe in his eyes.

"Did you see Mr. Kean this morning?” I blurt out. "That navy suit he was wearing–”

"Oh, girl, you've got it bad." Debbie laughs. "You should stop wasting your time. He doesn’t know any of us exist."

I know she’s right. I mean, I’ve known Ronan since I was a child and he’s barely ever noticed me.

I’ve had a crush on him forever, even though he’s older than me.

Really, it’s only five years’ difference, which was big when I was thirteen, but now that I’m twenty-three and he’s twenty-eight, it doesn’t seem like an age gap at all.

"He smiled at me yesterday when I brought fresh flowers to his office. Maybe he's finally noticing me."

"Trust me," Debbie says. "Ronan Kean doesn't date the help. Remember what happened to Sarah?"

Sarah was a gold digger who ended up fired when she snuck into Ronan’s bed.

"Maybe I'm different. He seemed genuinely interested in the gardens when I mentioned the new rose varieties I’m thinking of adding." There’s a part of me that knows she’s right. He’ll never see me as more than the help. But a girl can dream, right?

A tall stranger enters the kitchen. "Ladies, I hope I'm not interrupting."

Debbie and I both startle at the unexpected intrusion, especially from a man we’ve never seen before.

"Just doing my rounds," he says, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I'm Blaise Tine, new security detail."

“I’m Debbie. I work in the kitchen.” She’s regained her composure and is now taking a long, appreciative look at the man. I don’t blame her. He is handsome.

“Jenna Hart,” I introduce myself. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies me. His expression seems confused, as if he were expecting something else.

"Haven't seen you around before." Debbie’s gaze is still all over the man.

"Just started last week." He winks. "Thought I should get to know everyone. Especially the lovely ladies who keep this place running."

I don’t know why, but I blush. Embarrassed, I go to arrange the flowers in the crystal vase for the foyer.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" Debbie fans herself dramatically. "Most of the guards just grunt and glare at us."

He laughs, and I’m intrigued by his easy, friendly manner. Debbie isn’t wrong. Most of the men who work here are more like cavemen. They’re either ogling us disrespectfully or barking at us.

"Their loss. Besides, who wouldn't want to spend time with such beautiful company?" He’s a charmer too.

“Well, I’d love to stay and… chat.” I can tell that Debbie would like to do more than “chat” with him. “But I’ve got to inventory the pantry.” She leaves us alone in the kitchen.

I can’t explain it, but I feel a little off kilter about being alone with him. I fidget my fingers as I try to figure out my escape. It would be rude to just leave him, wouldn’t it? I wonder when Mrs. Adams will return.

"The gardens look amazing," he says, nodding to the flowers I was arranging. "You must be the one responsible for that."

"You noticed? Most people just walk past without seeing how the colors complement each other or how the heights create depth…" Oh, my God, I’m rambling. It’s not very often anyone takes a real interest in my work. "Sorry, I get carried away talking about plants."

"Don't apologize. It's refreshing to meet someone passionate about their work."

Our eyes lock, and for a moment I’m lost in him. In many ways, he’s similar to Ronan. Blond hair. Green eyes. Fancy suit. Hint of danger. But Ronan is intense, controlled. This man, Blaise, has a refined appearance, but there's something wild about him, something that makes my pulse quicken.

"I should get back to work," I murmur, but I don’t go to leave.

"Of course." He straightens up. "Maybe you could show me those roses sometime?”

My mouth goes dry. Is he…? No. Men like him don't ask out girls like me. Especially not with that heat in their eyes that makes my skin tingle. I must be misreading this.

He cocks his head, his smile widening, those green eyes flickering with interest, and I’m completely enthralled. "I'd like that."