Love in Bloom (14 page)

“Give me that,” Tate ordered, trying not to chuckle, “and put this on.” He pitched the visor at her and started shoveling.

“Why, thank you,” she told him brightly, and when next he looked up, she was raking the compost evenly over the ground just as Kenneth directed.

When Kenneth seemed satisfied that the layer had been distributed as evenly as possible, Tate changed the disks on the tractor and got back in the driver’s seat. He went over the ground in all directions. By the time he was done, Kenneth had stakes ready to be hammered into the soil and lengths of string cut to be tied between them. While teams of four laid out planting rows, Kenneth went through and organized the seedlings that had come in from all over town. Meanwhile rolls of fine mesh-wire cloth arrived, and a group started figuring out how best to get it up inside the wrought iron in order to protect the tender seedlings from pests such as rabbits and groundhogs.

“Organized chaos,” Lily said, coming to stand next to Tate.

“That about sums it up,” he agreed with a grin and a nod.

“Just look at them, though,” Lily went on, throwing out a hand, “all working together for a common goal.”

Tate flicked a finger at the brim of her visor, teasing, “We’re going to make a Bygonian out of you yet.”

She put a hand on her hip, quipping saucily, “Is that anything like a begonia?”

He chuckled. “You tell me. I wouldn’t know a begonia from a Bygonian.”

“Well, allow me to educate you one of these days.”

Absurdly, his heartbeat sped up to triple time. Their byplay couldn’t have been more innocent, more public or more personal and significant. Somehow he was getting in deeper and deeper with her, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Worse, far worse, he didn’t want to stop it, but it couldn’t go anywhere. Even if he decided to try marriage again, it would have to be with a woman who could be content with just him and Isabella.

When Kenneth called them over to the tailgate of the old truck where he had set up his office and was organizing the activity, Tate felt both glad and resentful for the interruption. Before ambling over with Lily, he checked first to be sure that Isabella still played happily with several other children whose parents had come along to lend a hand. He found himself thinking that he wouldn’t mind having another child if it didn’t have to be like last time. Bemused by that thought, he shook his head and took a place next to Lily, standing with arms folded and his hands safely tucked against his sides, his attention focused on Kenneth.

“I’m setting up a routine weekly schedule,” Kenneth explained, “and I figured you two ought to get first dibs since you’ve been in on this thing from the get-go. So, which day and time work best for the two of you?”

The two of them? Tate looked at Lily and found her looking at him. She shrugged and said something about Sherie’s normal days off. Alarmed, Tate barely heard her. Why was Kenneth treating them like a couple? They weren’t a couple. They were… He wasn’t sure what they were. Just two people signing up to pull weeds. It wasn’t as if they were getting married, after all. He rubbed his chin, trying to think.

“Um, Isabella goes over to spend the day with her grandparents early on Fridays right now. How does that sound?”

“That’s good,” Lily said.

“Earlier the better for me,” he mumbled.

They settled on an hour that should have them there right about daybreak.

Isabella came running then. “Daddy, are you done now?”

“I think so. For today. Let’s start loading up.”

Isabella hugged Lily in farewell, saying, “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”

Lily chucked her under the chin. “Yes, sweetie. I’ll see you in church tomorrow.” Lily lifted her big blue eyes to Tate’s face then, and he saw her gulp before she asked brightly, too brightly, “What about you, Tate? Won’t you join us in church tomorrow?”

Isabella caught her breath, instantly brightening. Tate saw that the hope in his daughter’s eyes equaled that in Lily’s, and he knew that he could thrill them both by simply saying yes. He also knew that, ultimately, he must disappoint them both, however.

Oh, he could go to church. It wasn’t a big thing. Once, it had seemed so. Now, somehow, it did not, except that if he went tomorrow, it would be for Lily, and that
would
be a big thing. It was better not to build hopes that should not exist. Smoothly he said to Lily what he had so often said to others over these past years.

“I’ve claimed Sunday mornings as me time. It’s the one day of the week when I can just go back to bed and stay there. Believe me, if you were a single parent, you’d understand how important that is. Most Sundays, I don’t even shave.”

He said the last with a chuckle, ignoring the fact that Isabella rolled her eyes. She knew perfectly well that he fed the livestock on Sundays and did all the chores that had to be done on a daily basis, but then he kicked back and often just burrowed down in front of the TV to watch whatever sports might be available.

Lily visibly shrank, her disappointment palpable. Tate felt a kick in his gut, a yawning emptiness that made him want to apologize and capitulate. He forced himself to turn away, but he couldn’t help feeling like a scoundrel. He decided he’d make it up to her somehow. He’d find some less dangerous and compromising way to take that sad look off her face and put the smile back in its place, something that would not announce to the whole town, his daughter included, that Lily Farnsworth had somehow become important to him.

Chapter Nine

S
unday had lost some of its sparkle for Lily, but she tried not to let it show when she greeted Isabella the next morning, especially as others seemed particularly ebullient. Everyone buzzed about the great success of the Grand Opening on Monday and the community-wide hopes for the homestead garden. She still heard some contrary remarks. It hadn’t even been a week since the opening, some cautioned. Others pointed out that the garden was only needed because folks were having trouble keeping food on the table. Still, a mood of thanksgiving and praise permeated the service, and Lily felt her spirit lifted despite her disappointment at Tate’s refusal to attend church that morning.

Me time,
he’d said.

She’d never heard anything so patently ridiculous coming from someone as selfless as Tate Bronson. Not only was he a dedicated single father, his devotion to his parents, friends and community testified that he seldom thought of himself. Why, he put the animals in his care before himself. She didn’t believe for a minute that he stayed home from church out of some selfish desire to put himself before God and everyone else. No, he’d stayed away from church because he was angry with God for allowing his wife to die. At least that must have been the problem at first, but Tate didn’t seem angry now.

She couldn’t help feeling that Tate stayed away now because of her. Coraline had seemed to believe that Lily could get Tate back into church, but after thinking it over, Lily had come to the opposite conclusion. She had come to the conclusion that Tate’s absence had become more a matter of habit than anything else. That being the case, almost anyone could get Tate back into church now
except
her.

She knew very well that he didn’t want her to think that he might like her too well, that she might mean more to him than a friend and an asset to the town. That kiss had simply complicated things, made it less likely that he would respond as hoped to her invitation, not
more
likely as Coraline had assumed. No, she was the last person who might be able to get Tate Bronson back into church.

After the service Lily made a point of speaking to Isabella. With only a week until the girl’s eighth birthday, Lily needed a bit of guidance. She wanted to give the girl a gift but an appropriate one, most especially one that wouldn’t upset her father.

“So tell me, Isabella,” she said, catching up to the girl and her grandparents on the sidewalk in front of the church, “what are your birthday plans?”

“I’m having a tea party,” Isabella replied excitedly. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Lily sidestepped that with a smile and a show of enthusiasm. “How wonderful! What would you like for your birthday?”

“A hamster,” she exclaimed at once, lifting her shoulders. “They’re so cute and cuddly. I seen ‘em down at Fluff & Stuff. There’s one that is sooo sweet. They got their own special houses, and they live in your room. They even got clothes and toys and things. Bonnie, she pushes hers around in a buggy, like her mom pushes her baby sister.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Uh-huh. So that’s what I want, a hamster of my own. I know just the one, too.”

“Anything else?” Lily asked, thinking that Tate must be buying the hamster.

“Well…” Isabella drilled a toe against the sidewalk then blurted, “You said it yesterday. I really want Daddy to come to church on my birthday.”

Ginny and Peter Bronson traded doubtful looks. Lily felt awful. If she hadn’t brought it up, maybe Tate would have come to church on his daughter’s birthday. If only she hadn’t invited him in front of Isabella. She wished she hadn’t invited him at all.

Gulping, she steered the conversation back to gifts. “Do you like roses?”

Isabella drew in her chin, her head tilting. “I like ‘em, ‘specially pink ones. Why?”

Lily put on a secretive smile sure to pique a little girl’s interest. “Oh, no reason.”

Ginny took her granddaughter’s hand and led her away then. What Lily hadn’t said was that she would like to give Isabella a rosebush to plant. That way she would always have roses. Lily just wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate gift for an eight-year-old. Fortunately she got a chance to ask Tate when he showed up in her shop on Monday morning to hand deliver an invitation to Isabella’s tea party, along with a beverage from the Cozy Cup Cafe.

“It’s this Saturday,” he said apologetically, placing the glittery pink envelope on the counter next to a tall container of coffee, “which may be short notice, but we couldn’t make up our minds what to do this year. I mean, with so many folks struggling, it was hard to decide.”

“I understand. You don’t want anyone to feel obligated to buy a gift.”

“Exactly. On the other hand, it’s Isabella’s birthday, and her friends’ parents kept saying how much everyone was looking forward to a party.” Tate pushed back his hat. “Mom’s going to provide a dress-up box. Then the girls will have some sort of fruit tea and cakes from the Sweet Dreams Bakery, and I was told to be prepared to paint fingernails. I even heard something about fingernail jewelry.”

Laughing, Lily opened the envelope and read the invitation. “I’ll be there to help out any way I can.”

Tate clapped a hand to his chest. “Thank you.”

Still grinning, Lily peeked beneath the slanted cap of the coffee cup and caught her breath. “Caramel macchiato! It is, isn’t it?”

Looking up, Tate gave her a crooked smile. “I thought a city girl from Boston might appreciate something fancy. Josh called it a a caramel cold brew, I think.”

Lily took a long drink of the sweet, cold, flavored coffee, sighing with pleasure. “Bygones doesn’t know how blessed it is.”

Tate chuckled. “Am I forgiven for roping you into helping give an eight-year-old a birthday tea party then?”

Lily pretended to consider then nodded. “Totally.”

“Whew!” He wiped imaginary perspiration from his brow. “Does that mean you’ll also clue me in on this hamster stuff?”

Lily shrugged. “All I know is what your mom must have heard.”

“Mom thought it sounded like Isabella wants a
certain
hamster.”

“Yes, that’s what it sounded like to me, too.”

Tate spread his hands. “Well, how am I supposed to know which hamster?”

Lily couldn’t answer that. “Maybe the best thing to do is to take her hamster shopping. Let her pick out her own hamster.”

“Now, that’s an idea,” Tate said. “You know, when we were down at the pet store before, I noticed that some of the hamster paraphernalia, the toys and things, were pretty cheap, and if Isabella already had a hamster, I could tell her friends’ moms to pick up that stuff as gifts.”

“You could,” Lily agreed.

“Okay, then,” Tate decided, nodding, “we’ll go hamster shopping.”

“That’s great,” Lily said. “I’ll buy her something
hamsterish,
too, then.”

“Oh, no,” he objected at once. “She’s expecting roses from you.”

“I—I had thought about giving her a rosebush to plant, but…”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Tate said. “Really. She’d like that. She has a thing about butterflies, you know, and roses draw butterflies, don’t they?”

“Well, most flowers do, I guess. I thought I’d have Kenneth advise me and then Isabella could pick a spot to plant her bush.”

“That’s cool. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

Lily smiled into her iced coffee. “It’s settled then.”

Tate sighed contentedly and resettled his hat on his head before taking his leave. So far, Lily thought, things were going just fine in Bygones, better than she’d thought they might at first.

* * *

Isabella tilted her head to view the writing stenciled on the wide gold ribbons spread atop the stainless steel table in Lily’s workroom.

“Gone to Glory. What’s that mean?”

“Heaven,” Tate said with an indulgent smile. “It means, gone to Heaven.”

“So somebody died?” Isabella asked tentatively.

“She was an elderly Christian lady,” Lily explained gently. “Her son is your grandpa’s age, and he said she was happy that her time finally came to go to Heaven.”

Isabella looked at Tate and said, “Mama must like it in Heaven a whole lot.”

He felt broadsided, never having considered that before. He’d thought only of what Eve had missed, not getting to see their daughter grow and learn, not having the chance to learn from her. And to think he’d tried to keep Isabella out of here this morning. She’d been agitating for Lily to join them on their hamster-shopping adventure since he’d first mentioned it, and he’d been subtly trying to dissuade her ever since.

He was suddenly glad that he hadn’t managed to do so. He’d have missed this particular lesson. Feeling rather humbled, he waved a hand at the flower arrangement blanketing the worktable.