Return to Rosewood. Bonnie K. WinnЧитать онлайн книгу.
her reply. From the disquieting trickle of sweat traveling down his back, he knew he didn’t dare.
Chapter Four
Bret parked in the nursery lot, immediately seeing Herb’s small truck, but not Peter’s car. Fuming under his breath, he met his brother-in-law at the front. “See what I mean about Peter?” He unlocked the door. “I have a key for you in the office. Looks like you’ll use one more than Peter does.”
Herb tried to keep his expression neutral.
“It’s okay.” Bret flipped on the lights. “You can say what you think.”
“Nope. Too soon for me to have an opinion.”
“Won’t take long,” Bret muttered.
And it didn’t take long, either, for a tour of all the nooks and crannies of the old main building.
“I’ll show you the outbuildings later.”
“Funny how you don’t notice everything when you’re just browsing.” Herb studied the rows and rows of herbs that stretched out in one screened area. “Looks like I’ve got a lot to learn.”
“After I show you the cash register, we’d better do your paperwork—W-4 and the lot the government requires.”
The bell jangled on the front door and Peter strolled inside.
Glancing at his watch, Bret noted the time. He intended to keep track of it so he didn’t have any issues about Peter’s probation and its likely outcome.
Giving Herb time to finish the forms, Bret made a pot of coffee. By the time it brewed, Peter emerged from the back.
“Peter, you’ve probably seen Herb here before.”
His assistant manager shrugged. “Lot of people come in here.”
“Herb’s starting today.”
That got Peter’s attention.
Herb extended his hand. Peter ignored him.
Bret counted silently to ten. “Herb will be working more on the inside. But he needs to learn everything.”
Sullenly, Peter stared at Herb without replying.
Pulling the spare key from his pocket, Bret handed it to Herb.
“Hey.” Peter’s face mottled into an ugly shade of red. “You didn’t give me a key until everybody else left.”
“I can trust Herb,” Bret replied briefly, not feeling any need for explanations.
“You friends?” Peter questioned.
“Not that it’s your concern, but Herb’s my brother-in-law.”
A sarcastically knowing expression flooded Peter’s harsh features. “Oh. Great. I’m on probation and all of a sudden, your brother-in-law’s working here?” He snorted. “And you making out like it was ’cause I was late yesterday when all the time you were planning on hiring him.”
“Your work record speaks for itself. And for what it’s worth, you pushed me over the edge yesterday. I was more inclined to fire you than give you a warning.”
“You taking back the probation?”
Bret frowned. “No. You either shape up or you’re out.”
“Like it’s going to be a fair test. Keep me on or your relative!” Slinking away, Peter muttered something unintelligible.
“That went well,” Herb commented. “I’d forgotten how fun orientation day is.”
“He’d have found out soon enough you’re family.”
Herb clapped one hand on Bret’s shoulder. “Well, brother, any more benefits like that and I’ll be spoiled for any other job.”
Despite himself, Bret grinned. “It’s going to be good having you around.”
“Remember that when I mix up the petunias and the pansies.”
If that was the worst he had to worry about, Bret would consider himself a lucky man.
It was late by the time Bret managed to get back to Sam’s. Herb was intelligent, filled with initiative, but still, a full day of training was tiring. Not to mention all the hostility from Peter.
So he wasn’t in a very talkative mood. “Let’s split the work. You look for the magazines with the stuff your mother likes. I’ll wreck out the old kitchen.”
“Oh, that sounds fair.” Before starting the search, Sam trailed him down the hall toward the kitchen, flinching when she looked at the scorched remains. “The counter was so beautiful.”
“Old as the house is, the limestone was probably quarried close by. And the counters might have been redone when they modernized the kitchen. Means we can try and get a close match. I can borrow a tile saw and we’ll cut off a piece for comparison.”
She blinked. “You can do that?”
“Most of us can do a lot more than we think we can.”
Her eyes, still wounded, met his. “I used to believe that.”
Wishing she didn’t have the ability to pull him in with a single look, he pushed aside old feelings. “It’s time you started believing again.”
“Easy for you to say,” Sam muttered, pivoting back toward the living room.
She’d barely started down the hall when the doorbell rang.
Bret listened. When Sam didn’t open the door, he laid down his tools and went to the entry hall.
Rachel stood on the porch, peering into the living room. “I was beginning to think Sam wasn’t home.”
“Which is impossible since she won’t leave the house,” Bret replied wryly.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’ve been trying to drag her to see the doctor and she won’t budge.”
“You have something set up?”
“Not much point until she agrees to go.”
Bret pursed his lips. “Maybe we need to do it the other way around.”
“You willing to help me on this?” Rachel asked hopefully.
He was going to find some duct tape and seal his mouth closed. “I could talk to J.C.” J. C. Mueller was Rosewood’s only neurologist and a friend of Bret’s.
Impulsively Rachel hugged him. “That would be perfect!”
Yep, just perfect.
Samantha finished brushing her hair, then looked in the mirror. She’d never put much value on looks, but it was startling to see her near-skeletal reflection. Bret had always claimed she was beautiful. Sam peered closer. If that had been true, it certainly wasn’t anymore. The unflattering clothes didn’t help. Her wardrobe these days was sweats, the only thing she could struggle into on her own.
Bret would probably be by soon. She hadn’t wanted to accept his help these last few weeks, but the truth was she couldn’t have gotten by on her own much longer. Without asking, he’d installed grab bars in the bathroom and bought a shower chair so she could bathe. Rachel had taken over, adding vanilla shampoo and green-tea-scented bath gel, along with loads of thick, soft towels. Her cousin had also taken care of the laundry.
Between goodies from Ethel Carruthers and childhood favorites Rachel brought over, Samantha had more than enough food. But she still shared breakfast from the café with Bret. He told her it was the only way he could be sure she really ate at least one meal a day. She heard him knock on the front door that she’d left unlocked for him. As had become his habit, he walked directly to the dining room table. “Change of pace today. Breakfast sandwiches.”