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For the Love of Roses (Great Lakes Romances) (Volume 18)

By Donna Winters

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Chapter One

Western New York State, 1984
“Gavin Jack, Jack Brothers Roses.” The gruff-looking, thirty-something fellow said by way of introduction.
Carey McIlwain gazed into the steel-blue, deep-set eyes of the supplier for her florist business and extended her hand.
Ignoring it, he continued. “I’ve just delivered the last of your rose orders. Unless I see some cash, your account is suspended. Company policy.”
Her pulse quickened. “I had no idea our account was in arrears. I’ll do what I can to bring it up to date. I have to have delivery next week, though.” She’d need the roses for the banquet at the college. They’d placed their order long ago for an event with a rose theme. Substitutions were not an option. She couldn’t let them down. Her business needed the income more than she’d imagined.
“Like I said. No cash, no roses.” His chiseled features remained unsympathetic. “Where’s Pat?”
His inquiry after her recently deceased father sliced her to the core with sadness beyond grief. She stiffened, determined not to turn watery-eyed and sentimental beneath the scrutiny of his intimidating countenance. “My parents no longer run this operation. I do.”
He lifted his black leather knickerbocker cap, ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, then settled the cap in place with a sigh. “I’ll stop by on my way through next week, but if you don’t have the payment, you don’t get the roses.” Turning on his heel, he strode out the side door.
Carey watched as he backed out of the driveway in a brand-new white delivery van with “Jack Brothers Roses” emblazoned in red on the side. Jack Brothers looked like a prosperous operation.
Maggie, Carey’s fiftyish assistant, put an arm around her shoulders like a comforting mother. “Why didn’t you tell him about your parents?”
Carey brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away tears brought by the memory of the tragic car accident that had ended their lives. “I just couldn’t. I’ve got to take responsibility for what happens from now on. I can’t play on the sympathy of others to succeed.”
“But surely under the circumstances...”
Carey hugged Maggie. “Under the circumstances, I think you’d better show me the books so I’ll know just what I’m up against.”
She pulled a stool up to Maggie’s cluttered desk and together they studied the accounts item by item. When they were done, Carey decided not to draw a salary for herself beyond what was necessary to meet her living expenses. The extra revenue would pay off overdue accounts, starting with Jack Brothers.
“You still haven’t figured out how to pay for the funeral,” Maggie mentioned, shoving aside the bulky ledger.
Carey sighed. “I know. Dad wanted those expenses paid as soon as possible, too. He even mentioned it in his will. I’d better have a talk with Mr. Flemming at the bank.”
“Charlie Flemming is a very understanding man. You’ll work it out.” Maggie patted her hand.
Carey sat down with the portly Mr. Flemming an hour later, and together they were able to work out a payment plan she would be able to meet.
Following lunch, she returned to the shop, surprised to see a couple dozen people, mostly college age, milling around inside. A fellow in his mid-thirties holding a full-bent pipe made his way toward her. Carey tried to recall where she had seen the face. His collar-length brown hair, which partially covered his ears, and the closely trimmed mustache and beard definitely looked familiar.
“Ms. McIlwain, I’m Alex Hensley. We met the other day.” He dropped his pipe into the sagging patch pocket of his tweed jacket. Clear hazel eyes swept over her form as she tried to place the kind smile, which cracked tiny lines in his ruddy complexion.
Suddenly she remembered. Dr. Hensley taught at the local state university and had introduced himself to her at the funeral home. Maggie had mentioned earlier this morning that he would be bringing his botany class by for a tour of the greenhouses.
“Of course, Dr. Hensley.”
“Alex. Please.”
“Then you must call me Carey. Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. Right this way.” Carey headed into the first greenhouse followed closely by the students and Alex. “The first bench holds cyclamen and the others, poinsettias. We take cuttings in the summer months from stock plants. Most of the poinsettias will be sold wholesale. We’ll keep just enough to retail ourselves.” Carey noticed Alex standing at the back of the group, his gaze rarely leaving her.
She led the class through to the cold house where the azaleas were stored, into the large greenhouse behind, and then to the bubble where more poinsettias were growing. Alex pointed out plant varieties of particular interest to his class, such as the various green plants grown for hanging baskets. Carey was thankful for any additions to her explanations. Even though she’d worked during holidays for her father while she attended high school and college, she’d barely reacquainted herself with the greenhouses since her parents’ funeral.
“Join me for coffee, Carey?” Alex asked after seeing the last of his students out the front door of the shop.
“Thank you, but,” Carey hesitated as she looked up into his kind eyes. “I’d better get back to work.”
Maggie watered display plants nearby. Without really looking at her, Carey caught her frown and the slight movement of her head from side to side.
“You mean you’re going to break with tradition?” Alex grinned, one bushy eyebrow slightly higher than the other.
“What tradition is that, Dr. Hensley?” Carey couldn’t help smiling at his persuasive appeal.
“Not Dr. Hensley, Alex. Remember? Your parents always joined me for coffee after a tour.”
A mild aching pulsed through her, and Carey wondered if she’d ever get over those painful responses at the mere mention of her parents. Her thoughts must have registered on her face because Alex’s eyes immediately clouded with concern.
“In that case,” Carey forced brightness into her voice, “I can’t refuse.”
She pulled the collar of her violet-trimmed, gray ski parka tightly around her neck as they walked toward the Village Kitchen, less than a block away. Alex offered his arm as he escorted her through the bitter November breeze. She realized that several months had passed since a gentleman had walked between her and the road. Her position as a music teacher in a town four hours away had led to few dates and no serious romantic encounters.
They settled into a corner booth in the small, nearly deserted restaurant. Red and white gingham cloths covered the tables. Ruffled curtains of the same fabric decorated each window. The homey atmosphere, however, did little to soothe the pain of loss Carey had suffered since the accident.
“You’re living in your parents’ home, I assume?”
Carey nodded. “For now, anyway. It’s convenient, only two houses from the shop.” A new worry struck her. The house was paid for, but would she have to sell it to keep the business operating, and her younger brother, Todd, in graduate school at Cornell until he finished his degree and came home to take over the business?
Alex interrupted her pondering. “Perhaps you’d like to tour the college greenhouse sometime. I’m experimenting with Heliconias, and you might enjoy some of the other tropical plants the students have been nurturing. I don’t teach Monday mornings. Wouldn’t business be slow enough so you could get away for a couple of hours? I could pick you up at ten.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can meet you there.” Carey sipped her coffee and pondered her lack of botanical knowledge. “You’ll have to forgive my ignorance. In all honesty, I wouldn’t know a Heliconia if I saw one. I really don’t know very much about plants. I never thought I’d...” End up in the florist business went unspoken.
Carey lowered her gaze, took a deep breath, and began again. “You could probably teach me a lot. I’m determined to learn this business as quickly as possible. Just recognizing some of the less common plants, like those in your greenhouse at the college, would be a good start.”
“I’m looking forward to Monday already,” Alex said, his face lighting with a smile. The laugh lines at the corners of his mouth deepened, adding character to his features.
As he walked her back to the florist shop, Alex placed his hand over Carey’s, which rested in the crook of his arm. She recalled the few occasions when her father had done the very same, and pushed the painful memory from mind.
When they stood in front of the door, Alex squeezed her hand and looked deep into her eyes. “You’ll be in my prayers, Carey,” he murmured, then he held the door for her. She stepped inside and watched him walk toward his car, trying to make sense of the bittersweet moments they’d shared.

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