A White Rose Page 3

  Later, when the remaining baked goods had been put away, the two women made their way outside into the backyard. A brave sun had broken a substantial hole through the clouds and gray shadows were slinking away.

  “The grandkids were here on Saturday,” Clarice was saying, placing her cane in front of her with each step. A flat, step-stone pathway through the grass led to a sitting area facing a man-made pond. “The boys were wrestling and managed to topple into the flowers just as I was stepping outside. I was too late to stop 'em.” She frowned and pointed toward the flower garden Dakota had designed and planted as a backdrop to the koi pond. Dakota followed her gaze and spotted the damage. Clarice shook her head regretfully. “The hyacinths,” she said. “I don't know if they're going to make it.”

  “Well, hang on while I go get my tools. They don't look too bad.” Hurrying around the house to the front driveway, she pulled her keys from her pocket and opened the trunk of her vehicle. She grabbed a pair of gloves and a couple of gardening tools, and returned to the backyard.

  Clarice had settled comfortably onto one of two benches, their iron frames anchored with curlicues and spirals. Her cane was propped up against the empty space beside her. Dakota placed a garden mat on the grass and knelt in front of the trampled plants. The front area of a patch of hyacinth leaves had been somewhat smushed. Fortunately, it didn't take long to rescue the plants and tidy the area. Most of the trampled stalks had not broken and would likely survive.

  Over the next half hour, Dakota did maintenance on the entire garden and when she was satisfied with her work, she pulled off her gloves and gathered up her tools. After returning her things to the SUV, she went inside, washed up, and joined Clarice in the backyard with two dripping glasses of fruit juice. She took a seat on the second bench and the two women sat silently as they sipped their drinks and gazed at the colorful garden. A beam of sunlight illuminated the slabs of rock, ivy and sedge rimming the tranquil pond.

  In the shady areas backdropping the pond, ferns splayed out evenly between yellow iris which looked like flying birds; drooping blue bellflowers; and clusters of grape hyacinth. In the sunny areas of the yard were emerald-green rose buses full of pinkish-white blooms, and the stone walkway led between the two benches; ending at the pond. Dakota had both designed and planted the entire garden, save for the koi pond.

  It was the very garden she was having Jason Sinclair paint on her living room wall.

  “How are you doing for groceries?” she asked eventually, shifting in her seat so she was facing the elderly woman. “I'd be happy to take you to the store this week.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She met Dakota's gaze with a closed-lip smile. “But Jonathan Gibson took me shopping on Friday and I'm all set for now. Have I mentioned him to you before? He's the assistant pastor at my church—about your age, too.” Her eyes lit with sudden excitement as though she'd just had a brilliant idea. “He's a bachelor. Oh, I'll have to introduce you—!”

  Dakota grimaced and raised a hand of warning. “Thanks for thinking of me, but… I don't date Christian men.” She blinked away the appalling suggestion and let out a half-disgusted laugh, but the guffaw died on her tongue when the light faded in the old woman's eyes.

  Clarice looked away, lowering her delicate chin. “Oh, Rose… ”

  Chapter 5

  Jason Sinclair rang the front doorbell of Dakota Reilly's home and waited for her to answer. It was Saturday morning. He wore his standard paint clothes and carried a heavy tote bag full of supplies in his hand. Today he'd tied a red bandanna around his head.

  Letting out a sigh, he glanced about him at the black urns of flowers that graced her front entranceway. The plants were well-cultivated and neatly cared for. Vibrant pompons of yellow, orange and red chrysanthemums.

  He reflected that ten years ago, he wouldn't have known a daisy from a dandelion, but with realism painting came much study and a resulting plethora of knowledge. He took the time to research everything he painted—landscapes and trees, lakes and rivers, plants, flowers, animals, birds. His favorite subjects were wild animals and backwood utopias—any setting unblemished by man. He often went on hikes or canoe trips with his camera, snapping endless photos—and as a result, many of the scenes he'd painted over the years had been authentic.

  Though he loved painting murals, this particular project made him uncomfortable and he was eager to finish it. It wasn't the painting itself that made him uneasy, but the client. Oh, she was a nice woman—definitely friendly and pleasing to look at—but her constant flirting was getting on his nerves. Last week, she'd asked him about “going for coffee downtown” and he'd felt bad to turn her down without a solid reason. It wasn't his nature to be rude or condescending. Nevertheless, he might have to be if she backed him into a corner again.

  The door opened then and Dakota greeted him with a sunny smile. Just like the previous weekend, she was wearing skimpy shorts and some kind of excuse for a shirt.

  “Hello, Jason.” She beamed. “Come on in.”

  He followed her inside and accepted her offer of coffee. When she went away to pour it, he set out his paints and brushes and surveyed his work, calculating what he needed to accomplish within the next four hours.

  Dakota returned with two cobalt-blue mugs of coffee, handed him one and began sipping from the other, gripping it with both hands. He noticed that her nails weren't manicured, though they were trimmed neatly. He'd expected a woman like her to have long French nails. Catching himself, he jerked his gaze away and focused on the mural in front of him, taking a drink from his coffee thoughtfully. Dakota stood next to him and gushed about the painting. She asked him how his week had went. He answered her questions politely.

  “I noticed on your website that you also do framed landscapes and nature scenes—animals,” she mentioned. “Do any of the local stores carry your work?”

  He nodded. “Yes, nearby towns as well—mostly art gallery-slash-gift shop-type stores.” He gave her a quick, dismissive smile and put down his mug. He mixed some paint colors on his palate.

  In his peripheral vision, she took another sip from her mug, still holding it with both hands. She looked so innocent when she did that.

  If she didn't dress so provocatively and flirt so shamelessly, he might actually be interested.

  He wondered then where she worked during the week and tried to imagine what type of job or career fit her persona. “How was your week?” he asked finally, feeling obligated to make conversation as long as she was going to stand there and watch him paint.

  “It was nice,” she said. “Lots of sun. I always love that. But rain is good, too—it's been a couple of weeks without it now. We need it! Balance, you know. The yin and the yang.”

  A slight nod. “Where… was it… that you work?” he asked; as though he had simply forgotten.

  She seemed to hesitate, her lips parting as he glanced at her. She blinked her clear green eyes, looking thoughtful. “Reilly's Flowers… ” she said slowly. “Just outside of Barrie. It's on your way to Shanty Bay.”

  He met her pretty gaze again, surprised, and smiled. “I know the place! Drive by it nearly every day… Is it a family business?” There was a twinge of interest now.

  She took another sip of coffee and he noticed the round black-onyx amulet she wore about her neck. It hung from a silver chain, six colored stones encircling the onyx. A moonstone glinted in its center. He'd seen the symbol before; something to do with New Age energy centers.

  “I own it,” she said, shrugging a bare shoulder. “During the winter, I spend most of my time running the flower shop. But spring and summer are my busiest times of the year—The greenhouses… ”

  Somewhere along the way, he had ceased painting. He set down his brush and lifted his mug. “I'm impressed,” he said, taking a sip. “So, are you trained in horticulture?”

  No wonder she kept her nails short. Made sense.

  She pivoted her weight to one foot, jutting her hip outward. The movement drew h
is eye downward but he was quick to abate it. He took another gulp of coffee to distract himself.

  “Yes… ”—she smiled brightly—“I apprenticed at the greenhouses for three summers while studying horticulture during the school year, and then after graduating, they hired me on full-time.” She shrugged as though it was no big deal. “Two years ago, the owners decided to retire and I was able to buy the place from them and take over the business.” She winked. “Luck of the draw, I guess. They didn't have the flower shop back then—just the two greenhouses—so I converted the main floor of the farmhouse into a shop and lived upstairs.”

  “You don't waste any time, I'll say that.” He drank some more coffee. “An entrepreneur! Must keep you busy.” His initial impression of a blond bimbo was fading fast.

  “I love it,” she said, shrugging her smooth, soft-looking shoulder again. She'd been working a tan over the past few weeks and he couldn't help noticing the creamy-brown tone her skin was taking . . .

  I have made a covenant with mine eyes—

  He met her gaze, smiled.

  “It's my passion,” she said in an undertone, peering intimately into his eyes before he could look away.

  “It's too bad the farmhouse wasn't bigger though,” she said breezily, twirling a tendril of hair around her finger. “I would've stayed there. This house is great—don't get me wrong—but the backyard is small and there's only a couple trees around. I thought this mural might help me forget I'm living in a city subdivision.” She let out a musical laugh, followed by a sigh. “I don't know what I was thinking moving here. I really should've bought a country home.”

  Jason lived out of town in a two-story, pioneer log house surrounded by forest. It was an authentic hand-hewn cabin which had been built in the 1860's, later restored in the 1890's, and again in the 1950's. The house first belonged to his great-grandparents, then his granddad, his father, and finally, himself. He'd never lived anywhere else and he wouldn't trade it for the world.

  “I know the feeling,” he said, deciding not to mention where he lived. It was time to get back to work. Getting chummy with this woman could be dangerous. He set down his empty mug and turned away from her, picking up his brush. After dabbing it in a patch of green paint on his palate, he hoped she would take the hint.

  “I'm going to sort the mail and read the paper,” she said, voice light and airy, eyes twinkling. “I'll just be out back, if you need anything. And feel free to join me for a bit if you need a break! I've got plenty of cold drinks.”

  He met her eyes and she gave a little wave and a smile as she left the room. He caught himself gazing after her as she walked away—her toned thighs drawing his eye.

  Forcing himself to look away, he pursed his lips and swallowed.

  After letting out a slow exhale, he inwardly quoted the words of Job he had memorized from the Old Testament. “I have made a covenant with mine eyes not to lust after a woman.”

  Dakota Reilly was gorgeous and charming. But she was a user—he had no doubt about that. She would chew him up and spit him out. All that glitters is not gold.

  She was out there somewhere—his soulmate—and he would find her in God's timing. In the meantime, he was committed to keeping himself pure. He did not know the woman he would one day marry, but he was already faithful. It would be his gift to her. He was twenty-nine and still a virgin.

  When he was sixteen, he'd made a vow to God to stay chaste until marriage, and even despite a broken engagement two years prior, he'd stayed true to his promise.

  Chapter 6

  Before heading outside to read the Toronto Star newspaper, Dakota ducked into the hallway bathroom to check her reflection. This was the first time Jason had engaged her in conversation and she was pleased to think it was a sign of interest. Maybe this wasn't going to be so difficult after all. Normally, she wouldn't divulge so much personal information about herself, especially not about her career, but if this was the way to gain Jason's attention, it might just be worth her while.

  The thought of being with him excited her and she grinned at her reflection.

  The pockets of her jean shorts protruded beyond the frayed cut-offs, the tight material hugging her behind. She was wearing an orange tube-top she'd snitched from her mother twelve years prior that exposed her midriff and belly-button ring. Wavy tendrils of hair slipped from a braid at the nape of her neck, just the way she liked it. Retrieving a pouch of makeup from a drawer, she took the time to touch up her eye shadow and lipstick. Satisfied, as usual, she opened the bathroom door and switched off the light behind her—but when she stepped out into the hallway, Jason didn't glance her way as she'd hoped. Her spirits dampened, but she chose to remain optimistic. The morning wasn't over yet.

  It was hot outside and after only a half hour of sunbathing on a wooden chaise lounge, she began to feel a touch of sunstroke. She went inside and grabbed a straw hat and a bottle of Perrier water. Outdoors again, she sat at the patio table and filed her fingernails, swinging her foot. Her sandal slipped forward and dangled from her toes, making her feel sexy.

  Another boring half hour passed. Restless now, she went inside and entered a walk-in pantry off the kitchen where the lowest shelf was stocked with gardening supplies. She might as well do some pruning in the backyard. It needed to be done.

  Two hours later, she washed up and prepared lunch, setting out shaved turkey. She sliced a tomato and washed up some lettuce. After mixing up a pitcher of lime juice, she pulled plates and cups from the dishwasher and set them on the counter with the rest of the sandwich fixings.

  When she made her way to the living room a few minutes later, she was pleased to find Jason packing up his supplies. “Hey,” she said, giving him one of her breeziest smiles.

  He cast her a glance. “Hey—just finishing up for the day.”

  “It looks fabulous,” she said, motioning toward the mural as she sidled up next to him. “Any idea how many more weeks it will take?”

  He knit his brow and surveyed the walls. “Another three or four should do it.”

  So… not much time left. She had to work fast. “Well, hey—” she said, “I was just getting lunch ready for myself and noticed you packing up. Would you like to join me? I've got more than enough for two.”

  Jason glanced down the hallway toward the bright kitchen and his expression seemed wary. Sunlight streaming through the living room window highlighted the golden hairs on his arms and she imagined how it would feel like to have those strong arms wrapped around her or to slide her fingers up and down his tanned forearms. Her belly tingled at the thought and she wondered if he spent a lot of time outdoors. She couldn't see him as the sort to use a tanning salon yet he looked like a stereotypical surfer dude. All that was missing was the wetsuit.

  He pulled off his bandanna and ran both hands through his flattened hair; loosening it up. He grabbed his watch from the step-ladder and clipped it on, checking the time. “I guess I could stay for a sandwich,” he said with a shrug and a half smile. “Thank you.”

  She'd been bracing herself for a disappointing answer. He was actually going to stay? She willed herself to look neutral but her pulse jerked up a notch. “Wonderful! We'll sit outside?”

  “Sure. Mind if I wash up first?”

  “Not at all.” She led him to the hallway washroom. “Don't worry about your shoes. I'll be in the kitchen.”

  He joined her a minute later as she was pouring two tall glasses of lime juice. “Help yourself,” she said, smiling with grace. She'd learned years ago to charm with a smile and men tended to swarm her vivacity like moths to a flame.

  They made their sandwiches, Dakota being sure to brush up against his arm at least once. The split second of warm, skin-to-skin contact sent her heart thumping. Jason Sinclair was growing more and more desirable every week that passed.

  Definitely an intriguing conquest.

  He followed her outdoors and they sat down across from one another at the glass patio table, his back to the house.
In the hopes that he would stay for lunch, she had previously removed her sun hat and opened up a peach-colored parasol above the table to shade them from the blaring sun.

  He glanced about the fenced-in yard. “Beautiful flowers,” he said, leaning back and taking a sip of juice. “Marigold and clematis?”

  She bobbed her head, surprised and pleased that he knew what they were.

  “Did you plant them?” he asked. “Dumb question, I'm sure.” A wry look.

  She grinned, lifting her sandwich. “Yes, I planted them.”

  “ 'Scuse me a sec,” he said, closing his eyes and bowing his head momentarily. He opened his eyes again and picked up the sandwich.

  For a handful of seconds she was confused, but then it hit her like a bucket of cold water over the head. Oh, no—no, no!

  “Are you a Christian?” she asked, groaning inwardly.

  He knit his brow but nodded. “Ye—es. Does that bother you?” A half smile.

  She plunked down her sandwich in exasperation, stifling a guffaw as she looked away. Acute disappointment washed over her; heart sinking. Of course there was always the chance his religion wouldn't stand in the way, but there was a very specific reason why she avoided Christian men: All those morals were like a ten-foot pole.

  She let out an audible sigh. Something about this newfound knowledge evoked a sense of boldness, and when she spoke, a harsh edge had tightened her tone. “Is that why you won't go out for coffee with me?”

  He looked up, surprise in his eyes. “I wouldn't exactly put it that way.”

  “What way would you put it.” She crossed her arms.

  He sighed and set down his sandwich, clearly sensing her hostility. His hazel eyes remained gentle but she resented it greatly when he looked at her with what she suspected to be pity. She was beautiful, bright and successful. Her life was good, she was healthy and she had lots of friends. How dare he pity her.

  Of all the smug, self-righteous—