Home at Rose Cottage by Sherryl Woods Page B

said.
    There was a little too much truth in the observation, so Mike chose to ignore it. Instead, he led the way to the rosebush Melanie had been attacking. “Watch and learn,” he said as he began gently shaping the bush, snipping carefully so it would flourish, not wither and die.
    “Why is that one bit different from what I was doing?” Melanie asked after watching him awhile. “It’s just going to take longer.”
    He rolled his eyes. “It’s one of those times when patience will be rewarded. If you chop at it the way you were doing, you’ll destroy it. See here? There’s new growth. And here.”
    He showed her the markers he was using in makingeach careful cut. When he’d trimmed one entire bush, he handed the pruning shears to her. “Your turn.”
    She accepted the shears gingerly, then frowned at the bush. She immediately reached for a branch and was about to lop it off, when he winced.
    “What?” she demanded, shooting him a look of disgust. “It’s dead.”
    “Not entirely. Look again.” He pointed to a nodule that would eventually produce new leaves. “See? If you cut above that, the new leaves will appear anyday now.”
    “This is going to take forever,” she said, but she diligently cut where he’d told her to. “What about this branch?”
    He grinned. “You tell me.”
    She bent over to study it, giving him a very nice view of her lovely derriere. He was so absorbed he almost missed the quizzical look she was giving him as she pointed out where she thought she ought to cut.
    “Looks good to me,” he said, enjoying the flash of triumph in her eyes. It was almost as bright as the sun that was finally beating down from a clear, blue sky.
    She’d made several more careful snips without any need for his interference before she finally turned and frowned at him. “You could help, you know.”
    “I am helping.”
    “How?”
    “I’m supervising. Without me watching over you, who knows how much damage you might do?”
    “Very funny. How many rosebushes do you suppose there are in the yard?” she asked plaintively, wiping the perspiration from her brow and leaving behind a streak of dirt.
    Mike had to work hard to resist the desire to brush away that streak on her forehead.
    “Enough to keep you out of trouble for a good long while,” he said cheerfully. “How about some iced tea? Now that the sun’s back out, it’s hot out here.”
    “I’m surprised you noticed, since you’re standing around in the shade doing nothing.”
    He ignored the sarcasm. “Keep at it. I’ll bring you a sandwich along with your tea.”
    “You trust me enough to leave me alone for ten whole minutes?” She feigned shock.
    “Thirty actually. I’m going to pick up lunch in town.” He gave her a stern look. “And no sitting down on the job the minute my back is turned. I expect one more bush trimmed when I get back.”
    “It’s my damned yard!” she shouted after him.
    He laughed. “I know. That’s why you’re doing the work.”
    The one good thing about keeping her good and mad at him, he decided as he headed into town to pick up lunch, was that even if he was tempted to kiss her, she’d probably slug him and pretty much destroy the impulse.
     
    “You’re mean and arrogant and controlling,” Melanie accused as she sat next to Mike in the swing in the backyard, reveling in the welcome breeze off the bay. “I think I could hate you.”
    “That’s nice,” he murmured, not sounding especially distressed by the charges. He glanced sideways at her. “The yard’s starting to look good, though, don’t you think so?”
    Melanie could barely turn around to follow the direction of his gaze. Every muscle in her body ached, including a few she hadn’t been aware of having. She tried to view it through his eyes. All she saw were a bunch ofstubby-looking rosebushes. There were at least as many that were still growing out of control.
    “Are you sure they’re going to grow back?” she asked.