A Forever Home Read online

  Wait a minute! Why was anyone other than her team doing anything with the lawn? Mr. Phillips had told her to set the boundaries for EPI, so any groundskeeper should have checked with her first.

  Glancing back, Heather noted a giant lawnmower was eating up the south lawn at an amazing speed. The man riding the machine was pretty amazing, too. From the length of his leg, she’d guess he must be at least six feet tall. He had a sculpted body—she could appreciate the muscles all too obvious beneath the thin, white T-shirt—and undoubtedly sculpted features beneath a shock of dark-brown hair streaked with gray. Or so she assumed from his jawline. The rest of his face was pretty well-hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

  She’d never seen him before...but then she hadn’t been introduced to anyone who worked on the estate other than Cora, the housekeeper, who was in charge of the mansion.

  Though she thought about approaching him to find out exactly who he was, Heather decided that could wait. She felt less in charge wearing an old cap to protect her face from the sun, a practical gray sweatshirt and a pair of jeans loose enough to work in. Not that Mr. Sunglasses intimidated her or anything.

  Her pulse threading a little unevenly, she moved away from man and machine and headed for her team. Tyrone Smith and Amber Miller had both been working for EPI for more than a year, but because neither had gotten any kind of formal education, they did the hard labor, not the design or planning. That was up to her. So, the week before, after she’d met them, they’d all made a trip out to the estate—Tyrone and Amber to deliver the heavy equipment they would need and Heather to go over the plans for the site. She’d made further changes in her designs since and figured she would be refining until the job was complete.

  As Heather approached Tyrone, he looked up. Tall and skinny, he wore his hair in cornrows, and the ends of the braids brushed a too-big T-shirt honoring a dead musician.

  “Hey, Amber, the boss is here!” he yelled. “Better turn down that music!”

  Her light blond hair pulled up into a ponytail, her eyes a soft gray, Amber was probably only eighteen or nineteen, a couple of years younger than Tyrone. Dressed in a T-shirt and shorts and her feet encased in work boots a lot safer than her partner’s tennis shoes, she bent over to shut off the boom box. As the music stopped, the young woman who looked too small to be so strong stopped, too, her hands on her hips like she was waiting for orders.

  Heather might be used to giving orders at the store, but this was different. She had no history here. No real experience. Behind her, the mower noise grew louder, and she glanced back to see Mr. Sunglasses riding over grass he’d already cut. That wasn’t good. And how low had he set that mower? Grass should be cut no shorter than two inches. At least not if you wanted it to live.

  Was this something else she needed to take care of?

  Okay, she had to admit it. The thought of giving him orders intimidated her just a little. Okay, maybe a lot.

  Forcing a smile, she turned back to her workers. “Looks like you got a lot done.”

  “Well, we’ve been working since eight,” Amber said.

  Heather’s face grew warm, but she chose not to make excuses. “When you’ve finished with the beach area, we should start removing sod for the rain gardens.”

  She’d planned on two freeform rain gardens on the mansion’s lake-facing side, leaving room for a wide, stone pathway down to the beach between them.

  “Retaining wall or no?” Tyrone asked.

  Something she’d been undecided on the week before.

  Heather nodded. “The slope is gentle enough, so we can install twelve or fifteen inches.” If the slope were steeper, a big storm could wash away a taller retaining wall, but a small one should do well. “That way, we can create flat areas with a shallow bowl for the new plantings.”

  “How much of the lawn are we going to remove?” Amber asked.

  Considering the estate grounds were nearly an acre, equivalent to the size of a football field, and knowing her budget, Heather said, “Not as much as I would like, but it’ll be a great start. We have four areas of concentration. In addition to this beach area and the rain gardens, we’ll plant a prairie with native grasses mixed with flowering plants as a backdrop over there.” She indicated the south end of the grounds. “And then an expanded garden starting from the terrace, with another seating area at the other end, then here, around the buildings. All that will require more lawn removal. The rest of the lawn will remain, at least for this year.”

  “There’s not going to be much left if The Terminator keeps going,” Amber said, looking beyond her.

  “The Terminator?” Heather turned to see the man mowing the same section for a third time.

  “He’s killing that grass,” Tyrone said. “Are you sure the owners want any left?”

  Heather sighed. “I’m sure.” She’d actually had to scale back her plan a bit due to their budget. New plantings weren’t inexpensive, especially for an estate of this size, so she better save that grass.

  “I saw him roll right over some bushes, too,” Amber said. “He just hot dogs that thing around like he’s driving a sports car.”

  Heather sighed. “Okay. I guess I have to go talk to the guy. He doesn’t work for EPI, right?”

  Tyrone shook his head. “Nope.”

  Great. “Go on back to work while I take care of this.”

  The Terminator. He did kind of look like the movie character, wearing those mirrored sunglasses.

  Not wanting to confront a stranger her first hour on the job, Heather nevertheless trekked back up the incline. The landscape was now her responsibility, and she couldn’t sit by and see the lawn destroyed, not when there would be so much of it left when they were done planting.

  Moving in behind him, she cleared her throat, then called, “Excuse me!”

  The Terminator kept going—apparently he hadn’t heard her—and he was moving so fast, she nearly had to run to keep up with the riding mower.

  She raised her voice. “Excuse me! Sir!” When he didn’t answer, she jogged faster and grabbed his arm. “Hey!”

  He suddenly stopped and she ended up just about running smack into him. Stopping the machine instantly, he jumped off. The next thing Heather knew, she was on the ground, his hand on her throat, pinning her in place and knocking off her cap. It all happened so quickly, she had no way to defend herself. Frightened and angry, she lay beneath him, shaking inside, staring wide-eyed into his half-hidden face.

  “What are you doing?” she croaked. Her heart was thumping double time. “Let go! Please! I wasn’t attacking you, okay?”

  As if suddenly realizing he’d overreacted, he shook himself, stood and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” He held out a hand to her. “You just startled me.”

  Reluctantly, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. The breath seemed to whoosh out of her, and she could feel her pulse where his fingers wrapped around hers. “Sorry,” he said again. “Really.”

  As if burned, she pulled her hand free. “I—I, uh, just wanted to talk to you.”

  He reached over to shut off the lawnmower. “About?”

  “Well, that.” Her heartbeat steadying, she nodded at the fancy mower.

  “You want to do the mowing?”

  His lips curved slightly. Was that a smile? Hard to tell in a face that seemed to be made of granite. And one that was mostly hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. She wondered if he wore them for effect—if he wanted to seem mysterious or dangerous for some reason.

  Not caring to make matters worse, she said, “Uh, no, I don’t want to do the mowing. I just want to know why you’re doing it.”

  “I’m the handyman. Rick Slater. Mr. Phillips just hired me a few days ago.”

  He didn’t look like a handyman. Heather frowned at him. “And he told you to mow the l
awn?”

  “Phillips didn’t give me orders to do anything specific. He just expects me to take care of the place in general. You have something against me cutting the grass?”

  Did she? Heather wondered. This wasn’t something she’d talked about with Mr. Phillips or EPI, so she merely said, “I’m in charge of renovating the landscaping. Heather Clarke.”

  His lips curved again. “You’re in charge? Then you must be that community college girl who’s doing an internship here.”

  He seemed amused by the idea of her being in charge of anything. How young did he think she was, anyway? She was a very mature twenty-four. Not that she felt inclined to tell him so.

  “I’m the woman who is doing the internship, yes.” Trying not to be irritated with him—she was fighting a losing battle—Heather said, “Mr. Phillips told me I could decide what we’re doing with all the plants and the lawn. Do you have experience with landscaping?”

  “What kind of experience is necessary to ride a lawnmower around? Feel free to give me advice. I’m new at this.”

  Then why had he been hired?

  “First, you need to adjust the lawnmower so it doesn’t cut lower than two inches, or you’ll destroy the grass,” Heather told him. “Then only go over it once. And if you’re just riding from one place to another, raise the blades entirely.” She flicked her gaze around the area until she saw the bush Amber had told her about. “Apparently you’ve also sent a few shrubs to the big garden in the sky...so don’t mow the bushes, okay?”

  He held up his hands, palms out. “Okay. You’re the boss. Your company does want the lawn mowed, right?”

  From his expression, she was certain he was silently amused at her expense.

  “Sure, mow any of the lawn that’s open—once.” Heat sizzled up her neck and her spine went stiff. “I need to get back to my team. We have a lot of work to get done today.”

  With that, she whipped around, leaning over to pick up her fallen cap. She placed it firmly back on her head, tucking stray strands around the edge. All the while, she felt his gaze bore into her as she walked away. It took willpower not to glance back and look at him one last time. Tension coiled in her until the lawnmower started up again. She relaxed a bit, then realized her team had stopped work to watch the encounter. They were both grinning. Well, great. No respect from The Terminator...she could take that. But the people she would count on to follow her directions were another matter. If she didn’t have their respect, it was going to be a long summer.

  She tried to play it cool as she joined them. Hoping they couldn’t sense her pulse racing or her stomach churning, she shrugged nonchalantly. “He’s the new handyman, but it seems he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “He looks pretty competent to me,” Tyrone said. “Like he’s been in the military. Or maybe he’s a spy. The way he flattened you on that ground in two seconds was amazing. Whoo-hoo!”

  “Well, she did ambush him,” said Amber, grinning. “He didn’t even see her coming.”

  Both Amber and Tyrone laughed as Heather clenched her jaw. “I was only trying to catch up with him.”

  “Well, you caught him all right.” Noting his boss’s somber expression, Tyrone raised his brows at his coworker.

  But Amber wasn’t paying attention. “A spy, hmm? Yeah, I dig that. A real hot one.”

  Rick Slater might be hot, but Heather didn’t feel in the least like smiling. “A spy for what?” She couldn’t help but be sarcastic. “Protecting the country from invasive plants?”

  Although spy was going a little too far, Heather could believe Rick had been military at some time. Probably an officer. He held himself with an authority that had bothered her. Considering her husband, Scott, had been killed in Iraq, she had no desire to get to know any man who was former, current or future military.

  She only hoped the little show The Terminator had given Tyrone and Amber by making her look silly hadn’t damaged her relationship with her team.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RICK KEPT GLANCING over to see what Heather Clarke and her team were doing as he finished mowing the lawn area around the mansion. He’d enjoyed annoying her just a little. She was plenty bossy for someone so young. Young. Yeah, she was, no matter the tempting curves she’d hidden under that baggy sweatshirt, curves he’d felt beneath him when he’d had her on the ground. No sense in thinking about that or about her at all.

  No sense in thinking about anyone, not when he was here to do a job.

  He had to redirect his mind back to his mission.

  Mowing the lawn was simply part of his cover, though he had carefully adjusted the mower higher as Heather had suggested. He didn’t want to be a grass destroyer. He snorted at the idea and remembered how Heather had glared at him when she’d made the accusation. Hmm, her narrow, makeup-free face had pulled into the cutest expression, and her blue eyes had gone all steely, when she’d been irritated with him...

  There his mind went again, off in the wrong direction.

  Raising the blades, he rode the lawnmower to the far side of the mansion, stopped and turned it off. Then he dismounted and walked along the flower garden that bordered the building. The task gave him the opportunity to covertly inspect the area where he’d found a man’s footprints early that morning. Though he hadn’t seen any signs of a break in, he was certain someone was sneaking around the grounds. If only he could figure out why. Whoever had left those tracks beneath the windows probably was up to no good, as Ben Phillips feared.

  Strange things had been going on at the Flanagan estate for the past several weeks—a broken window, random diggings, tampered locks. Phillips had grown concerned, as he should have been, considering the family had quite a collection of century-old stained glass in the house, in addition to pricey antiques and a butler’s pantry filled with silver service. Also, there was the safety of the staff and the bed-and-breakfast guests to consider. With the tourist season about to heat up, Phillips had hired Rick to secure the estate and investigate the source of the trouble. And to stop it from going any farther, of course. Because Phillips had fired the last handyman/groundskeeper, he needed someone to do small repairs around the place—hence Rick’s cover.

  But Rick had now been all around the mansion and the other buildings on the property, and he hadn’t seen anything more to clue him in as to what was going on. Figuring he needed to change tactics, he left the mower outside the coach house. Built to house carriages drawn by horses and walled with the same kind of fancy paneling as the house, it was now a combination garage for his employer and storage area for equipment. There was even a small shop area to make repairs. And upstairs, the second floor apartment that had been inhabited first by a carriage driver, then a chauffeur, was now Rick’s temporary digs. He’d only brought along some clothes and a bunch of books—the mysteries and thrillers that kept him company at night. The challenge of figuring out who did what and why had entertained him since he’d read the Hardy Boys as a kid. Undoubtedly the reason he’d been drawn to this particular job.

  Rick was used to temporary digs. He’d never had a real home, not even when he was a kid. His dad had been military, and Rick, his brother, Joe, and their mom had moved from base to base all over the world with him. Their parents were retired now and living in Florida. And Joe had settled in to a job at the Pentagon.

  Sometimes Rick wished he’d been smart enough to get out before the horrible attack that had turned his dreams into nightmares. When terrorists had attacked his team on a special mission in Afghanistan, two of his men had lost their lives. He and Keith Murphy had barely survived. He’d relegated to memory every detail of the event and the deaths of the men he’d called friends.

  Afterward, he’d never felt the same about being a lifer. When his tour was over, he’d left the army. Still, Rick wasn’t settled, inside or out.

  Guilt over his me
n’s deaths lingered, always just below the surface.

  He hadn’t yet found any reason to want to remain in civilian life.

  And he didn’t know if he would ever call any place home.

  The only reason he’d come to Wisconsin had been to reconnect with Megan Anders, an old girlfriend, the daughter of a commissioned officer. He’d dated her off and on for a couple of years, and the last he’d heard, she’d settled in Milwaukee. Unfortunately, he’d had no clue she’d gotten married since he’d last seen her. Still, he liked the area, and having nowhere else to go, had stuck around, taking a job with Lake Shore Security, the company that had placed him in his current undercover job.

  Getting to know the other employees on the estate was essential. It was day two and he’d barely met any of the help, so Rick decided to go inside the mansion and get cozy with them. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to any of the three full-time staff alone. Maybe he could get something out of one of them that would put him on the right track. The only person on the property who knew his real mission was the housekeeper, Cora, who’d been with the Phillips family for decades. He assumed that she was loyal and would keep his identity to herself, or the owner wouldn’t have told her who he was.

  He entered through the huge kitchen, which still had an old-fashioned feel despite the new appliances. The large cabinets looked original to him, though they’d been painted white and sported new hardware. Gray-threaded white marble counters gave the cook several large preparation surfaces. Right now, however, she was busy at the stove, stirring something in a big pan. The smell made his mouth water.

  He sized up the woman. Probably in her early forties, Kelly Bennett wore a white chef’s coat over gray trousers and had tied her red hair back from her face.