Christmas with the Marine Page 18

  “Suit yourself,” Ruthie said. “I didn’t want a badass stepmother, anyway. I’ll just write down the number for the male escort service. Do you like blond guys? Sven is half-off this week.”

  “Which half?”

  “You’ll have to call and find out...” Ruthie raised her head and glanced out the window behind Clover’s desk. “Speak of the devil. Pops is here. Time to fly.”

  Clover turned around and looked out at the truck pulling into the parking lot of Clover’s Greenery, the finest plant nursery in the entire Mount Hood area according to PNW Garden Supply. That reputation was seemingly why they were ready to hand over a cool five million dollars to her for her two locations and the name. That was the sticking point. The name. It was her name. She kind of wanted to keep her name and use her name and sell plants with her name. Look at Erick, Ruthie’s dad. Painted right on the side of his white Dodge Ram were the words Erick Fields—Cedar Roofing, Siding and Decking. He was his business. His name was his work. His work was his name. She respected that. Giving up her right to do business under the name Clover Greene would hurt. But would it hurt so much that five million dollars couldn’t ease the pain?

  Probably not.

  She watched as Erick parked his truck and walked toward the office. He usually picked Ruthie up after work since Ruthie didn’t have a car of her own, but today he was taking her to the airport to visit her mother for the week. Whether Clover wanted to admit it or not, Erick was cute and Clover was checking him out. Actually, cute wasn’t the right word for Erick. He was handsome. Ruggedly handsome with his close-cropped brown-and-gray hair and his dark eyes that always seemed to be laughing at something. And tall? Definitely. And Erick was manly, with his buff-colored work coat, his steel-tipped work boots and his hands always stained with paint or deck stain. Manly without being macho, which she appreciated. She had no time for macho or swagger in a man. No posturing for her. Erick turned his head and looked through the window, raising his hand in a wave. Clover sat up straight. Oops. She got caught staring. She gave a quick casual wave back and spun around in her desk chair again, hoping Ruthie hadn’t seen.

  Ruthie was back at her small desk, clearing up her stuff and throwing it all into her backpack. It would be dull around here with Ruthie gone for the week and the nursery closed for winter after today. Clover always felt lost when she didn’t have to come in to work at eight every morning and stay until eight every night. With the nursery taking up so much of her time, she didn’t have much of a life outside it. When the nursery closed down for the season, Clover didn’t know what to do with herself. Maybe her mother had a point. Maybe Clover should give her personal life more attention.

  Or maybe that was her family talking, not her.

  “You sure you don’t want me to pimp you out to Pops?” Ruthie asked as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.

  “As God is my witness, I do not want you to pimp me out to your father. Or anyone. Ever.”

  “Your loss. He can do magic with a Big Green Egg. That’s not a sex thing, by the way. That’s a grill.”

  “I know what a Big Green Egg is. I know it is not a sex thing.”

  “Although Mom does say Pops was good—”

  “Stop right there, young lady. I have nothing but respect for your father. Especially since he puts up with you forty-five weeks out of the year. Now go. Have a great week with your mom. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m going to worry about you, Clo.”

  “I’m your boss, I’m an adult and I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re my friend. You’re a hot mess. You need help.”

  “I need a hug. Come here.”

  Ruthie groaned as Clover hugged her.

  “No groaning. You’ll have a great time in LA.”

  “Too much sun. I hate the sun,” Ruthie said. “Why would I live here if I liked the sun?”

  “I know you hate the sun. I’m sure it hates you, too. Wear sunscreen and a hat. You’ll come back as ghastly pale and sickly looking as ever, I promise.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  “Good luck this week,” Ruthie said, taking Clover by the arms. “Let me know what you decide about the nursery. I’d hate to lose my job here, but I’d also love to be friends with a millionaire, so whatever you choose, I’m on your side.”

  “Soon as I know, you’ll know. Be safe.”

  “If I have to.” Ruthie grabbed her jacket just as her father stuck his head through the office door.

  “Hey, girls.”

  “Sexist,” Ruthie said. “Try again.”

  “Hello, ladies?”

  “Elitist.” Ruthie pulled her jacket on and zipped it up. “One more try.”

  Erick dropped his chin to his chest, and Clover covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “Greetings, my fellow Americans,” Erick said, his eyes rolled heavenward as if praying for patience.

  “Better.” Ruthie nodded her approval. “But only because we are Americans. You can’t assume that about everyone.”

  “Are you ready to go, Ruthless? Please say yes.”

  “Ready,” she said. “Just let me refill my water bottle real quick.”

  She walked out of the office with her water bottle in hand, a normal errand but for the little wink she gave Clover as she walked past.

  “How are you, Erick?” Clover asked, hoping that question didn’t sound as awkward to his ears as it did to hers. Now that Ruthie had planted the idea in Clover’s head of asking Erick out, she was having trouble making eye contact with him. And that was too bad. She really liked his eyes.

  “I’m good. Ready for a few days off this week. You?”

  “I hate days off,” she said, sitting on top of her desk. “I’m about to get too many of them for my taste now that we’re closed for the winter.”

  “Will you be climbing the walls by Tuesday?”

  “No, but check on me again in late January when I’ve run out of busywork,” Clover said. “Takes me a couple months to remember how to be lazy.”

  “It wouldn’t take me nearly that long. But hey, thanks for giving Ruthie the whole week off. I know you could use the help cleaning up and locking things down.”

  “It’s fine. She needs to see her mom and everything we have to do can wait until Ruthie gets back. I won’t be in much this week, anyway. Gets too lonely around here when she’s gone.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ll be going nuts this week, too. Clean bathroom? No dishes in the sink? No bras hanging off the shower door? God, why doesn’t my kid leave more often?”

  “You know you’ll miss me,” Ruthie said from the doorway.

  “I do?”

  “You do,” she said, punching him in the arm. “Come on, I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “You got everything?” Erick asked as he raised his hand to tick items off on his fingers. “Meds. Phone. Charger. Your homework. Sunscreen.”

  “A Taser, a laser, a can of mace, an actual mace, a hunting knife, yes, yes, yes. I have everything I need for a week in LA. Let’s go, Pops, we’re going to be late.”

  “Bye, dear,” Clover said. “Have fun or whatever it is that you do that’s like having fun.”

  “Thanks, Clo. I left Sven’s number on your desk.”

  “Sven?” Erick repeated as he grabbed Ruthie by her jacket collar and led her from the office. “Who’s Sven?”

  “Nobody,” Ruthie said. “Just a male escort I hired for Clover.”

  “Is that in your job description?” he asked.

  “Yeah, of course. What do you think I do here all day?”

  “Your daughter is weird, Erick,” Clover called after them, considering moving back into her desk nest.

  “You don’t have to tell me that. Have a good Thanksgivin
g,” he said, gently force-marching Ruthie out to his truck.

  “You, too,” she said. After Erick and Ruthie had gone, Clover forced herself to reply to her two emails.

  To the first—the five-million-dollar buyout offer she’d received from PNW Garden Supply’s CFO—she replied with a simple I’ll let you know on Monday. Happy Thanksgiving.

  To her sister’s email she replied with a smiley face emoji and a Great! Can’t wait to see everyone!

  She made sure to fill the email with unnecessary exclamation points to mask her incredible sense of dread about the whole shebang. All her family—her parents, two siblings, their spouses and seven kids under one roof for an entire day? There was not enough punctuation in the world to fake how much she was not looking forward to that.

  Kelly replied to the email almost immediately.

  Mom wants to know if we’re going to be meeting anyone special on Thursday, Kelly wrote.

  Clover picked up a trowel and considered stabbing her laptop with it so she wouldn’t have to reply.

  Instead she simply ignored the email and got to work cleaning. Potting soil and wheelbarrow went into the storage shed. Ferns back into the greenhouse. It wasn’t the right time of year to trim a lemon tree so she moved it to the opposite corner of the office where it could spread out a little more until she could trim it down again to a more indoor-friendly size. And all the while she thought about what she would do with five million dollars and all the free time anybody could want.

  Five million was a lot of money. Not enough to buy the world but plenty to go into her retirement account and leave enough to start a new company. But with the noncompete clause in the PNW Garden Supply offer, she wouldn’t be able to start another nursery in Oregon. She could move to Northern California and open a nursery there. Then again, that’s where her parents lived, which meant instead of hearing about how she needed to get married and have kids ASAP and STAT on major holidays, she’d hear it every single week.

  Or she could stay in the Mount Hood area and open a landscaping business. Not quite as much fun as a nursery but it was still working with plants. Or she could take a few years off. Or she could move to Hawaii. Or Alaska. Or she could spend the money on male escorts for the next five years.

  “You are not calling Sven,” Clover said to herself. “Even if he is half-off this week.”

  Clover went to the sink and considered sticking her head under cold running water until she calmed down or drowned. Either would be preferable to her current confused, miserable and muddled state of mind. Instead she just washed all that potting soil off her hands with her lava soap and a nail brush. As she was drying her hands she saw headlights in the parking lot. After six already? She couldn’t believe so much time had passed that it had gotten dark. She needed to head home and get to work cleaning her house. The deck needed to be cleaned off, too, in case the weather was clear enough to grill outside or use her fire pit for s’mores. Her nieces and nephews would make s’mores over that fire pit in the middle of a snowstorm if their parents would let them. She better get someone to fix the loose boards by the pit.

  So much to do, so little desire to do any of it.

  “Knock, knock.”

  Clover turned around and saw Erick sticking his head in through the workroom door.

  “Oh, hey,” she said, tossing her hand towel on the counter. “What’s up?”

  “My lovely brilliant wonderful daughter left her phone here. I have been commanded to fetch it and overnight it to her mom’s house.”

  “Ruthie left her phone here? I thought she had that thing surgically attached to her hand.”

  “Yeah, me, too. And didn’t I specifically ask her if she had her phone and her charger?”

  “You did. Right after asking her if she had her meds.”

  “Okay. Glad I have a witness for this so I know it’s one hundred percent her fault.”

  “All her fault,” she said, trying not to laugh. Erick and Ruthie were hilarious together. Ruthie was comically sullen around her father, who was comically sullen around his daughter. They snarked at each other so well one would think sarcasm was the only language they both spoke. But it was impossible not to see how much Erick loved his girl and how much Ruthie adored her father, even if they did constantly harangue and harass each other. She called him “Pops,” which he hated, and he called her “Ruthless,” which she hated even more. Clover found it all endearing and entertaining. She wished she could tease her own parents like that.

  “Ruthie said her phone’s in her desk but she might have locked it in there.”

  “I’ll get my key,” Clover said. He followed her back into her office and Clover took the key off the wall hook. “You know, it is really not like her to leave her phone. She okay?”

  “She’s fine. She probably has it. She’s probably pulling some kind of prank on me by sending me back here. There’s a real possibility there’s a snake in there,” Erick said. “I know my daughter and she knows I hate snakes.”

  “I know her, too. So stand back. I’ll protect you. Ready?” She stuck her key in the desk drawer lock.

  “I hate snakes,” Erick said.

  “Set.”

  “Really hate snakes.”

  “Go.” She opened the drawer and saw... “It’s her phone.”

  “No snakes?” Erick had his eyes shut so tight it looked like he was in pain.

  “No snakes. She actually forgot her phone. Wow.”

  “Maybe she is coming down with something. I hope she’s not sick. You think this is a sign of a brain tumor or something?”

  “She seemed fine today.”

  “Okay. I’ll get going, then. According to Ruthie, I have to find a twenty-four-hour UPS store and demand they ship this to her overnight and the driver has to be hot, not normal hot—UPS-driver hot.”

  “That is a very specific request.”

  “Is Sven UPS-driver hot?” Erick asked as he stuffed the phone into his coat pocket.

  “I have no idea what Sven looks like. Your daughter is trying to get me to hire a male escort this week because my family is coming to my house for Thanksgiving.”

  Erick lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow.

  “You all do Thanksgiving a little differently than most people.”

  Clover laughed. “Oh, no, we do it the traditional way. Too much food and tons of criticizing family members for their life choices.”

  “Who’s the target?”

  Clover pointed at herself. Erick barked a laugh.

  “You? The target?”

  “Me. The target.”

  “I don’t buy it. Why you?”

  “Why not me?” she asked.

  “Because you own and operate your own business. You know more about plants than anyone in this entire state. You’re respected by your employees, even my daughter, who doesn’t respect anyone or anything, and you’re...you know.”

  “What?”

  “Easy on the eyes,” he said.

  “I am?”

  “My eyes aren’t complaining,” he said. “Just saying, my mom’s always trying to get me to shave. She hates beards. But Ruthie won’t let me shave it off.”

  “Why not?”

  “One of her friends made the mistake of telling Ruthie her dad was ‘hot.’ Ruthie said I either had to grow a beard or wear a bag over my head.”

  “The beard was the right choice.”

  “But you don’t have a beard from what I can tell.” He narrowed his eyes at her face and Clover turned left and right, giving him a good look at her nonexistent beard. “Nope. No beard. No reason to pick on you for anything.”

  “They’ll find a reason. They always do.”

  “I have a cousin in jail for bouncing checks, my grandfather’s favorite hobby is sitting on his
porch shooting his rifle at crows, and my aunt raises pygmy goats inside her house so, you know, your family should count their blessings.”

  “I’m thirty. I’m not married. I’m not dating anybody. I have no kids. I could have a billion dollars and be crowned Queen of the Mountain and that still wouldn’t be enough for my family.”

  “Ah...that explains Sven.” He nodded sagely.

  “I’m about ready to hire him to play boyfriend for a week if it’ll shut my family up about my biological clock for one day. Which reminds me—you free this week?”

  “You asking me to be your Sven?”

  Clover laughed. “No, I was actually asking you if you could fix my deck.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah. Sure. Big job?”

  “Two loose boards and a broken slat.”

  “What color stain?”

  “Clear. Homewares brand.”

  “I have some of that in my truck. I can come tomorrow morning, if it’s not pouring.”

  “I’ll write down my address for you,” she said as she scribbled her home address on a note card and passed it to him. “I appreciate it. I have a fire pit and I know the kids will want to use it for marshmallows.”

  “I can get it all done in an hour. My treat.”

  “I pay people for the work they do. No freebies.”

  “You gave my daughter a job when nobody else would. I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. Ruthie’s great at this job.”

  “I know she is, but she wouldn’t have been great at her job if you hadn’t taken a chance on her. Nobody wanted to give a sixteen-year-old girl with green hair, a horrible attitude and a criminal record a job except you. Not even McDonald’s. Please. Let me fix your deck as a thank-you for keeping my kid out of trouble.”

  “Fine. Since it’s only an hour’s work. Then we’ll call it even.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow morning around eight.”

  “Thanks, Erick. Have a good night in your empty house.”

  “You, too,” he said. He started for the door and it was then that Clover realized that Ruthie was sneakier and more evil than she’d ever given the girl credit for. She’d left her phone here on purpose so Erick would have to come back for it and they’d be alone together. Clover would be angry except for one thing—she did really like Erick. And for that reason alone she said what she said.