Perfect Scents by Virginia Taylor

Author:Virginia Taylor [Taylor, Virginia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“Dig down about this far from the roots.” Calli glanced at Kell who watched, frowning, while she marked the dirt with the shovel. He took the implement out of her hands and edged her out of the way. Clearly, he knew the handle from the blade.

With a sharp thump of his foot, he jammed the blade deeply into the soil and she tried not to watch. A supervised man was one who would do nothing but show off, a trait she had noted during her previous experience of men helping her in the garden.

“In a circle or a square?” he asked with forced patience, the way men did when women gave instructions.

In a voice that made no attempt to bite back, she said, “Either. When you’ve cut the roots, put the shovel under and ease out the bush. Yes, that’s exactly right. Now transfer the plant into here.” She placed the pot near him and he neatly deposited the rose bush where she indicated. She gazed at the sky. Like yesterday, dark clouds loomed and the air smelled damp. The rain yesterday had loosened the soil.

Glad she had help in the perfect weather to move the roses, she slid the first filled pot onto the sack trolley, and pushed the two-wheeler around to the new bags of soil Kell had left near the judge’s gardening shed. She intended to do the same with the following rose bushes and tend to the plants until Kell’s garden was ready.

By the time she had patted the mix around the rose and bumped the trolley back, Kell had deposited two more bushes into pots and was well on the way to filling another. At this rate, she would lose him in ten minutes. Not that she’d ever had him. She had expanded her projected one-night stand a little, but she wouldn’t be letting him into her bed again, not that he had made any sort of interesting suggestion about being there since he had asked about her last relationship, which he clearly presumed was sexual.

Half-offended and half-glad that him having the wrong idea gave her a good reason not to answer, she potted up the next bush, and when she arrived back, he had dug up the lot and dumped them all in their pots.

“It’s a plot,” he said, sounding disgruntled.

“A garden plot?”

“A gardener plot. You’re dawdling back there. The only way to speed you up is to carry all these around to the shed for you.” He put one pot on her trolley and grabbed up two, striding ahead of her to the shed, as if he might be carrying a bundle of feathers.

She wheeled along behind him slightly out of breath from handling one.

While she toiled at filling the three, he carried the rest to her and stayed watching. He stood, hip-shot, as sexy as a man ought not to be. She sweated under leather gloves and the weight of a guy’s tool belt.

She hefted out her secateurs. “I’ll leave the

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