"But I trust you didn't dig it up."

"Of course not. We moved the tree back about ten feet."

"Need me to call the owner?"

"No. He was here. It's all cool."

"Okay, great. Well, I'm heading up to the house. See you tomorrow."

Drew stepped back and turned a slow circle, her glance going to the trucks and equipment she'd amassed in the last eight years. Her grandparents had left her the house and property, but the business she'd started on her own. Her grandfather had still been alive when she'd started out. For that she was grateful. He'd been so proud.

The youngest of four sisters, all the others being ten years or older than herself, she'd been the only one still living at home when her father had first taken ill. That summer, they shipped her off to Austin to stay with her grandparents, which was fine with her. Nothing but lazy days that seemed to last forever as they alternated between the lake—only a ten-minute drive away—and the spring-fed pool her grandfather had built back in the sixties. After that summer, it became the norm. Each year when school ended, they took her to Austin, and each year, she stayed until the weekend before the new school year began. And when it came time for college, there wasn't much indecision for Drew. She wanted to be in Austin with her grandparents. She just didn't know what she wanted to be. So, taking her grandfather's advice, she put off college a year and went to work with him in the tiny plant nursery he'd opened just to keep him busy, her grandmother used to say. But it was there Drew found her calling. So off to college just down the road in San Marcos, she majored in horticulture, a degree her parents and siblings thought she was crazy for getting. How could she possibly make a living with that kind of degree?

She smiled as she turned away from the shop area, as she liked to call it, and headed down the path to the house. It was her grandparents' house, yes, but she'd had it remodeled and redesigned twice now. It hardly resembled the house she remembered. The garden and pool, however, remained nearly as her grandfather had kept it, with only a few modern upgrades. She went there now, closing the wooden gate behind her, locking away the world—and the summer heat—as she walked into the shade, her sandals moving quietly across the flat stones her grandfather had laid by hand nearly fifty years ago. It was one of the things she loved about the pool and garden. No modern-day concrete. Just stones and mortar, a mixture of limestone, hauled down from the Hill Country west of town, and flagstone, smooth flat rock that lined the pool area and provided pathways through the garden. The pool itself, shaped in a curvy S-pattern, was well-shaded now. When she was a kid, the trees were young, the shrubs were barely two feet tall, and flowers had dominated. Today, the pool and garden were kept cool and shaded by the native live oaks her grandfather had planted. Tucked around the trees were flowering mountain laurels and red buds, the showy flowers lasting for weeks during the cool, wet .days of April.

The covered sitting area—her addition to the garden—provided all the modern conveniences of an outdoor kitchen, with electricity and running water. She flipped on the ceiling fan, then pulled off her white tank top and tossed it on the wicker loveseat before opening the small refrigerator. She moved the miniature bottles of orange juice aside and selected one of the many varieties of wine coolers she kept there. Standing to her full height, she opened the bottle and took a large swallow, enjoying the refreshing taste of the cool liquid.

Without thought, she slipped off her sandals, then pulled the red bra over her head, tossing it beside her shirt. Her shorts soon followed and she walked confidently to the edge of the pool, her skin shivering in anticipation of the cool spring water. Taking a deep breath, she dove smoothly into the pool, her body gliding just under the surface, taking the curves of the pool with familiar ease. It was a routine she kept to most days, except in the very coldest months of winter. But even then, on occasion, she'd take a quick dip. The water temperature held fairly steady at sixty-six degrees, both winter and summer.

She followed the curves, surfacing only once to take a breath before continuing on to the opposite end, the shallow side closest to the house. There she stopped and stood, seeking out the patch of sunlight as she shook her hair, reminding herself she needed a cut. Then she turned and slipped under the water again, retracing her route to the deep end of the pool. She made five laps, finally stopping and pulling herself out of the pool. She stood there naked, catching her breath, letting the light breeze dry her as she again twisted her hair behind her back, wringing out the water, much like she'd been doing since she was a kid.

In the distance, she heard a truck, knowing Jimmy had made it back. They never came to the house—it was off limits. It was her space and hers alone. The property was only five acres, but it was five acres of prime real estate now. The city had sprawled, growing around her, but she didn't care. The land was her grandfather's and she'd promised him in the beginning she wouldn't sell and let it become gobbled up by some developer who wanted to put up condos or something equally as obnoxious.

She took a clean towel from the cabinet, drying herself, listening as she heard Jimmy's car start and pull away. She was alone again. She sighed. But not for long. She'd agreed to a dinner date. A friend of a friend of a friend. It had sounded like a good idea last week. But today... not so much. She was tired. It had been a long, hot day. Then she smiled, remembering the cute blond who'd rammed her truck. Jay.

"God, those eyes."

CHAPTER THREE

"No, it didn't damage her truck." Jay rolled her eyes. "And no, she's not going to sue me."

"You never know about people, Jay. They're money-hungry."

Jay walked into the kitchen, eyeing the bottle of wine on the counter. She tucked the phone against her shoulder as she fished for the corkscrew. "I really don't think it's going to be an issue, Katherine. Like I said, it was just a little ding."

"I've seen whiplash proved with less."

Jay poured the wine, watching the burgundy liquid fill the glass. "She wasn't in the truck at the time."

"Well, that's a plus. Look, I'm just swamped, Jay. I'm going to let you handle this. You've got the number to our insurance. If there's even a hint of a problem, let me know."

"Of course." Jay paused. "I... well, I also got a ticket."

"For what? I thought you didn't even call the police."

Jay chewed her lower lip. "Apparently I was too close to a fire hydrant or something." She rolled her eyes again as she sipped the wine.

"Great," Katherine said dryly. "What's that going to cost you?"

"It wasn't that much," she lied. "I was just concerned about that affecting your insurance as well. Maybe I should just get my own policy."

"It's much cheaper to go through mine. We've been over this before, Jay. Besides they're probably going to total your car. Perhaps you should just use your van for the time being. As old as it is, the insurance is minimal." She sighed. "Now I've really got to run."

"When will you be home?"

"Oh, Jay, I can't even begin to say. What time is it, anyway?"

Jay looked at the clock on the wall. "Nearly nine."

"Already? Well, I've got at least a couple more hours. Did you get dinner?"

Jay nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... well, I feel like I haven't seen you in a week."

"I know. Please be patient, Jay. I promise, I'll try to make it a short day tomorrow."

Jay nodded again. It was a statement she'd heard daily for months now. So she gave her standard answer, the same one she'd been using for the past three months.

"That'd be nice, Katherine. Maybe we could have dinner together."

"Sure, Jay. Let's plan on it. I'll try not to wake you when I get home."

Jay closed her phone and slid it along the counter, picking up her wine instead. She smiled humorlessly. "Sure, I'll plan on it, Kath. Just like always."

And just like always, she took the bottle of wine with her as she went into her office, closing the door behind her. She always felt better in here. It was her space and it reflected her personality. The house—totally Katherine's. But this room, this space, was hers.

Here was where she kept little trinkets and mementoes she'd collected over the years. Here was where she kept her only family picture—that of her grandmother—neatly framed and displayed on the bookshelf. In here was her CD collection, the handful of DVDs she liked to watch over and over, the trashy romance books that Katherine thought she was childish to hang on to, and her most prized possession: a mini Cowboys football helmet autographed by Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith and Michael Irvin.

She looked affectionately at it, silently counting how many months until football season, her lone sports passion. There was a time, at the beginning, when Katherine would surprise her with tickets to at least one game each season. But the last couple of years, she'd been too busy to even remember Jay's birthday, much less football season.

"Wedded bliss," she murmured, then laughed at her attempt at being sarcastic. It no longer worked.

Jiggling the wireless mouse, she watched the screen saver disappear, replaced with the spreadsheet she'd been working on. She only had two projects going right now, both of which were nearly finished. The spreadsheet was her listing of builders and the contacts she'd made in the last six months or so. The only contractor she had a working relationship with was McGuire and Sons, but they specialized in remodeling, not new homes. He'd pushed some business her way, but she'd found most people—by the time they hired someone to remodel—already had a new design and color scheme in mind. They weren't really interested in her ideas at that stage,