Wild in the Moonlight by Jennifer Greene Page B

those kisses from Cameron until her ex had called.
    Now, she felt all churned up. A young rabbit hopped across the grass, trying to evade her bodyguard contingent of cats—none of whom could catchroad kill, they were all so fat and lazy, but the baby bunny didn’t know that.
    Violet aimed for the front door of the Herb Haven, then changed her mind and headed for the greenhouses. There were two. The newest one she’d built herself, a couple years ago, but by this time in the summer, it was almost empty. Plants were all outside, either transported to the nursery or for sale in the business.
    The original greenhouse, though, had been her mother’s. It wasn’t as high-tech as the new one, the heating and cooling and watering systems not even half as efficient. But her mom’s sacred pruning shears were still hung on the wall, as was the old French apron she used to wear. Violet could remember the three sisters chasing up and down the aisles while Margaux potted and fussed with plants—her mom had always been the kind of mother who encouraged kids to get their hands dirty, to get into life, not just watch from the bleachers. Her sisters had often gone off with their dad into the fields. Not her.
    She’d loved hanging out with her mom, loved watching Margaux nurturing and babying each flower, each herb, as if it alone were precious to her. She loved to dry the herbs, to watch her mom create artistic arrangements, to hear her mother insist that she needed to listen to each plant to understand what it needed. Her mom was a life lover, emotional about everything, an unrepentant romantic, a woman to thecore. Margaux, in fact, was the only one who knew the real reason she’d divorced Simpson.
    Of course, if Violet started remembering that ghastly memory, how Margaux had wrapped her up in a long, rocking hug and tried to soothe her like a child, she’d burst out crying. She didn’t mind crying. She did it regularly, but it was just too darn early for that kind of heavy emotion, so she pushed up her sleeves and started puttering. In the heat of summer, there wasn’t much left here in the greenhouse, either, but she still had some experiments going.
    She plucked dry leaves, smelled the soil for health, and was just uncoiling a long skinny hose to mist-water her babies when she heard the door swing open. Cameron stood there, looking as devilish and sexy as he had the night before. In spite of the cool morning, his shirt was unbuttoned and he was wearing jeans so old and worn they cupped his bitsy butt and long, lean legs.
    â€œDamn, did I wake you up? I tried to be quiet. After all your traveling, I figured you’d sleep most of the morning if you had a chance,” she said.
    â€œYou didn’t wake me up, but the phone did. A call that early usually means trouble. Everything okay?”
    â€œJust hunky-dory,” she said lightly. And then had to sniff fast. Tears welled in her eyes before she could possibly stop them—not that she would. When she was a young girl, she hated being so impulsiveand emotional, but these days, she knew the power of it. Men got shook up when they saw tears. They backed away from an emotional woman. It all worked out fine. Usually.
    â€œHey.” He saw the tears, and instead of looking frantic and freaked like any normal man, he walked slowly toward her. “What are we talking here? Bad news, bad morning, what?”
    â€œAn idiotic mood, that’s all.”
    â€œNobody died?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œSome idiot dump you?”
    â€œGod, no.”
    â€œYou hurt yourself? Another bee sting?”
    â€œNo. Nothing happened.”
    â€œSomeone called,” he persisted.
    â€œYeah. My ex-husband. To tell me that he and his wife had a baby. Their second. A son. They were very happy. And I’m very happy for them.” Tears welled up again. Announcing her happiness and crying at the same time should certainly have