Black Rose

Garden.
    Interesting, he thought, that a place that certainly had its prime in spring and summer could look so attractive, so welcoming as December clicked away.
    The sky was heavy with clouds that would surely bring a cold, ugly rain before it was done. Still there were things growing. He had no clue what they were, but they looked appealing. Rusty red bushes, lush evergreens with fat berries, silvery green leaves, brightly painted pansies. At least he recognized a pansy when he saw one.
    There were industrious-looking piles of material—material he assumed one would need for gardening or landscaping. Long tables on the side that held plants he assumed could handle the chill, a small forest of trees and shrubs.
    The low-slung building was fronted with a porch. He saw poinsettias and a small, trim Christmas tree strung with lights.
    There were other cars in the lot. He watched a couple of men load a tree with a huge burlapped ball into the back of a truck. And a woman wheel out a red wagon loaded with poinsettias and shopping bags.
    He walked up the ramp, crossed the porch to go inside.
    There were a lot of wares, he noted. More than he’d expected. Pots, decorative garden stakes, tabletop trees already decorated, books, seeds, tools. Some were put together in gift baskets. Clever idea.
    Forgetting his intention of seeking Roz out immediately, he began to wander. When one of the staff asked if he needed help, he just smiled, shook his head, and continued to browse around.
    A lot went into putting a place like this together, Mitch mused as he studied shelves of soil additives, time released fertilizer pellets, herbal pest repellents. Time, labor, know-how, and, he thought, courage.
    This was no hobby or little enterprise indulged in by a southern aristocrat. This was serious business. Another layer to the woman, he supposed, and he hadn’t begun to get to the center of her.
    Beautiful, enigmatic Rosalind Harper. What man wouldn’t want the chance to peel off those layers and know who she really was?
    As it was, he owed his sister and niece a big, sloppy thanks for sending him scrambling out to shop. Running into Roz, seeing her with her shopping cart, having an hour alone with her was the most intriguing personal time he’d had in months.
    Hardly a surprise he was hoping for more, and that he’d made this trip to her garden center mainly to study yet another side of her.
    He wandered through wide glass doors and found an exotic mass of houseplants. There were tabletop and garden fountains as well, and baskets of ferny and viney things hanging from hooks or standing on pedestals.
    Through another set of doors was a kind of greenhouse, with dozens of long wooden tables. Most were empty, but some held plants. The pansies he recognized, and others he didn’t. Though, he noted, they were labeled and billed to be winter hardy.
    He was debating whether to continue on or go back and ask for Roz when her son Harper came in from the outside.
    “Hi. Need some help?” As he walked toward Mitch, recognition crossed his face. “Oh, hey, Dr. Carnegie.”

    “Mitch. Nice to see you again, Harper,” he said as they shook hands.
    “You, too. That was some game against Little Rock last week.”
    “It was. Were you there?”
    “Missed the first quarter, but the second half rocked. Josh ruled.”
    Pride in his son beamed through him. “He had a good game. Missouri this week. I’ll have to catch that one on ESPN.”
    “Same here. You see your son, tell him I said that three-pointer in the last five minutes was a thing of beauty.”
    “I’ll do that.”
    “You looking for something, or someone?”
    “Someone. Your mother, actually.” You have her eyes, he thought. Her mouth, her coloring. “I was taking a little tour before I hunted her up.” As he looked around, Mitch slipped his hands in his pockets. “This is a hell of a place you’ve got here.”
    “Keeps us busy. I just left her in the propagation house. I’ll take you back.”
    “Appreciate it. I guess I didn’t think this kind of business would have so much going on this late in the year.”
    “Always something going on when you’re dealing with gardening and landscaping.” Mirroring Mitch’s stance, Harper scanned the area. “Holiday stuff’s big now, and we’re working on getting plants ready for March.”
    When they stepped outside, Mitch stopped, hooked his thumbs in his jacket pockets. Low, long greenhouses spread, separated into two areas