Cypress Corners Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Read online

  The golf club and restaurant were quite upscale, in sharp contrast to what she felt was more important. But the Institute didn’t operate in a vacuum, and money made it possible for more noble ideals to be realized. Who was she to question the Institute’s arrangement with the developers?

  The site for a snack bar designed to cater to those using the proposed nature trails was the area under contention today. She saw no need for such a thing. Self-sufficient, she had no problem carrying her own pack with whatever essentials she needed, whether she was hiking on Institute business or for her own pleasure. A “recreation café?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe not.”

  Eriogonum longifolium, var. gnaphali folium. The leggy wild buckwheat right smack in the middle of the site would stop construction, at least for now. No matter what the Chapman guy said.

  She’d see to it.

  Chapter 2

  Harmony’s camp was wired for electricity and her tent-cabin had a separate plumbed bathroom and shower. The spot was slated to become a lakeside recreation area within the coming year, but for now it was hers and hers alone. Just the clear water, sprawling live oaks and towering cypress trees to keep her company.

  Her tent-cabin wasn’t large, just one room with a screened-off private area to change. The short walk to the bathroom and shower was no hardship. She knew where to step. Not like that fool she met yesterday.

  She thought of the pain-in-the-butt corporate guy and felt that tremble in her belly again. What was wrong with her? He was overbearing and cold. But when his hand had touched hers she hadn’t felt cold. Oh, those eyes. So deep. His manner, on the other hand…

  He was forceful and smooth, just like Adam. But she wasn’t a naïve coed anymore. At twenty-six years old she knew better. She removed her ponytail holder and dragged a brush through her hair. She wouldn’t be overwhelmed again. She certainly wouldn’t be fooled.

  Adam had been older than she, and he’d used his citified skills to woo her when she was in college. She’d never forgive herself for the loss of more than her heart. Her parents still had to work hard to recoup the money Adam had all but stolen from them with his scheme. And so did she. They didn’t know that. They never would. She should have protected them in the first place.

  Thank goodness her salary allowed her to at least start to repay them. Little by little, the bank account she’d opened in their name was growing. It would never be enough, but hopefully in a few years she’d tell them about the account and take away some of their burden. As long as the guy from Chapman Financial didn’t do anything to compromise her job.

  She put Adam and her encounter with the guy from Chapman out of her mind and, after changing into fresh clothes, reviewed her notes on the wild buckwheat. She’d told the director about the plant yesterday, when she stopped at the Institute. He’d been excited, for the buckwheat grew in very few places in Central Florida. The sandy soil of the property was the perfect habitat for the plant. That was something she could definitely identify with.

  After her mistake with Adam she’d thrown herself into her studies and a Master’s Degree in Environmental Science was the result. She hadn’t wasted a moment of her time at the University of Central Florida, not as an undergrad and not as a graduate student. She wouldn’t waste her opportunity here. This job meant more than protecting endangered plants.

  She stepped outside her cabin and walked around to the electric scooter plugged into an outlet behind it. The small trunk behind the seat accommodated the bag holding her notes and stuff and the scooter’s fat tires made it perfect for her infrequent trips to the Institute. She stashed her bag and hopped on, fastening her bike helmet over her curls.

  It didn’t take long to reach the Village Center where the Institute was located. Her scooter tires bounced gently over the brick walk as she turned toward the Institute. The Center was pretty, and designed to serve as the heart of everything in Cypress Corners. With its charming retail stores and plenty of benches lining the walk for residents and visitors to sit, it was a popular spot. Though it was just a few years old, it had the feel and appearance of an old-fashioned small-town.

  Several people took advantage of the place this afternoon. Children indulged in their quickly-melting ice cream at the quaint soda shop at one corner, couples and friends talked over coffee at tables set in front of the coffee shop, folks walked their dogs and called “hello” to people they passed. She received several nods of greeting but she doubted anyone outside the Institute knew her name. That didn’t bother her. She preferred her solitude.

  The one exception was Charlotte Fairfax. Lettie, as everyone in town called her, waved enthusiastically from her customary perch set near one corner of the outdoor space. Under the shade of a sprawling Crepe Myrtle tree, a tall glass of sweet tea held in her other hand, Lettie was hard to ignore. She wore a large straw hat only a woman born and raised in the South would ever wear, her bangs a silvery fringe beneath. A flower-print smock, denim overalls, and a pair of bright green Crocs completed her outfit. She was outrageous and sweet, and Harmony found it harder and harder to maintain her distance from this particular resident of Cypress Corners. She was in her seventies but looked closer to fifty. She claimed this was due to healthy living, big hats and the liberal application of sunscreen.

  Harmony slowed her scooter to a stop at the railing beside Lettie’s table. “Hi, Lettie.”

  “Hello, Harmony. Join me?”

  Lettie waved to the chair opposite. It was piled with gardening magazines and seed catalogs, as was much of the tabletop in front of her.

  Harmony smiled. “Sorry, I’m on Institute business.”

  Her mouth turned down, then she waved a hand. “You’re always on the go. I hope Doc Robbins knows the treasure he has in you.”

  Lettie referred to the Institute director, and Harmony hoped to prove herself worthy of the faith he put in her from her very first day.

  “I love my job, Lettie.”

  Lettie’s blue eyes narrowed, and for a moment Harmony feared she tried to read her aura or something. Goodness knows Harmony’s mom was always doing that. To her relief, Lettie simply clicked her tongue.

  “Your job. Yes, you love your plants.” She held up the magazine closest to her. “I share that passion. But what about the other kind?”

  She flushed as the image of the hunky Chapman guy came swiftly to mind. “I don’t know what—”

  “Men,” Lettie crowed.

  Two young mothers at a nearby table turned at the word, their brows arched. Harmony managed a smile at the women and faced Lettie. “I don’t have time for men.”

  Lettie let loose with a laugh. “Girl, you have to make time. Why, when Mr. Fairfax was alive… ” Her eyes sparkled. “Mmm, he was fine, Mr. Fairfax was.” She winked at Harmony. “He knew how to get me to focus on something other than plants.”

  Harmony chuckled. “Lettie.”

  Lettie nodded. “Go on. Get to your precious Institute. All of us here in Cypress know how important that work is.”

  Harmony started her scooter. “See you, Lettie.”

  Lettie saluted her with her glass and took a long sip as Harmony continued on to the Institute. The woman wasn’t too far off with her last comment. The Institute was responsible for the Village Center, its agreement with the Cypress developers making sure the area didn’t put nature last. Plenty of native trees shaded the area and mounds of Florida wildflowers and plants lent color. She recognized most of them as she passed, bluestem and cupseed and cat briar. They were pretty despite their unusual names.

  She parked her scooter outside the Institute and removed her helmet. She took her bag out of the trunk, walked up to the wide glass doors and stepped into the air-conditioned lobby.

  “Hello, Miss Brooks,” the receptionist said.

  She smiled at the red-haired girl behind the desk. “Hi, Becky. Is the director in?”

  Becky nodded. “Yes. I’ll buzz him.”

  Harmony looked around th
e lobby as the girl spoke softly into the intercom. The sunlit space reflected the Institute’s worthy agenda. Decorated in the colors of true Florida—rich greens, soft tans, and clear blues—it was filled with handmade rattan furniture and breathtaking photos of native flora and fauna hung on the textured walls. If she had to be inside, this was one place she could tolerate.

  “Dr. Robbins said to go right in,” Becky said.

  Harmony nodded. “Thank you.”

  She passed the desk and turned down the hall toward the director’s office. The door was ajar, which was not unusual for her boss and mentor. He sat hunched over his desk, poring over papers scattered on his desk. His glasses sat on his balding head as he nodded agreement at something he read. She rapped softly on the smooth maple door and his head shot up.

  “Harmony!” He smiled, dimples showing in his cheeks. “Come in, come in.”

  She stepped inside and closed the door. She gestured at the papers. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No, no. I’m just working through the latest expansion plans. The lakeside recreation center will take a lot of planning.” He waved a hand toward the chair opposite him then stacked the papers into an untidy pile. “So tell me.”

  She nodded and settled into the chair. “It’s definitely a scrub wild buckwheat.”

  Dr. Robbins blinked then grinned. “Good! Do you have photos?”

  “No, I—”

  “I know, I know. No digital camera.” He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a small silver camera. “Here. Take as many photos as you need. You can upload them here when you’re finished.”

  She took the camera. She knew she should have a laptop and camera in her tent, but she preferred using the Institute’s facilities. It gave her an excuse to go into the village. That realization surprised her.

  “I’ll ride out to the site and snap some pictures later today,” she said.

  She put the camera into her bag and settled back in the chair. Toying with the frayed cuff of her shorts, she tried to decide how to tell Dr. Robbins about the guy from Chapman Financial.

  “I hear Chapman’s field man paid a visit yesterday,” the director said.

  She lifted her head to face him. That was easy. “Yes,” she said. “He wasn’t pleased with my discovery.”

  Dr. Robbins laughed lightly. “I don’t imagine so. He has investors to consider. Quite an interesting fellow, don’t you think?”

  He popped into her mind again, tall and strong and gorgeous. Interesting? Oh, yes. “I suppose.”

  Dr. Robbins narrowed his blue eyes on her and she felt her cheeks heat. “He called.” He smiled again. “And according to Becky, he wasn’t happy.”

  The guy’s threat came back to her. Out on her cute little butt, he’d said. Her stomach dipped. Oh, no. She couldn’t lose this job.

  “Did he… stop by here?” she asked.

  “No. He said something about heading to the beach.”

  A flash of him in nothing but swim trunks filled her mind for a moment. She’d felt that strong, broad chest when she shoved him away from the ant mound. Oh, my.

  “That gives me a reprieve, then,” she said. She came to her feet. “I’ll get the photos and stop back here later.”

  Dr. Robbins stood. “Why don’t you have dinner in the village, Harmony? A few of us are heading over to The Clubhouse, and—”

  “No, thank you,” she said quickly. “I’ll make sure I’m back here before. What time are you going?”

  “That wasn’t what I—”

  She waved her hand. “I’ll be back in a little while, Dr. Robbins.”

  He opened his mouth to protest further, then nodded. “Tomorrow is soon enough, dear. I’m trusting you to keep the habitat secure, Harmony.”

  She blinked. “Me? I thought I’d just get the proof and let the Institute take it from here.”

  “You have the knowledge. Your degree proves it. You have the spirit.” He nodded. “I saw that when you were still in grad school. You’re the one to keep Chapman Financial at bay until we find a solution to this dilemma. We can’t have the buckwheat compromised.”

  She was the one? “I… Thank you, Dr. Robbins. I’ll do what I can. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Dr. Robbins nodded and she left the office. She stepped out into the bright afternoon. The director trusted her to keep Chapman Financial in line? To keep him from destroying the buckwheat? She was floored.

  That’s when she saw him again, standing in front of a shiny black SUV. A Hummer. Her lip curled. That figured. He was talking to one of the women who worked in the Sales Office, a tall leggy brunette who managed to look fresh and crisp despite the humidity. Hey, years of working in artificial air would take its toll on her skin eventually.

  As Harmony watched, the woman patted his arm then tossed her shining black hair as she sashayed back into the office. Harmony tugged on her own curls, out of control from the heat and the helmet. She hopped on her scooter and sat for a moment, unable to look away from the Chapman guy. He turned then, his eyes finding hers. Again that rush of heat struck her. She shook her head. It was just the sun. She jammed her helmet on her head and started the scooter, heading toward the access road.

  ***

  Rick saw her again. Wild and pretty, standing near a shiny little blue scooter. The girl from the sales office, Tammy, faded from his mind as he watched the plant angel ride away from the Institute. He’d hoped to stop there himself but the director hadn’t had time to see him. Or so he was told. The director had time for her, though.

  He ran his gaze over her and felt that stab of lust again. He couldn’t really blame the guy. The little tree-hugger was something else.

  The scooter was a dot in the distance as he finally got into his rental. The sales girl had asked him to join her for dinner, which he’d declined. Never dip your pen in the company ink, his father always said. Tammy didn’t work for Chapman Financial, but the advice was still worth something. Funny two of his father’s ex-wives had worked for him before they worked under him.

  He raked his fingers through his hair as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Hell, where had these waves come from? Damn humidity. He started the SUV and turned the AC on full, earning a blast of hot air in his face. He turned the wheel and steered the vehicle away from Cypress Corners and toward the beach. And temporary freedom.

  He’d think about nothing but sun, surf and specs on the conservation development. Damn the weed. Damn the Institute.

  And damn the hot little tree-hugger at the center of it all.

  ***

  He sat in his hotel suite that night, his back to the ocean view. Even forty miles away from her, he was unable to get the plant babe out of his mind. She was the cause of all this, with her little notebook and her ugly plant. She probably had the director of the Institute in the back pocket of her snug little shorts. He pictured her again, as she’d been out at the site and across the street this afternoon. His body tightened.

  He drained his beer bottle and began to peel the foil label into strips. Stopping, he laughed softly. Wasn’t that a sign of sexual frustration? He had that. Every time he pictured the little tree-hugger. He hadn’t had such raging hormonal urges since high school. Maybe her frustrating his business plan was screwing around with the rest of him.

  Sex was usually pretty easy for him, with no strings attached. He only got involved with women who had the same expectations. He suspected the plant girl wasn’t like those women. Strings? Oh, yeah. He wouldn’t be the one getting tangled. Just look at the mess his father was in now.

  Bill married Tiffany three months ago, and almost since the ceremony she’d been trying to get Rick into bed. Leaving suggestive messages on his voice mail, stopping by his office at Chapman for a quick chat about nothing. Low-cut blouse and high-cut skirt, blond hair as genuine as the tanning-bed cast to her skin. Tiffany was a bitch, but that was none of his business. Let the old man deal with her.

  H
e stood, crossed to the mini-bar, and took out another five dollar bottle of beer. His cell rang as he twisted off the cap. Taking a long drag on the bottle, he grabbed the cell and held it to his ear. His father’s voice came through clearly.

  “Hello, Dad.”

  “Chapman,” his father said. “I spoke to our guys in Legal and you have to get back to Cypress Corners.”

  He took another sip and settled onto the couch. “I plan to. The director of the Institute couldn’t meet with me today, so I thought I’d give them a call in the morning and arrange a meet.”

  “No. Get back there and keep on those tree-huggers.”

  He stiffened. “Look, I can work just fine from here.”

  “You didn’t work with them on the restaurant last year, Rick. You came in after I laid the groundwork. I made it easy for you.”

  His lips tightened as his father went on about how it was his conviction and balls that got the big job done last year. The café was just another step toward the next big project in the development, the lakeside recreation center. Bill wanted it and Rick had to make sure it happened. His mother’s words came back to him. You’re as good as Bill Chapman, Ricky. You have to make him see that.

  “Okay,” he said, cutting his father off in mid- diatribe. “I’ll go back tomorrow.”

  “And check out of that hotel.”

  “What?” He sat up straight. “Why?”

  “I want you to stay on the property. That girl in the office, Tammy, said she has the perfect place for you.”

  He blew out a breath. “Where?”

  “A house for lease in the village. You can keep an eye on the Institute, maybe schmooze the Cypress Execs. Act like one of them. I didn’t pay for all that schooling to let it go to waste.”

  He ignored the barb as usual. He had to hand it to Bill Chapman. The idea made sense. “All right, Dad. I’ll get out there first thing.”

  “Good.”

  The call cut out and he was left holding nothing but air. Again. He had to go back, then. The plant girl was in tight at the Institute. She was the one who could turn this whole thing around, if he played this just right. He was smooth, thanks to the polish he’d gotten at the pricey schools Bill had paid for. He was smart, thanks to Harvard Business School. He was charming, if his success with the women in Boston was any indication.