“Okay.” Not that she was actually sure it was okay. She didn’t know either member of her team well enough yet to judge. “Keep clearing.”
The area was becoming overgrown with Lyme grass, an invasive non-native beach grass that posed a threat to several rare native plants. Heather wanted to replace whatever they removed with native varieties.
“Just remember to only remove the grass that has bluish leaves,” she added. “They should stand out clearly from any native dune grass still present.”
“I got it the first time,” Tyrone said.
Heather flinched. She might be the boss of the team, but she didn’t want to come off as “bossy.” “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
The short drive from Sparrow Lake seemed interminable.
Take deep, slow breaths, and enjoy the ride, she reminded herself. Let go of what you can’t fix.
She’d existed in a pressure cooker for the past couple of years. An army widow at twenty-one, she’d managed her aunt’s quilting store to make a living while raising the twins and earning a degree in landscape horticulture. In order to cope she’d had to learn how to counter stress with relaxation techniques.
Sometimes they even worked.
Now her sister, Kristen, had decided to change careers and was back in Sparrow Lake and running Sew Fine while Heather was embarking on her new career. The final project for her advanced landscape design class had been a design challenge sponsored by a nonprofit called Environmental Partners, Inc., otherwise known as EPI. She’d won the challenge and the opportunity for a paid internship that could turn into a full-time job.
This internship was a dream come true for Heather. She’d started gardening when she was a kid and her mother had no time to do anything but work to support their family. By high school, Heather had been drawing plans for friends’ yards and figuring what kinds of plants should go where. She’d known then she wanted to get a job working in landscaping. But her plans to go to college had been cut short by her early pregnancy and Scott’s determination to enlist. For years she’d had to be content with the gardening magazines she’d collected, the knowledge she’d gathered from them and a dream that one day it would all come together.
Now she actually would be able to put that knowledge to work and in a way that would help improve the earth by creating a sustainable landscape.
When she arrived in Kenosha at last, Heather drove through the historic district along the Lake Michigan shoreline. The houses on Third Street were old and huge and lovely, as was much of the current professional landscaping. Flanagan Manor was the biggest and showiest of the bunch.
She couldn’t contain her excitement as she turned onto a drive that led into the huge lakeside estate surrounded by black wrought-iron fencing. She would get to work here for a good part of the summer, redefining the grounds of the mansion built in Victorian times and once owned and expanded by the wealthy Chicago bootlegger, Red Flanagan, who’d been famous for trading bullets with his chief competitor, Al Capone. The mansion had gone through several more owners since the 1930s, after the federal government claimed the property as payment for Flanagan’s tax evasion.
One wing of the huge old home had been turned into a bed-and-breakfast by the current owner, Benjamin Phillips. The Phillips family lived in Chicago and used Flanagan Manor as their “summer cottage.” Apparently, the bed-and-breakfast paid for the estate’s upkeep. Heather had met the owner, of course, but the family wasn’t currently in residence.
The main building itself was a showpiece, a gorgeous historic greystone with a portico lakeside and a porte cochère at the side entry, so passengers could alight from their vehicles heedless of inclement weather. Close to the mansion at the top of a gentle incline sat a stone terrace with some plants in large containers and a faux Italian fountain that didn’t work anymore. An old two-story coach house that mimicked the mansion sat directly behind it. The huge expanse of grass fronting the lake tumbled down to a few modest dunes and a small beach. The rest of the shore on both sides of the mansion was lined with boulders, and to the south, a weathered boathouse was attached to a decrepit dock that jutted out into the lake. Once the site where illegal Canadian booze had been unloaded, the dock and boathouse no longer seemed to be in use.
Heather had no idea what the Phillips family intended to do with them in the future.
Her focus was on the surrounding nature.
Heather had been chosen to design and supervise renovation of the grounds, which would include reintroducing native plants to support not only stormwater containment, to keep the runoff from the lake, but also a balanced ecosystem. Many insects needed a specific plant for food. And those insects were food for small animals and birds. The landscaping would be both practical and beautiful, and she was thrilled that her work would be enjoyed for decades to come by myriad guests and visitors and the owner and his family.
Parking in back of the mansion alongside other service vehicles, she grabbed her portfolio with the design plans she was still working on, then left the SUV. The long, narrow lot along the north side of the building was reserved for guests, but today there were only a few cars. It had probably been full for Memorial Day weekend, but kids weren’t out of school yet, and the tourist season hadn’t geared up. The perfect time to get started.
Looking for her team, she headed across the south lawn, passing the century-old, glass-paneled conservatory on the southeast end of the mansion. Having had a quick tour of the inside, she knew that it wasn’t being used to its full potential. No plant aficionado in the family. Mr. Phillips had suggested he might want her to renovate it. No promises, but the prospect excited Heather.
To her relief, Tyrone and Amber were busy at work on the gently rolling dunes near the shoreline, loading the invasive plants they’d removed into a wheelbarrow. About to call out to them, she stopped when she realized they would never hear her over the combined racket made by hip-hop music coming from a boom box on the beach and the roar of a nearby lawnmower.
Wait a minute! Why was anyone other than her team doing anything with the lawn? Mr. Phillips had told her to set the boundaries for EPI, so any groundskeeper should have checked with her first.
Glancing back, Heather noted a giant lawnmower was eating up the south lawn at an amazing speed. The man riding the machine was pretty amazing, too. From the length of his leg, she’d guess he must be at least six feet tall. He had a sculpted body—she could appreciate the muscles all too obvious beneath the thin, white T-shirt—and undoubtedly sculpted features beneath a shock of dark-brown hair streaked with gray. Or so she assumed from his jawline. The rest of his face was pretty well-hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.
She’d never seen him before...but then she hadn’t been introduced to anyone who worked on the estate other than Cora, the housekeeper, who was in charge of the mansion.
Though she thought about approaching him to find out exactly who he was, Heather decided that could wait. She felt less in charge wearing an old cap to protect her face from the sun, a practical gray sweatshirt and a pair of jeans loose enough to work in. Not that Mr. Sunglasses intimidated her or anything.
Her pulse threading a little unevenly, she moved away from man and machine and headed for her team. Tyrone Smith and Amber Miller had both been working for EPI for more than a year, but because neither had gotten any kind of formal education, they did the hard labor, not the design or planning. That was up to her. So, the week before, after she’d met them, they’d
