And, with time, it had lessened, finally fading almost completely; she certainly didn’t need Beau Garrett, a complete stranger to the area, coming here and tormenting her in another way!
His frown had turned to puzzlement now. ‘Jaz—’ He broke off as a knock sounded on the back door.
‘Hello? Anyone home?’ Without waiting for an answer to his call, Dennis, the builder, opened the door to look expectantly into the room.
Where, Jaz knew, she and the famous Beau Garrett were standing far too close for two people who were supposed to be relative strangers!
CHAPTER FIVE
BILLS, bills, nothing but— What…?
Jaz’s hand shook as she held the single sheet of paper, staring disbelievingly at the single sentence printed there. Only four words, but, nevertheless, those four words had the impact on her that they were obviously supposed to.
‘Like mother, like daughter’.
Like mother, like daughter—except Jaz was nothing like her mother. Nothing!
She flung the letter down onto the cluttered desk-top in the garden-centre office where she had been opening her post, before standing up to pace restlessly, her gaze returning again and again to that unsigned letter.
What did it mean? In what way was she supposed to be like her mother?
The envelope, she suddenly realized. It would have a stamp on it with the time and place of postage, plus the address would have to have been written there too.
No, the address had been printed by computer too—so much for her amateur sleuthing! And there was no postage stamp on it. Which meant it must have been delivered by hand.
Jaz recoiled from the thought that it might have been someone local who had sent the anonymous letter to her, her stomach churning with distaste that she might actually know someone capable of doing this.
But what other explanation was there? The letter had been laying on the floor with all the other letters delivered while she’d been out at work all day, gathered up in their number and opened in all innocence of its contents.
‘Anyone here?’
Jaz easily recognized that voice, moving quickly to gather up the letter and its envelope, to push them into the top drawer of the desk just as Beau Garrett let himself into the office.
‘Yes?’ she prompted slightly breathlessly, standing protectively in front of the desk—as if she thought that damning letter were going to leap out of its own volition and present itself to this man!
Maybe she should show it to him? Maybe if she could share it with someone it wouldn’t seem quite so—
Ridiculous, she instantly told herself irritably. It was unpleasant—unbelievably so, if she were honest with herself!—but not anything that concerned this man. Certainly nothing she could ‘share’ with him, or anyone else.
Beau frowned across the room at her. ‘Are you okay?’
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to relax as she smiled at him reassuringly. ‘Of course.’
His frown didn’t alter. ‘You’re looking a little pale…?’
Jaz gave a dismissive grimace. ‘I’m probably hungry. Besides,’ she added ruefully, ‘I’ve just received the electricity bill!’
Beau gave a derisive smile. ‘That would do it.’ He nodded understandingly. ‘And talking of hungry—I’m just on my way out to the pub for dinner. I saw your light on, and wondered if, like me, you felt like giving cooking a miss for this evening?’
Jaz stared at him. Had Beau Garrett just invited her out to dinner? Albeit the pub at the other end of the village…
Yes, he had. And she could easily guess the reason for it!
They hadn’t parted on too friendly terms earlier today, Jaz making good her escape from the kitchen with Dennis’s timely arrival. And she had left promptly at five o’clock without speaking to Beau Garrett again.
The man obviously felt guilty about his teasing earlier today!
He raised mocking dark brows at her lack of response. ‘Pub. Food,’ he enunciated slowly. ‘My treat,’ he added as she continued to look at him without speaking.
That last remark evoked a response, her cheeks colouring angrily. ‘I’m not in need of anyone’s charity, Mr Garrett,’ she snapped waspishly. Least of all yours, her tone clearly implied.
His expression darkened irritably. ‘And I’m not in the business of offering anyone charity—Miss Logan,’ he bit out harshly. ‘Merely suggesting we eat dinner together, and as such ensuring that you have enough strength to shift another load of junk from my garden tomorrow!’
She deserved his impatient anger, and she knew it; she was just feeling shaken, and not a little sensitive, from receiving that anonymous letter.
But what was it, after all? Amateur hour, that’s what it was. Probably just some kid who liked playing with his computer and had read too many Agatha Christies than was good for him!
‘Besides,’ Beau Garrett added abruptly, ‘I hate eating alone.’
When he put it like that…!
Jaz gave a heavy sigh, relaxing slightly. ‘Sorry if I sounded ungrateful,’ she grimaced. ‘Dinner at the pub sounds wonderful,’ she accepted gracefully.
It would also give her time and distance from that horrible letter. And when she got back later this evening she would throw the thing straight in the bin.
‘Do you have time to wait while I change out of these old clothes?’ She had actually changed out of her working clothes when she’d got in half an hour ago, but these faded denims and one of her father’s old jumpers, although clean, were almost as disreputable.
Beau gave a decisive shake of his head. ‘You look fine. And I’ve been assured that they do “a marvelous steak” at the pub,’ he added more practically.
Jaz moved to pick up her heavy coat, laughing softly at his perfect imitation of Barbara Scott at the village shop. ‘Did you ever think of taking up acting?’ she prompted interestedly after locking up and following him out to the Range Rover.
‘Never!’ he assured with a barely suppressed shudder. ‘Did you never think of doing something other than follow in your father’s footsteps?’
Jaz gave him a considering look, that look cut short as the interior light of the powerful vehicle clicked off overhead. ‘Saved by the light,’ she drawled. ‘And, no, I never considered doing anything else. I love gardening, love collecting the seeds, nurturing the seedlings, seeing them grow into beautiful blooms. My grandmother—the designer of the rock garden,’ she reminded dryly, ‘she loved it too. You might say it’s in the blood,’ she added teasingly. And then felt the chill of ice in her veins.
As that anonymous letter had already stated, she was her mother’s daughter too!
No,
