end of the sizable room. According to Kent, one door would open into a short hallway that skirted the dining room, and the other would lead into the kitchen.
Choosing a door, Garrett pulled it open then drew up short. An orange metal ladder blocked the way. Assuming that the workmen had left it there, Garrett placed a hand on each of the nearest metal legs and lifted the ladder to set it aside, finding it surprisingly heavy.
“Wow,” he began, clumsily moving the thing only a couple feet. It rocked. And shrieked. Managing to crowd into the small room, Garrett glanced upward in time to see a body falling toward him in a flurry of flailing limbs. “Whoa!”
Heart hammering, Garrett threw out his arms and somehow managed to catch the fellow—or child, given the slight weight—while the ladder stuttered backward.
But what would a child be doing up on that ladder?
No, not a child, he thought, catching sight of the flushed face of a young woman. A very lovely young woman with long, wheat-brown hair tumbling over his arm.
For a stunned moment, Garrett could do nothing more than gape, taking in the triangular face with a dainty nose and big, very dark brown eyes, loosely framed by wisps of straight, golden-brown hair. The slight woman in his arms could not be called beautiful in the classical sense; her face was too unusual for that. But something more than mere shock made Garrett’s heart race. Something about that clean, almost angular face seemed both breathtakingly fresh and oddly, achingly familiar, as if he ought to know her. Yet, he was sure that they had never met.
Suddenly those deep brown eyes darkened to black, the generous lips pulled down in a frown, and a sharp elbow jabbed into his ribs as she began to struggle. Garrett swiftly set her on her feet, aware of Magnolia crowding close behind him. The tiny woman glared at him, her dark eyes sweeping over him accusingly as her dainty hands tugged at the hem of her heather-gray T-shirt. One hand crept up to smooth over the weighty mass of her hair before jerking away again. Garrett doubted that she stood as tall as five feet.
“You could’ve killed me!”
“Sorry. I—I didn’t realize anyone—”
“Who are you,” she interrupted, “and what are you doing here?”
Garrett shook his head, trying to marshal his thoughts, and belatedly stuck out his hand. “Garrett. Willows. And, um…this is my new house.”
“Your house?” She backed up, bumping into the ladder, which rocked precariously before settling once more.
“I’m moving in here and opening a plant nursery.”
Her big, dark eyes widened even further. “This is my house! I’m moving in and opening a shop. I made arrangements with the owner this morning.”
Garrett matched her frown with his. “That’s impossible. I spoke to Kent not four hours ago.”
“Kent? Who’s Kent?”
“Kent Monroe.”
The woman shook her head, catching the butterfly clip that her fall had dislodged from her hair as it flew to one side. Garrett saw for the first time that her T-shirt and baggy jeans were flecked with bits of paper.
“I made arrangements with Ellie Monroe,” she declared.
A sick feeling roiled in Garrett’s stomach. As Kent’s granddaughter, Ellie was co-owner of the house. Moreover, Kent tended to indulge Ellie. If Ellie wanted this woman to have the house, chances were that she would. Garrett felt his optimism drain away. So much for his dreams.
Taking a deep breath, Garrett traded worried looks with Magnolia, who stepped up and said sweetly, “I’m Magnolia Chatam. What’s your name, dear?”
The other woman fidgeted for a moment. Finally, she mumbled, “Jessa Lynn Pagett.”
“And when did you speak with Ellie?” Magnolia asked.
She shrugged and twisted up her hair, making a long rope of it and coiling it at the nape of her neck before securing it with the hairclip. Long, tendrils of it fell free, wafting about her face. “I don’t know exactly. Sometime between nine-fifteen and ten o’clock this morning. She had a break in her class schedule and told us to come over to the school.”
“Us?” Magnolia queried with an innocent smile.
Jessa Lynn Pagett’s dark eyes darted to one side. “My friend, Abby Stringer, my son and me.”
At first glance, she hadn’t looked old enough to be a mother, but on closer study, Garrett realized that she could be in her early twenties. He noted that she hadn’t mentioned a husband, so he did it for her. “What about your husband? Didn’t he want to be with you when you spoke to Ellie?”
“I’m divorced,” Jessa Lynn Pagett told him sharply.
More pleased by that information than he should be, Garrett shifted his gaze away and caught a speaking glance from Magnolia. He cleared his throat.
“I know Abby,” Magnolia said conversationally, shifting her attention back to Jessa. “When she retired, Ellie took her place teaching at the elementary school.”
That connection made Jessa Pagett’s story entirely credible. Sighing, Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“So you arranged to rent the place from Ellie,” he said to Jessa, “and I arranged to lease it from her grandfather, Kent. On the very same morning. Swell.”
“All I know,” Jessa declared, folding her arms, “is that my son and I are moving in here tonight and I’m opening a shop in the front room as soon as possible.”
Biting back a groan, Garrett glanced at Magnolia. She had been instrumental in convincing Kent Monroe to have the place re-zoned residential/commercial recently, with Garrett in mind. Neither of them had considered the possibility that the new zoning would attract others with similar goals to his.
“You’ve signed papers, then?” Garrett asked dully. That would definitely give Jessa Lynn Pagett precedence as Kent had suggested that Garrett could sign his lease on Friday, two days from now.
Jessa blanched, giving Garrett a glimmer of hope. “The papers weren’t drawn up yet. But Ellie said we could go ahead and stay here tonight because—” She broke off, biting her lip.
“Because you have nowhere else to go?” Magnolia surmised gently.
Jessa looked away, swallowing.
“Do you?” Garrett asked, fairly sure where Magnolia was going with this. “Do you have somewhere else to stay?”
Jessa lifted her chin. “Not exactly.”
Garrett looked to Magnolia, thinking of something that he’d heard said recently by her nephew, Asher Chatam, an attorney and the fiancé of Ellie Monroe.
“Possession,” the astute counselor had declared, “is nine-tenths of the law.”
In other words, if neither he nor Jessa had signed papers, the one actually in residence could have the upper
