The Growing Season Page 2

  “No, you were young, darling. And in love.”

  Danny jerked, his hand clenching into a fist. His heart leaped into his throat, and a chill slipped over his shoulders. The voice was rich with love and forgiveness. And every time he heard it, he feared he was going insane.

  The first time he’d heard Audrey was right before he got the letter. He’d been lying in bed in a postage-stamp-sized studio apartment above a garage in East Los Angeles, and the sound had startled him so much he’d jerked and hit his head on the wall. She’d said his name, just his name. For the rest of the long, sleepless night he’d searched for excuses for what he’d heard.

  The letter arrived by certified mail the next day. Not knowing about her death soon enough to attend Mom’s funeral was a weight he’d carry until he died. But hearing her voice? That was just weird. He convinced himself he hadn’t really heard it at all, that it was a figment of his imagination, and it worked. Until he got home.

  It was harder to ignore her here. Especially when she kept talking to him about the brothers he didn’t know.

  His first meeting with Calvin Ware had been awkward, and wary. He remembered him, of course. Saint Calvin, that was what they’d called him. The one who’d aged out of the system but still came around to check up on Mom. There weren’t many who did. Danny felt guilty for receiving part of what Cal might justifiably see as his rightful inheritance. He’d only been at Neverwood for three years. Cal and Devon had been with her much longer.

  Danny was fourteen when he landed at Neverwood. His mom, an Italian fashion model, stuck around just long enough to dump him on his dad. He’d been raised by a series of nannies until he was six, then tutors after that. His father ignored him for the most part. An executive at an aerospace firm, Ryan Redmond was far too important to worry about his increasingly difficult, very pretty young son. At fourteen, Danny lost his virginity to their pool man. After hitting his father’s liquor cabinet to dull the pain and disappointment the encounter left him with, he proceeded to tell Ryan and five guests at a dinner party all about it. The next morning he was on a plane to Spokane, and Audrey. He lasted three years, and then ran off with “the love of his life.”

  Funny how a fuck buddy looked like “ever after” when you were that age.

  The legendary Devon McCade didn’t return to Neverwood as soon as Danny and Cal did, so the first night they were alone in the massive house. Danny didn’t return to his old room. It was right next to Cal’s, and he didn’t feel comfortable with only a wall between them, so he chose a corner one on the second floor as far from him as possible. Sometimes the nightmares that had plagued him for the past three years made him cry out and he didn’t want anyone else to hear. They were his secret shame.

  His new room was small, had a bed, a tattered dresser, and a nightstand and desk. A cool sort of turret in the corner had windows that overlooked the backyard and the woods. He remembered some of the older boys used to live there right before they aged out of the system.

  The small room suited him fine. The entitled brat he’d been at fourteen was gone forever. Besides, it was bigger than the cell he’d shared for six months.

  Even though he’d been devastated by Audrey’s death, he hadn’t cried when he read the attorney’s letter telling him about his inheritance. He hadn’t cried when he read Audrey’s, either. He’d been too shocked, and then too numb. But being in the house made her absence real for the first time, and seeing all the empty rooms where children had once lived was like a knife between the ribs. He didn’t realize how much he missed it, missed her, until he was back within the old house. And then the pain was overwhelming. He made it to the small corner room, closing the door quietly behind him, before he lost it completely.

  He’d slid to the floor, his back against the lumpy bed, and cried for the first time since he was ten and realized being gay meant his dad would never love him. He cried for Mom, for the pain she must have endured alone, for the lost boys whose lives she would never touch. He sobbed out his regret that he hadn’t been there with her, to hold her hand, to comfort her. And for the first time, he cried for himself, for the stupid, thoughtless child who had run away, thinking he was ready to face the world only to find himself in hell.

  He was sobbing into his hands when he heard her again.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It will be all right.”

  It scared him, badly. He jumped, eyes wide, scooting between the bed and nightstand, his back against the wall.

  “This isn’t real.” He scarcely recognized his own voice, it was so high and breathy.

  “Oh, Danny.” The voice drifted away on a sad sigh.

  He sat up through the long, lonely night, staring into the darkness, jumping with every creak and groan from the old house. Near dawn he remembered a bright, sunny spring day when he was sixteen.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he’d said with all of the bravado and scorn of a teenager. She’d sent him a smile.

  “You don’t?”

  “No.” He made a scoffing sound. “Ghost stories are stupid.”

  Audrey wiped her dirty hands on the knees of her jeans. “I’m surprised by you. You’ve lived in this house for nearly two years, and you can tell me you don’t think it’s haunted?”

  Startled, Danny turned to look at her. “You do?”

  She nodded, a slight smile pulling at her full lips.

  Danny didn’t know if she was messing with him or not. “You think this house is haunted?” he repeated with patent disbelief.

  She nodded. The smile lingered. “I know it is,” she said emphatically. “But it doesn’t frighten me, and it shouldn’t frighten you. There’s nothing in Neverwood that would hurt you, Danny.”

  “I’m not afraid.” He’d scowled at her. Her brown eyes had sparkled.

  “Of course you aren’t.”

  But he’d lied. The idea the house might be haunted freaked him the hell out. Mark laughed at him, but Danny was far more aware of the sounds inside the old mansion after that. The creaks and groans, the muffled footsteps, what sounded like hushed voices that stopped when he entered a room. Audrey said there was nothing there that would harm him. She hadn’t promised it wouldn’t scare him to death.

  Now it seemed she was there, too, lingering in the place she’d loved so fiercely. He’d just hoped after the first night she would leave him alone.

  No such luck.

  He didn’t say anything to his brothers, even when he continued to hear her. He was pretty sure they would think he was one brick shy of a load, particularly when he realized he was the only one who heard her. She’d spoken when he wasn’t alone and the lack of reaction from his brothers seemed to indicate no one heard the soft, musical voice but him. It made him feel very alone.

  The freezing breeze ruffled his hair, and he hunched his shoulders against it and stared across Audrey’s domain. He could almost see her, mink-dark hair threaded with gray pulled back from a face still beautiful in spite of clear evidence of the passage of time. Audrey Rasmussen had been a lovely, elegant woman, even into her sixties. By April, no matter how cold it was, she’d be out in the garden, straw hat on her head, gardener’s gloves on her hands. She seemed to have a sixth sense about the perfect time to come into the garden after winter, and each of the years he lived at Neverwood he’d been beside her.

  It was the one place where he didn’t pretend he was too cool or too bored to care. Those days next to Mom, his hands in the mulch or picking the fruit or pruning the roses, would stay with him forever. She talked, teaching him the intricacies of each plant, and he listened. Then he talked about his disastrous home life and his troubled relationship with his dad, and she listened. Mom never judged.

  Danny took another deep drag on his cigarette and stalked around the shed, heading for the front of the property. A densely wooded area bordered the driveway on the left, and the huge front lawn stretched out to the right. The grass was still matted in places, but there were signs it wouldn’t be long bef
ore it began to green up. Ambling toward the street, Danny saw a flash of color on the gray lawn. A fat robin was pulling up a worm, its orange-red breast bright in the morning sunlight. The tightness in his chest eased some at the sure sign of spring.

  He listened to the sound of the breeze sawing through the towering pines, the cacophony of construction dim in the distance. He took another deep pull on his cigarette, then crouched down and put it out in the gravel. When he straightened, he shoved the mangled end into his pocket. He’d never drop his butts on the drive, and he’d been glad to hear Will Cabot chew out members of his crew who had. Will took the integrity of the grounds as seriously as he did the house, and it deepened Danny’s respect for him.

  Relaxed enough to return to the house and deal with the noise, Danny squared his shoulders. He absently scanned the bare limbs of the bushes near the gates and stopped, his gaze sharpening.

  The long, twiggy branches of forsythia bushes spread along the fence line. Reaching out, he took one of the slender shoots in his hand. It was flexible in his grip, and tiny yellow buds lined the length. He smiled.

  “When the forsythia buds, it’s time to prune the roses and mulch the flower beds. Get to work, Daniel.”

  He wasn’t sure if he heard the whisper of the voice or if it was a memory, but gooseflesh broke out over his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered. He turned with purpose to make his way to the shed that housed the yard tools.

  Chapter Two

  A long-sleeved shirt protected his arms from wicked thorns as he trimmed the dead canes from the trunk of the old climber, but it was also hot. The sun had finally made an appearance and the wind had died, and sweat slipped down his cheek. He lifted his shoulder and rubbed his face on the heavy flannel.

  “Do you have any idea what the hell you’re doing?”

  Assuming the question wasn’t aimed at him, Danny continued to trim the rose.

  “Kid, I’m talking to you.”

  Pausing with the shears near a brittle shoot, Danny turned.

  A man stood behind him, feet planted and hands propped on narrow denim-clad hips. A very handsome man, Danny couldn’t help noticing. He had a fleeting first impression of sun-bleached hair and a square, firm jaw but his attention was caught by the hostile glint in dark eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asked bluntly, instantly defensive.

  “I asked if you know what you’re doing. That’s an heirloom rose. If you cut too much out, you’ll kill it.”

  Danny carefully closed and locked the shears before slipping them into his back pocket. He crossed his arms. “Do tell.”

  The stranger exhaled in exasperation. “That’s a Bourbon. It was probably planted when the house was built over a hundred years ago. You can’t just go hacking away at it. If you don’t know what you’re doing you could destroy it.”

  “And of course, you instantly assume I’m a dumb shit that has no idea what he’s doing.”

  The man lifted his arms, mirroring Danny’s posture. “Listen, kid. No offense...”

  “And yet you persist in calling me kid, which is pretty damned offensive.”

  Dark eyes pinned him, brows lowered and lips tight. To his dismay, Danny couldn’t stop the flare of something other than anger that ignited in his stomach. The guy was an asshole, but he was also alarmingly hot. He had a sturdy build, and the sleeves of his gray hoodie were pushed up to reveal solid, tanned forearms lightly sprinkled with blond hair. Strong forearms were one of Danny’s weaknesses, and this set was definitely strong. Pissed off by the attraction he couldn’t control, he lifted his chin, daring the other man to speak again.

  Instead, the man dropped his arms, metaphorically standing down. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you,” One of the strong arms lifted, and he ran blunt fingers through his sun-kissed hair.

  “Oh, we’re not going to fight. You’re going to leave.”

  “I just wanted—”

  “I don’t care what you wanted. You come in here, shooting your mouth off, being an insulting prick. Well, you’re trespassing on private property, and you’re going to leave. Now.”

  The chiseled jaw flexed. “Will Cabot is working on the renovation inside, right? I’d like to speak to him, if he’s around.”

  “Well, he isn’t,” Danny lied. As far as he knew, Will and Cal were still in the kitchen. “So piss off.”

  They glared at each other, at an impasse.

  “What’s going on?”

  Danny flinched at the unexpected voice. Devon was standing on the porch, a coffee cup in his hand.

  “Nothing,” Danny snapped. “This jerk was just leaving.”

  Instead, the jerk walked around him and climbed the porch steps.

  “Hey!” Danny followed him. “What the hell...”

  The man stuck his hand out to Devon. “Hi, I’m Sam Ignatius.”

  “Devon McCade.” Devon took the offered hand, his eyes on Danny.

  “Listen, Sam whoever the hell you are...” Danny started. Then the last name registered, and he stopped, his mouth open. “Ignatius? As in Councilman Bernard Ignatius?” Unless he was mistaken, a rusty stain was spreading up the tanned neck, but Danny couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it just looked that way to him because he was seeing red. “You’re related to Bernard fucking Ignatius?”

  “Danny.”

  He saw the subtle shake of Devon’s tousled head. He looked like he’d just tumbled out of bed, his hair a curly dark mess and his jaw blue with stubble. He was wearing low-slung blue jeans and nothing else, and there was gooseflesh on his muscular chest.

  “Ignatius, Devon,” Danny said. “You do remember the letter we got, telling us that returning the house to its previous use was not approved of by members of the community? That if we tried, we’d have a fight on our hands? It was signed by Councilman Bernard Ignatius. We ought to physically throw his ass out of here on principal alone.”

  Devon looked between the two men, then his eyes leveled on Sam. “So,” he said slowly. “I’m guessing the good councilman is...what? Your uncle?”

  “My father.” Sam looked as if it pained him.

  “My condolences.”

  “Yeah.” He grimaced. “But I’m hoping you won’t hold it against me. An accident of birth, I promise you.”

  Devon’s lips quirked. “Not close, huh?”

  “No. I...” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but clamped his mouth shut over the words. “No.”

  Devon nodded. “So, what can we do for you, Sam Ignatius?”

  “Devon! This asshole all but told me I have no idea what I was doing. We don’t need to do anything but show him the way out.”

  Devon studied Danny for a moment, and then looked back at Sam. “Did I hear you mention Will Cabot?”

  Sam nodded, his straw-colored hair slipping down over his brows. “Yeah, I know Will. We’ve done several jobs together. He’s the one who called me.”

  Danny stared, thunderstruck. “He what?”

  Sam Ignatius looked at him. “He called me, said the grounds were huge and overgrown and wondered if I—”

  Danny didn’t wait to hear the rest. He threw open the screen door and stormed into the entryway. “Will!” he shouted over the din of the hammers. “Where the hell are you?”

  Chapter Three

  “Kitchen.” It was Cal’s voice that answered, and Danny cut through the dining room, shoving open the swinging butler door. Cal was unloading bags at the sink, and Will was lining up pieces of molding on top of the kitchen’s large central island.

  “Oh, Danny, great.” Will gestured him over. “I want you to look at these.”

  “Not right now, Will. Listen, did you—”

  “First, you both eat.” Cal tossed a wrapped submarine sandwich to Danny, who caught it one handed. It was warm against his palm, and he caught a whiff of marinara. “There’s bottled water in the frig.”

  “Not right this second,” Danny said quickly. “Listen, Will, did you call some guy—”

/>   The butler door hit him in the butt as it swung inward, and Danny cut off with a curse, moving aside. When Devon pushed the door open, Danny glared at him.

  “So don’t stop in front of it,” Devon said mildly, holding the door open and allowing Sam Ignatius to walk through.

  Danny clenched his fists. “You couldn’t give me a second, here? I wanted—”

  “Sam!”

  Clearly delighted, Will came around the block, hand extended. Sam caught it in a firm grip.

  “How are you, man?” Will was grinning. “I haven’t seen you in... God, what? Six months?”

  “About.” Sam’s smile was less enthusiastic, but even so, Danny noticed he had perfect white teeth. Damn him.

  “I had no idea you were in town. This is great!”

  “Will,” Danny ground out between his teeth.

  “Cal,” Will went on, impervious to Danny’s irritation, “this is the guy I told you about, Sam Ignatius. Sam, this is Calvin Ware. He and his brothers own the house.”

  “Hi.” Cal offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Will,” Danny tried again.

  “And this is Devon McCade, one of his brothers.” Will gestured toward Devon, who leaned negligently against the block, crossing his legs at the ankle. He was watching the whole thing with an amused quirk to his full lips.

  “We met out front.”

  “Oh, great. And this is...”

  “Goddamn it, Will!”

  Danny’s shout stopped Will’s voice and left a startled, uncomfortable silence in its wake. Will stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. Cal frowned.

  “Will—” Danny’s jaw was tight, “—who is this guy?”

  Will frowned, blinking. “Sam Ignatius. We’ve done several restorations together. He’s one of the foremost landscape architects in the Pacific Northwest. When he isn’t doing new installations, he specializes in restoring formal gardens, just like the one out front...” Will’s voice trailed away, and he was clearly confused.