A few days later, Rose was up with the sun again. She stood by the kitchen sink in her pyjamas and looked out the window at the colours painting the sky. Pinks and purples were reflected in the scudding clouds that had gathered overnight. There was rain in the forecast for the afternoon, and she was grateful for it. They'd had a long stretch of heat. The grass was getting dry, and it was only mid-June.

In the two days since she'd argued with Jackson beneath the apple tree, she'd gone back and forth between her house and the cottage, sometimes alone, sometimes with Lily in tow. Dad had grumbled about being checked up on, but she thought he was enjoying his daughters' attention, especially Lily's, since she was never home in Dogwood enough to suit him.

Rose pushed away from the counter and went into the living room. Her sister was asleep on the pull-out couch with her face mashed into her pillow. Rose sat on the edge of the bed, easing herself down to wake Lily gently.

Lily stirred. "What time is it?"

"Early," Rose whispered.

Lily made an incomprehensible noise, then lifted the edge of her blanket. Rose smiled and stretched out alongside her sister, tugging the blanket over them both and tucking her hand under her cheek.

"That McBride boy has you all in a tizzy," Lily mumbled sleepily. "You should kiss him already."

Rose made a face. "I'm not sure that's wise."

Lily's mouth quirked up. "That's the only way to find out if he's a prince."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I've kissed my share of frogs, Rose. I would know."

Rose chuckled. "You're such a dreamer."

"Hard to dream when you're interrupting my beauty sleep. You going to see Dad today?"

"Yes. There are some things to do around the grounds." Rose sighed. "I can't avoid them any longer."

"Okay. I'll entertain Mom. Take her shopping or something." Lily spoke through a yawn. "Someone's got to do it. At a more reasonable hour, too." She lifted her head and squinted at the living room window. "God, Rose, it's the ass crack of dawn."

Rose laughed and tucked a piece of Lily's hair away from her face. "Okay. Go back to sleep." She sat up and rearranged the blanket around Lily. "Thank you for coming home for the summer. I just—I'm not good with Mom. Not the way you are."

Lily waved her off and cozied into her pillow. "Don't worry about it. It was a good excuse to take a long vacation. Things at the gallery have been tense for a while. I needed it."

Rose paused, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. Go play." Lily grinned. "But don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That sounds an awful lot like permission."

Lily fished the pillow out from beneath her head and threw it at Rose, laughing.

"Get out of here already," she giggled, "or I'll make you come shopping with Mom."

Rose tossed the pillow back to her, then stood. "All right, all right. I love you, Lil."

Lily's sleep-muddled voice followed her down the hall. "I love you, too."

Rose showered, then dressed in jeans and a light, long-sleeved shirt. She studied herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. It was not a look that screamed sex appeal, but she'd be grateful to have her arms and legs covered today. The shrubs around the McBride house needed trimming. She bit her lip and tugged her shirt tighter around her midsection, the fabric shaping itself to her torso. Maybe she ought to take more care with her appearance.

She rolled her eyes and let the shirt fall naturally. She was not going to dress up for Jackson.

By the time she made it to the McBride house, the sun had risen, but the lights were still off inside Dad's cottage. Rose nodded in approval. Dad needed the extra sleep. She parked, then ventured into the toolshed.

The shed was a lot like Dad. Particular and orderly. A pitted and scratched wood workbench lined the length of one wall. He'd left an in-progress project neatly aligned on it: a light switch box alongside a length of wire and a soldering iron. Rose shook her head, looking at it. She'd learned many skills from her father but rewiring electrical was not one of them. She took a pair of shears off the wall along with a few other garden tools and loaded up the truck.

As she trundled up to the McBride house, she studied the windows for a sign that anyone was awake, but the lights were all out. Apparently, she was the only one troubled by sleeplessness these days.

Rose parked in the driveway and hopped out of the Bronco, pulling on a pair of thick leather gardening gloves as she scanned the cedar hedge. It wasn't too bad. A little trimming here and there, and she'd be done before Jackson even got out of bed. There was no time to wait for him and his ridiculous plan to work together. Besides, she needed to go into Town Hall after this and get some real work done. Since Dad's accident, she'd been shirking her mayoral duties.

Rose nodded, satisfied with her plan, and pulled the shears out of the truck.

***

Jackson woke to the sound of branches snapping. He rolled over and looked at his phone where it lay on the pillow beside him. It was only six-thirty in the morning. He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes. The cracking and snapping continued. Someone was working in the yard.

He tossed off his blanket and rolled out of bed, then stumbled groggily to the window. Outside, in the driveway, Rose was attacking the hedge with a pair of wicked garden shears. Jackson scowled. He'd been very clear about his wishes, hadn't he? She was not to work on the grounds without him.

"Goddammit, Rose," he muttered.

He threw on fresh clothes—a pair of jeans and a red T-shirt—and stormed downstairs where he slipped into his tennis shoes at the front door.

As he exited the house, he found her back to him. She snipped at the cedars. She wore a shapeless, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans that did little to disguise the curve of her hips. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to turn around. He didn't want to snap at her and risk startling her, but a few choice words lined up in his throat.

Finally, Rose paused, letting the heavy shears fall against her leg with one hand. She tugged off one sturdy-looking glove by jamming it in the crook of her arm, then wiped at her forehead with her bare hand.

"Rosie," he warned.

She jumped and turned to him. "Jesus, Jackson. You scared me."

"I wouldn't have had to if you'd done as we'd agreed."

Rose lifted her chin. "I don't have time to wait for you. I have other duties to attend to."

Jackson marched across the driveway toward her, looking down at the shears pointedly. "Those are sharp. What if something happened, and you were out here all alone for too long before I heard you?"

She rolled her eyes. "They're garden shears. I'm trimming branches, not fighting off a hoard of invaders with an axe."

"If you even think about touching an axe, I'll—"

"What?" she interrupted. "You'll what?" She snorted. "I'm a grown woman, Jackson. You're not going to bend me over your knee."

"I can see that," he shot back. His eyes widened as he pictured it. "I mean, I'm aware." He took a deep breath. "We're both adults here."

Her cheeks turned pink. "Kind of you to notice."

Jackson rubbed his jaw. "Were you always this stubborn?"

"Yes." Her voice was wry. "Maybe you're misremembering."

He shook his head. He didn't remember them arguing like this when they were kids.

"There's a difference between stubbornness and a total disregard for consequences," he said dryly. "If I recall correctly, you were the leader of our little gang. I followed where you led."

Rose narrowed her eyes. "That's not true."

He raised his brows. "Isn't it? You weren't afraid of anything. You still aren't. Clearly."

"You say that like I was the one who always got us into trouble. If anyone was disregarding the consequences, it was you. You never had a stern word to said to you." She tossed her hair out of her eyes. "You did whatever you wanted, and no one did a thing to stop you."

Jackson studied her, sobered by her assessment. He knew more about stern words than she realized. He looked away.

He took a deep breath. "Could you just let me win the battle for once?"

"I didn't realize this was a war."

"Isn't it?" This was becoming absurd. "It sure feels like one. Come on, Rosie. We're on the same team." He lowered his voice. "We always were."

Rose bit her lip, then her posture softened. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Convince me," she said cryptically. "You can be persuasive when you want to be."

"I'm just trying to avoid getting stabbed with a pair of giant scissors." He let a hopeful smile curve his mouth.

She looked down at the garden shears in her hand. "Fine. Many hands make light work, right?" She held them out to him. "I have things to do today. I'm not giving in, mind you. I'm taking advantage of you. How are your topiary skills?"

Jackson took the shears and hefted them in his hand. "Passable, maybe. I watched your dad a lot."

Rose finally smiled. "You did. You followed him around like a lost puppy."

He chuckled. "Well, he was very kind to me, even when I gave him reason to not be."

She studied him, then she let her arms hang limply. "Fine. You take the hedges, and I'll pull the weeds."

His brows knitted together as she turned away from him and tugged her other glove back on. He knew that posture—the defeated slope of her shoulders, the bend in her neck as she gave him her back. She was upset.

"Rosie."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. For some reason, there was hurt in her eyes. "I'm short on time, Jackson. Let's get to it."

He sighed internally and lifted the shears. As he dove into the work, clipping off errant branches and shaping the hedge, Rose knelt in the grass at the end of the row of shrubs and pulled bits of dandelion and other greenery away from the roots. Jackson studied her surreptitiously. The slump in her shoulders broadcasted disappointment.

He frowned. Perhaps he'd been too forceful with her about working alone, but he couldn't bear the thought of Rose getting hurt, especially not here at the Creek House—again. Besides, she wasn't on the payroll. It wasn't her job to take care of the grounds. That she thought it was made an uncomfortable knot form in his belly. He didn't like the idea of Rose subjugating herself to his family. Or to anyone.

He paused in the act of cutting a twig.

He was an idiot.

She wasn't an employee, yet he'd ordered her around as though she were. He shook his head at himself, disgust turning the corners of his mouth down. He'd been swaggering around like a little king his entire life, and old habits died hard. No wonder she was upset. He'd blundered.

He stepped back and surveyed his work.

"Rosie?"

She sat back on her haunches.

He worried the inside of his cheek with his teeth. "I don't think I'm very good at this."

Rose stood and brushed the grass off her knees, then came to stand beside him. She tilted her head.

"It's a little lopsided." A hint of mirth made her voice tremble.

"It is, isn't it?" He kept his eyes on the hedge as he spoke. He could feel warmth flooding his face. "I made mistakes. I see that now."

In his periphery, he caught the sharp turn of her head.

"You were a little heavy-handed," she said slowly.

"I can learn." He hesitated. "Maybe you should take the lead. I think we work better that way."

He held out the garden shears to her. Rose took them from him, looking down at the sharp blades and turning them over in her hands instead of speaking.

A drop of rain fell on Jackson's forehead. He looked up. As he studied the sky, more drops fell and pattered on the shrubs.

"I think we're getting rained out," he muttered.

Rose lifted her head. "Maybe..." She tilted her head back and forth. "Maybe I can come back tomorrow, and we can work on this together."

He smiled at her. "I'd like that." He let his voice soften further. "I can use a gentler touch."

Her cheeks coloured in a way that made his insides tighten. He breathed in deeply through his nose as the rain started to fall in earnest. The air smelled fresh and green like the air around the banks of the creek had when they were kids. The water turned Rose's shirt a deep shade of blue where it hit the fabric, darkening her shoulders and the slope of her breasts. Suddenly, he was breathless. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the rain.

"It's really coming down," she said. "I didn't expect this."

Jackson's voice came out tight with emotion. "Neither did I."

"I'll see you later." She sounded hesitant. "I—I have to get to work."

Jackson nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Rose turned away and tossed the shears into the back of her truck. As she climbed into the truck and closed the door, she looked back at him briefly. Jackson stood in the rain, his ability to move arrested as he watched her leave. He pressed a hand to his chest. For a moment, the droplets on Rose's skin had made her shine like something precious, and it had taken his breath away.