She shook her head. “I don’t want to waste a single minute.”
He gave her a gentlemanly nod and extended his arm to her. His old-fashioned formality was so much more potent than the charm poured on by his younger brother. It made her feel ladylike, and it was a nice sensation.
Their shoes crunched along a gravel pathway as they rounded the bend toward the greenhouses. Birds chattered in nearby trees, and a squirrel darted across the path. The green scent of wild grass was like a balm to her spirit. She’d missed the countryside.
A huge flat slab of foundation stones looked starkly out of place in the rural splendor. When Gray noticed where she was looking, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“That’s the remnants of the house where I was born,” he said. “It was burned by the Yankees in 1864. I keep the foundation as a reminder.”
The house must have been a mansion, for its foundation was enormous. It surely had excellent access to the river and was probably one of those grand plantation estates she’d seen pictures of in magazines.
Gray went on to explain that the Jenkins family lived in the farmhouse. The married couple maintained the grounds, but Gray visited a couple of days per month because he enjoyed tending the plants himself. “Sinking my hands into the soil is a balm to the spirit,” he said, and she completely agreed.
They rounded a bend, and she got her first close-up view of the greenhouses. They were huge, each of them larger than the farmhouse where she’d lived most of her life. Keys jangled as Gray unlocked the door to the first greenhouse, and she stepped inside.
It was Eden. Moss and jasmine perfumed the air, and a fountain splashed in the center of the structure. Tables overflowedwith potted herbs, climbing roses, and lush vines. Towering palms were tucked into the corners, along with lemon, lime, and fig trees. Heavy fruit she didn’t recognize hung from the tree beside her.
“What is this?” she asked, cupping a smooth green fruit slightly larger than a baseball.
“A mango,” he said. “Native to India.”
“And this?” What a treasure trove he had, a literal feast for the eyes.
“Papaya. Native to Mexico.”
“Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes! I’ve heard of papaya. The Department of Agriculture is trying to import them. A whole team of scientists are seeing if they can be cultivated in California, but I’ve never seen one before.”
She must have said something wrong, for he crossed his arms, and that dark, suspicious look was on his face again. This was ridiculous. They were two people with a common interest, so why did he get so moody all the time? She would confront it with a chiding sense of humor, which was always more effective than scolding.
She pretended to shiver. “That scowl just caused the temperature in here to drop ten degrees. Please tell me what I’ve done.”
He gave a nervous laugh and turned away. Was he actually blushing? She couldn’t read him as he gestured to a cluster of chairs near the fountain.
“Have a seat,” he said, not unkindly. “Let’s talk.”
She joined him, still fascinated by the bounty of ferns, bamboo, and bromeliads. It was such an earthly paradise in here, but she turned her attention to the darkly attractive man opposite her.
“Look,” he began tersely. “The only people I mistrust more than the Smithsonian is the Department of Agriculture.”
“But why?” she sputtered. “That’s like resenting yeoman farmers and the salt of the earth.”
“They give their information away for free,” he said, as though it were a crime. “They use taxpayer money to send scientists all over the world, hunting plants and seeds, then help farmers profit from it. How am I supposed to compete with that?”
It was hard to form a coherent sentence when she was so flabbergasted. “You don’t have to. The information they are compiling is for the good of everyone.”
“And yet I’m investing a fortune in it. All I want is to be left alone to cultivate plants, strike deals, and turn a profit. But the government taxes me left, right, and center, using my money to compile research they give away to others. You aren’t the first government official to try to steal what I’ve accomplished.”
“We’re not stealing anything. We’re learning from each other.”
“Knowledge is the most valuable commodity on the face of the earth, and I won’t let the government take it for free.”
“We can both benefit from sharing information. It isn’t stealing.”
He snorted. “I know you want to see a particular vanilla orchid. In fact, I’ll bet you were sent here specifically for that purpose.”
It was true, but how could she admit that? All she or the Smithsonian wanted was the answer to a scientific mystery. They didn’t intend to steal anything from him.
“We have no plan to capitalize on your orchid. Dr. Norwood might build an altar to it and brag to all his orchid-loving friends, but we’re in the business of science, not sales.”
