A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Read Online Free

looking for me,” I said.
    Kris jumped slightly, then turned from the window. “Yeah. Got a call from Johnson’s. The cream delivery’s going to be short next week.”
    â€œOh, no! What happened?”
    â€œThey had a spoiled batch, had to throw it all out. Two days’ worth.”
    â€œOuch. Are we going to get anything?”
    Kris nodded. “Half what we ordered.”
    I bit my lip. We used fresh local cream to make our clotted cream, no small feat at over a mile above sea level. Julio had spent weeks perfecting his recipe.
    â€œWe’d better call Hooper, then.” Hooper Dairy was all organic and charged accordingly, but they were my best fallback when Johnson’s couldn’t fill our orders.
    Kris nodded. “How much should I ask them for? The full difference?”
    â€œLet me check with Julio.” Movement outside the window caught my eye, a trio of ladies in summery dresses coming up the path to the tearoom. “I’ll be upstairs in a few minutes, after we open. Oh, I brewed us some tea.”
    We went back to the butler’s pantry where I gave her the teapot, then Kris headed up to her office while I went to open the front door and greet the waiting guests. I showed them in and got them seated, then returned to the front door.
    As I opened it to greet the ladies, my gaze slid past them and caught an unusual sight. A van from El Vaquero restaurant, one of my many competitors, was parked by my front gate.

 
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    T he van’s driver, an Hispanic man of about forty, came around to the passenger side, took an aluminum-framed walker from the back and set it up, then helped a frail-looking, elderly Hispanic woman out of the front seat. This must be Julio and Rosa’s grandmother.
    Suddenly the van made sense. I remembered from Rosa’s employment application that she had previously worked in a New Mexican restaurant, though I had forgotten which one. It appeared she had stronger ties to the place than I’d known.
    I hurried out and down the path to open the front gate, smiling at the Hispanic lady. “Good morning! Are you Mrs. Garcia?”
    She looked up at me as she leaned on the walker, dark eyes bright and curious, a lopsided smile of amusement on her wrinkled lips. She was dressed in Sunday best, a flowered dress with lace trim at the collar and cuffs, and modest jewelry glinting at her ears and neck. Her hair, black with a peppering of white throughout, was freshly coiffed. Clearly she’d taken pains to look nice for her solitary visit to the tearoom.
    â€œYes,” she said in a voice rather stronger than I’d expected.
    â€œI’m Ellen Rosings. Welcome to the Wisteria Tearoom.”
    â€œYou’re Rosa’s employer.” Her voice was slightly slurred, making me wonder if she might recently have suffered a stroke. Rosa hadn't mentioned it, if she had. Perhaps it was just general frailty, after her injury.
    â€œThat’s right,” I said. “We're very glad to have Rosa here. Won’t you come inside and make yourself comfortable?”
    She smiled. “Thank you.”
    I held open the gate while she slowly pushed the walker through it. The Hispanic man who had driven her hovered anxiously in her wake. Something about his jawline—firm, determined—made me think he resembled Mrs. Garcia.
    Rosa came running down the path and confirmed my suspicion by giving the driver a hug. “Thank you, Papa!” she said, then turned to Mrs. Garcia. “Thank you for coming, Nana!”
    Mrs. Garcia paused to receive a dutiful kiss on the cheek from Rosa. “Gracias, hija. You can go, now, Ricardo. Thank you for bringing me.”
    â€œHave a good time, Mama.” He kissed her on the cheek as well, then watched her continue up the path toward the tearoom under Rosa’s escort. “What time should I pick her up?”
    â€œWe like to allow our guests plenty of time to relax and