A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Read Online Free Page A

enjoy themselves,” I said. “Between twelve-thirty and one would work, but isn’t that your lunch rush?”
    I nodded toward the restaurant logo painted on the van. He glanced at his wristwatch.
    â€œYeah. And I’ve got to get back.”
    â€œYou’re the owner of El Vaquero, aren’t you?”
    â€œManager. Mama still owns the place.” He stuck out a hand. “Rick Garcia.”
    â€œI’m pleased to meet you,” I said, shaking hands. “I love your rellenos.”
    His brows rose a little. “Thanks. So, I’ll come back at one.”
    â€œCould Rosa drive her home?” I suggested. “It would save you a trip.”
    â€œNo, no, I don’t want her skipping work.”
    â€œShe can stay a little late to make up for it.”
    He paused and gave me a long look. “That’s nice of you. Gracias.”
    I smiled. “De nada.”
    He flashed a brief smile in return and climbed into his van. I hurried back to the tearoom, where Rosa was settling her grandmother in Lily.
    The third party scheduled for eleven o’clock arrived shortly thereafter, and I had my hands full for a few minutes. When I finally had a moment to look in on the seated guests, I found Mrs. Garcia sipping tea and gazing out the window.
    â€œYour roses are very lovely,” she said, glancing up at me.
    I smiled. “Thank you.”
    â€œThe leaves are a little yellow on that Grande Dame. You might want to give it some iron chelate.”
    â€œI just gave it some last Sunday, actually. Rosa tells me you’re a gardener.”
    â€œI like to grow roses, yes. I have been a member of the Rose Guild for twenty years,” she said proudly, almost defiantly.
    I smiled. “Well, I’m nowhere near so experienced. I appreciate your advice.”
    â€œIf you want to learn about growing roses, join the Rose Guild.” She smiled. “You’d be welcome there.”
    â€œThank you. I’ll consider it.”
    She lifted her cup and saucer, and her hands shook so much that the china clattered. Weathered hands, spotted with age. She ignored their shaking and with slow determination raised the teacup to her lips.
    I noticed a bandage hidden by the lace cuff of one wrist, leftover from an IV, perhaps, from when she’d been in the hospital with her broken hip. I felt deeply sorry for her, and at the same time I admired her courage. To stay active in the face of such physical challenges was no mean feat.
    Rosa came in with a three-tiered tea tray of savories, scones, and sweets, scattered with rose petals, and placed it on the low tea table before her grandmother. Mrs. Garcia carefully put down her cup and clasped her hands.
    â€œOh, it’s so beautiful!”
    I couldn’t help feeling a little swell of pride. We work hard to make the trays beautiful, and always hope for just this kind of reaction.
    â€œThese are rose petal sandwiches,” Rosa said, pointing to the little rounds on the top tier of the tray. “Ms. Rosings had them made specially for you.”
    Her grandmother’s bright eyes fixed on me. “That’s so kind of you! Thank you.”
    â€œMy pleasure. Enjoy your tea.”
    I slipped out, leaving Rosa to explain the menu—and probably to serve her grandmother—while I looked in on the other customers. Everything was going smoothly, so I snatched the opportunity to consult Julio about next week’s cream and run upstairs to tell Kris to order just two extra gallons from Hooper.
    By the time I got downstairs again, three women carrying beribboned gift bags were waiting in the hall by the front door. They were the first of the bridal shower guests, slightly early for their reservation. I escorted them back to the dining parlor, then stepped across the hall to the butler’s pantry where I found Dee and Rosa starting to set up the next trays.
    â€œBridal shower’s here. Go ahead and make them some