Black Rose Read Free Page B

do she was grateful she hadn’t resisted the breakfast David had heaped on her. She missed lunch.
    In her propagation house she had a full table covered with seed trays. She’d already separated out specimens too young for pricking off. And now began the first transplanting with those she deemed ready.
    She lined up her containers, the cell packs, the individual pots or peat cubes. It was one of her favorite tasks, even more than sowing, this placing of a strong seedling in the home it would occupy until planting time.
    Until planting time, they were all hers.
    And this year she was experimenting with her own potting soil. She’d been trying out recipes for more than two years now, and believed she’d found a winner, both for indoor and outdoor use. The outdoor recipe should serve very well for her greenhouse purposes.
    From the bag she’d carefully mixed, she filled her containers, testing the moisture, and approved. With care she lifted out the young plants, holding them by their seed leaves. Transplanting, she made certain the soil line on the stem was at the same level it had been in the seed tray, then firmed the soil around the roots with experienced fingers.
    She filled pot after pot, labeling as she went and humming absently to the Enya playing gently from the portable CD player she considered essential equipment in a greenhouse.
    Using a weak fertilizer solution, she watered them.
    Pleased with the progress, she moved through the back opening and into the perennial area. She checked the section—plants recently started from cuttings, those started more than a year before that would be ready for sale in a few months. She watered and tended, then moved to stock plants to take more cuttings. She had a tray of anemones begun when Stella stepped in.
    “You’ve been busy.” Stella, with her curling red hair bundled back in a tail, scanned the tables. “Really busy.”
    “And optimistic. We had a banner season, and I’m expecting we’ll have another. If Nature doesn’t screw around with us.”
    “I thought you might want to take a look at the new stock of wreaths. Hayley’s worked on them all morning. I think she outdid herself.”
    “I’ll take a look before I leave.”
    “I let her go early, I hope that’s all right. She’s still getting used to having Lily with a sitter, even if the sitter is a customer and only a half mile away.”
    “That’s fine.” She moved on to the catananche. “You know you don’t have to check every little thing with me, Stella. You’ve been managing this ship for nearly a year now.”
    “They were excuses to come back here.”
    Roz paused, her knife suspended above the plant roots, primed for cutting. “Is there a problem?”
    “No. I’ve been wanting to ask, and I know this is your domain, but I wondered if, when things slow down a bit after the holidays, I can spend some time with the propagation. I’m missing it.”
    “All right.”
    Stella’s bright blue eyes twinkled when she laughed. “I can see you’re worried I’ll try to change your routine, organize everything my way. I promise I won’t. And I won’t get in your way.”
    “You try, I’ll just boot you out.”
    “Got that.”
    “Meanwhile, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I need you to find me a supplier for good, inexpensive soil bags. One pound, five pound, ten, and twenty-five to start.”
    “For?” Stella asked as she pulled a notebook out of her back pocket.
    “I’m going to start making and selling my own potting soil. I’ve got mixes I like for indoor and outdoor use, and I want to private-label it.”
    “That’s a great idea. Good profit in that. And customers will like having Rosalind Harper’s gardening secrets. There are some considerations, though.”
    “I thought of them. I’m not going to go hog-wild right off. We’ll keep it small.” With soil on her hands still, she plucked a bottle of water from a shelf. Then, absently wiping her hand on her shirt, twisted the