Christmas at Rose Hill Farm by Suzanne Woods Fisher Read Free Book Online Page B

Island.”
    Billy tilted his head at her, not hiding his surprise. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly right. The Bardou Job. A Welsh rose.” His eyes met hers and he nearly became lost in her blue, blue eyes.
    Jonah seemed surprised. “Where is it? Where’s this Alcatraz?”
    Billy forced himself to look away from those searching eyes of Bess. “It used to be a federal prison in San Francisco Bay. On an island.”
    Amused, Jonah said, “What do you suppose a rose was doing at a federal prison?”
    â€œActually, there was more than one rose at Alcatraz. The head warden was a rosarian. After the prison was closed down, the Heritage Rose Group was inventorying the roses and discovered an heirloom Welsh rose. The Bardou Job. It had been thought to be extinct.”
    â€œAnd you think this rose could be a ‘found’?” Bess said, taking a step closer to the rose.
    She was standing so close that he caught a whiff of the rose soap she used. Even now, years later, he associated that faint scent with Bess. He backed away so there was more space between them. No whiffs of rose soap. He needed every inch of distance. “Possibly. And if so, a found rose can be extremely valuable. Both to the scientific community and also on the commercial market. You should keep this quiet until the rose can be identified.”
    â€œIf it’s about money . . .”
    â€œIt’s not just the money, Jonah. You know how crazy people can be about roses. They’re like bird-watchers on the hunt for a rare bird. Even on Alcatraz Island, the Rose Society brings out tours each year when the Bardou Job is in bloom. You’ll have people climbing onto your property in the middle of the night with a pair of clippers in one hand and a plastic sandwich bag in the other to hold the slips. You’ll wake up one morning and find this plant sheared down to a stump. That’s if it doesn’t get stolen first. Most rose rustlers are polite, but some aren’t. You should lock up the greenhouse when you’re not in it.”
    â€œDoes a ‘found’ get discovered very often?” Jonah said.
    Billy gave up a half laugh. “No. I’m still waiting for my first found.”
    Bess glanced up and smiled. “I thought the job of a rose rustler was to find extinct roses.”
    He made himself look away from her intoxicating smile, lifting his eyes to notice the ventilating windows of the greenhouse. “Rose rustlers go after old roses—thought to be extinct commercially, but they’re rarely truly extinct. I’ve never come across one that can’t be identified.”
    Bess still kept one hand lovingly on the pot. “And you really think this rose is a found?”
    â€œI don’t know. Probably not. But . . . I’d like to check it out.” And as Billy voiced that thought aloud, his heart fell. This morning wasn’t turning out at all like he had planned. He had known it would be difficult to be in Stoney Ridge, to see Jonah again, but he was sure Jonah wouldn’t put any pressure on him to stay, or worse, to see his father. He had assumed he’d come out to Rose Hill Farm this morning, identify the rose, and get back to College Station. In, out, job done. That’s the way it usually worked.
    But it was Bess at the bus stop, not Jonah. And then there was this rose. This mysterious, unidentifiable rose.
    Knowing Bertha Riehl as he did, this rose would have an interesting history. It might be a found, or it might be a variant of a known species. But if there was a chance that this rose was extinct, a true found, it would require repeated trips back and forth from College Station to Stoney Ridge to confirm it. Meticulous by nature, Billy would spend more time at Rose Hill Farm than he expected—or wanted to. “I’ll need to photograph it, draw some pictures, check the database back at the university, and compare it to