Kitabı oku: «Hearts In Bloom», sayfa 3
“That’s my Ruby.”
“Ruby?”
“Sure, that’s her name. Ruby Red.”
He squinted, confusion etched on his face.
“You seem to care a lot about automobiles. I bet that blue car has a name,” she said matter-of-factly.
Drew glanced over her head toward his partner. Jessica followed his gaze to see Hank busy with the installation of the clothes dryer. Her neighbor looked back at her, leaning in closer.
“Okay. Normally when I tell this to someone, I have to kill them. But I think I can trust you.” He lowered his voice. “When we’re alone, just me and the hot rod, I call him…” He glanced toward the laundry room again and whispered, “Rambo.”
She gasped, first embarrassed, then angry. The big goon burst into loud laughter. She made a fist and gave a solid punch to his shoulder. His face registered surprise at the strength of the blow. He winced and rubbed the spot, but continued to enjoy his laugh at her expense.
“Who told you?” She demanded an answer.
“You mean more than one person knows about my nickname?”
She couldn’t help noticing when he laughed that there were twin dimples in his tanned cheeks. It only made him more attractive.
“Well, I guess I have called you that a time or two….” She held up a hand in defense as his eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “But you have to admit, it’s an obvious comparison under the circumstances.”
“And what exactly are the circumstances?” He arched a dark eyebrow in challenge.
Realizing no good could come from continuing the conversation, she opened the door and prepared to leave. Drew moved toward her and she blocked any advancement with the end of her cane aimed squarely at his broad chest. The image of a lion tamer using a chair to hold off the king of beasts came to her mind.
“Okay,” he conceded. “You’re not the first person to typecast me in that role. But do me a favor and get to know me a little better before you label me. Fair enough?”
She slowly lowered the cane back to its usual place, beside her right leg.
“Fair enough.”
Jessica caught sight of her dog, watching from atop a leather recliner. “Come on, Frasier, let’s go home.”
His head cocked to the left when he heard his name, but he stayed in his comfortable position. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor beside her heel. Frasier dropped his chin and closed his eyes. She heaved an exasperated sigh.
“Before you go, I need to ask—where do you plan to store all those bags of fertilizer you have stacked beside your car?”
“I hadn’t really given it much thought. Why? Are they in your way?”
“Let’s just say I’d enjoy the view a great deal more if they weren’t cluttering up the parking lot.”
“Then let’s also say you wouldn’t be enjoying the view at all if I didn’t have easy access to the bags when I need them.” She stepped outside the door into the hallway.
He tried a smaller request.
“I expect you’ll at least sweep the walk and the hallway clean after you finish for the day.”
Jessica took her weight off the walking stick and straightened to her full height. Standing taller than most women could, and probably closer than most men dared, she fixed him with an icy stare. “What branch of the service did you say you were in again?”
“The United States Army, Special Forces.” He stared right back.
“What was your title?”
“Is. My rank is Captain.”
“Well, Captain Keegan of the United States Army, Special Forces, I am not one of your new hires, or recruits, or privates, or whatever you call them, so don’t presume to talk to me like one. I am the woman who lives next door. Your neighbor. I’ll do my best to clean up any mess I make. You do your best to hold the noise down and we’ll get along fine.”
She looked from the bemused hazel eyes over to the ones that peeked through a veil of white hair. Snapping her fingers and pointing beside her foot, she said in a calm but firm voice, “Frasier. Heel!”
With no hesitation, the dog jumped to the floor.
Drew watched as the pup followed the bare feet beneath the colorful robe back to their own door, where it closed firmly behind them both.
“I’d say you handled that pretty well.” Hank leaned against the bookcase, shaking his head.
“What’d I say wrong?” Drew asked, completely confused.
“Didn’t your mama teach you that you catch flies with honey, not vinegar?”
“I suppose you would have handled it differently?”
“Son, you need some coaching. For such a smart kid, you are completely lacking any female emotion sensors.” Hank made himself at home on the sofa, crossing one worn-out boot over the other, then continued.
“Well, the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can make friends with that woman, help her see things your way, or you can knock heads with her and not accomplish a blasted thing. You’ve been here twenty-four hours and she’s mad at you already. If you don’t make some effort to change that soon, it’s only gonna get worse.”
While Drew considered his friend’s comment, he absentmindedly straightened a pillow askew from the dog’s visit. One of his primary reasons for being in Atlanta was a woman. He was going to have his hands full when he started that project. The last thing he needed was a difficult female next door.
“Okay, what do you suggest?”
“Think of this as a military situation. You need to turn an enemy into an ally. What’s your strategy?”
Finally on familiar ground, Drew took heart. He perched on the edge of an ottoman considered oversize for most. For him, it was a perfect fit.
“First I evaluate the opponent’s position. What are his strengths and weaknesses? What does he stand to gain or lose from an alliance? How can we mutually benefit from me helping him reach his own goals?”
“That’s a beginning,” Hank drawled. “Now start thinking in terms of her instead of him and start calling her your neighbor instead of your opponent.”
“Got it.” Drew made a mental check mark.
“So, what do you see as her strengths?”
Hank leaned back, threading long fingers behind his head.
“She’s a beautiful woman with a strong right cross.” Drew massaged the shoulder where she’d punched him. “She’s obviously blessed with a green thumb, seems to be very honest and she’s certainly not afraid to speak her mind.”
“You admire all those qualities, don’t you?” Hank asked.
Drew had to think about that for a moment. He did admire them. Maybe that helped explain his strange behavior yesterday. He still struggled with the impulsively blown kiss.
“Yes, I do,” he admitted.
“Now we’re making progress. So what do you see as her weaknesses?”
This one would be even easier.
“She’s a train wreck! You should see the inside of her home. It’s a mess, too. I don’t know how anybody can accomplish so much with poor organizational skills.”
“This is starting to sound like a radio psychology show,” Hank admitted. “But since you recognize her accomplishments, how do you suppose you could help her improve in the organization area?”
“I could go over there and offer her some pointers on how to get her house and her business in order.” Drew thought it was a sensible idea.
“Yeah, you could do that. And I think she’d probably appreciate it like a roach in her potato salad.”
“Too straightforward, huh?”
Both men nodded agreement.
Resting his elbows on the extra-wide leather chair, Drew leaned back to gaze at the vaulted ceiling. He’d always been the hardheaded, show-me type. Maybe Jessica was, too.
“Hank, have I ever told you the order and organization of Metro was the first thing about the business that won me over?” Drew complimented his new partner.
“At least a hundred times.”
“Well, it was. That’s important to me.”
“Obviously.”
“What if I invite Jessica to visit our shop and explain to her how great a place of her own could be?” Drew asked.
Hank rolled his eyes.
“You’re right, no female emotion sensors at all. I’ll have to think of something else to get her down there.”
“How about that new place where they sell landscaping rock by the truckload?” Hank offered. “It just opened down the road from us and she may not even know about it yet.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed as a plan took shape in his mind. He was nothing if not an expert at conceiving and following a plan. He’d honed his skills at West Point and completely embraced the love of organization in the Special Forces.
Hank looked up suspiciously. “What are you up to, buddy? I’ve only seen that spark in your eyes once before and the next thing I knew you owned half my shop.”
Chapter Four
Jessica stood in the doorway of her walk-in closet, hoping an outfit she’d overlooked would magically catch her eye. It wasn’t going to happen. She kept standing there, unable to accept defeat.
It wasn’t too late to make a mad dash to the mall. But she’d be darned if she’d treat her neighbor’s request for back-road guidance as a date, no matter how appealing he’d tried to make it sound.
He’d apologized for being pushy. He’d offered to make it up to her by showing her the new landscaping center in Jonesboro.
What a load of baloney. She suspected what he really wanted was somebody to show him the shortcuts between Sacred Arms and that Metro place so he could shave five minutes off his commute.
If he had a fuel-efficient vehicle like hers, instead of a gas-guzzling hot rod or monster truck, he wouldn’t have to worry about a few extra miles a week. She shrugged to herself. What else would you expect from a testosterone-saturated creature who probably bought underwear in a package of six for ten dollars?
The door slammed and Frasier’s manic barking heralded Becky Jo’s arrival. The fashion consultant was here at last. Jessica tossed the only two possible options on her bed.
“Jessica?” Becky Jo called from the foot of the stairs.
“Up here, Beej. I’m having a crisis and I need your special brand of advice.”
“Be right there,” she yelled back. “Let me stop off in the kitchen for a soda.”
Jessica surveyed the pitiful selections. One pair of jeans, size fourteen and miserably tight, lay on the bed like a virgin sacrifice. Steadfastly refusing to buy anything larger, she struggled into them on rare occasions, hiding the bulge at her waist with a shirt worn untucked. Probably the oldest fat trick in the book, but the only one she knew.
Second choice was a relatively new pair of khaki walking shorts. She’d spent so much time outdoors lately that her legs had a little color. When she sat down, her thighs spread out to twice their size. If she put her weight on her toes and pressed upward, it lifted her legs off the seat and that helped some. But she’d never make it all the way to Jonesboro like that without getting a cramp.
Dressing was a no-win situation. She’d go next door, say “no, thanks” and offer to draw him a map.
Becky Jo made her entrance. She drank deeply from a crystal goblet, sighed dramatically and affected an exaggerated swoon onto the bed, never spilling a drop. She admired her own abundant form and new gold lamé hostess pajamas.
Frequent trips to the thrift shop paid off, but yesterday she’d hit the jackpot. The new supply of plus-size silks and satins clearly indicated some rich society hostess had either lost weight or been shopping. Either way, Becky Jo was the beneficiary.
“Okay, what’s the occasion, and who do we want to impress?” She cast a disapproving scowl at the jeans and shorts. “Please tell me I’ve got more to work with than this.”
Jessica slumped to the bed and raked the clothes onto the floor. Her friend was right. Compared to the fashionable, bare midriff combinations she’d worn a year ago, these clothes were matronly.
“Our new neighbor asked me to ride down to Jonesboro with him tomorrow. He wants to learn the country roads, so he offered to show me a new garden supply near that garage of his.”
Becky Jo sat up. “A date, huh?”
“No, it’s not a date. Stop looking at me that way. I haven’t had a date in months and I’m not likely to have one any time soon.”
When Becky Jo pressed her lips together and squinted, Jessica knew her lack of self-confidence was showing again.
“You’d be amazed how many men would like to take you out, if you’d just give them the chance,” Becky Jo insisted.
“Yeah, right.” Jessica’s self-pity simmered just below the surface.
Becky Jo wiggled her index finger at Jessica. “You’re thinking ‘What nice-looking guy would be interested in a fat woman?’ Aren’t you?”
Jessica gasped at her best friend’s bluntness. “I was not, and I never think of you that way.”
Becky Jo’s smile was sympathetic. “I know, Jess. I don’t think of me as fat, either. Neither do the men I date. That’s because I’m voluptuous and Ruben-esque and bountiful and all the other great superlatives they use in fashion magazines to describe women of substance.”
She stood and preened before the mirror, smiling in self-appreciation. “Plenty of men out there aren’t set on a relationship with a scarecrow. Jess, if you’d lighten up a little bit, you’d find out for yourself.”
Becky Jo’s blue eyes brightened. “I’ve been waiting for just the right time to give you something. You dig out the sexiest tank top you have. I’ll be right back.”
Jessica began to pull spaghetti-strap tanks from her armoire. Finding a personal favorite, she fingered the butter-colored cotton and hand-tatted lace.
“Oh, that’s perfect! Put it on.” Becky Jo was back with something made of stonewashed denim slung over one shoulder.
“It’s too small now.”
“Baloney! Will you stop whining about what’s wrong with you and start taking advantage of what’s right? For the first time in your life you have a chest that will stop traffic. Enjoy it.”
Jessica had to agree with her friend. During her years of food deprivation there’d never been much up top. This fullness was new to her, too.
She’d changed costumes in theater wings a thousand times. Bodies weren’t important then. Only talent seemed to matter. Now, self-conscious even with her dearest friend, she turned her back. Pulling the T-shirt over her head, she replaced it with the delicate lace garment that was hardly more than a camisole.
“As long as you’re being shy, stay there and put this on. I picked them up for you at a garage sale.”
Pale blue denim landed at Jessica’s feet. She stepped out of worn work shorts into stretch cotton overalls. After the straps were fastened, only a hint of yellow lace showed above the bib and beneath her arms.
The pants were a bit too short. Before she could object, Becky Jo sat on the floor, cross-legged, and rolled the cuffs fashionably to just below the knee.
“I’ve always secretly hated you for tanning so well in the summer,” she griped.
“Secretly?” Jessica laughed. “I’ve heard that from you every year since we were nine.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t a secret. Turn around and see how great these colors look on you, Jess.”
How long had it been since she’d really noticed the full-length cheval mirror? Gazing at her reflection, Jessica couldn’t disagree with the results.
“Wear your hair down for a change. Your blue sandals are perfect. I have some nail polish that will look fabulous! After dinner I’ll do your toenails, but you have to do mine, too. What are we having for dinner, anyway?”
Becky Jo was gone, the last words trailing down the stairs. End of discussion. The fashion crisis had passed.
Jessica had a date.
The doorbell chimed the next morning, followed by the usual excited barking and then an abnormal silence. Halfway down the stairs, Jessica noticed that Frasier calmly sat at attention, patiently waiting for whoever was beyond the door.
She took her time. No need to appear anxious. As she reached the foyer, two more rapid chimes caused her to jump.
“All right! I heard you the first time!” She yanked open the door.
The surprise in Drew’s eyes turned the sugary breath mint in her mouth to a sour ball.
He just stood there staring at her.
“What?”
“Excuse me, miss. I’m looking for my neighbor. A lady about your height, stained clothes, ponytail, no makeup. Have you seen her around here anywhere?”
“Very funny.” Stepping aside, she inclined her head as an invitation to enter.
Before crossing the threshold, he squatted to a catcher’s position and offered the patient Frasier a peanut candy. The dog carried the treat behind the couch, where he munched it loudly.
“How’d you get him to sit still like that?”
“I gave him a command through the door. He’s obviously been trained.” He paused, eyes challenging. “He’s just not sure who’s in charge.”
She glared right back. “We’ll have to work on that.”
Assuming they’d take his big truck, Jessica was pleasantly surprised when he proudly escorted her to his car. When she reached for the handle, he hurried to open her door. She slid into the seat, her cane across her lap.
Knowing next to nothing about racing, even she recognized the importance of cables that locked the hood in place and a fire extinguisher mounted in the back. He knelt and showed her how to secure the elaborate harness.
“Are you going to drive it or fly it?” she asked nervously.
“That’s really up to you.” His mustache twitched above a small smile.
The old engine roared even louder from inside the car. Wind whipped hair into her face, making conversation almost impossible. She said little, pointing directions and gesturing at mile markers along the way. They rode in silence, if you could call it that, for the first ten miles.
At her loud instruction, he took the Tara Boulevard exit and downshifted as they fed into the slower traffic. The car seemed to struggle physically against being restrained. Jessica regarded Drew to see if she imagined the sensation.
“You feel it, don’t you?” He seemed pleased.
“Yes! Rambo wants back on the interstate.”
They both laughed at the not-so-private joke.
“Tell me about yourself, Jessica.”
“Why should I?” she teased.
“My family still lives in the same house where I grew up, so I’ve known our neighbors all my life,” he began. “I’d like to know the residents at Sacred Arms, too. This seems like a good time to get started. Do you mind?”
“No, it’s just been a while since anybody was interested in my life story. Where would you like me to start?”
“How about telling me how you got into gardening?”
She smiled at the memory.
“I think I was genetically predisposed to grow things. Mom always had a vegetable garden because money was so tight. It was just the two of us, so I helped out a lot. We planted flowers in the same beds with the vegetables to help keep the bugs away. I guess I picked up her love for it.”
“So you always wanted to do landscaping?”
“Not exactly. We decided it was a good backup to my dance career. As it turned out, it was a smart decision.”
“Dance career?” he asked.
“Didn’t Valentine tell you?” Jessica was amazed her cagey friend had left some mystery for him to discover on his own.
“Ms. Chandler has more inside information than CNN, but she never mentioned anything about you and dancing. I’d remember.”
The last was said so sincerely that Jessica was encouraged to reminisce.
“For the past four years I was with the Atlanta Dance Theater.”
“Are you serious?” He glanced away from the road to read her expression.
“I know it’s kind of hard to believe, looking at me now.” And because he was, she casually drew her feet closer to the seat and balanced on her toes. Thinking her thighs looked a little thinner, she met his eyes and continued. “That was six months and about sixty pounds ago, before the car accident that tore up my knee.”
Considerately he ignored the reference to her weight. “I wondered about your injury. I went through some serious recovery myself a while back. I know how devastating it can be to your life.”
“What kind of recovery?” She stared at him. He was the picture of robust health. This man couldn’t possibly know how it felt to be broken, in body or spirit.
“Not so fast. We were talking about you. I want to hear more about this dance career.”
“You really want to know?”
“I really want to know.”
So she told him.
Drew smiled warmly at the image she spun of the little girl who loved to dance. Her voice held unmistakable pride when she told him about the college production of Cats that won her an audition with a cruise line’s entertainment director.
“How long did that last?”
“Almost two years. It was great fun and there was a lot of creative freedom. But after a while the repetitiveness of the cruise routine got old. I wanted the challenge of a professional company and the chance to sink roots somewhere for a while.”
She pointed to a rural route sign as she spoke and Drew made the sharp turn onto a small shaded road. There was no traffic, so he let the machine roar back to life for a couple of minutes.
She watched the muscles work in his right arm as he shifted smoothly through the five gears. Pretending to admire the restoration of the polished chrome console, she allowed herself to appreciate the contrast of his tanned arm against a navy polo shirt. She noted the fine layer of smooth dark hair that ended at his wrist and then reappeared lightly atop his fingers. His neatly trimmed nails were immaculate.
“So how’d you end up in Atlanta?”
The question startled her almost as much as the stirring she began to feel at admiring his very masculine arm.
“What?” She caught him grinning at her.
“I said how did you end up in Atlanta?”
“A-A-Atlanta?” She stammered the word, busted over a biceps. “Well, I wanted to stay in the South to be near my mom.”
“Sounds like you two are very close.”
“My father, who’s ex-military by the way, left us when I was nine. He never helped with the bills or showed up when he said he would. Family life just wasn’t his thing, and the more he let me down, the more my mom stepped up. So yeah, we’re very close.”
“Please don’t blame your father’s behavior on the military. There are men who have trouble settling down afterward, but we’re not all like that.”
“That’s what everybody tries to tell me.”
Drew motioned for her to continue.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I started flying to auditions every time we docked for maintenance in Miami. When the ADT offered me a contract, I jumped at it.”
“What about New York? Broadway? I thought that was every dancer’s dream.”
“Maybe for some. But living there never appealed to me. I love visiting, but after a few days I’m ready to get out of that sea of people. Besides, I’m a Southern girl through and through. Mild winters and friendly strangers, you know?”
“I sure do. I’ve seen some of the biggest cities in the world, but none were places I wanted to call home. I’m thankful the good Lord gave me this opportunity to move back to Georgia.”
“You lived here before? I thought you and your family had always been in Virginia. After all, your dad is the Marcus Keegan, right?” She was almost reluctant to mention the famous name, since Drew hadn’t so far.
“The one and only,” he said with admiration. “I grew up in Great Falls, and my sister, Faith, still lives there with my dad.”
“So when were you in Georgia?”
“I was stationed at Fort Benning during Ranger school. After nine of the toughest weeks of my life, I spent some R and R at a buddy’s home in Blue Ridge. It was a beautiful drive up from the base into the mountains. Another time I traveled a few hours into Florida and discovered one of the cleanest beaches in the world. That’s when I decided that if the choice of settling down ever became mine, Georgia would be high on the list of favorite spots.”
“What do you mean, if the choice were yours?” She studied the rugged profile accented by the trim mustache. She willed her hand not to reach across to touch the perfectly trimmed line of dark whiskers.
“I’ve been committed to a military career for as long as I can remember. When I made that commitment, I agreed to go wherever they sent me for as long as I was needed, no questions asked.”
She struggled to imagine devotion of that magnitude. Certainly something her father hadn’t possessed. Dance required discipline and dedication, but those things were born out of love for the art. It couldn’t compare to what he’d been through.
“Did you always know you wanted to be a soldier?”
“I never got the chance to know what I wanted.” He laughed to himself, but there was little humor in his voice when he spoke. “I always knew what my country and my father wanted. And now I know what God wants of me, so I’m focused on that.”
“And what about what you want?”
Drew’s somber eyes met Jessica’s. “What I want has never been at the top of the list,” he confessed. “As a soldier, God, country and family were my priorities. I think that’s true for most servicemen. But it took me a long time to learn the value of truly putting God first on that list.”
“Maybe those things were important to you, but never to my father,” she scoffed.
Drew must have sensed her discomfort over the subject. When they both spied the marquee of the local ice-cream shop, he raised his eyebrows and inclined his head in invitation. A brief detour might be a nice way to break this serious spell. Pulling into the gravel parking lot, he asked, “Do you mind if we stop for a dipped cone? My treat.”
“Captain Keegan, you are a man after my own heart.”
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