Книга - Hearts In Bloom

Hearts In Bloom
Mae Nunn


When injury ended her dance career, Jessica Holliday became a landscape designer. A society wedding offered her the chance to make a name for herself, and she vowed to get the job done without help from anyone–especially handsome newcomer Captain Andrew Keegan.His neighbor might be beautiful, even up to her elbows in dirt, but Drew Keegan had to keep God's plan in sight–marriage to the socialite of his father's choosing would enable him to help those who needed it most. But when Jessica's designs were jeopardized, Drew began to see his goal–and Jessica–in a new light….







He caught Jessica to his chest, muscular arms wrapped protectively around her. She’d never felt such relief in her life. Suddenly there was a sense of completeness where there had been a huge void.

“What on earth is wrong?”

“The wedding is less than nine hours away, my work crew just canceled and I can’t even begin to tell you what’s at stake today. I know I don’t deserve it, but if you’ll help me, Drew, I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

He smiled, dimple and all, and guided her to the sidewalk.

“Let me make a couple of phone calls. I’ll meet you in the Commons in five minutes.”

He ran his hand down the back of her hair as she turned to walk away.

A glance over her shoulder sent a thrill of hope through her heart. He was still watching, tenderness etched in his features.


MAE NUNN

grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman who lived in Atlanta, Mae hung up her spurs to become a Southern belle. Today she and her husband make their home with their two children in Georgia. Mae has been with a major air-express company for twenty-five years, currently serving as a regional customer service manager. She began writing four years ago. When asked how she felt about being part of the Steeple Hill family, Mae summed her response up with one word, “Yeeeeeha!”




Hearts in Bloom

Mae Nunn







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In his heart a man plans his course,

but the Lord determines his steps.

—Proverbs 16:9


For my precious Maegan, who gave up so many

Saturday outings so her mama could write. For my

critique partner, Dianna, who is a gift straight from

heaven. For my friend Larry, whose incredible story

inspired me to get it started. And for my husband,

Michael, who makes it all worthwhile.


Dear Reader,

Five years ago I was amazed by the true story of a Green Beret’s survival after dropping 40,000 feet with a defective parachute. I was compelled to spin a tale around this real-life hero and I wanted to create an equally special heroine for him. A woman with a real-life body and all the real-life fears that go along with it. Picture me getting started: a laptop on my bathroom counter, my faithful dog draped across my lap. After two years of watching me spend my weekends in the bathroom, my very own handsome hero transformed a closet into a workspace, and I became a “real writer.”

My self-imposed rule was not to write anything that would offend my mother or my daughter. Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the call to do more, to use my words to glorify our Heavenly Father. Hearts in Bloom is my debut Love Inspired novel. I hope spending time with Jessica and Drew blesses you as much as writing their story has blessed me. Share your thoughts when you visit me at maenunn.com.

Until next time, let your light shine.









Contents


Chapter One (#u9be285e1-4f08-53ca-8c8b-cef8fcced5d0)

Chapter Two (#u7ad04225-af2c-5bfc-990f-0cb469989da7)

Chapter Three (#uf3685ea4-66d5-5580-abeb-1072ba57a35e)

Chapter Four (#ufea65c14-eff7-5668-8d71-3e5705fa3eab)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Dirt.

There was just something so appealing about dirt.

Jessica Holliday couldn’t remember a time in her twenty-six years when she hadn’t been fascinated by the stuff and the miracles it generated. She breathed deeply of its comforting smell and lightly massaged the site of her knee injury.

Atlanta’s top orthopedic surgeon had performed the anterior medialization, grafting bone and marrow, inserting titanium screws and closing the knee with thirty-five staples. But no amount of medical skill would ever restore full strength to her leg.

A small price to pay, considering Adam Crockett was lost forever to his grieving family. A family who blamed her for his death.

At least she had the chance to start again. She’d planned better than her mother, who’d ended up with no education and a child to support after her ex-military husband had abandoned them. Thanks to a green thumb and a very tight budget, Jessica had learned something besides dance. She could design, plant and tend gardens of all kinds, and the proof covered the ten-acre campus of Sacred Arms.

Sitting cross-legged in the shade of six-foot-high fuchsia and white azalea bushes, she admired the beds in bloom. Tall clusters of purple iris and feathery, light pink plumes of astilbe surrounded her. Fragrant bunches of lavender waved in the warm spring breeze.

An afternoon sun glinted through the shady gardens of the town-home complex and she ducked her head to avoid the momentary brightness. Her downcast eyes were drawn to her hands, to the nails that were in desperate need of a manicure. The fashionable mid-town salon had probably figured out months ago that she wouldn’t be keeping her regular appointment any longer.

She’d kept her nails maintained only out of responsibility anyway, hating the busy metallic clicking of the clippers and the rough filing and the smell of acrylic. But a principal performer for the Atlanta Dance Theater could hardly greet supporters with soil under her fingernails. Now the trace of dirt beneath her short nails was a welcome sight.

How quickly priorities could change. One moment she had been navigating the dark highway, the next she’d been blinded by the overhead lights of the operating room.

From where she sat, Jessica had a clear view of the security gate. It swung open to admit a fancy white sedan that pulled a little too quickly into the parking lot. That could mean only one thing. Valentine was late to meet a prospective buyer.

With the always immaculately dressed real estate agent close by, Jessica paused to consider her own attire. She surveyed the baggy sweat suit, stained with everything from mulch to mustard. She needed new clothes desperately, but refused to acknowledge the result of her sixty-pound weight gain in such a permanent manner.

From outside the gates, a sports car’s too-loud engine growled. A shiny blue car glided to a stop beside the sidewalk and a hulk of a man rose from the car and stepped into the sunshine. Standing ramrod straight, he surveyed the community of private town houses. With an arm raised to shield his eyes against the glare, he appeared to salute.

Jessica scoffed at the memory it evoked. Her worthless father had teased her mother with a similar gesture on the rare occasions when he’d meandered through their lives. The braided rug beside Jessica’s childhood bed had worn thin where she’d knelt. Prayers for her father to stay with them had gone unanswered, so she’d given up on prayer altogether.

She wagged her head to shake off the daydreaming, a thick ponytail swishing about the neck of her shirt, and swiped at her forehead with a dirty hand.

With an aluminum cane tucked beneath her arm, she returned to the task of fertilizing the prizewinning azaleas. She scooted backward across the grass to the next spot needing attention, eased over, careful to avoid the still-mending leg, and returned to work.

Drew Keegan had emerged from the shady interior of his perfectly restored ’67 fastback into the afternoon sun. He stood, hand raised to block the glare, admiring the grounds of Sacred Arms. In many ways the property, located in the historic Grant Park district of Atlanta, still had the look of the 1920s Christian school it had once been.

“Very interesting.” He spoke aloud to himself.

Making the scene even more interesting, the same white luxury car that had blown past him on the interstate was now pulled to the curb farther inside the gate.

The driver swiveled to the left, extending shapely legs. She offered an appealing view of cream-colored stockings that led to a fashionably short, pale pink linen skirt.

Just as he realized the long, low whistle came from his own lips, the matching pink jacket appeared and above it a charming face, sporting a devilish smile.

“Dahhhlin’! You must be Drew. How sweet of you to make a pass at a woman old enough to be your mama.”

The woman was actually old enough to be his grandmama, but she’d probably never look it as long as there were good plastic surgeons in Georgia.

“Ms. Chandler?” Drew had a terrible suspicion that he was blushing, something he’d rarely done in his adult life. “Please accept my apology, ma’am. I don’t know what possessed me to do such a thing.”

“Oh, honey, you couldn’t help yourself. I’ve always had that effect on handsome young men.”

Realizing she was quite serious, he accepted that he was excused for having no control over his own actions and reached to shake the brightly jeweled hand she offered.

“I appreciate you meeting me so late in the afternoon, Ms. Chandler.”

“Please call me Valentine, and it’s no problem at all. Besides, Sacred Arms is so beautiful this time of day, don’t you agree?” She extended her right arm in a sweeping gesture, as if presenting the property for his approval.

The sun played off the colorful Tennessee fieldstone, producing every shade of brown, gold and orange. Fighting for attention were the beautifully restored stained-glass windows that had been painstakingly assembled three quarters of a century earlier. The enduring images of Christ welcoming little children, blessing the fishes and loaves, talking with the woman at the well and praying at the garden at Gethsemane glowed beneath the warm rays.

Father, could Your will for my life be any more obvious? Thank You for guiding me to this special place, he silently prayed.

Drew let his gaze wander from the structure that had been the chapel and sweep the rest of the spacious compound. There were four primary buildings that had been converted into living space. The fifth, containing an extraordinary copper-domed rotunda, was what Valentine had described over the phone as the Commons.

“I know it’s warm out here and you’d like to visit the models, but let’s just take a minute to walk around back so you can see the gardens. A good friend of mine, a precious girl, really, grows the most amazing plants in this old red clay.”

They approached a waist-high stone wall. Behind it, a bright bed of tall azaleas graciously set off the gray river rock. As they rounded the end of the wall, his eye caught some movement beneath the blossoms.

Expecting to see a house pet enjoying a roll in the grass, he was surprised to witness the grass-stained backside of a woman slowly emerge as she scooted precariously out of the bushes on her hands and one knee. Her left hand clutched a bag of fertilizer spikes. Her right hand reached for a cane.

“Jessica, dahhhlin’, there you are. Come and meet the gentleman who’s about to buy a home here.”

Trained for years to embody grace, Jessica found herself in the most ungraceful position of her life. She stopped her backward crawl, face pointed toward the foliage, back end toward the unexpected visitors, and ground her teeth at the unwanted interruption. With her damaged knee, rising quickly to recover from the embarrassing introduction was simply not an option. She folded her good leg beneath her, dropped to her hip and turned to face them.

Smiling down at her from a towering height was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. No doubt the guy was part of a major football team’s defensive line. She didn’t mean to give him the once-over, but from her position she couldn’t help but take him in from the bottom up.

Expensive loafers peeked from beneath well-tailored khakis. His chest and shoulders were broad, arms well developed, neck thick and jaw very square. A silly Rhett Butler mustache twitched above a smiling mouth, while warm hazelnut eyes clashed with military-issue, close-cropped dark brown hair.

“Ms. Jessica Holliday, may I introduce Captain Andrew Keegan. He just moved here from Virginia and is hoping to make Sacred Arms his new home. Jessica, Drew was a Green Beret.”

Oh, great, Rambo for a neighbor!

The judgment must have shown on her face. His smile disappeared, stealing with it the slight dimple in his left cheek. But the intense look in his eyes never changed. He glanced from her face down to the cane and back again.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He leaned from the waist and offered her his hand.

She took it and they shook briefly. When she tried to release his strong grip, he held fast, an offer to support her weight if she wanted to stand. She considered staying where she was, but decided the disadvantage of her present position was worse than accepting help.

He maintained their grip as she reached for the cane. He squatted, taking a firm hold on her right elbow with his left hand. Fixing her eyes upon his, she nodded, a signal to stand. With him as the anchor she rose to her full height, taking care to lean on her right leg gently until the aluminum support was planted firmly at her side.

Drew took in every nuance of the effort, along with the rest of her, as well as he could without appearing to be completely without manners for the second time that hour.

She was much taller than he’d expected, with a full figure, although it was difficult to tell much about her shape under her rumpled, ill-fitting clothes. Beneath the smudges of red clay she had clear, fair skin. She was pink from the sun or the exertion or possibly embarrassment.

Her makeup-free eyes held a familiar glare. He couldn’t quite make out what she was telling him with it. He knew only they were the most enchanting shade of emerald he’d ever seen. He was tempted to remove the sprig of hedge perched in the bangs that were many shades of blond.

She snatched her hand free.

Defiance. That was the look. He’d seen it so many times in the eyes of new recruits that he should have recognized it immediately.

“Jessica, honey, I believe these purple delphiniums are gonna be even more spectacular than last year. If that’s possible,” Valentine observed.

“I think you may be right. But it’s probably because they’ve had so much more attention this season.” As she spoke to Valentine, Drew noticed that Jessica rubbed her hand on a stained pant leg, cleaning off any traces of his touch.

“Are you the groundskeeper here?” he inquired.

“I suppose that’s what I am now.” She glanced at her dirty nails and back again.

“You must have help.” He could tell from the way her eyes narrowed she’d taken the comment as an insult. “I mean, it’s such a large campus, so much variety. It would be hard for anybody to tend all this alone.”

Her chin jutted forward at the observation.

“I’m stronger than I look right now,” she insisted, “but I always manage to find some willing hands for the heavy stuff. A service details the lawn, but it’s all under my direction. I’ve intentionally put in lots of perennials, and the rock garden takes care of itself.”

“Sugar, don’t you dare downplay the miracles you’ve done with this place.” Valentine stepped close and looped her arm through Jessica’s, linking spotless linen with grimy fleece.

“Why, you should have seen it before she took over a few years back. The hedges were full of bag-worms and there wasn’t a flower in sight. What you see now is this sweet child’s magic touch.”

Lush green fescue grounds were studded with terra-cotta containers filled with myriad colorful springtime blossoms. With a soft sound, dripping water fell from a Japanese-style bamboo fountain into a small shallow pond. Freestanding island beds gave the illusion of space even in the angular corner of the property. She’d carved out kaleidoscopes edged in rough stone and large boulders.

Nodding his approval, Drew appreciated the extraordinary breadth of knowledge along with the eye for design and balance it must have taken to produce such an inviting place.

“My mother would have been jealous,” he said. “She didn’t have the touch herself and could never find hired help capable of producing anything quite like this.”

Jessica bristled at the compliment. He wondered for the millionth time in his life why it was so hard to find the right thing to say to a woman.

“Thank you,” Jessica muttered. “I think.”

Drew admired the creeping ivy on the rock wall, pretending to miss the annoyance in her voice. He turned to face her, smiling once again, and extended his hand.

“It was nice meeting you.”

“My pleasure. And welcome to Sacred Arms,” Jessica replied without warmth. She looked as if she hoped his credit was bad.

“I’m so glad we ran into you, dahhhlin’,” Valentine interjected. “You’re getting around beautifully. It’s obvious that your little physical therapist is doing you a world of good.”

Before Jessica could respond, a yapping ball of white hair came racing down the incline, a bright blue leash flying behind it like a superhero’s cape. Suddenly the animal sat back on his haunches and threw out all fours as it slammed to a halt against Drew’s ankles.

He bent to give full attention to the pup as it quickly recovered, eagerly pawing dirty front feet at recently laundered khakis.

“Hey, buddy, you live around here?” With one hand Drew ruffled short ears covered with long silky hair. With the other he casually but firmly removed the dog’s paws from his knees. Too late. The damage was already done. Signs of the animal’s afternoon frolic in the spring grass would be on those slacks through numerous launderings.

Jessica half hid a smile behind her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. He’s mine. Frasier, heel.” She spoke the command and pointed to the ground by her left foot. The dog stopped his happy sniffing only long enough to give her a curious glance. Again she snapped her fingers and pointed.

“Frasier! Heel!”

Even though the dog showed no inclination to follow instructions, Drew released the pup’s paws so he could obey. Frasier made several quick and surprisingly high jumps, leaving even more stains on the front of Drew’s starched khakis.

“Frasier, heel.” The male voice was low and calm, but left no doubt who was in control. The little dog responded immediately, made a quick turn and stood at attention by Drew’s left heel. “Good boy.” The two beamed approval at one another as if they’d practiced the trick a hundred times.

“It figures,” Jessica said, annoyed. “I’ve been working with him for weeks and all he does is run around me in circles. But for a complete stranger, the little traitor behaves like he’s just come from the kennel club.”

Valentine spoke up. “That little cutie is Jessica’s new physical therapist. She’s moving around so much better since he came to live with her.”

“You mean since he showed up on my doorstep and refused to leave, don’t you?”

Her tone implied aggravation, but the look she gave the hairy pup said otherwise.

She gestured toward Drew’s slacks. “I’m really sorry about your pants,” she said, struggling to contain a smirk.

“I’m an old pro in the laundry room.” He shrugged and brushed at the marks.

“I never mastered that area myself,” she admitted.

Drew bent toward the waiting dog, collected the blue leash, handed it to her with a smile and said, “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

Jessica climbed the hill slowly, but faster than she had a month ago. Frasier really had helped. His constant demands for attention had forced her out of survivor guilt mode, off the couch and back into the sunshine. Back to the gardens, where she couldn’t resist the call of crabgrass. It was like a siren, tempting her to bend, reach, pull and then to find a way to gather up the mess and haul it away.

Like most able-bodied people, she’d taken the ability to perform those simple tasks for granted. Not anymore. Valentine said Jessica was blessed, but if that meant losing your career and killing a man in the process, God could keep His blessings.

As Frasier tugged at the leash, urging her on, she turned her face upward, enjoying the sun on her cheeks. The warmth suddenly deepened as she realized Rambo could still be watching. Just as quickly, she shrugged off the thought. Why would a handsome guy give her a second glance? And even if he did, the view from where he stood was certainly not much to see.

She snorted laughter at her own cruel joke. There was plenty to see. In this red sweat suit she must resemble the broad side of a barn.

Drew couldn’t resist watching as she trudged slowly up the incline. Red had always been his favorite color. Even filthy, it was perfect with her fair complexion and those challenging eyes.

“That precious girl has been through a lot in the past few months. But she’s a fighter.”

He turned his attention to the older woman. “I noticed.”

“Shall we get on up to the models? I know you’re anxious to see our homes.”

“I’d like that. And thank you for showing me the gardens. Everything I heard is true—they are magnificent.”

Taking the lead, Valentine sashayed up the long stone path, putting one small, fashionable pump in front of the other.

“Well, they’re a real source of pride. The landscaping is a special touch we think adds so much to the beauty of the property. We considered replacing the vegetable beds with a basketball goal.”

She waved her hand in that direction and sunlight danced off the many diamonds on her fingers and wrist. “But most of our residents objected. They enjoy the option to hoe a row of their own if they like, and Jess keeps the older folks up to their elbows in tomatoes and summer squash. Why, that girl can fling cantaloupe guts into her compost heap and accidentally grow melon better than anything that was planted on purpose.”

She tilted her platinum head back and smiled up at him in a beguiling way. “You’ll see.”

They reached the formal terrace and took a path lined with yellow-leaved hostas.

“Let me show you the three-bedroom model, Drew, honey. I’m certain this is exactly what you’re looking for,” Valentine said as she fitted the key into the lock. She swung the door wide and stepped aside.

He fell for the high ceilings, red oak floors, stark white walls and old-fashioned louvered windows in less time than it took to rotate a set of tires.

“Would you mind if we went to your office now?”

“Drew, dahhhlin’, we can do whatever you like,” she murmured agreeably.

She led him toward the end of the common hallway. Valentine stepped carefully around a bag of potting soil that had tipped over and spilled out onto the otherwise spotless floor. She appeared not even to notice, much less mind.

A door stood wide open and pop music, mingled with excited yapping, flowed from inside. He felt like a snoop for peering in as they passed, but he was naturally curious about his new neighbors.

Where the empty unit he’d just seen had appealed to him in its monochromatic, uncluttered state, this one couldn’t have been more different, more colorful or more alive with…stuff.

From behind a wall of potted ficus trees, a blur of white fur flashed into view, triumphantly dragging an empty plastic tray that had once held bedding plants. In an instant the plastic was forgotten. The animal charged the doorway.

“Hey, buddy, we meet again.” Drew squatted to accept the greeting.

The pup stood on its hind legs with front paws perched atop Drew’s knee. Drew scratched the length of its back while it arched appreciatively and broke into a big doggie smile, pink tongue lolling to one side.

“He is the worst excuse for a guard dog that I have ever seen!” Jessica complained.

“Nobody said he was supposed to save your life. Just get you out for a walk once in a while,” a female voice farther inside replied.

Jessica was followed by what Drew could have sworn was a caftan-clad ringer for the lead singer of the Mamas & the Papas, the late Cass Elliott.

“Frasier, who’s your little friend?” Mama Cass smiled down at Drew.

Valentine took over. “Allow me to make introductions. This is Jessica’s friend and temporary roommate, Miss Becky Jo Osborne. Becky Jo, this is Captain Andrew Keegan.”

“Pleased to meet you, Captain Keegan.”

Drew stood and took the hand as it was offered, palm down, wrist slightly limp. He hadn’t served time at Virginia cotillions without learning a little something. He bent again, from the waist, and lightly brushed a kiss on the soft skin of Becky Jo’s very fragrant hand. He raised his head and stared into eyes the color of Texas bluebonnets.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” he said sincerely, still holding her hand.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Becky Jo responded sweetly.

A disgusted gag resonated from Jessica’s direction as Frasier quietly chewed on the leather tie of Drew’s shoe.

“Break it up, you two. I think we’d best scoot along before it gets much later,” Valentine cautioned. “Drew wants to work out the finances this evening and it’s getting on toward supper, so I think we’d better get a move on.”

“Ladies.” He inclined his head.

Jessica’s smile was forced.

Becky Jo’s was downright sappy.

Frasier growled.

Drew followed the women’s eyes as they all looked down to see the dog pawing an open bag of potting soil, sending sprays of dirt in every direction. It was too late to jump out of the way. Soil cascaded across Drew’s foot, clung to the slobbery lace and then fell neatly down between his fresh cotton sock and leather shoe.

He shook his foot in mild annoyance, stepped carefully around the mess, nodded goodbye and turned toward the exit.

“Talk to you dahhhlin’ girls shortly,” Valentine drawled just before the door closed behind her.

“Is that guy perfect for you, or what?” Becky Jo enthused as she herded Frasier back inside.

“You’re as crazy as you look.”

“Uh-uuuuh,” was the singsong reply. “That big man is class all the way and he’s just what you need to get your mind off that Larry Bird wanna-be.”

Jessica held up her hands in surrender. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the basketball forward who’d quietly dumped her several months earlier. He’d made some excuse about being too busy for a relationship. She knew the real reason he was suddenly so busy. What man would ever have time for an out-of-work, out-of-shape, overweight dancer?

A low rumble rattled the windows.

“What was that?” Becky Jo gathered her caftan up around generous thighs and closed the distance to the laundry room.

“Check this out! Hurry!” She frantically waved Jessica toward the window.

Urgency in her friend’s voice caused Jessica to take the three steps up to the kitchen level with less caution than usual. Briefly aware there was no pain in the ascent, she silently thanked the hairy mutt whose needs forced her into motion every morning.

Standing on tiptoe, Becky Jo had pulled the mini-blinds several inches apart, revealing the commotion outside. Jessica had to stoop to peek through the same opening.

The temperature had been so nice all day that she’d opened several windows. The sound of a car engine carried through the screens, and it was loud! But it wasn’t just noise.

Power reverberated.

Outside their laundry room was what guys lovingly called “a muscle car.” She didn’t have to know anything about racing to know she was looking at a special machine. Painted a brilliant blue, the sports car had two wide white stripes across the top that ran the entire length of the vehicle. Extra-wide tires were mounted on shiny chrome wheels, pathetically clean compared to Jessica’s grungy red station wagon.

The rumble grew as the car fell in behind Valentine’s. The driver wore a harness instead of the usual seat belt. As if sensing female attention, Drew Keegan turned and gazed up at the window. Smiling in a way he probably knew deepened his dimples, he waved as if they were spectators in a private parade, revved the engine and passed through the gates of Sacred Arms.

The kitchen phone jangled. Jessica grabbed it on the second ring.

“Well, what do you think of Drew?” Valentine purred into her cell phone. “Isn’t he a gorgeous creature?”

Jessica rolled her eyes. Valentine had never been subtle about her matchmaking. “He’s okay, if you’re into the macho military type, which I absolutely am not. As long as he keeps his distance, I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

“Then you may have a small problem.”

“Oh? Why is that?” Jessica asked, suddenly concerned at the humor lacing Valentine’s voice.

“Dahhhlin’, Captain Keegan is your new next-door neighbor.”




Chapter Two


Just before 7:00 a.m., Jessica perched on the kitchen stool waiting for the first dose of caffeine of the day to drip. She yawned and gracefully stretched long arms overhead, flinching at the slight pain in her sunburned shoulders.

Frasier nudged at her ankle, demanding his morning walk. Ignoring his urgency would result in a puddle on the tile, so she took the leash from a peg by the front door.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s head for the back lawn.”

At the dog’s insistence, she navigated the pathway a little more quickly each day. She preferred to start off slowly, letting her muscles warm up naturally. But there’d been little of that since Becky Jo had shown up on April Fool’s Day with the critter under her arm. What an unexpected gift they’d been.

The accident had left Jessica lying on the couch for months, burying her grief and guilt in bags of cookies. Unable to give up the practice of her daily weigh-in, she’d watched the number on the scale rise as she scoured childhood memories for the sin that had surely earned her body God’s wrath.

Her only distraction was her lifelong best bud, who had kept the phone wires hot between Atlanta and Dallas. Becky Jo had been there day and night for Jessica to lean on, in the same way she leaned upon the detestable aluminum cane.

A month ago she’d answered the loud pounding on her front door to find the sweetest sight of her life—Rebecca Josephine Osborne standing in the hall with a squirming white dog firmly tucked in the crook of her arm. She’d come to stay awhile. Subletting her apartment to a college student, Becky Jo had packed up her eccentric retro wardrobe and folded her massage table into the back of her turquoise van.

Somewhere along the more than seven hundred miles of I-20, a tape had jammed in her eight-track player. Desperate for company, she’d located the animal shelter in the next small town and adopted Frasier. In a way peculiar to Becky Jo, she’d reasoned that a dog would be good physical therapy for her friend. Fortunately, she’d been right.

Every morning Becky Jo set off for the health spa and Jessica found herself the pup’s primary caregiver. For the past month the rascal had kept her in constant motion. She stretched to move things out of his reach, bent to attach his leash and picked up the pace to keep up with his insistent tugging.

Frequent walks kept her mind off her problems and forced her to critically assess the beds and gardens she’d agreed to develop four years earlier when the property owner, Daniel Ellis, had reduced the price of her town home in exchange for her horticultural services.

Now, if she spotted a weed, it had to be pulled. Empty spaces in the perennial island had to be filled. As spring flowers bloomed, she became aware of the need for more balance, more texture or color. Folding new life into the soil was only surpassed by the satisfaction of admiring the results.

She was doing just that while she waited for Frasier to finish his morning business when a big dual-cab pickup pulled a rental trailer through the gates. The driver propped his elbow on the ledge of the open window, his muscular arm visible. He sported a baseball cap, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, but there was no mistaking that goofy little mustache or the very solid jaw.

Rambo.

Her stomach did a quick flip-flop.

Dropping her gaze self-consciously, she grimaced at the cheap shorts and tank top. Recent purchases, but already permanently stained. Her sneakers were old favorites, well past their prime. Even with one pinkie toe visible where the canvas had worn completely through, she refused to discard them.

She reached up, running a hand through the mess she called morning hair, and slid a disapproving tongue across fuzzy teeth. Worse still was the glow from fish-belly-white skin on exposed arms and legs. A little sunburn helped, but frying to a crisp wouldn’t eliminate that fresh layer of cellulite that puckered just below the surface.

Anxiously she glanced up the path, seeking an escape route.

“Let’s go, Frasier.” She yanked the leash to get his cooperation. “Hurry up the front way, and we’ll avoid him.”

They made the long climb with the dog determined to stop every few feet. If Drew Keegan came around the corner for any reason, they’d be spotted. She could only hope he was completely occupied backing the trailer into place.

The pair made it to the Commons without incident. For once, Frasier chose to be quiet. A frisky squirrel could change that in a flash.

As they edged toward the corner, shoes crunched on the nearby pavement. Jerking the white pup to a halt, she held her breath and waited. Quick footsteps closed in. In a last-ditch effort at hair maintenance she ran jittery fingers through the tangles.

“Jessica, dahhhlin’, good morning.”

“Oh.” Jessica dropped all pretense of feminine vanity. “It’s only you, Valentine.”

The older woman’s face spread into a knowing smile. “I see your handsome new neighbor just pulled up.”

“Yes, and I’m glad it was just you who caught me like this.”

Valentine regarded Jessica. “Now that you mention it, you’re not exactly at your best.”

“Well, it’s early and you’re the only woman I know who can look great at this hour of the morning.”

Valentine patted her platinum hair lightly and smoothed the collar of a powder-blue silk jacket. “A girl must have her priorities straight.” She lowered her voice discreetly. “You know, Captain Keegan is the son of Senator Marcus Keegan of Virginia.”

“The Marcus Keegan? The guy who led the impeachment hearings?”

“One and the same.”

“Okay, I can take a hint,” Jessica conceded with a sigh. She glanced around nervously, hoping for a quick getaway.

Valentine noted her friend’s agitation. “I’ve got an early appointment with a client, so I have to run. I just wanted to make sure Captain Keegan had the right security code.”

Jessica gave a quick peck to the artfully made-up cheek. “See you later.”

Resuming her purposeful walk, Valentine jingled her keys excitedly and set off to meet the client who would undoubtedly be signing a contract.

Jessica stood rooted to the same spot, unable to decide which way to go. She gripped the blue leash tightly and peeked around the corner. The tall man bent from the waist and reached for something behind the seat of the truck. She seized her chance, punched in the security code and flung open the door. Balancing on her good leg, she jammed her cane in the opening so the door wouldn’t close before she and the dog scooted inside.

Frasier stretched his tether to its fullest to investigate a beetle that had found its way into the marble vestibule.

“Come on, buddy,” she whispered. “This is no time to get friendly with a stinkbug.”

Another quick tug on the nylon cord and she had his full attention. He trotted forward. As she moved the cane, he suddenly dashed through the doorway at full speed. She released her grip, the only alternative to tumbling in after him. She turned in the direction of his excited barking, mortified.

It was him. Right there in the hallway. Not at the truck.

He stooped to greet her pet. Annoyance grew as the little mutt lavished the guy with kisses normally reserved for the person who filled the dog’s supper bowl.

Drew smiled down the length of the corridor.

What could she do but pretend the entrance was timed perfectly? She squared her shoulders beneath yesterday’s work shirt and turned her unwashed face straight in his direction. She made her way down the hall, leaning heavily on the cane to relieve the mild ache that generally accompanied the morning’s walk.

“Moving day, huh?” she asked casually.

“Yes. I didn’t think I’d get in this fast, but Ms. Chandler was great about pushing everything through for me.”

Jessica nonchalantly folded her arms across her chest and leaned casually against the wall.

“Once Valentine makes up her mind she’s found a good match for one of her properties, there’s precious little that stands between her and a closing.”

“She’s an unusual woman, isn’t she?” he asked.

“She’s definitely in a class by herself.”

“Um-hmm,” he agreed with a smile.

Jessica’s chest tingled at the sight of boyish dimples, and she dropped her eyes rather than return the smile. He was more casual today, dressed for the move in sneakers and creased denims. The neatly tucked racing T-shirt showed signs of having been properly folded right out of the dryer.

Their eyes met again. His kind smile threw her off balance. Literally. Her shoulder began to slide backward, down the wall. Her weight had been on her recovering leg and she didn’t dare kick out with her other foot to counter the backward movement of her torso.

Instinctively both arms cast out, hands grasping at the air in front of her. With eyes squeezed shut, she waited for the pain sure to accompany a fall. Instead she felt an iron grip on her wrists, and then her face crushed against a rock-solid surface. Warm muscular arms enfolded her.

Drew had moved so quickly she hadn’t heard a sound, just felt the security of being rescued. She held her breath, aware of a faint thumping, a light drumming. As she prepared to push away from the heartbeat and circle of protection, the security door creaked behind them.

“Well, I’m glad to know you’re already getting a little Southern hospitality.”

Jessica looked in the direction of the newcomer and then into the eyes of the man who held her in an awkward embrace.

She flushed with embarrassment.

Drew released her, but kept a secure grip on one arm as she leaned for her cane.

“Jessica, this is my business partner, Hank Delgado. Hank, this is my new neighbor, Jessica Holliday.”

She offered the tall, silver-haired man what was surely a weak smile and ran a shaky hand through her hopeless mane.

“Hi, pleased to meet you.” They shook hands over Frasier’s excited effort to sniff up another stranger. “Your partner here just saved me from hitting the floor like a deflated volleyball.” She nodded with gratitude at Drew as she spoke, silently vowing never to leave her front door again without makeup and clean clothes.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll see if my coffee is ready.”

“Coffee sounds great. I take mine black.” The older man spoke up.

“Well, sure.” She turned to Drew. “And you?” she asked reluctantly.

What could she possibly do but be gracious after he’d literally caught her in his arms? Becky Jo would hoot over this.

“Nothing for either of us.” Drew eyed his partner pointedly, acknowledging they hadn’t been offered any coffee. “But thanks.”

“Oh, go ahead and get us both a cup. I’ll just haul another load of your stuff out of the truck. Take your time, son.”

“I don’t mind.” She relented.

“If you’re sure.”

She smiled weakly and nodded.

“Thanks, Hank. I’ll be right out. The front door’s unlocked. Just sit boxes anywhere on the floor and I’ll put them where they belong later.”

“Nice to meet you, Jessica.” Hank turned toward the exit, exposing a long, thin, rat-tail braid that fell about eight inches below his collar.

“You, too, Mr. Delgado.”

“It’s Hank,” he called over his shoulder as he passed through the security door. “Mr. Delgado was my daddy.”

Jessica pulled a key from her pocket. The lock turned easily. Frasier rushed ahead and up the stairs in search of some doggie treasure. The inviting aroma beckoned from behind the ficus grove. Leaning heavily upon the cane, she navigated the usual articles strewn about the floor. She turned behind the potted trees and climbed the steps to the kitchen landing.

Drew hesitated in the doorway hoping for a true invitation.

“Hello?” Her voice carried from the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Well, why don’t you come on up and help yourself? It’s kind of hard for me to carry three cups these days.”

That was the only request he was likely to get. He picked his way carefully through the maze of colorful throw pillows that had been tossed or dragged off the furniture. His fingers twitched to return the cushions to their rightful places.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Just sugar, please.”

He rounded the greenery to get his first look at the kitchen, where a garden of potted ferns dangled from the ceiling. Her ceramic mug sat on the counter next to a stack of paper cups, the steaming brew waiting. Piles of magazines teetered on the ledge, pages dog-eared, notes jotted on a nearby legal pad.

Drew couldn’t help but appraise the woman before him. If it were possible, she was even more rumpled than she had been at their first meeting. But something about her was so appealing.

Clear fair skin was creased with faint lines around her wide-set eyes. There could be a crayon named for the unique shade of green, but he wasn’t sure. He did, however, know lots of words to describe her mass of blond hair. He fought the desire to reach out and touch the soft tangles that danced around her shoulders.

Excited barking echoed from the loft upstairs.

“Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to see what that animal is up to.” She edged past him.

“Sure.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I must be intruding. I’ll just fill our cups and be on my way.”

“That’s okay. My time is pretty much my own these days, so my work can wait. There’s the sugar. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared around the trees and he heard her steady climb up the stairs. Trained to note even the smallest detail, he let his eyes sweep the rest of the kitchen and dining area. There was clutter everywhere. Not trash, because everything seemed clean and useful. Just clutter. The kind he’d been taught to avoid or correct.

Gardening supplies filled every available space. The built-in wall unit, intended as a china hutch, instead displayed every conceivable hand tool for digging and planting. Judging from the seedling plants crowded onto the pine table and countertops, the local produce market was under serious threat. He sipped cautiously and studied the tags identifying the new crop as cucumbers and squash.

Jessica made her way back down the stairs. She’d changed into a faded T-shirt and pulled her thick sandy-blond hair into a neat ponytail. He smiled appreciation.

“If you like yellow squash, you’ve come to the right place.”

He glanced around the room slowly, his gaze finally coming to rest on her incredible mossy eyes.

“It looks that way. Actually, I’m wondering how you find the space to cook and serve with all the gardening paraphernalia you’ve got in here.”

“I don’t do much of either,” she confessed. “We mostly order in or go out for meals, or I just microwave something. For years I lived on poached fish and steamed vegetables. It’s about the only thing I learned to cook, since it only required minimal effort.”

“From what I’ve seen of your work so far, you don’t seem like the kind of person who avoids effort.”

“Oh, it’s not that.” She shook her head. “I’ve worked hard all my life to make things happen for myself.”

He nodded understanding, remembering too well his own misguided concept of being the one in control.

“It’s just that I never had the time to cook,” she admitted. “When you’re young and don’t have plans for a family right away, you don’t worry about learning things like that. When I finished college I went straight to work. Until a few months ago, there was never any time. So I didn’t bother to learn.”

She hooked the handle of her cane over the high-backed kitchen chair and continued, “My mama’s a great cook. Maybe one day I’ll practice some of the things I used to watch her do in the kitchen.”

Drew set his cup on the saucer as he wondered about her injury. “Then we have something in common. My mother is…was a great cook, too.” His mother had been lost years ago at the hands of a drunk driver, and he still had a hard time thinking of her in the past tense.

“Next time my sister sends me a box of her homemade Tollhouse cookies, I’ll share them with you,” he offered.

“My favorite! It’s a deal.”

For the first time, she gave him a sincere smile. As it spread across her face, her eyes rose at the corners and crinkled around the edges. His breath caught in his throat when the eyes narrowed and flashed in good humor. His chest tingled in the strangest way.

He made a mental note to stick with the decaf he normally drank instead of indulging in this strong Southern brew.

“I’d better get back outside. As it is, Hank is going to give me a hard time about letting him do all that work by himself.”

“You said he’s your partner?”

“Yeah. I’d known him for a couple of years buying parts over the phone from Metro Muscle. We finally met a few months ago at a car show. I’ve always liked this area, so I talked Hank into selling me part of his restoration business.”

“Good karma.” Jessica’s head bobbed up and down.

“I don’t believe in karma, but I do believe Hank will put a knot on my head if I don’t get back outside and finish unloading. We still have a full day of moving ahead of us.”

“If you need anything…”

“Actually, I was wondering about the churches in this area.”

“Sorry, that’s not my strong suit. But if you’re looking for an ice-cream shop—” she patted her hip “—I’m your resource.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He picked up the two cups and backed away from the counter, not really wanting to break eye contact with this intriguing woman. He shifted his body, but not his face, toward the door. Finally, as he turned to make his exit, a cascade of ivy blocked his view and he smacked his head into a hanging basket.

He ducked just as the plastic bucket made a second sweep in his direction.

Jessica steadied the swinging plant. “Did you hurt anything?”

“Only my pride,” he admitted, rubbing his temple.

He stared into the enchanting face as her expression changed from concern to humor. Suddenly she burst into laughter. Throwing a hand over her mouth, she shook her head in apology.

“I’m sorry. You just looked so silly with that ivy draped over your head.”

She followed him through the living room, unable to draw a breath without breaking into fresh giggles.

As he opened the door and stepped over the threshold, her infectious humor caught up with him. Just before he pulled the door closed behind him, he puckered his lips and blew her a noisy kiss.

Out in the hallway Drew stood still, appalled at the very personal gesture. The impulsive motion was completely out of character for a man who believed God had sent him on a mission to reconnect with a woman from his past.

During a brief college romance with Amelia Crockett, she’d proposed a deal.

When you get tired of playing army and want some real excitement, come find me in Atlanta. I’ll be the perfect political partner for you.

A dozen years and a nearly fatal training mission later, he was prepared to take her up on the offer.

The heavy exterior door swung open. Hank carried an armload of clothing through the vestibule into the hallway. Several garments slid off the stack, falling into a soft heap on the floor.

“I’ve got it,” Drew called, hurrying to close the space between them. He set the cups down carefully and then reached to recover his favorite wool suit, a starched dress shirt and two expensive cashmere sweaters. He brushed at the dark grains on the white shirt, but the motion only turned the small specks into streaks.

His nose twitched at the slight odor. Bending to the pristine broadcloth, he sniffed. Mingled with starch and laundry detergent was the unmistakable smell of…

Manure.




Chapter Three


Jessica was trapped, struggling for breath. She kicked frantically at the sheets that bound her in the semi-conscious state. Her groggy mind cast back to a room filled with skinny fifteen-year-old girls.

She stood out from them like a marshmallow in a bowl of pretzels, with thirty extra pounds on her body and a number forty-seven pinned to her back.

The instructor began leading the young dancers through combinations. Many struggled to keep up, but some caught on quickly. Jessica caught on. She fixed her attention on the movements, intent on copying and remembering them. When the pianist added music, the combinations became fluid, purposeful motions with a destination.

After the first hour a judge called out thirty numbers. These girls would continue the audition; the rest were free to go.

Number forty-seven made the cut.

The pace quickened as the instructor switched from basic ballet to moderately difficult jazz. It was obvious which dancers had the ability to cross over from classic to contemporary.

At the second break, fifteen more mothers packed up their daughters and headed for home. Jessica was grateful to be among the survivors, waiting for round three to begin.

The last part of the audition was modern dance, incorporating difficult leaps. The liability of her weight was evident in Jessica’s landings.

Finally the audition ended and the girls were dismissed. There were only five scholarships available for the summer workshop. Ten losers would be spending the steamy days in small Texas towns, baby-sitting and watching MTV, while the winners worked with seasoned professionals.

Jessica swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and headed for the ladies’ room. As she stood in line outside the door, she overheard the number forty-seven mentioned by a young, high-pitched voice. The discomfort reflected on the face of the girl directly in front of Jessica was no preparation for the blows that followed.

The shrill voice echoed inside the tiled walls. “What a country hog! I heard there were some big ones over in east Texas, but she’s gotta be a blue ribbon winner.”

Laughter followed the comment as another anonymous girl chimed in, “My mom says they have to let a few porky ones audition every year just so nobody can claim discrimination. If you ask me, it was just a waste of two good dance positions on the stage!”

The girls exited, laughing at their crude comments. Turning the corner, they came face-to-face with the butt of their jokes.

A very slender brunette gaped wide-eyed at Jessica. Embarrassed at being caught, the girl burst into nervous laughter and sprinted the distance to the auditorium. Jessica had heard the ugly words before, but they’d never penetrated in quite this way.

Inside the audition hall, the final results had been posted. Number forty-seven was not one of the scholarship winners, but neither were the numbers of the two from the rest room. Bittersweet, but small consolation.

Jessica bit a quivering lip and lifted her chin as a lone tear slipped down her cheek. Mama said God gave her a beautiful body and it was precious in His sight. But there was nothing precious about a girl called “porky.”

Jessica jolted awake in a flushed panic, unable to shake the dream. It was always the same. And why not? It was more than a dream. It was a memory.

Nature had played a cruel trick, giving her a craving for sweets and a body that efficiently turned sugary comforts into lumpy cellulite. All the years of physical work and self-denial were for nothing. She was right back where she’d started.

The old digital clock clicked as the plastic numerals for 6:25 dropped into place. She tossed off the covers, pulled back the heavy drapes, cranked open two sets of louvered windows and slid back between wrinkled sheets.

At the foot of the bed, Frasier contentedly gnawed his sock monkey. She rolled across the king-size mattress to stroke his silky ears. The contact was reassuring.

Suddenly his head popped up. He appeared to listen for signs of activity outside the windows. He began to bark just as she picked up the strong downbeat. She struggled to her feet while Bruce Springsteen informed the world he was born in the U.S.A.

A glance at the parking lot below gave no clue as to the music’s origin, but it was so close. And so loud. It seemed to come…right through the wall.

“Rambo! I knew it! I knew that guy was going to be trouble.”

She yanked on the flowered chenille robe Becky Jo had bought at a thrift store for seventy-five cents.

With a firm grip on her cane and Frasier hot on her heels, she took the stairs in record time, flung open her front door and closed the space between the two homes. As she drew back to pound on the door, it opened, placing her face-to-face with silver-haired Hank Delgado.

Frasier scooted past the long legs and slid across the polished wood floor. He made a muffled “umph” sound as he nose-dived into a leather ottoman.

“Good morning.” Hank cocked an eyebrow at Jessica as if he wondered what she looked like with her hair combed.

“It was, until somebody gave the order to crank it up.”

“The boy gets up at the crack of dawn, and he does like his music loud.” He nodded agreement, pressing hands against his ears in an exaggerated fashion.

She tried her best to seem angry. It didn’t work. She dropped her head to hide the smile that threatened. Acutely aware of her bare feet, she imagined how foolish she must appear, standing in the hallway in the ancient robe.

“My mama had a housecoat just like that. I think she donated it to the thrift store over on Peachtree,” he said with a reminiscent smile.

Jessica didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

“Hey, man, it’s the welcoming committee,” Hank shouted to his partner.

Drew glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise. He gave Jessica’s robe a nod and a cheerful thumbs-up.

So much for yesterday’s vow never to leave the house again without clean clothes and makeup. She realized that for the third time this guy had caught her at her worst. Of course, he was spit shined and polished already. It wasn’t fair for a man to look so well put together this early in the morning.

“I know I said I’d have you over, but I thought you’d at least give me a day to unpack,” Drew called.

Hank reached for the stereo to turn down the volume.

Drew moved into the doorway to greet his visitor. “Well, don’t just stand there.” He motioned with his hand. “Come on in.”

She stepped into his home for the first time, admiring the deep muted tones of the rugs and furnishings, the rich smell of new leather and the bookcase filled with handsome volumes. A worn Bible lay atop the sofa table.

“Did you really move in less than twenty-four hours ago?” She noted how few boxes remained unpacked.

“I believe in a place for everything and everything in its place.” Drew smiled with pride. “Hey, I just happen to have a fresh pot of Colombian decaf.” He stared pointedly at Jessica’s bare feet. “But isn’t it a little early for you to be paying a social call?”

“Isn’t it a little early for you to be playing your stereo so loud?”

“You don’t like the Boss? I suppose you’d prefer something different?”

“As a matter of fact, Springsteen is one of my all-time favorites. But at this hour of the morning, I do like my music a little more soothing.”

“For instance?” he asked, stooping to inspect his considerable collection of compact discs.

“Well, for instance…” She groped for something to catch him off guard. “Rachmaninoff appeals to me in the mornings.”

“Is that right?” he asked in a “gotcha” tone.

Selecting a CD from one of several towers, he dropped it into a multidisc player. Within moments the room swelled with the sound of a single keyboard accompanied by a section of violins. He reached to increase the volume, stopping short, hand just above the control.

She’d never have admitted it at that moment, but he’d impressed her.

“You like classical music?” she questioned with disbelief.

“Music lessons were not optional at my house. My sister and I had to choose an instrument in the sixth grade and stick with it through graduation. I chose the piano.”

“Because of all the great composers?”

“No. Because I figured since it was too big to carry around with me, I could keep the guys at school from finding out about it. I don’t think I’ve ever said that out loud before.”

“I promise not to tell your dark secret, as long as you promise to watch the decibel level of your stereo.” She fixed him with an accusing stare. “At least before nine o’clock in the morning.”

Drew ducked his chin, appropriately contrite. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was so loud.”

“The heck, you say!” Hank stepped down from the kitchen. “I told you it was gonna wake somebody up, but you were too busy singing along to care.” Hank turned to her. “You ought to hear how loud he has Jimmy Buffett blasting through the showroom down at Metro.”

Drew’s eyes widened. “All you had to do was say something.”

Hank gestured toward the stereo. “But that stuff right there is kinda nice. Why don’t you bring that CD down to the shop with you tomorrow?”

“Well, I’ll just have to do that.”

She glanced from one man to the other, thinking what an odd but colorful team they made, the fifty-something laid back and the thirtysomething uptight.

Hank offered his mug in salute. “Jessica, I owe you one. Come on down to Metro Muscle and I’ll make you a good deal on an old car.”

“Thanks, but I already have an old car.”

“If you change your mind…” He smiled and headed back to the kitchen.

She turned to leave.

Stepping between his guest and the door, Drew reached for the knob and then paused.

“By any chance would your old car be that rusty station wagon with all the gardening supplies stacked next to it?”

Her trouble sensors went on full alert. She was torn between pride in the beloved vehicle and suspicion for why he was asking. But she answered honestly.

“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.





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