by Susan Fox
“ ’Kay.” He moved restlessly, as if he’d stood too long in one spot. “Need to buy the stuff. Gotta borrow a car. You got an account somewhere, or you going to give me cash?”
In your dreams, Mr. Blue. Sure, she was going to hand over car keys and cash to a criminal. She heaved an exasperated sigh. “I’ll drive you.”
He looked her up and down in that cheeky way he had. “I figured.”
Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t keen to get into a car with him. Not until she’d read his file, seen him work. Decided if she could feel safe with him.
She glanced up at all of that smoldering male sexuality and realized that “safe” wasn’t a word she’d likely ever use with reference to Jesse Blue. But at least she wanted to reassure herself he wasn’t likely to do anything violent. Or start using—or even dealing—drugs. Or steal her car. “Not today,” she said abruptly.
Great, now what was she going to do? Did Cherry Lane own any garden tools? If not, there was a home supply store in the mall across the street. “Stay here,” she ordered.
She left him in the courtyard, locking the door from the inside, and hurried to the reception desk. Gracie beamed excitedly at her, but Maura spoke first. “We’ve got a sprinkler, don’t we? And some garden tools? Any idea where they might be?”
“Maybe the janitor’s storage room? But wow, isn’t that guy a total hottie?”
She frowned discouragingly. “I’ll check the storage room.”
There, in a back corner, she found a dusty sprinkler attached to a knotted hose, plus—thank God—a collection of dirt-encrusted tools.
She tucked her pad and pen into her pocket alongside her glasses and picked up the sprinkler and hose. Holding them at arm’s length, she hurried back, and Gracie jumped up to open the courtyard door for her.
“Ooh, would you just look at that,” the younger woman purred. “Yummy.” She gazed outside with the expression of a dessert-lover staring in the window of a cupcake shop.
Maura glanced out. Jesse was sprawled on the nicest-looking patch of grass, on his back, arms crossed behind his head. His T-shirt pulled tight across his torso, accentuating a spectacular chest and flat stomach. He’d said he was a construction worker, so no wonder he was strong and well-developed. Completely unlike the professorial types her parents socialized with, and tried to match-make her with. Of course for her, brains were far more important than brawn. Compatibility was what mattered, if a relationship was to last.
Jesse shifted and stretched, like a big, lazy cat. She had to admit that brawn, in the form stretched out in front of her, was really quite nice to look at. Nice enough to prompt disconcerting physical heat and tingles.
Her mouth opened in a silent “oh” of enlightenment. She had a physical, hormonal reaction to Jesse—and likely it was because he was such a physical person. Her body, and that biological clock she’d read about but never been particularly aware of in herself, was ticking. It was urging her body to mate, even though her mind knew that qualities other than physical perfection were far more important to her.
Good. She’d worked things out logically, and now she could get on with her job. She glanced at Gracie. “Isn’t there something you should be doing?”
“Oops, sorry.” Those big blue eyes seemed a little dazed as she turned them on Maura. “I was just thinking, there’s that rule, right, about not dating other staff here?”
A rule that was frequently ignored, Maura knew, but that was Louise’s problem. No, wait, Louise was away, so it was Maura’s problem. “Yes, there is,” she said firmly.
“But, like, this guy’s not staff. Right? He’s here on some community service thing.”
“Uh . . . No, technically he’s not staff. But Gracie, community service means he’s been in trouble with the law. Surely it wouldn’t be wise to date a man like that.”
Those blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “That just gives him an edge, that whole bad-boy thing. I’d rather have fun than be”—she held up her hands and made quotation marks in the air—“ ‘wise.’ ”
“Gracie, if you aren’t wise about dating, you could get hurt.” How well Maura knew that, from her experience in grade twelve with Troy Offenbacher.
“I’m resilient. ’Sides, with a guy like him, a girl would be crazy to think long-term. I can’t see him being into that. But I bet he could show a girl a good time.” She licked her lips. “If you know what I mean.”
Sex. She meant sex. Maura shook her head, bemused. In the year that Gracie’d been at Cherry Lane, they’d never had this kind of talk. Never really talked about anything other than work. What a peculiar day this was turning out to be. “We both need to get to work,” she said briskly.
“So you’re saying there’s no rule against it, right? If he and I, like, hit it off?” She giggled. “Or get it on?”
In her head, Maura reviewed the HR policy that she’d brushed up on when she took over Louise’s job. “No, no actual rule,” she said reluctantly. Why did the idea of Gracie and Jesse getting together trouble her? They were young, attractive, and it seemed Gracie was savvy enough to look out for herself.
Frowning, Maura stepped down into the courtyard and walked over to Jesse. “I found the sprinkler,” she announced unnecessarily, bending to place her burden on the ground.
He stretched again, which had the effect of banishing her frown and raising her blood pressure a few degrees, then curled to his feet in a long, continuous, cat-like motion.
Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he stared down at the disreputable-looking equipment. “Let’s see if it works.” He hunkered down to work the knots out of the hose.
She watched, fascinated at the deftness of those large hands.
He glanced up. “Edger?”
“Edger?” she echoed, the word not ringing any bells. Edger—presumably from “to edge.” Ah. “Oh, tools. We’ve got some.” She could haul the whole kit and kaboodle out to the garden, but she’d end up filthy. Better, on balance, to let him inside, under her supervision. “You’ll have to come look.”
“Get the sprinkler going first,” he said. “Easier to dig when the ground’s damp.”
That made sense, so she waited as he set up the sprinkler in one corner and attached the hose to a tap. Lazy sprays of water arced back and forth. It was pretty, the way the droplets sparkled in the sun. Caught in the simple spell, she watched, smiling.
“Tools?”
Damn him, he’d snuck up on her. The man walked like a panther: sleek and powerful and deadly silent. A black panther, in that muscle-hugging T-shirt. Lion eyes, panther movements. Dangerous beasts, both. “Right, tools. Come this way.”
She felt clumsy as she minced along in her low-heeled pumps beside the smooth-strolling panther. It crossed her mind that, with a man as tall as Jesse, she might actually wear real heels. Ever since suffering beanpole jokes as a kid, when she’d been taller than all the boys in class, she’d dressed to minimize her height.
As they passed a window, she caught a glimpse of her reflection and winced. In higher heels she’d be even more the beanpole.
When the two of them passed the reception desk, Gracie called out a bright, “Good morning!”
Jesse flashed her a sexy grin and said, “Mornin’.”
Maura ground her teeth and wished Louise was there to deal with all of this. But no, if she wanted to be general manager, Maura had to be able to handle people situations as well as numbers. This was good experience.
She and Jesse walked past a couple of curious seniors, then Jesse followed her into the storage room. The small room seemed to shrink.
“Mph,” he said when he saw the tool collection.
“Do we have what you need?” She leaned against the door frame, keeping her distance.
“Edger, mattock, shovel, fork. Yup.” He separated out the tools as he spoke.
She gazed dubiously at the collection of dangerous-looking implements. The one he called a mattock was particularly nasty. One blow w
ould cave in someone’s head. Though she had trouble picturing Jesse Blue as a shoplifter, she sure hoped his crime was something equally nonviolent.
“Need pruning shears,” he said. “Can buy those when we get the flowers.”
She put on her glasses and turned to a new page in her book. Heading it “To Buy,” she said, “All right, pruning shears. And you said fertilizer, didn’t you? What else? Any particular kinds of flowers?”
“Decide when I see them.”
“I can leave the list with you today. You can add anything you think of.”
“No need.”
Now what the heck did that mean? He wouldn’t be adding anything? Or he’d remember?
He scrounged out a couple of metal spikes, a hammer, and a ball of thick cord.
“What are those for?” she asked nervously, half in and half out of the door.
“Straight lines.”
Oh, right. That was supposed to make perfect sense, was it?
She followed him back to the courtyard to make sure he didn’t take any detours, like to steal anything or to flirt with Gracie. He dropped the tools and studied the sprinkler. His thumbs were hooked in belt loops and his hands hung downward, pointing toward the tantalizing bulge at the juncture of his thighs.
She clicked her pen in frustration—mostly at herself for noticing such things. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
He glanced up as if he’d forgotten her existence. “Sure.”
Jesse watched his new boss walk away, her back ramrod straight. Her hips swayed just a little, sexy but not trashy. Jesus, when she first put those glasses on, it had been his lingerie fantasy come to life. Now, if she’d only unbutton a couple of buttons at her neck. Not too many. He didn’t want his fantasy woman to be like the gals he hung out with, with their big tits exploding out of their low-cut necklines.
A fantasy woman had to be different. Unattainable. A temptress who promised with subtlety. He needed Ms. Mahoney to be unattainable, or he’d be in real big trouble. He had to make this community service thing work.
Not only was there the whole jail issue, but no way was he getting involved with another snotty bitch who’d treat him like crap. Was his new boss one of those? He was good at reading people—had to be, with the life he’d lived—but he couldn’t figure her out yet. Mostly, it seemed like he disgusted her, but then there were those blushes. And was that glasses-on, glasses-off thing just a habit, or a sexy tease? Was she attracted to him, too?
He watched her approach the low step where she’d almost fallen. He’d gripped that fine-boned elbow for just a moment before she jerked away. Nope, he figured she wasn’t attracted. And maybe she was going to treat him like crap, all high and mighty.
She tripped slightly again as she mounted the step. Was she self-conscious, guessing he was watching? Or was it the funny little half-inch heels on her shoes? Seemed to him, a woman ought to dress for either comfort or sex.
Ms. Mahoney obviously had a different idea.
She closed the courtyard door firmly.
He glanced around, feeling caged by the surrounding walls, and reminded himself he was here because he’d kept his best friend, Con, safe. Besides, this was—or could be—a garden. He liked gardens, had a knack for making things grow. It was a lot of hard work, but that never bothered him, and there was a kind of peace in it. A landscape gardener he’d worked for had said it was Zen.
That was the same guy who’d said Jesse had a talent for it, that he should go back to school and study landscape design. Yeah, like hell he would. Guy like him, who hadn’t even finished grade ten. He might have street smarts, but he sure didn’t have school ones.
Besides, there was nothing wrong with good solid blue collar work. He liked his construction job, liked building and fixing things, worked for a great boss. His lips quirked wryly. His real boss actually respected him. Didn’t seem that was going to happen with Ms. Mahoney.
And it sure as hell wouldn’t if he stood around daydreaming rather than getting to work. Thank God she hadn’t pushed when he’d said “no” to reading aloud. He’d ended up with a job he could ace, if he knuckled down and got to it.
He turned his attention to the garden, assessing the sunlight, the lay of the land, the trees and shrubs that were already there. A picture began to form in his head. No, he wasn’t going to do straight line borders after all. Ms. Mahoney probably liked things all neat and ordered, but even though this courtyard was a square-edged box, it was a garden and not a cage. It needed shapes that were more free-form. He’d build a place where those old folks could come and relax.
He moved the sprinkler so it would get the ground behind him, then he dug the edger into the newly watered ground. The tool could use sharpening, but it’d do.
He glanced down at his jeans. So much for wearing his best pair, like Barry’d told him. Should’ve worn his oldest clothes. But Barry had wanted him to make a good first impression.
Usually, he did with women. His type of women. Ms. Mahoney was the other type. Not much chance that he, as a person, would impress her. But his work would.
The edger went in again, cutting through overgrown grass. This wasn’t the fun part, but it was easy, steady work, and he was getting the feel of the garden.
Wouldn’t mind getting the feel of Ms. Mahoney, though. The thought crept into his mind and he shoved it away. Stupid. A really stupid idea. And, while he might be dumb about school-type stuff, he wasn’t dumb when it came to people. He might make one mistake, like with Nurse Nancy or Snotty Sybil, but he wouldn’t repeat it.
Maura retreated to her office, fighting a tension headache. She searched through the pile of files Louise had passed on to her, confirmed that there was nothing related to Jesse Blue, and buzzed for Gracie to come see her.
A moment later, the young woman popped through her doorway, face bright. “The closer you get, the better he looks, right?”
“Gracie, that’s not appropriate,” she snapped.
Her excited expression crumpled. “Oh, man, sorry. I just meant—No, I mean, you’re right. Of course you’re right.”
Maura felt guilty for taking her annoyance out on the girl. She really was terrible with people, at least those under the age of fifty. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them; she just wasn’t as comfortable with them as with figures. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. But we do both need to focus on work. Can I get you to do something?”
“Sure.”
As well as handling the reception desk, Gracie often assisted Louise and had authorization to deal with confidential HR files. Maura handed her the key to Louise’s locked file cabinets. “You know the HR files better than I do. Would you hunt for the file on this . . . person. His name’s Jesse Blue, his lawyer is Barry Adamson, or it might be under something like ‘community service.’ ”
Gracie brightened. “I’ll look right now. What d’you figure he did? It’s gotta be something sexy, right? Like, oh, street racing or something.”
She really was irrepressible. An annoying quality. “Street racing endangers lives,” Maura said sharply. “Honestly, Gracie, I don’t think breaking the law—any kind of breaking the law—is sexy.”
Looking chastened again, the girl hurried away.
“I’m right,” Maura muttered to herself. “I know I’m right.” But maybe she shouldn’t have phrased it so abruptly. She slapped her glasses on and surveyed her desk. “What was I doing?” Oh, yes, she’d finished the tax filings.
That thrill of control and satisfaction was a thing of the past.
She pulled up the spreadsheet for the budget she’d been looking forward to working on, but found it difficult to concentrate. There was a disturbing stranger at Cherry Lane and she was responsible for him. She shot glances out her window, which faced the courtyard.
Good with his hands, yes. The speed of light, no. He didn’t seem to have it in him to rush. His movements were economical, she’d give him that, but he was as slow as—
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br /> Damn it, he was as slow as she was being with this budget.
She turned back to her computer with fierce determination. There was a Board meeting Friday afternoon and she wanted to present a perfect budget, with all the backup figures and analysis. The directors had advertised for the general manager position and résumés would be coming in. She was the only internal applicant. Louise had prioritized family over career advancement, and Neil, the resident services manager, loved his job and wanted to stay with it. Maura should have an edge over external applicants, and she had a master’s in Business Administration as well as her accounting diploma, but she had to make sure that every single thing she did was flawless.
Engrossed in work, it was a while before she looked out again. She must have really lost track of time because Jesse had moved the sprinkler and was halfway through digging one of the borders. A very meandering border, rather than the neat straight line she’d envisioned—and sure enough, he wasn’t using the cord and spikes he’d brought from the tool room. Honestly!
She tilted her head, caught up in the way he moved. It was hard work, she could see that. He stabbed the edger into the unyielding ground, stuck a foot on the top, and seemed to be throwing his whole body weight into levering the tip into the soil. He had his back to her and muscles bulged in his shoulders and upper arms, under his black T-shirt. He did have the most incredible build . . .
A fact that was completely irrelevant. What mattered was that he was a hard worker.
She glanced at the practical gold watch on her left wrist, then frowned out the window. His slow movements were deceptive; he’d accomplished far more than she would have thought possible.
As she watched, Fred Dykstra, one of the residents, strolled into the courtyard. His arthritis mustn’t be too bad today, because he barely used his cane. The elderly man watched Jesse for a few minutes, then said something. Jesse looked up, answered, then rested his hands on his edger and seemed to be settling in for a conversation.