by Ginny Aiken
Oh, how foolishly she had behaved. It all came rushing back to her like it had been a month ago instead of thirteen years full of growth and change into adulthood.
Debbie was confused by this revelation and his sudden friendly change in attitude toward her. “Uh … Scott … my grandmother appears to have gone to a neighbor’s.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder toward the open back door.
“Yes, feel free to call me Scott, if I may call you Debbie?” he said, seeming to ignore the issue at hand while his gaze roved her face.
She nodded and hurried on. “Would you like to call her later? I promise not to dig any more until we talk to her.” She punctuated her sincerity with a timid smile.
“That won’t be necessary. I am sure we can work something out. Let’s take another look at the situation.” He took off at an easy gait down the porch steps and across the bright green lawn.
Debbie followed slowly and watched as he walked along the boundary line, starting from the street inward. He was tall, though being five-nine Debbie didn’t really have far to look up at him. He had a lean, athletic frame without the bulging muscles of a serious jock. She found him as appealing to look at as she had as a teen. He even had a boyish lock of rich chocolate brown hair that flopped across his broad brow. Debbie suppressed the urge to grin.
“That azalea bush by the sidewalk is really the only thing that marks the property line,” he said as he marched across the middle of her tilled plot. “Our grandparents never worried about the details of property boundaries. It is no wonder that you got into my yard, but Maxie should have realized that there was not enough room for this size of garden here. It should have gone alongside the shed.”
Debbie sighed and swallowed a sarcastic laugh. “She was quite specific about how the garden should be dug. I’m truly sorry for the mistake.”
“I usually don’t let anyone mess in my yard. It is kind of my stress-relieving hobby that I have taken to the level of obsession. But since you’re Maxie’s granddaughter …”
Debbie was back to feeling like a kid under the scrutiny of his dark brown eyes. She nervously smoothed her curls away from her rounded face. He obviously still sees me as that silly teenage girl.
“Ah, there’s the old girl now,” Scott whispered with a sparkle in the depth of his eyes.
After iced tea, several cookies, and pleasant conversation about the weather, Maxine Julian still avoided discussing the issue of the garden.
“Dandy, did Scott tell you that he recently bought his grandparents’ house?” Grandma asked. She patted Scott’s large hand and shoved a paper napkin under his glass.
Debbie nodded as she chewed the cookie that seemed to stick in her throat. Though you failed to mention that detail. Debbie tried to resist the tug to feel irritated at her grandmother. It was really the easy comradery between Scott and Grandma that was gnawing at her sensibilities.
Scott leaned back in the kitchen chair. “It seemed to take forever for the estate to be settled after the back-to-back funerals. Everything had to be equally divided … but I’m glad I was able to buy the house and keep it in the family,” Scott shared with them, then downed another cookie in large bites.
Gran nodded in agreement. “I told you that is what Dandy is doing for me. There won’t be much to settle when I’m gone.”
Debbie didn’t like the direction of the conversation and her grandmother’s matter-of-fact tone. Sure, these things were inevitable, but they didn’t have to be discussed in casual conversation with a … non-family member.
Scott suddenly raised his head from contemplation of the cookie plate that was out of his reach. “Do you remember that neighborhood bonfire we had in these backyards? That’s back when they allowed that sort of thing inside town.”
“Oh, yes,” Debbie recalled with renewed interest. “There must have been nearly a hundred people coming and going from that party.”
“You were there?” Scott asked, and for the first time his gaze really met hers.
Debbie was confused and could feel her cheeks flushing. Surely you remember the girl who followed you so closely that I can still repeat every move you made that summer.
“Dandy was here most of the summer that you and the twins stayed,” Gran declared and, reaching behind Debbie, she deftly clasped Debbie’s hair back into a ponytail. “You probably would remember her best in pigtails and braces.”
Debbie gasped and pulled away from her grandmother’s hands.
Scott chuckled. “Sorry, all I can remember of that summer was the stupid way I followed my cousins, Mike and Matt, all around. The twins had just finished their second year of college. They were here to help Grandpa with the closing of his store, and I begged my folks to come too because I idolized those guys at the time.”
Debbie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How could he not remember her? Why, she had played a movie theme song over and over when she heard him say he liked it. She played it from her bedroom window when he was in the yard; she hummed it when they were in the same room. She was desperate to show him they had something in common. She even went as far as to join the neighborhood gang in a game of flag football. How could he not remember her—and her crush?
“It’s funny,” Scott said. “I’ve never been big on sports, but I played every imaginable game that summer just so I could keep up with those guys.” Scott shook his dark head.
Debbie barely heard his words. She should still feel embarrassed, but now she was offended by his lack of ability to even recall her presence. Everyone knew she had been starry-eyed for Scott. Her grandfather had teased her mercilessly. Her best friend Penny had listened to hours of woes when Scott failed to give Debbie the attention she craved.
Of course, she had moved on from her adolescent behavior to more mature ways of looking at relationships—hadn’t she? Certainly. Then why were the memories still so raw for her?
Grandma was speaking as she refilled Scott’s glass of tea. The subject had obviously changed. “Now, Scott, I wasn’t able to be out there this morning when Dandy started her digging, and I have left all the planning to her. She is a good, hard worker, but also very good with … why, she’s a good homemaker.” Grandma smiled and nodded in Debbie’s direction.
Debbie’s mouth dropped open. What was Grandma saying? She sounded like a sales pitch. First, I’m the hormone-crazy teen, and now he’ll know me as the desperate woman who has to rely on Gran’s matchmaking. Debbie picked up the plate that had just been passed. “Cookie anyone?”
Her offer was ignored as Scott continued to follow Grandma’s conversation with no sign of emotion. Debbie’s gaze glued to his left hand. She hated it when married men didn’t wear wedding bands, but then, Scott was probably very much single. That was an unfortunate state for her jumbled emotions to deal with.
“I had no idea that Dandy would go into your yard.” Grandma shrugged and petted Debbie’s hand like she was a child. Debbie pulled her hands into her lap. “I can certainly pay for new grass seed.”
“I don’t blame anyone,” Scott said, smiling at Debbie as she took a large bite from an oatmeal cookie. “I’m sure I can get another good patch of grass started by summer, but I’m more interested in a compromise.”
He couldn’t help feeling like this wasn’t all a simple mistake, but he was willing to play along with these apologetic females and reap some benefit. Leaving the garden on his property should allow for more opportunities to see Maxie’s beautiful granddaughter, and even he could sacrifice some landscaping perfection for that prospect. He wasn’t in the market for a wife, at the moment. He was just enjoying the beautiful scenery.
“What would you say if I offer my land in exchange for a share of the vegetables you grow?” Scott offered the ladies. “I wouldn’t really have time for my own garden anyway.”
Maxine appeared to sigh in relief, but Debbie looked to her grandmother nervously. “Gran, are you sure we will have enough to split with Mr. Robillard … uh, Scott? You know that yo
u will want to give vegetables to Mom and Dad as well as Aunt Carol.”
“Then we’ll pack it full of plants,” Maxine decided.
“But you like wide, neat rows, Gran,” Debbie quietly reminded.
“If you think the garden should be a bit bigger, we can look at extending it,” Scott quickly offered before thinking.
“Ah,” Maxine laughed, “first you are ready to lynch us for ruining your new grass and now you propose a bigger garden. Kids …” she chuckled.
“Please,” Debbie said and paused for breath, “forget I said anything. We’ll make this plot work and have plenty to share with you … Mr. Robillard.”
Scott noted the use of formality and the icy waves that Debbie emitted. Was he missing something? Had he overstepped the boundaries of her personal space? He had enjoyed the play of color in her cheeks when they first met, but he didn’t understand why her sparkling blue eyes now appeared frosty and her blushed cheeks were now set like stone.
But it was settled, and Debbie went back to work on smoothing the clumps from the garden plot, while Scott finally got to work on his flowerbeds. But, though Scott worked on the opposite side of the house from her, all he could envision were large chestnut curls and round, pink cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
He had the distinct feeling that he should remember her, and he tried to play through his mind the summer of thirteen years ago. But it was useless. All he remembered was sweeping, dusting, and stocking his grandfather’s hardware store. Then there were the football and basketball games every evening with Mike and Matt. The only girls he could remember were a group that hung around the park whenever his cousins went there to shoot hoops. His cousins were good-looking college freshmen who drew the girls like magnets. Scott, on the other hand, had still been a gangly teen at age seventeen and didn’t give the girls much thought when he had so much to learn from his older cousins.
Scott dug his trowel deep into the soil. He wasn’t sure how well he was going to like his new neighbor. She stirred strange, confusing emotions in him. In his profession, he should be used to dealing with all types of personalities of his patients. It could be a long spring … and summer … then fall. He was already thinking that he had better plan a garden on his own next year.
A loud clanking noise came from around the house. Scott tried to ignore it, piling debris higher in the old bushel basket. He knew the noise was coming from the garden, but he was afraid if he rushed to offer his assistance, his growing interest in Debbie would be obvious.
The tiller was shut off and the quiet returned to the peaceful neighborhood. Even the birds soon started twittering again. Scott found himself holding his breath as he waited for any sound that would tell him what Debbie was doing now. His hands moved in slow, fluid motion as he tried not to make a sound.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He rose and brushed the knees of his jeans, annoyed with himself for his nagging curiosity. He would make a trip to the garage so that his path would give him a clear view of the adjoining backyards and the tilled plot.
Scott rounded the corner of his house and immediately stopped in his purpose-filled tracks. In the middle of the dark brown rectangle of soil sat Debbie. Her long hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and hung down her back. She sat cross-legged beside the tiller, her elbow on her knee and her head resting in her palm as she stared at the still machine.
Scott glanced up at Maxie’s house and caught the movement of curtains at the kitchen window.
He knew he should move on to the garage and keep to himself. Debbie seemed to be quite the independent type, and after all, this garden was her mess and problem. But his feet slowly propelled him to the edge of the turned earth.
“Uh …” He ran a hand across the back of his head. “Do you think you threw the chain?” he heard himself ask.
Debbie turned her large blue eyes upward, the sunshine illuminating her face. Scott dropped his gaze, trying not to stare, and shifted nervously.
“You wouldn’t know of a repair shop for antique yard equipment, would you?” Debbie asked with little life in her voice.
“No.” He slowly exhaled the word, and even though he knew he was treading in dangerous waters, he offered, “Maybe I could take a look at it.” He stepped closer to the machine, and Debbie suddenly jumped to her feet and beat at the dirt clinging to her loose denim pants. She twisted to reach her backside and bent to brush her calves.
Scott turned his back to her actions and gulped for air, as he forced his heart rate back to normal. He poked at the chain cover, knowing he would need a screwdriver to loosen it. He deliberately looked the tiller over from top to bottom before turning back to Debbie.
She was gone. He was surprised to see her disappearing through the back door of her house. Scott turned back to the machine in dazed confusion. So, fix the machine, Robillard. Isn’t that what you came to do?
Chapter 3
Debbie changed her clothes, then grabbing a file of work papers, she sat down in the window seat of her cozy bedroom. Two dormer windows gave her nice views of both the front and back yards. The window seat gave Debbie a clear, bird’s-eye view of the garden plot. She watched as Scott returned from a trip to his garage and bent over the rusty tiller.
You ran from the scene, she scolded herself. But to stay would have shown interest in the situation and to leave was a display of indifference. Wasn’t it?
Debbie had a feeling that, even though she considered herself an adult who happened to be in a job that placed her in authority over teens, she was allowing herself to be pulled back into adolescent games. She flipped open the file folder and took out the first sheet. She tried to study the print, but her gaze returned to the window. Scott made several trips to the garage as twenty minutes lapsed.
Watching him, she could picture Scott as a teenager bending over an old bike. That summer he stayed with his grandparents she had witnessed his kind acts to many people in the neighborhood. Though a busy kid, he always found time to lend a hand where needed.
Grandma called from the bottom of the stairs as Scott was placing the chain cover back in place. “Dandy, come and carry this glass of pop out to Scott for me, please. The day has sure warmed up and he has been working so hard.”
Debbie rolled her eyes toward the slanting ceiling. To refuse would be very rude. She pulled herself up from her comfortable cushions, descended the stairs sluggishly, and took the cold glass of soda pop from her grandmother without a word. She had a feeling Grandma was reading her every action with great clarity.
Her leisurely pace brought her to the garden in what seemed to her to be record time. She held the glass out at a stiff arm’s length. “Gran thought you could use a cool drink.”
She let her gaze drift to the trees as he straightened and dusted his dirty hands.
“I’m very grateful.” He took the glass and his fingers brushed hers.
She pulled her arm back. Oh, would you stop reacting like a kid! she screamed at the tingling sensation in her hand.
“Let’s see if this thing will crank now,” Scott said, and she noticed that he set the empty glass in the grass.
With two cranks the old tiller was noisily running again. The chain worked properly and the rotors were once again greedily searching for dirt to devour. Scott motioned her to take the handles. She nodded her thanks, stepped behind the machine, and followed it to the edge of the rectangle.
As she turned to chop a new row of dirt clogs, she saw a car entering Scott’s drive and Scott making a beeline to his back door. It was getting to be late afternoon. Maybe he had a dinner date. The thought relieved and distressed her in the same wave of emotion. She pushed the tiller harder and deeper into the soil.
It had been a long day, and after nearly an hour of working on the garden dirt, Debbie was on the last round at Scott’s edge of the garden. Her pace was slow, but she pushed on. She brushed stray hairs back behind her ear and felt a splash of water.
Looking up Debbie’s face was doused. Sc
ott’s sprinkling system had suddenly come on, and she was positioned between two sprinkler heads. Water ran down her forehead, cheeks, and chin. She no longer paid attention to the path of the tiller as she swiped at the rivulets of water tracing her lips. She huffed at the water and gave the tiller a disgusted shove.
All of a sudden the water was coming from every direction. Streams flowed over her shoes and sprayed the tiller from under the blades.
“Oh no,” she screeched.
The tiller had gone out of the straight edge of the garden and cut deep into the sprinkler pipe. Debbie killed the motor of the offending dirt digger and scurried across the yard, dodging sprinkler heads that still spouted showers of water.
She searched alongside the back door for a shut-off valve. Finding none, she moved on to the side of the garage and even peeked inside the door. No luck. She looked back at the mess of water pooling in the soaked garden and running through the thin, new grass toward the stand of pines.
Debbie wanted to scream in frustration and cry in despair. She wrung out her drenched T-hirt and trudged to the back door. Her knock was not answered. Sure that Scott was home, she moved to the side of the house where French doors opened from the dining room. She could hear loud music blaring, and she knocked hard.
When Scott finally came to the windowed door his eyes widened. She must look frightfully bad.
“What happened to you? Is it raining?”
Debbie was fearful that she detected a smile around his handsome lips.
“I have a bit of a problem and could use a hand,” she forced herself to admit. Two problems in one day were really going to look like a play for his attentions. She sighed and resigned herself to continue. “Do you think you can shut off your sprinkling system?”
Scott’s brow creased in confusion. “Sure. I’ll have to go down to the basement.”
“When you are done, I have something I need to show you.”