by Mae Nunn
She held her breath for his answer.
“No, thanks,” he replied, after a long pause. “I know how much Faith will enjoy a day out on her own. You two go ahead. I have plenty of other things to occupy my time.”
“Yes, I’ll just bet you do,” Jessica muttered to herself as she turned off the portable phone and resumed her research.
True to her word, Jessica and Frasier were at his door at 0700. The woman waiting at his doorstep was scrubbed as clean as a new penny. Cheap sunglasses held her damp bangs back. A green scrunchy thing bound up her golden ponytail. He knew it was only a matter of time before little baby hairs crept loose from the bunch and danced enticingly around her face and neck.
The ancient red wagon pulled away and only the dog gave Drew a backward glance.
With his morning free, he could either put in a few hours at the shop or ask Amelia to meet him for a late breakfast. Somehow the recycled grease drums in the warehouse were more appealing at the moment.
Thinking he could extricate himself from brunch more easily than he could dinner, he dialed the number on the card still in his suit pocket.
The phone-call mission was accomplished as planned. He hand washed his car before driving the short distance to Amelia’s high-rise.
Before Drew’s knuckles made contact with the door, it was whisked wide open.
“I thought you’d never get here,” Amelia said in a breathy voice. “I’ve been desperate to have you all to myself.” She slithered against him and began to entwine her rail-thin arms around his waist.
He deflected her determined embrace and set her an arm’s length away as his eyebrows rose at her bare-midriff attire and seductive greeting. “What’s the rush, Amelia?”
“Isn’t this what you want?” She pouted.
“What I want is to go to one of those waffle places and order some scattered, smothered, covered and chunked hash browns.”
“Not in this life. But we can walk to a little restaurant down the street, sit in the shade under a big umbrella and order omelettes.”
Over the meal, Amelia talked nonstop about the many social successes that had followed her college days. Her interest in his military career and the accident that had resulted in his discharge was only cursory. At least it spared him from sharing the details he’d just as soon not recall anyway.
“How is it you’ve remained single all this time?”
She popped an orange section into her mouth suggestively. “I was waiting for you.”
Drew chuckled at the obvious lie. “Come on. The truth.”
“Well, it kind of is the truth. You know I’m a straight shooter with very high expectations. I’ve auditioned a lot of men for the part, but none of them ever met all the qualifications. If they have the money, then they don’t have the family name. If they have both, then they’re ugly as homemade mud.”
He was struck, yet again, by her lack of tact. “I’m afraid that clearly leaves me out of the running.”
“On the contrary.” She reached under the table and lightly scraped her sculptured nails across his knee. “You can’t do better than the Virginia Keegans.”
“Let’s not forget your number one qualifier. I’m something of a glorified grease monkey these days, which doesn’t exactly fit into your grand scheme for us to become a great political force.”
“Mark my words, Drew Keegan. Together we are going to be a force to reckon with. My daddy’s going to be so proud,” she said wistfully, almost to herself.
In a practiced gesture, Amelia lifted her jet-black hair away from a slender neck and shook her head slightly, as if to dismiss any objections to her statement.
“Besides, I have money. I’ve always had money, so that’s never really been an issue. It would have been nice to find a man with his own, but with you as the prize, I’m not complaining.”
Beginning to feel like a first-place trophy, he changed the topic back to Amelia. She was more than happy to return to her favorite subject.
So happy in fact, she refused to let him accomplish a gracious getaway. She insisted there was plenty of time and, for a change, showed interest in someone other than herself.
“So—” she drew out the word “—you are here to take me up on that offer, aren’t you?” Dark eyes gleaming, she hurried on without waiting for his response. “As soon as Father hears this, I’m sure he’ll want to properly introduce you to his friends. I’ll put together something soon so we can appear as a couple. We can’t afford to waste time.”
Time! His head snapped down to catch a look at his watch and he jumped to attention. It was past three. Faith would be worried sick.
He tucked several bills under the edge of his plate, grabbed Amelia’s hand and hauled her to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have ten minutes to walk you back to your place. If my sister misses her flight, Father will never let me hear the end of it.”
“I’ll go with you.”
It was a statement, not a suggestion. He had a gut feeling it wasn’t a good idea, but there was no time to argue.
Still holding hands, the striking couple left the sidewalk café, hurrying down Peachtree Street to the parking garage. Neither one spotted the well-known cap of short-cropped gray hair beneath her signature hat.
Madeline Shure pulled the ever-present notebook from her expensive designer bag and began to jot down observations.
At the insistent knock, Jessica jerked her front door open with enough force to stir the morning’s newspaper from its customary spot on the floor. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
“That’s not really any of your business, is it?” The voice was annoyingly familiar.
Drew stepped aside to reveal the source of the response. Amelia Crockett.
Jessica couldn’t believe her misfortune. After the romp through Callaway Gardens and the messy pottery class, she was a complete wreck and in need of a shower. She mentally groaned, knowing her house was a mess, as usual. The last thing she needed was this unwelcome visitor.
She should be organizing her thoughts for the most important appointment of her life, and instead she was keeping Faith distracted so she wouldn’t panic over her brother’s whereabouts.
“Actually, I think it is Jessica’s business.” Drew corrected Amelia and turned to Jessica. “Please forgive me for being so late. I completely lost track of the hour.”
“That’s my fault.” Amelia rested her hand on his arm possessively. “Sorry, babe.”
“Look what I made, Andrew!” Faith hurried down the stairs toward her brother. She withdrew a small flowerpot from a paper sack, its exterior a colorful mosaic of broken bits of china. “Jessica took me to the barn full of trees, and she helped me. Isn’t it pretty?” Faith held the pot out proudly for her brother’s inspection.
Drew briefly admired the offering before stuffing it back in the sack and steering a messy Faith into the hallway. With no time for his kid sister to shower, Jessica knew he’d be sending Faith home to their father grubby but happy.
Tilting toward the living room, Amelia shook her head in disgust. “I see you’re a pig in every sense of the word.”
Drew’s head turned at the insult in time to see Jessica’s front door slam, less than a quarter of an inch from Amelia’s perfectly chiseled nose.
The next two hours were as emotionally brutal as anything he could remember from Ranger training. Faith’s mental maturity was evident in her childlike trustfulness and cheerful manner, but she was surprisingly independent in a competitive situation. From the battle for the car’s front seat to the skirmish over who’d stand next to Drew on the escalator, Faith gave as good as she got.
Drew was equally amazed at Amelia’s determination to have her own way, refusing to give an inch where most people graciously accommodated his baby sister. His head throbbed like a seventies disco from their loud argument over the radio station, made even louder by the powerful engine and the wind whipping through the open windows.
Faith’s brief “
I don’t like her!” was whispered a little too loudly in his ear as she hugged him fiercely at the gate. From the end of the boarding ramp she shouted “Dad will think Jessica’s stick is just the thing,” then disappeared into the 727.
“I know she’s your sister and she’s—” Amelia actually seemed to search for a politically correct word “—limited, but she shouldn’t be allowed to talk to people however she pleases.”
The old saying “the pot calling the kettle black” came to Drew’s mind. Unwilling to point out the obvious and stir up further arguments, he continued his beeline for the parking garage.
In less than forty-five minutes he was free of the still-complaining Amelia, but not before she’d extracted a dinner invitation for later in the week. He was all too aware his pulse was unaffected by the prospect of a date with Amelia, though it raced whenever he spotted Jessica up to her elbows in dirt.
“Lord,” he prayed aloud, “I am so confused. Amelia seems completely wrong for me no matter how much good we could accomplish together. That can’t be what You have planned, especially when You’ve put such a beautiful distraction in my path.”
He drove home feeling as disoriented as the family cat the day it took a few tumbles in the clothes dryer.
Chapter Eight
The welcoming peace of Sacred Arms washed over Drew as he passed beneath the wrought-iron archway. He opened the car door but remained seated, appreciating the sight of the flowering plants all around him and the smell of freshly mown grass. He was hardly aware of the season’s supply of pine straw stacked like bales of hay at the edge of the pavement.
The faded red station wagon pulled crookedly alongside his carefully parked pride and joy.
“How about being the first to congratulate me?” Jessica glowed with excitement.
“Shouldn’t I be apologizing instead?” He hurried around to open her door.
She took his hand as she stood, shrugging off his offer of an apology. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We had a great morning. I was just concerned about Faith missing her flight.”
“Well, I feel like I should make some sort of excuse.”
“There is no excuse for Amelia Crockett.”
Resisting the urge to agree, Drew scrunched his forehead and ran his free hand through short-cropped hair.
“I’m sorry, that was unnecessary,” she added.
“You’re the one woman who has good reason to be angry with me and you’re apologizing. This is too much.”
She squeezed the hand that was still holding hers.
“Then let me make it very simple. I just landed my first big job and I couldn’t be angry right now if my life depended upon it.”
“That’s wonderful news!”
He’d come to realize how much this talented woman needed something special to happen in her life. Fighting the urge to wrap her in a bear hug, he made a more respectful overture.
“Will you let me buy you dinner to celebrate?”
Jessica hesitated. “I’d like to accept, but I have so much planning to do.”
“Come on. Let tonight be your one indulgence. Besides, I owe you one for taking such good care of Faith,” he coaxed.
“Okay,” she agreed. “But tomorrow I am officially under deadline to produce spectacular results. I can’t afford to disappoint the Mouth of the South.”
“Who?”
“I’ll explain later.” Jessica glanced down at her shorts, grungy from the morning’s excursion. “I didn’t have time to get cleaned up before I went to meet with the client, as you know.” She gave him a pointed look. “So give me an hour.”
“Take more if you need it,” he teased.
Jessica smiled and reached inside the car for her cane. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“Do you like Mexican food?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a Texan.”
“Perfect,” he said, meaning it in more ways than one.
Drew and Jessica sat on the patio of the small Mexican restaurant, oblivious to the lively mariachi music. The basket of salted chips went untouched as she told him about her plans for the Shure wedding. He was amazed by the assortment of flowering plants she’d committed to producing.
“How long do you have to get this together?” He wondered if she honestly had any idea how she was going to pull off this extravaganza.
“It’s two weeks from tonight. If I work day and night, and subcontract the heavier stuff to the lawn service, I should be able to manage.”
“Where will you do all the work?” He envisioned her standing in a greenhouse among all the materials she’d need for such a large undertaking.
“The only place I have. Sacred Arms.” Jessica placed a hand on his forearm as he groaned inwardly.
“Now, don’t look like that,” she cajoled. “I promise it won’t be as bad as it sounds.”
But she’d already mentioned dozens of containerized gardens, hundreds of plants, a truckload of potting soil. He conjured up a small army of delivery trucks coming and going through the security gate. The thought of all the clutter closed in on him, claustrophobia even in this open place.
Then his practical side took control, making things even worse. He saw the investment in his new home deteriorating like wilted spinach on Jessica’s compost pile.
“Can’t you rent some temporary space for all that stuff? A warehouse somewhere on the side of town near your client?” He hated the nervous sound of his own voice.
“No, I’ve already told you, I can’t afford it. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I need to have everything close to me so I can work literally around the clock putting these gardens together. I’m going to be searching for materials during the day and then doing the physical work of planting in the evenings. It wouldn’t be practical to do it anywhere else.”
That only exacerbated the situation. Now he had images of floodlights throwing the moonlit parking lot into a bright state of chaos by night.
Jessica must have thought he wasn’t listening to her. She pulled the hair on his arm to get his attention.
“Ouch!” He jerked away and rubbed the sore spot. “Why’d you do that?”
“Because you looked like you were going into a trance. Please stop imagining the worst and give me some credit for being able to run an organized work-place.”
Drew’s eyebrows shot up and he tapped the side of his head with the heel of his hand as if draining water from his ear.
“Excuse me, I thought I heard you say something about being organized.”
“I am organized!” She pounded the table for emphasis, sending tortilla chips flying. “You don’t have to be Martha Stewart to know where everything is,” she insisted hotly. Her gaze fell to her lap, where her hands had wrung the life from a paper napkin.
He watched her struggle to regain composure. The blush that infused her cheeks was terribly appealing. He’d love to see her in a full-blown bad mood some day. He witnessed the red stain spreading across the graceful curve of her throat and wondered if the warm skin there was as soft as it appeared.
He shook off the intruding thoughts and considered for the first time that he might be wrong. Something he seemed to be doing frequently. Maybe she deserved the benefit of the doubt—not that there was anything he could do to change her mind at this point anyway.
Jessica stared him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. But you don’t really understand what’s at stake. I only know two things—dance and gardening. And every time I look in the mirror I’m reminded all over again that dance is in the past.”
She held out both hands to him, palms upward. “What I can conceive in my head and create with these two hands is all I have left. If I’m successful on this job the payoff will allow me to lease property for Living Colors. But the real reward is what Madeline Shure can do for my reputation if she likes my work.”
“Madeline Shure? That newspaper columnist? She’s your client?” Even residents new to the region were familiar with the
name.
Jessica let out a big breath and put a shaky smile back on her face. “That’s her. Local folks call her the ‘Mouth of the South’ because she can’t keep anything quiet.”
“Do you think she might be interested in buying an old sports car?” Drew joked as he scooped chips up off the table back into the basket and motioned to the waiter for a fresh supply.
“She might be. Money doesn’t stand between her and anything she wants. Nothing does, for that matter, which is why this job is so important to me.”
A wise soldier knows when to retreat. “Yes, I can see that. I’ll tell you what—I promise to keep my worries to myself as long as you promise to control the mess around Sacred Arms for the next two weeks.” He extended his right hand.
She eyed it suspiciously. “And you expect me to trust you?”
“I do,” he said without hesitation.
“You realize you’re not exactly batting a thousand with me.”
She had caught him in a couple of less than straightforward situations.
“I do,” he repeated. “Give me another swing.” He continued to offer his hand across the table. “Deal?”
She took it. “Deal.”
They sat in the dark parking lot. Drew was reluctant to leave Jessica’s company. He felt a compelling attraction as she plotted her determined plans for independence. Recalling the enticing way her cheeks had colored with excitement when she’d described the wedding project, he warmed inside at the sound of her now, still bubbling over with ideas.
“I’m sorry. You must be tired of listening to me run on about this wedding. Besides, it’s getting awfully late.”
The inside light of the car flickered on as she opened the door. Before she could climb out, Drew caught her attention by tugging playfully at her silky ponytail. Something he’d been dying to do all evening.
“Actually, I’d like to hear more.” Protective feelings surged at the uncertainty in the deep green eyes. “Honestly.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Jessica glanced toward the light burning in her upstairs windows. “Talking with you all evening has gotten my creative juices flowing. But it looks like Becky Jo’s still up, and she’ll want me to start over from scratch. Besides, I really need to put up my leg and ice my knee.”