Hearts In Bloom

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“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.