She gave me a predatory smile—all teeth and no humor. Wariness crawled up my spine on insect legs. I stood, wincing as my back reminded me of the two hours spent hunched over the oven. Bowed and shuffling, I walked the cup to the sink. “We’re not taking anything from that old man—”
“He’s not old! He’s the same age as me.”
I set the mug into the steel basin and refrained from pointing out the obvious. She may have been an octogenarian, but she remained agile, swift. To be honest, I had no desire to find out if she could still wield a wooden spoon like a policeman’s baton. “How about if I go and talk to Mr. Garret? Maybe I can clear up the misunderstandings.”
Before she had a chance to object, I hobbled down the hall, past the framed pictures of our life together, and dived—as much as I could with a sore back—into the bathroom. A few moments later, steam fogged the mirror and my body wash turned the room tangy with the scent of mandarins and spice. I soaped up and debated my options. When the topic was negotiating between those crazy seniors of mine, I did my best to channel the gumption of Mister Jimmy Carter—a good ol’ boy of the South, and a man who’d won a Nobel Peace Prize for his effort to bring peace to fractured nations.
Of course, compared to what lay before me, mediating talks between Israel and Egypt seemed as easy as getting a cat to purr. I toweled off, wrapped myself in a terry robe, and headed to my room. Tossing my clothing on the lavender bedspread, I opened the closet doors and grabbed a white floral dress with a small, pink rose pattern.
I finished my grooming—lotion, skivvies, and a quick spritz of perfume—before pulling on the garment. The skirt flared around my calves. I knew Mr. Garret loved legs, and I knew he had a soft spot for a lady in a dress. Besides, if I was really lucky, he’d be offering his gardener a tall glass of ice-tea when I arrived. After giving my too-thick blond hair a quick brush and hoping the Miami humidity wouldn’t make me look more like Buckwheat than a transplanted so-called Southern beauty, I pulled on a pair of pumps and headed out the door.
The moist air licked my skin with its damp tongue. Lawnmowers, their metal teeth hungry, droned and buzzed as they ate the emerald grass. Over the noise, the hum of cars and trucks rumbling along Two-Sixteenth Street was almost inaudible.
I crossed the lawn and stepped onto Mr. Garret’s property. Like us, Harrison Garret lived in a ranch-style bungalow. Unlike us, he’d opted for palm trees over cacti. I climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. A few seconds later, it opened.
Standing before me was the gardener—still half-naked—and the proximity of testosterone and bulging muscles evaporated the moisture off my skin. Yanking my gaze from the dark curls that covered his chest, I smiled and pulled my focus from his bronze flesh which shone with the burnished sheen of exertion. “I’m sorry,” I said, not feeling sorry for the heaven-sent-up-close-view of a fallen angel. “I was looking for Mr. Garret.” The heels of my shoes gave me enough height to peer over his shoulder, and I let my peripheral vision take in the hunk of masculinity standing before me. He smelled of earth and grass, sun and heat, and I wanted to roll all over him. The man grinned, and his white teeth set off blue eyes framed by dark, swooningly long eyelashes.
“Grandpa? Sure. Come on in.”
Grandpa? Please Lord that this man was moving in to help out his kin the same as I’d done for Nana. I stepped into the house. The air-conditioning overhead kissed my skin with a cool caress. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Harrison Junior, Harry to my friends.”
I smiled and did a coy-meet-his-gaze-drop-mine-bat-my-eyelashes look that would have made all the Southern belles back home raise their mint juleps and cheer. Sadly, there my femme-fatal moves ended, but maybe the smoldering gaze was enough. “I do hope we can become friends. I’m Angel.” His smile almost melted my shoes.
“You sure are.”
Mmm. A shiver ran over my skin. The Southern Belles would be eatin’ their hearts out if they saw this.
I know I was.
Chapter Two
Harry led me to the formal sitting room.
Blue walls surrounded white couches imprinted with abstract squares and hexagons. The air conditioning took the heat from the area, and gave a cheerful air to the sunlight streaming in from the bay window.
“Did you just pop by for a visit, or—” I let the question hang in the air. Nana’s ability to coax information from people was legendary. I, on the other hand, had all the subtle flair of a drunken chef wielding a boning knife.
“A visit.”
Concern made his eyes cloud over, turning from ocean-blue to stormy grey.
“Although, I wanted to check up on him. He’s been having some issues with a neighbor—”
“Oh, dear.” My shoulders slumped and my optimism at wooing Mr. Harrison Garret Junior sank faster than a brick dropped in water. I collapsed onto the Queen Anne chair. “That’s my nana.” I lifted my hand in supplication. “I do apologize.”
The corner of his mouth tilted upwards. He sat across from me, on the edge of the square, wood coffee table. “Your nana?”
“Yes. I don’t understand why they don’t get along. Usually, she can charm the pollen off a honeybee—” The warmth of his smile made my skin sizzle.
Leaning in, he rested his muscular forearms on his knees and said, “Honeybees?”
Shoot. Baxter genetics had reasserted themselves. Nana figured our tendency to reference wildlife was a nod to our passionate, sensual natures. I figured it was the result of too many of our ancestral cousins marrying each other. I leaned back, needing to catch air away from his heady, masculine scent. “I’m sorry—” I put a hand to my jaw to cover the blush heating its way from my neck to my cheeks. “I tend to go overly-Southern when in moments of stress.”
His mouth pursed into the most
kissable
shape. The movement pulled my gaze, and I forgot how to breathe. Sunlight streamed through the window in long, angular shafts and lit the blue-black waves of his hair.
“Stressed? I hope I haven’t done anything to make you feel uncomfortable—”
“No.” I waved away his words. “I only meant my constant fence-mending between these two. Why they can’t get along is beyond me.”
He ran his hand through his hair and looked down. Harry patted his chest, and smiled sheepishly. “I apologize. I’m not really dressed for entertaining. I’ll find Grandpa for you.”
“Don’t go on my account.”
Really, don’t.
“It’s fine—I have to finish off the lawn and I need a shower.”
Lord. The sudden vision of him, hot water cascading over his skin, sending rivulets careening over the bumps and angles of his hard body, sent my temperature into the hundreds.
When he stood, his lips quirked as though he’d seen my naughty thoughts. Turning with fluid grace, he moved down the hallway and left me alone with my soapy fantasies. Lucky for me, unlucky for the daydream, he returned a few seconds later, his gaze focused downward.
Three lines wrinkled his forehead and his eyebrows were drawn together. He looked up at me, his mouth pulled to the side. “I can’t find him.”
Squinting, he scanned the hardwood floors, fireplace, and couches, as though he expected his grandfather to materialize from the air, or appear from behind the piano.
“I’d mentioned needing more potting soil…”
“Maybe he went to get it?”
His eyes narrowed further, until his pupils were a glint of cobalt surrounded by black lashes, and he cocked his head. “I doubt it—he can’t drive anymore.” Harry strode to the window, his steps confident, and looked out. “He’s got an awful habit of disappearing for walks. He always comes back, but it’s darn disconcerting.”
His jeans molded to every heart-breaking step and I could only nod. Empathy made me stand and go to him. “I know. Nana does it all the time, too. She’s got a cell phone, but sometimes she’s harder to find than a—” I stopped myself before I introduced more wildlife into our conversation.
The left side of his lips lifted, as he asked, “Than a what?”
My lips worked up and down as my fevered brain yanked itself from the animal-reference-track. “Harder to find than a grown person ought to be.” At my answer, his smile took on a sexy edge and my already high temperature rose another ten degrees, but he didn’t press the matter. I certainly wouldn’t have minded if he’d pressed his sexy body against mine, though. Visions of him all hot and sweaty made me say, “You said you needed to finish the lawn? If you don’t mind some company, why don’t I come out and wait for Mr. Garret outside. Perhaps I can lend some assistance.”
His gaze ran the length of my form, subtle and quick.
The look had enough heat to make the space between my toes perspire.
“You won’t be too warm outside?”
Like I was any cooler in here. “I’ll be fine.”
“Then I’d love your company. But don’t you worry about helping.” He led me down the ceramic-tiled hallway, through the spacious kitchen, and out the back door.
“So, you said you needed to get cleaned up,” I said as he moved to a flowerbed bursting with a gorgeous array of roses and ivy. Honeybees did a lazy dance from one red petal to the other. I kicked off my shoes and moved towards the luxurious aroma of earth, flowers, and sun. The grass, deep, thick and velvet soft, absorbed my steps. I gathered my skirt around me in preparation for sitting on the lawn.
Harry stretched out his hand to help me.
Lord, I love a man who can read my mind. I slid my fingers over his, reveling in the tingles he set off on my skin, loving the way he made my stomach squiggle. As lady-like as possible, I sank to the ground, and resisted the urge to pull him down with me. “Were you and your family heading out for the day?” There I went, questions in mind, hacksaw in hand. I inwardly grimaced, let go of his hand, and beamed upward.
“No.” He knelt. The muscles of his back and shoulders rippled.
Under the golden sun, his olive skin shone with a satin finish and I wanted to run my fingers over every smooth inch of him.
“Grandpa doesn’t like the afternoon heat.”
“No, I meant your other family.” The playful smile he tossed from over his shoulder left no doubt he knew where I and my hacksaw were headed.
“It’s just me and Grandpa. I’m not married.” He paused and the teasing quirk of his lips thickened into a devilish grin. “I’m not even seeing anyone.”
The words sent my stomach on the up-down tilt-a-whirl of delight, and I pressed my lips together to squelch my instinctive urge to squeal. Leaning over a white rose, I ran my fingers over its velvet softness, and hoped he didn’t see the deep red blush of embarrassment rocketing up my cheeks. I’m
terrible
at flirting. “Those are some lovely flowers.”
He smiled, pleased and proud. “Thanks. I created the hybrid myself.”
Bless me, Father, the man had a stunning ability to mix genetics. Our children would be gorgeous and I would enjoy every moment it took to make them. “Goodness. You’re quite talented. Gardening must be your passion.”
“One of them.”
“One? What are the others?” The question was innocent, but the look he gave me was anything but pure.
“Well,” he said slowly, “spending time with angels is fast becoming a new passion of mine.”
Lord. My heart was going to crash right out of my chest and do the samba right there on the lawn. Sexy, charming, what else did a girl need? “Harry, are you flirting?” An old saw as far as coy lines went, but I’d seen Nana use it on the butcher at the local Shop N’ Save every week, and she always got free meat.
A grin lit up the angular lines of his face.
My pulse jerked and I noticed the dimple in his right cheek for the first time.
“I’m certainly trying.”
So I wouldn’t swoon, I took a breath. “You’re quite accomplished at it, too.” I nodded towards the garden. “Just like your landscaping abilities.”
Internal shadows chased the sun from his face. “Thanks.”
Silence hung thick and heavy between us. I asked, “Harry? Have I said something to upset you?”
He shook his head. The sun came into his face once more, warming away the tight line of his mouth and lifting his sensual lips upward. “Just thinking of my old job.”
I waited. The summer air rippled along my skin, made the multi-colored flower petals shiver, and sent a delicate bouquet of rose-scented aromas past my skin.
“The work was fantastic, at first. Working as a scientist I helped to clean up oil spills and environmental disasters.” He pressed his lips together. “Paid well enough, but after a while…it wears on the soul. Stepping in during a disaster is fine, but what I really wanted was to prevent them in the first place.”
His eyes moved from left to right, skimmed over the red, violet, and white array of roses, lilacs, and daisies. “Gardening seemed a good second career—I still work with the earth, but in a different way. This is the best of all worlds. I get to be outside, using environmentally friendly products—”
“But you still think of your old work. The stuff you could and should be doing?”
His shoulders rose and fell. “Something like that.”
I reached out and clasped his strong hand. Feminine senses made me aware of his long fingers, the way the veins stood out in soft relief against his skin, and the hard calluses that spoke of a life of physical labor. “Preventative caretaking is good too.”
His grip tightened, and he gave me a sheepish laugh that made the sides of his eyes crinkle.
“After you’ve seen too many animals coated in oil, too many oceans on fire, and too many plastic bags floating in the rivers, it’s hard to be casual about the earth.”
I leaned closer. “I think you’re magnificent.” The world froze as his eyes grew bright.
“You think so, huh?”
“Oh!” I really said that? “Well, yes. Your love of the earth, I mean. Very magnificent.” I tried to pull away, but he didn’t let me go. Then I wondered if I’d inadvertently hurt his feelings by not confirming his magnificence. So, I tried to think of a compliment that wouldn’t get me in trouble. “You’re very…conscientious.”