Steady (14 page)

***

March

The first Saturday morning in March found Katrina standing over two cubic yards of dirt. Some of the best dirt and compost mix you could get your hands on had just been delivered to her home. She planned to spend the weekend spreading it over her lawn. She could have used some help here, kicked herself for not taking her godfathers up on their offer to send someone over to help her. Nope, she could do all things by herself.

She regarded the pile of dirt again. Well it wouldn’t move itself.

“Hey, Katrina, I didn’t know it was your birthday.” Tom the retiree was standing there in his usual retiree dress: a white T-shirt pulled tightly over his round belly and tucked neatly into shorts that were shorter than they should have been. Black knee high socks and white tennis shoes completed the ensemble.

“Morning, Tom. It’s not my birthday,” she responded, looking confused.

“You’re courting then?”

“Courting as in dating?” she asked, tilting her head. “Nope, there’s no courting going on over here.”

“I thought one of your beaus gave that pile of dirt to you as a gift. You know gifts are the way to a woman’s heart, and who loves dirt more than you,” he said, smiling as if he knew Katrina inside and out.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” she said, smiling back at him. “How’s Billie?”

“Fine. She’s enjoying the life of a retiree, trying not to let her lazy husband bother her too much. We’re expecting the grandkids in the next week or two. Maybe you’ve got room for me at your house while they’re here,” he said, laughing heartily at his own humor. “Speaking of dirt, sorry to hear that you’re not going to lead us to victory this year.”

“No, not this year. Will, your new neighbor, is leading this year,” she said.

“The guy who built the green home?” he asked.

“Yes, him.”

“Ump,” was Tom’s response. “Well, I know you’re anxious to stick it to your pile of dirt there, so I won’t delay you further. Goodbye now,” he said, walking away.

Katrina stuck her shovel into the pile and dumped a load into her wheelbarrow, then repeated the step; shovel in, dirt out, again and again. The one upside to this type of work was that she could skip her run on the treadmill. This would be her workout for the day, maybe even the next couple of days. Once the wheelbarrow was full, she pushed it over to a spot in her yard and dumped the contents. She’d spread it later. The goal for today and probably tomorrow would be to reduce and divide the major dirt pile.

She walked the wheelbarrow over to the dirt pile, stuck her earplugs in her ears, turned on her mp3 player
and began again. Shovel in, dirt out, shovel in, dirt out; her movements in time to the latest Beyoncé tune that played in her ears.

***

You’re the man
, she told herself a few hours later, internally patting herself on her back for what she’d accomplished so far. She was one-fourth of the way done and she was also very hungry. Removing her earphones, she plopped down on the ground for a second to catch her breath and replenish the water she’d lost; unfortunately, she could sweat with the best of the pigs. Where was that water bottle, anyway?

She was feeling lazy, didn’t want to stand up again to search for it, so she turned over on to her hands and knees—thank God for knee pads, she thought—and climbed up on all fours and crawled around the dirt pile in search of water. Ah, there it was, behind her pile. Wasn’t that always the way things worked? When you need something it was furthest away from you.

While she was bent over, she took in a big whiff of her dirt. Tom was right; was there anything more fragrant than the smell of good soil mixed in with a little manure? She put her face close to her pile and took another deep breath. She would always love this smell, the smell of outdoors, the smell associated with her parents. She took another whiff, closing her eyes, remembering times spent in the backyard growing up. For some people, home was food, fried chicken and gravy, mashed potatoes and biscuits. For her, it had been spending time working with her parents in the garden, helping out, learning from them. She took another sniff and froze.

There was someone behind her now, she could hear the sound of feet, maybe even suppressed laughter. She dropped her head and looked past her stomach, in between her legs, to find a bicycle with two legs standing behind her. Yep, there was someone standing there, all right. She lifted her head and inwardly groaned, imagining what she must look like to the untrained eye. What the hell. She turned and looked into the eyes and full smile that belonged to Will. Why him and why now, she thought.

“Hey, Katrina, what
are
you doing?” he asked, lips tightly pressed together, as if he was trying not to laugh.

“Uh, nothing much. I was searching for my water bottle,” she said, pulling it over to show him as she pushed herself up to her knees, looking back over her shoulder at him.

“It looked like you were sniffing that dirt pile,” he said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“I do not smell dirt,” she responded, pushing herself into a standing position and turning to face him fully. Bad idea, as she felt an immediate rush of warmth enter her abdomen and move to her lower body at the sight of him in his cycling gear, all long and lean. Way past angry with him, her body had returned to its normal reaction to seeing him this way. Like Frodo and his Orc sword, her body turned the color warm whenever he got close, and it didn’t help that he was dressed in her favorite articles of clothing, sky blue in color this time.

She looked at him, her eyes moving to his chest, clad in that tight cycling shirt, remembering how it had felt next to hers as he lay over her and kissed her like nobody’s business. Her eyes moved down to take in his waist; her hands had been around that waist, which was flat, hard, and with definition for days. Her hands starting to twitch, her eyes trailing lower, moving downward to...

He cleared his throat and she froze, her eyes moving up to find his. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She must look some kind of funny.

“I was on my way out and saw you bent over here. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said.

“Yeah, sure, I’m okay. Thanks for stopping by to check,” she added, looking anywhere but at him.

“No problem. Take care,” he said, turning to leave, waving a final time as he pedaled away.

What a fine ass, she thought, watching as he stood up, pushing hard on the pedals to get his bike moving, the muscles of his ass moving hard, too, making her hand twitch again. She wouldn’t last long as his assistant if she couldn’t get a handle on her hormones. At the very least, she needed to learn to not be so obvious.

***

Will chuckled as he pedaled away from Katrina’s. Five minutes ago he’d pulled out from his driveway, planning to go in the opposite direction from her home, but he’d seen her on all fours over a huge pile of dirt, her butt in the air. It was a sight that had been too good to pass up, so he turned and cycled over to her yard.

He found her decked out in baggy overalls, her baseball cap fixed firmly to her head, thick, long ponytail sticking out of the back, and those glasses . . . she’d resembled a nerdy
farmhand
. He watched, perversely fascinated, as she’d pressed her nose close to the dirt pile, taking in a large sniff. Her eyes were closed in the throes of pleasure at the aroma, and she looked nearly orgasmic. He’d seen that expression before, the night of the party, at her home, he on top . . . Okay, enough, he told himself. That image of her, and the others he’d accumulated of her since, were becoming hard to forget.

Managing to stifle his laughter, he started pedaling again, heading out of their subdivision. What a riot she was turning out to be; cute and compelling in a way he couldn’t explain . . . or maybe he could, but wasn’t ready to.

***

A little before dusk, a tired Katrina walked over to Lola’s for a beer, having called it quits for the day; it was getting too dark to work, anyway. A beer would be her reward for a day spent playing in the dirt. She needed a shower, but she needed a beer more, and Lola and Oscar always had cold ones.

Katrina walked over to Lola’s front door, pushing the doorbell while pulling off her work gloves. She waited and then waited some more. What could be taking so long, she wondered, moving her hand to the knob to test it; maybe it was unlocked. It opened before she could touch it.

“What took you so long?” Katrina asked, walking past Lola and heading to her kitchen.

She opened the kitchen door, the old-fashioned swinging kind, just as Lola said to her back, “Katrina, wait, we have . . . company.”

Katrina’s eyes skimmed her neighbor Will as she walked into the kitchen, turning back to Lola.

“You have company,” Katrina said, her voice all accusation.

“Yes, nothing gets past you,” Lola said sarcastically.

Katrina looked over at the kitchen table again where Will sat, a beer on the table in front of him, a cocky grin on his face. Why him and why now? This was the second time that day! He gave her a smile, a quick flash of perfect white teeth, laughter from this morning’s encounter still present in the eyes shining back at her.

“Well, if it isn’t the neighborhood heiress of horticulture,” he said, smiling. “I see you’ve made a dent in your pile of dirt,” he said, giving her another smile before giving into his laughter.

“Yes, I did,” she said.

“Will and Oscar are just getting back from a motorcycle ride,” Lola said, explaining while looking at Katrina.

“Oh, where’s Oscar?” Katrina asked.

“Checking on Sydney. I’ll go see what’s taking him so long,” she said, turning before Katrina could form a response.

Katrina stood there, just inside the doorway, just looking at him as his laughter died down. Catching herself staring, she walked over to the refrigerator, conscious now of her movements, her clothes, her hair, and her glasses. She opened the door and grabbed a beer, then closed the door and found the opener on the counter. She popped the top and turned to face Will. He was giving her the once-over, and she’d caught him. He didn’t even flinch at being caught. He never did; he simply smiled again, his eyes still laughing.

She’d give anything to know what he was thinking . . . or maybe not, considering how she looked right now.

“You weren’t in my backyard the other day, by any chance?” he asked.

“Me? No. But you’re right, I do need to get by to see your yard. See what all the fuss is about,” she said, looking him in the eye, hoping to bluff her way through.

“Still thinking about working with me?” he asked, stretching out long legs, clad in jeans now, in front of him. “So what’s the holdup?” he asked, not waiting for her answer. “You might be surprised at how capable I am.”

She shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “I don’t recall ever saying you weren’t capable. Your backyard is a testament to your ability to landscape, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. So I can assume that you’re capable at a certain level, anyway,” she said.

“But not at your level,” he said.

“Not many people your age are. I just think this is larger than you think,” she said.

“Considering how we are around the same age, that’s funny. Don’t worry about me. I can handle whatever you can handle,” he said, all seriousness, as if her remark was a personal affront to his masculinity.

“You think so?” she said, a look of steely determination in her eyes. For some reason today it was a sexy look for her, even in her too-big clothing. He was letting this gardening stuff get the best of him if a short girl with nerdy glasses and clothes covered in dirt was becoming somehow sexy to him.

“I do, but you don’t,” he retorted.

“You could prove yourself,” she said.

He sat back in the chair, his arms folded in front of his chest, T-shirt snug over that chest.

“Prove myself,” he echoed, his eyelids lowered as he gazed back at her through hooded eyes, assessing her. She loved that look on him, saw it too many times to count in her dreams as she replayed her memories of the night at her home when he had gazed down into her eyes before giving her the kiss that had knocked her socks off.

“How would you propose I do that?” he asked slowly, almost as if she’d asked him to strip naked in front of her.

“I don’t know, maybe spend the day working as
my
assistant at the gardens, Mr. ‘I’ve Only Been There One Day.’ ”

“Sore loser,” he said, smiling.

“Not even,” she replied.

“Okay, then, little girlie, when?” he said, standing and walking over to her, all sexual confidence, stopping in front of her as she leaned against the counter. She wasn’t intimidated; okay, she was, but she hoped it didn’t show. She stood up, her whole five-foot self, looking up into eyes that regarded her with interest. Get out of here, she told herself at that thought. Not the way she looked—hell,
smelled
—today.

“Sure you have time? I wouldn’t want to interfere with your outside activities, take you away from your female friends,” she said.
Where had
that
come from?