“He just needs a sense of direction, a goal.”
“I agree. Maybe he could start by being a halfway decent father to Abby.”
“You know he doesn’t know how. Look at the example he had. Can’t you help him, Kev? That’s why Father left you in charge, you know. He thought you could straighten all of us out the same way you’ve been handling Uncle Bo and his brood.”
“I doubt Dr. Joyce Brothers and a team of her peers could straighten all of you out. Your father knew that. He just wanted to keep you financially stable.”
He regarded his older cousin fondly. Of all of them, Helen did have a head on her shoulders. She was brassy and pushy and, like her sister, a little too free with her credit cards, but she was insightful about human nature. She’d made the one solid marriage of all of them, to a man who had indulged her every whim. Maybe that was why she was also the only one who wasn’t on Kevin’s case about money
all the time. Her husband had provided all she required, then left her with a nice insurance settlement when he’d died in a tragic boating accident a few years back.
“We are a dysfunctional lot, aren’t we?” she said. “And you’re right. We can thank Father for that. He never encouraged us do a thing for ourselves. He bailed us out of every single jam we got into. He bought Bobby Ray’s college diploma by promising the school a new liberal arts building. Then he wondered why none of us took responsibility for our actions.”
Kevin had given a lot of thought to his uncle’s handling of his five children. With a little guidance from Aunt Delia, he’d finally reached a conclusion. “Maybe bailing you out was the only way Uncle Steven knew to stay involved in your lives. It made him feel needed.”
“With Mama dying so young, all we ever needed was his love. Maybe if he’d loved us more, he’d have taught us to fly and kicked us out of the nest sooner.” She sighed. “Oh, well, that’s water under the bridge now, I suppose. We have to deal with the hand we were dealt. Or should I say, you do. He didn’t do you any favors, dumping us into your lap, did he, Kev?”
“I’ve cursed him a time or two,” Kevin conceded.
“More than that, I’ll bet.” She regarded him sympathetically. “Don’t worry about Bobby Ray. I wanted to warn you about him stirring everyone up, but he’ll settle down. He always does.”
“I’m not worried,” Kevin assured her. “There’s no dirt for Bobby Ray to uncover, so he can’t possibly make trouble for me.”
“One of these days, he’ll try, though. You know he will. The rest of us won’t be able to stop him.”
Kevin sighed. “I know.”
“We may not want to, but we’ll have to side with him, too,” she warned.
“I know that, too.”
She stood and rounded the desk to brush a casual kiss across his cheek. “Watch your back, darling. That’s really all I came by to say.”
“Thanks, Helen.”
She opened her mouth, but this time Kevin knew exactly what she was going to say and beat her to it. “I won’t tell Bobby Ray we had this conversation,” he promised.
She smiled at him. “Never thought you would.”
And then she breezed out as rapidly as she’d entered, leaving behind an expensive French scent and an atmosphere choked with tension. Kevin knew his cousin meant well, but she’d pretty much ruined his mood with her dire warnings. He could think of only one way to recapture his earlier optimism.
“Molly!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
When the housekeeper appeared in the doorway, he ignored the scowl that his ill-mannered shout had spawned. “Get Mr. Sparks for me, will you?”
“You’re going to plant the garden?” she asked, her expression brightening.
“I’m going to plant the garden.”
When the pickup pulled up in front of her house, Gracie assumed it was for one of the neighbors. When Kevin emerged and began unloading huge sacks of something or other, she bolted through the front door and down the steps.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
He paused only long enough to shoot one of those irrepressible grins over his shoulder. “What does it look like?”
She read the label on one of the bags as it passed by. “That’s mulch. What are you doing delivering mulch?”
“You’re not too quick this morning, darlin’? Rough night?”
“My night was just fine,” she lied. She’d tossed and turned, kicked off the covers, tugged them back into place, counted hundreds of infernal sheep, then finally gotten up and prepared a glass of warm milk. Nothing had been able to rid her mind of sexy images of the man who was currently ignoring her and going about doing whatever the heck it was he was doing.
She finally planted herself squarely in his path. “I didn’t order any mulch.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t order any dirt, either,” she said when she spotted the bags of top soil.
“I know.”
She peered past him into the back of the truck. It was filled with flats of flowers. Vivid pink petunias, red-and-purple impatiens, yellow marigolds, and a few things she didn’t recognize. The one thing they all had in common was that they were blindingly bright. Cheerful, she concluded, smiling despite herself.
“I didn’t order those, either,” she said.
“That’s true.”
“So what are they doing here?”
“It’s a present.”
“A present?” she repeated.
“There you go again, going blank on me. Surely you’ve gotten presents before.”
“A dozen roses is a present. A corsage is a present. This is a whole damned garden.”
“Precisely.” He beamed as if she’d finally grasped a very critical point.
“Nobody gives a garden as a present,” she protested.
“I do.”
She had to scramble to keep up with him. “Kevin—”
“You’re not going to waste time arguing with me, are you? I could use some help deciding what goes where.”
For a full sixty seconds she stared at his retreating back and tried to summon up the argument that would get him to go away. In the end, though, the image of her backyard filled with all those flowers held too much appeal.
“This is a waste of perfectly good flowers,” she finally shouted after him.
“Why is that?”
“They’ll have to stay behind when I move into that Victorian.”
He laughed. “In your dreams, sweetheart. Now go away or prepare to get dirty.” He surveyed her white slacks and shook his head. “You’re hopeless, you know that. Do you have an apron in the house? Maybe some coveralls?”
“Why would I need those?” she inquired tartly. “You’re doing all the work, aren’t you? Isn’t that part of the present?”
“I had this image of the two of us working companionably, side by side.”
“Now who’s dreaming?”
Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of her. She followed him into the backyard. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“Not exactly.”
“Terrific.”
He dragged a dirt-streaked piece of paper out of his
pocket. “I have instructions, though. It pretty much amounts to digging a hole and sticking one of these little suckers into it.”
Gracie regarded him doubtfully. “Are you sure about that?”
“Cross my heart. Mr. Sparks says it’s so simple, any fool can do it.”
“And Mr. Sparks is…?”
“My groundskeeper.”
“Why didn’t you just send him around?”
“And give him the pleasure of your company when I could be here myself? No way. Like I said, working together is going to be half the fun. I have an image of myself sitting in that chair over there and watching you bending over to put these little guys into the ground.”
“I don’t think so.”
He shrugged. “Oh, well, you can’t blame a man for hoping.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“It’s simple enough. Every time you glance out your kitchen window from now on and see the flowers, you’ll think of me.”
Since he was stripping off his shirt as he said it, Gracie was pretty certain he was right. There was no way she’d get that image of bare flesh out of her mind. The man’s lightly tanned body was a sculptor’s dream. That much muscle definition didn’t happen lazing around in a hammock all day long.
“Anytime you’re through ogling the help, you can pick up a shovel and get to work,” he said, bringing a flood of heat to her cheeks.
“I wasn’t staring at you,” she lied.
“Whatever you say.”
She grabbed a shovel and jammed it into the ground, turning over a chunk of rich, black soil. It was more difficult than she’d expected. By the time she’d dug up a small three-foot square, Kevin had finished a patch twice as large along the fence. His shoulders were glistening with sweat, his muscles bunching in a totally fascinating way. Her gaze locked on the sight and lingered.
“Gracie?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring again. Not that I mind, but it’s not getting the garden dug up.”
“I don’t think I can dig anymore,” she admitted. “I’ve got blisters.”
A stricken expression passed over his face. “The gloves,” he muttered. “Dammit, I was supposed to give you gloves. Let me see.”
He took her hand in his and turned it over, palm up. He was so close, Gracie could feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled of sun-warmed earth, sweat, and a lingering trace of some after-shave. The scent was so thoroughly masculine she forgot all about her injured hands. It was far more intriguing than the expensive cologne Max wore. There was something raw and primitive and real about it that no manufacturer could duplicate.
“Gracie?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you had any antiseptic in the house.”
“What?” She blinked and tried to focus on Kevin’s face. “Antiseptic?”
He grinned. “Yes. Do you have any?”
“There’s a first-aid kit in the bathroom, I think. I’ll get it.”
“No, you sit down over there,” he insisted. “I used to play with a couple of kids who lived here. I know my way around inside. I’ll get it.”
He came back after several minutes with a pan filled with hot, soapy water and the first-aid kit.
“Aren’t you making an awful lot of fuss over a couple of blisters?” she asked, eyeing the first-aid kit warily. She had a pretty good idea whatever was in there was going to hurt worse than the blisters.
“They’re broken. They could get infected. Now, hold still. This is going to sting.”
With her hand cradled in his and his head bent in concentration, he poured half a bottle of peroxide over the wound.
“Holy moley!” she yelped, jerking her hand away.
“Don’t be such a baby,” he chided, taking her hand back and dabbing on the much cooler antibiotic cream.
“You have a lousy bedside manner,” she grumbled.
“Darlin’, you haven’t let me near your bed. How would you know?” He covered the injury with a bandage, then brushed a kiss over it. “That should make it better.”
“Or contaminate it with more germs,” she said.
“Let me see the other hand.”
She tucked it behind her back. “It’s fine.”
“Gracie…” he chided.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, you’d think I’d slashed it open,” she complained. “It’s just a couple of teensy little blisters.”
“Let me see.” He held out his hand and regarded her patiently.
Finally, reluctantly, she put her other hand in his. She heard his sharp intake of breath, then the muttered curse.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he demanded. “This hand’s even worse. You should have quit when the first blister popped up. I hate to say it, darlin’, but it’s pretty obvious you’re not used to a lot of manual labor.”
“And you are?”
He grinned. “Is that it? Were you trying to compete with me?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a very competitive nature.”
Kevin shook his head and bent over her hand. This time she managed not to cry out when he poured on the peroxide. When he was finished with the bandage, though, he didn’t let go of her hand. The gentle way he kept on holding it, the light caress by the pad of his thumb sent a very different kind of shock wave crashing over her.
How could that be? she wondered, trying to distance herself from the sensation so she could analyze it. Other men had made far more overt passes without stirring so much as a blip in her pulse rate. Kevin was barely touching her and her heart was thumping away as if she’d run a mile, which was several thousand feet farther than she’d ever run without panting.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved,” Kevin said in a way that suggested he was interested in something other than food.
“Me, too,” she responded, a disgustingly breathless note in her voice.
“You stay put. I’ll fix something.”
He abandoned her so quickly, he left her head spinning. Gracie had the distinct impression he was anxious to get away. For a man who’d been making all
sorts of provocative hints, he was very lackadaisical about follow-through.
“Now what do you suppose that was all about?” she murmured, staring after him. Since her own pulse was still scrambling, she supposed it was just as well. She wasn’t interested in anything more than lunch. She couldn’t be.
In no time at all, Kevin brought out a tray with two thick sandwiches and two glasses of milk. He took his and sprawled on the ground in front of her. He looked so thoroughly relaxed, Gracie couldn’t help pondering if she’d imagined that instant of awareness that had shimmered between them.
“Have you given any thought to how you want the flowers arranged?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“Are you in favor of the neat, symmetrical look or a wilder, more natural look?” he asked. “Let me guess. Neat, right?”
Because he sounded so blasted sure of himself, she snapped, “Wild. I want everything in there helter-skelter.”
He stared at her. “That sounds mighty daring. You sure about that?”
“I said it, didn’t I?”
His gaze narrowed. “Did I miss something here? You seem upset.”
“I am not upset. I’m…”
“Frustrated?” he suggested, suddenly grinning.
“Oh, go to hell.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I really could grow to dislike you,” she warned.
“You wish.” He scrambled to his feet, dropped a kiss on her forehead and began gathering up dishes. “Don’t
worry, darlin’. The wait won’t go on forever. One of these days real soon, we’ll wind up in bed.”