Feuding Hearts (3 page)

Oh, Lord. Take me now
. Conscientious? My skin sizzled then froze with embarrassment. Why didn’t I just tell him he had nice grammar? My gaze flitted from the lawn to the flowers—everywhere but his eyes—until there was nothing to do but make eye-contact. I looked him dead-center, even though my chest burned and my breath came in shallow pants. “It’s next to Godliness, you know.”

“I thought that was cleanliness.”

“You’re also that.” I winced. If I survived this meeting, I intended to go straight out and buy
The Idiot’s Guide to Flirting: How to be Witty Even if You’re Not.”

“You know—”

His words were measured. My stomach cramped with tension. This was usually where my inept flirtations bounced me into the dirt.

The pad of his thumb ran a gauntlet along my palm and fingers that made my nerve-endings shriek in delight. The tension in my middle changed—from anxiety, it shifted to excitement.

“There’s another good thing about being a gardener.”

His mouth did that sexy hitch that drove me wild. “What’s that?” I gasped the question.

“I meet all types of interesting people.” His gaze dropped to my hand then came back up, rested for a moment on my mouth, before connecting with my eyes. “I find you very interesting.”

“Uh—”

“Wildly fascinating.”

I might combust right there. Go up in flames and all the rescue crew would find among the charred ashes would be a goofy grin. “You’re fascinating, too.” Was it me, or was I slurring the words? I gave myself an internal shake. This wouldn’t do. I had to maintain some semblance of control. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sure your grandfather is right proud of anything you do.”

Mention of Mr. Garret made him laugh. It was a rumbling, deeply pleasing sound that vibrated his chest and made my toes tingle.

“Yes, well, proud of everything except my ability to get married.”

With a head shake, I groaned. “We should start a support group. Nana’s always nagging me about the same thing.”

His eyes went wide, his jaw slackened. “I have a hard time believing there aren’t a whole lot of men lining up for you.”

“Thank you for the compliment, but meeting people’s been real hard. We just moved here from Georgia.” I paused. Usually, I don’t talk about my grandfather, but being around Harry was like pulling on my old pair of jeans: comfortable and easy. “Granddaddy died near on two years ago, and Nana’s pain made staying impossible. We decided on Florida, but—” I stopped and thought about her feud with Mr. Garret. “I’m wondering if we made the right decision. She’s become right cranky with your poor grandfather.”

Harry snorted and took a trowel to the flower bed. “Don’t give him too much sympathy. That man can be a real pain in the a—” He stopped and tossed me a casual smile. “He can be a real pain.”

“Why do you think they can’t get on?”

“They’re probably too alike to know what to do with each other.”

There’s a reason I hadn’t considered. I laughed. “Well, Nana’s certainly met her match with him.”

The
click
of the back door opening made me turn my head.

Mr. Garret stepped outside. His face lit with pleasure as he saw me. “Angel.” With steps slowed by age and arthritis, he came into the garden and gave me a sweet smile.

I stood and held out my hands. “Mr. Garret.”

“Shush, now. You know it’s Harrison to you.”

His large, soft hands enveloped mine. I wondered again why he and Nana couldn’t get along. He was everything Nana would have wanted—debonair, worldly, charming as all get out. Harrison may have been eighty-five, but he had a glint in his eyes most twenty-year old men couldn’t match.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was a scuffle this morning.”

His lined face scrunched together. “Aw, your grandmother just doesn’t know what she wants.” Cocking his head to the side, he shot his grandson a hard look. “And I don’t know why my grandson’s keeping you in this hot sun when there’s air conditioning on inside.”

I stepped forward, putting myself in between the two men. “I volunteered to keep him company while I waited for you.”

“Did you, now?” He exchanged looks with Harry.

Not a word was spoken, but in Nana, I’d seen the same tilt of the head, the outward jut of the jaw, and I could interpret that expression with my eyes closed.

His hand rested on my shoulder.
Look at this eligible, single person. Why can’t you marry and settle down? Then I could have great-grandbabies and go to meet my maker in peace
.

Harry, like every child harassed by his elders, feigned a look of complete incomprehension. His eyes went blank with innocence and he blinked with the guileless conviction of a monk.

Mr. Garret shook his head. “Why don’t you come inside, Angel, and we’ll talk.”

I gripped my shoes so I didn’t toss them aside, grab his grandson’s face, and plant a kiss on his delectable lips that would be felt around the world. “Thank you,” I breathed and followed the older man into the house. He led me to one of his leather couches in the family room that sat opposite the kitchen—a seat I’d grown to know too well over the past few months. The same one I always sat in when I came to broker peace. “I expect you know why I’m here.”

“Aw, shucks.”

My lips twitched. Like my Nana, he really knew how to swear.

“Your grandmother’s got her britches in a knot over nothing.”

“She says you uprooted her azaleas.”

His white eyebrows rose to the widow’s peak of his equally white hair. “I’d never do such a thing. I took care of some weeds.”

I sighed. This is what usually happened. She said one thing, he said another, and somewhere in the middle was the truth. “I’m sure there’s a simple explanation to all of this. I don’t suppose you would happen to have the flowers, would you?” I didn’t know if they could be saved, but if that were the case, then Nana wouldn’t be out money. Plus, if I did this right, I could get some gardening tips from Harry. The kind shared over wine, mussels in garlic sauce, and soft jazz music.

I turned my attention to Mr. Garret and to resolving this issue, once and for all.

Chapter Three

For the next ten minutes, I tried to negotiate a truce, but my Jimmy Carter skills must have melted in the Miami heat. Mr. Garret didn’t budge. The more I tried to mend fences, the more he took a sledgehammer to all my ideas.

He didn’t want to go through me to talk to Nana—they were, he said, grown folk who didn’t need a translator.

I covered my snort of disbelief with a passable coughing fit. The thought of my hiring Harry to tend Nana’s garden went over like wood rot. Harry was his grandson and, as such, should do any gardening work for free.

I hid my smile and wondered how Harry would feel knowing his granddaddy was willing to rent him out as slave labor. Then I caught my breath at the vision of Harry shackled to my bed, my willing and agile prisoner of love.

Of course, the idea of my paying for a fence just about gave Mr. Garret the vapors. God forbid I bear the brunt of paying for the materials and labor.

No, he would cover half the cost and Nana could pay the other half. If only she would settle her feathers, they’d get everything sorted.

I was taking a breath to try another attempt at reasoning with him—I’m a hopeless optimist—when I heard the creak of floorboards.

Harry came around the corner, a tray of drinks in hand.

He’d showered and shaved. If he’d looked delicious when he was working, all cleaned up the man whet my appetite for a hunk feast. He wore dark-washed jeans and his storm-grey shirt darkened the color of his eyes. His damp hair clung with a lover’s devotion to his forehead and neck.

“Ice tea and a cease-fire, anyone?”

I smiled. My constricted lungs relaxed and I took a relieved breath. “Yes, to both, thank you.” I helped him set the tray on the glass table, and let my senses absorb the clean scent of his soap, the smooth texture of his freshly-shaven face.

With a grin, he slid into the spot opposite me.

My heart jerked at his close proximity and I found myself oh-so-not-so-subtly shifting closer to the warmth of his body.

“Now, what’s this I heard about flowers being ripped up?” Harry asked.

Mr. Garret’s face blanched, and then turned a robust shade of red. “None of your business.”

Harry stretched his long legs in front of him.

The rough denim of his jeans brushed my leg and I repressed the urge to squeal with delight. I added sugar to my ice-tea, my attention focused on the closeness of his hand, the way his fingers slid across his clothing as he reached for a glass. The grey cotton of his shirt stretched across his chest, and I lost count of how many spoonfuls of sugar I’d added to my drink.

“Grandpa, you told me Mrs. Baxter wanted those flowers removed because she was putting in roses.” He looked at me and offered a faint smile. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who took your flowers. They’re in my trunk—I meant to transplant them in my greenhouse, but I’ll be happy to replant them in your garden.”

I nodded, too gleeful at the idea of him shirtless and on my property to do anything else.

Mr. Garret turned. He shifted and made the leather creak. “Harry runs one of the most successful landscaping businesses in Florida. He’ll do you a right-bang up job.”

“I’m sure.”

“He’s great with his tools.”

I sipped at my drink, grimacing at the too-sweet liquid.

“He works long and hard—he sure knows how to go deep, really get to the good spots.”

Heat crawled along my skin, and I took a breath. Was it my over-sexed imagination or was everything sounding like a double entendre?

“Grandpa.”

Harry’s exasperated tone broke my fevered train of thought.

“Grandpa.”

The warning was in his tone.

“You’re changing the subject. We were talking about you and Angel’s grandmother.”

“Aw—I just did what she told me. She’s always doing this to me!” He waved his teaspoon like a saber. “First, it’s ‘do this, Mr. Garret.’ Then, when I do it, she changes her mind and I’m in trouble. It’s her fault. She says she’s thrilled to have a man help around the house—”

That sounded like Nana. I nodded.

“Then, when I do something, she wanted it done another way.”

I grinned and felt a renewed kinship with the elderly gent. Definitely Nana. She once kept me for three hours to hang one picture. By the end of the afternoon, my arms felt like melted rubber, and the dang photo ended up in the exact same place where it started.

Harry met my gaze and hid a smile. “Perhaps, you should stop helping her, then.”

“Yes, he’s right—”

Mr. Garret’s shoulders squared. “I’ll not. It’s un-gentlemanly.”

“But I think Harry has a point—” I said. Here was my bargaining chip. “Her instructions can be confusing—”

“I may be eighty-five, but I’m not addle-brained. She does it on purpose, just to annoy me.” He launched into a tirade of stolen newspapers, fruit, and apple pies baked with too-ripe apples.

Harry, already sitting beside me, shifted closer. He reached out toward my hand.

My stomach fluttered.

His gaze caught mine. Harry blushed and his hand dropped away.

The heat of his body, the scent of his soap, did more to stir my blood than the multiple teaspoons of sugar I’d inadvertently put into my glass.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in my ear.

His warm breath seeded my heart and mind with visions of long nights and cozy mornings. Inhaling, I gave myself a moment to enjoy the goose-bumpy shivers, then said, “It’s fine. They’re more ornery than a restrained bull in a herd of heifers.”

His lips twitched then he grinned and said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

My heart skipped a beat. Lord, I love a man who tells me I’m right. I made a pact right then, one way or another, I’d finagle a way to become Mrs. Harry Garret. I just had to find out what he could do with his tools. He touched my hand, soft enough to be innocent, but let his fingers linger in a way that was all grown-up.

“Perhaps we should go out for dinner, just the two of us, and discuss what we can do to solve this. Do you like French food?”

I opened my mouth to agree.

Mr. Garret interrupted, “You children aren’t listening. You think she’s the innocent one and the fault is mine for not understanding?” He pointed at the window. “Then, what’s that?”

I set down my glass, went to the window, and squeaked. There was Nana, prancing across Mr. Garret’s grass like a deranged pixie. She had a bag in her hand and tossed granules of some type across his lawn.

“Oh, my Lord! Nana!” I rushed out the door and down the steps. The Miami heat hit me like a shovel across the body. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?” I strode across the grass.

But she saw me and beat a hasty retreat to the back portion of the houses, and our property line.

“Nana—” I broke into a run and cursed my choice of pumps over sneakers. “Don’t you make me chase you!”

Nana kept her quick pace. The fertilizer seeds scattered behind her, and left a trail that would have made Hansel and Gretel proud.

“Stop behaving like a degenerate!”
Oh
,
Lord
, now I was breaking out the three-syllable words. “Don’t vex me!” That stopped her.

She set down the bag. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.” Her breaths came out in puffs.

The exertion hadn’t done anything to dim the fervent look in her eyes. They burned bright and intense. I turned to the men and held out my hands in appeal. “She’s hypoglycemic. I apologize. Her blood sugar has obviously dropped and rendered her irritating.”

Harry looked at the bag. His eyes widened then narrowed into angry slits. The hard set of his jaw swallowed the good humor on his face. “Strongman’s fertilizer?” With a swift move, he grabbed the package, turning it around to stare at the bright yellow and green design.

“It was on sale,” she said and sniffed in Mr. Garret’s direction.

“Of course, it’s on sale,” said Harry. His words increased in volume and sharpness. “The company’s out of business for a reason!”