Steady (2 page)

He was a third-generation Japanese-American, his face striking in its male beauty. She surveyed it now, watching him talk, his lips small but slightly full. They made their home on a face sculpted with high and pronounced cheekbones and dark almond-shaped eyes. Oh, and don’t forget his hair, her absolute favorite attribute—thick and short, but not buzz-cut short. It was standing at attention on his head, shiny and inky jet black.

He was also driven, her Will, with enough energy to power a small city. She knew that, too, as he was always doing something. She’d gotten worn out from just watching him from the safety of her front yard. Now he stood laughing at something his companion had said.

She watched until he and the woman walked away, leaving her standing alone by a plant, the ultimate wallflower. Still feeling more than a little out of place, she walked back the way she’d come in, squeezing her way back outside, taking in the bodies moving en mass again, hurrying back down the steps. God, these shoes, she thought, walking to the entrance to the gardens.

She entered the main gate: it was quiet, though cold. Her time here would be limited, a minute or two, or else she’d be the one to freeze to death; this cute sweater wasn’t a match against much of anything. She walked around the gardens for a while, taking in the green of the grass shimmering under the lights that marked her path. Rye grass—or
Lolium spp
, its more formal name—had been over-seeded to provide green during the winter months. Then there were the many evergreen shrubs and hedges, geometric in shape, that ran throughout the gardens. Someone in charge here had a sense of humor, she thought, taking in some of the hedges that had been shaped into things that were emblematic of the holiday season—a Christmas tree, round ornaments, a wreath.

“You’re not lost, are you?” a male voice asked from behind her, startling her. He’d been stealthy in his approach. She turned and looked into the eyes of her daydream, Will Nakane, in the flesh.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered under her breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re not lost, are you?” he asked again.

“Nope, not lost, just getting some air.”

“I know how you feel. Needed some air myself,” he said, smiling at her, his eyes roaming over her, their movement tracked by hers. He merely smiled back at being caught, as if looking over women’s bodies was his right.

“You’re cold,” he said, noticing her arms wrapped around her body. Her sweater was pretty, but not much protection against the cold; nor was the small dress that barely covered her body.

“Take my jacket,” he offered.

“No, I couldn’t,” she said, stepping back, hands outstretched to stop him. He’d already shifted out of his suit jacket, switching the drink he held from one hand to the other as he did so, and handed the jacket to her.

“Yes, you could,” he said, smiling, watching her stare at his jacket with longing.

“Okay, I could,” she said, laughing, accepting it. “I won’t be here much longer, anyway.”

“Had to take a break?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m not much of a partier.”

“Me, either. I went to school with tonight’s host, Gerald—G for short. I’m Will Nakane,” he said, extending his hand.

“I know who you are. I actually live a couple of doors down from you,” she said, putting her hand in his.

“No way. I would have remembered you,” he said, smiling, taking another sip from his glass as he studied her face, trying to place her.

“Two doors down from Oscar and Lola’s,” she replied, watching him try to hide his shock as he choked on the swallow of drink he’d just taken into his mouth. She laughed.

“It’s okay; I don’t usually look like this,” she said, patting him on the back as he started to cough. “I’m Katrina Jones.”

“I’ve seen you. The woman who loves to garden. I guess that explains why you’re standing here now,” he said between coughs.

“Yes, I do,” she said, pausing, looking around, and spotting a bench. “You want to sit for a while?” she asked, hoping to prolong her time with him.

“Sure,” he said, clearing his throat. He followed her over to the bench and waited for her to sit. He sat next to her, stretched his legs out in front of him, and leaned back into the bench, taking another sip of his drink.

“So,” she said, fishing around for a topic, looking over at him, relaxed, his eyes moving around the gardens. “Did you know that these gardens were part of a larger plantation back in the early 1800s, and that your friend G’s family was the original owners?” she asked.

”No, I didn’t know that,” he said, looking at her with surprise.

“The gardens here are influenced by the Europeans, who were initially influenced by the Italians, known for their very formal gardens: clipped plants and parterres, geometric and very symmetric,” she said.

“So, you’re a historian
and
a gardener,” he said, still looking at her.

“I like both subjects,” she said, quiet for a second. “Did you know that a few of the slaves, one in particular, named Samuel, worked closely with your friend’s ancestors in the formal gardens here and also worked in the major kitchen gardens, which were located toward the back of the property? He was sort of like a head gardener,” she said, smiling. “Some slaves were known to have small plots of land called slave gardens, to grow small amounts of potatoes, peas, that type of thing, using the money to buy things for their families.”

“You’re
really
into gardening,” he said, giving her his full smile, his eyes roaming over her, laughter present in them.

“Sorry, yes, although sometimes I can get carried away with it,” she said, looking away, now self-conscious.

“No problem. I have an appreciation for them both, so thanks for the mini-lesson.” She shook her head, looking away again. It was quiet for a while between them.

“So how long have you lived in the neighborhood?” he asked.

“Three years. I finished building my home about a month before Lola and Oscar built theirs,” she said. He nodded, taking a drink again, emptying his glass in one swoop. She watched that, too.

“It’s a nice neighborhood, at least from what I’ve been able to see in the limited time I’ve lived there.”

“Well, you do travel a lot,” she said matter-of-factly. His head whipped around to face hers, his smile falling away, scrutiny in his eyes now as he re-evaluated her.

“I’m not a stalker or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. You don’t have to worry about that. Just keeping track of the neighborhood comings and goings, is all.”

“I didn’t think you were, or at least I would hope not. And, yes, you’re right, I do travel a lot, for business mostly, some pleasure. I like to keep busy,” he said, turning to look out into the gardens.

“I know,” she said.

“You seem to know a lot about me,” he said, turning to look at her again, speculation in his gaze.

“I know a lot about most of my neighbors,” she answered, watching as the speculation cleared, but only just a little. “I’m a one-woman neighborhood watch system.” She hoped the humor made her seem less odd. “So where does all this traveling take you?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

“Right. Come on, you can tell me.” He was silent for a second, watching her again, measuring.

“Well, mostly I travel for work. Most of my trips take me overseas—Japan, Singapore, mostly Asian countries, with some Europe thrown in there now and again. I like the travel, living in other cities, exploring them, discovering the people and their culture, their customs.”

“How do you explore and discover?” she asked.

He looked her over again, measuring once more. “Sometimes I’ll explore on foot or, if the roads are good and if the traffic is not too intrusive, by bike. I guess you already know that I’m gone for weeks at a time,” he said, watching her nod in affirmation. “Work provides an inexpensive way for me to see the world, which I enjoy tremendously.”

“I’ve seen you on a motorcycle and with kayaks on your jeep. Do those go with you when you travel?”

“You really
don’t
miss much, do you,” he said, leaning forward, laughing fully now, his elbows on his knees, the empty glass twirling in his hands.

“Nope, all that time in the yard,” she said again, her chuckle joining his. He turned his head to her.

“I mostly ride the motorcycle in the city, the kayaks I take out with G around here or to the Gulf. Sometimes we’ll take an occasional trip together to other parts of the country,” he said. “It’s harder now that we both work and are no longer students.”

“You’re active,” she said, more statement than question.

“Yes.”

She looked over at him from beneath her lashes. The wind was blowing through his hair, and his eyes were moving around the gardens again.

“Well, I’d better get inside. Let me give you back your jacket,” she said, standing up and handing it to him. “Thanks for letting me use it.” She decided she’d taken enough of his time; desperate woman in love was not the impression she wanted to leave.

“No problem, and you’re welcome. It was nice meeting a new neighbor and talking to you,” he said, standing up along with her.

“You, too. See you around,” she said, turning and walking away. He resumed his seat, his eyes following her, assessing her as she walked away. She was much shorter than her heels made her out to be; she was almost his height tonight. Who knew his neighbor was pretty; she wasn’t gorgeous, but pretty in that girl-next-door kind of way. She had smooth, dark-brown skin that filled in that small, barely-there white dress very nicely, and she was way interested in him. That he’d garnered almost immediately.

Still, she was attractive—slender, with shapely, beautiful legs, and a thick head of coal-black hair. She had nice brown eyes, with long, thick black eyelashes, and her lips were full and covered with something really glossy.

Her appearance tonight was so different from the way he usually saw her, no wonder he hadn’t recognized her. He’d only seen her dressed in work clothes that could easily belong to a field hand, and she was missing her nerdy glasses. He would have sworn before meeting her tonight that she wasn’t attractive at all. Who knew? It wasn’t a surprise to have found her out here, now that he knew she was his gardening neighbor.

He looked around G’s gardens; they were indeed beautiful, he thought, his mind returning to Katrina and her mini-history lesson. He’d known G and his family from his college days and they’d remained in touch with each other, making time to take trips together. They had always shared the same passion for adventure, to pit themselves against the external, sometimes extreme, elements. He’d come tonight for G. People assumed he loved to party, that he was happiest in a crowd, but that was a misconception. He preferred his solitude. Most people also would be surprised to know that he usually gave parties a wide berth. They were so not his
thing
; all that standing around talking seemed like a waste of time when one could be outside, under the clear sky, away from the noise and demands of work, city, and life. The sooner he mingled, the sooner the New Year arrived, the sooner he could leave.

***

An hour later Katrina sat in the back of a room taking in all the beautiful people dancing and talking. She was feeling more than a little buzzed; two more of those pink-and-yellow thingies had gone a long way toward making her more relaxed. She wasn’t used to drinking, but those pretty cocktails had been great. The world had become a beautiful, glittery place where anything was possible. She had taken off her shoes and pulled her feet up into the chair, tucking them underneath her body, and sat back to watch. It was a little less crowded in this room, which was a study or perhaps a small library.

The people in here were into all sorts of things. Take that couple over there; they really needed to get a room. Nothing like watching other people make out to get one’s juices flowing, but, as always, there wasn’t anyone to take advantage of hers.

Or maybe not, she thought, seeing Will enter with two other males. She’d bet good money Will would know what to do with her juices; a germ of an idea took root in her muddled head, now awash with too much alcohol, a flammable fuel for her ardor for one Will Nakane. She recalled watching many a woman on many a morning leave his home, all smiles, clinging tightly to him as he said goodbye. She could do clingy.

Katrina watched as he walked into the room, one of three, all handsome, all sure of themselves and their looks. All dressed in suits, all but Will holding one of those drinks. She watched them talk amongst themselves for a while, watched Will laugh at something someone said, stealing her breath and making her insides all gooey. She watched as one woman, and then another, joined them, each leaving with one of the males until only Will remained, leaning against the wall, alone.

“Okay, get your butt in gear,” Katrina’s inner drill instructor snapped. “It’s your turn. Hurry, before someone else takes him.” She bent over, slipped her feet into her shoes, and stood, taking a moment to get her bearings.

Whoa, horsey, who is making the floor move?
She stood still a second until it stopped and then proceeded to walk over to Will, not stopping until she stood in front of him. He was magnificent in that intense way of his, like he could handle whatever task was handed to him coolly and give it all back solved.