Steady (6 page)

***

The next morning Katrina walked across the street to pick up her mail. Just as she’d opened her box she looked up to find Will pulling up alongside the curb in his jeep, bike secured to the back of it. He hopped out and walked over.
Why me
, she thought. The other night notwithstanding, she really was okay with the loving him from afar bit.

“And yet again we meet,” he said, reaching into his box, which was located next to hers, and looking over at her. “I think you’ve been avoiding me, Katrina, and here I’d gotten used to seeing you in your yard,” he said, grinning as he took in her less-than-glamorous attire.

“Nope,” was all she could find to say. He was now in his full-on cycling gear, and her mind split between listening to him and trying to take him all in. She scooted closer to him and took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, clean scent of him. She remembered that scent from the other night, and moved over just a little more to take in another lungful.

“Katrina, what are you doing?” he asked, curious as he watched her body shift toward him. She was short, reaching to the top of his chest without her heels, and the brim of her cap obstructed his view of her face, so he couldn’t see what she was doing exactly; he could only hear breathing.

“Me? Nothing. Just taking in the beautiful morning air,” she said, stepping back and looking up into his eyes. “I see you’re going for a ride this morning,” she said, changing the subject.

“Yep, I have this restless streak that needs feeding,” he said, looking down at her, amusement again in his eyes.

“Oh,” she said, returning his gaze. She could be food, yeah, that could work for her, she thought.

“Not that kind of feeding,” he said, apparently reading her mind or what was reflected in her eyes. “But who knows, maybe now that you’re in your right mind and not under the influence, I might give it some consideration.” He gave her a cheeky grin as he unlocked his box, cocky and confident, and pulled the mail from it, some spilling onto the ground.

“You don’t check your mail often, huh?” she said, trying to change the subject again. “Not as often as I should, apparently,” he said, bending down to pick up some of his mail that had fallen.

“Do you need some help?” she asked.

“Like the other night kind of help?” he asked, turning the conversation back around again, just to shake her. She was such an easy mark.

“All right. Enough. What’s with you bringing that up all the time? You turned me down. Even my jumbled head remembers that. I’m sure that night was of no consequence to you, anyway. It’s not your first time bringing a woman home, I know. I’ve seen you in action,” she said.

“Oh, I forgot. Katrina, the one-woman neighborhood watch program,” he said, shutting her up. He shrugged. “I don’t know why, except it’s kind of fun, watching you try to avoid me, trying to pretend nothing happened. It brings out the demon in me. I’ve told you before, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve had too much to drink before. It’s not a big deal. Plus, it was fun, putting you to bed,” he said, moving his eyebrows up and down.

“See what I mean? Let’s forget it. Thanks for bringing me home. Is that what you want? Okay, I won’t pretend anymore that it didn’t happen and you can move on,” she said, looking into his eyes. He placed his stack of mail under one arm and locked his mailbox door with the other. “I’ll think about it,” he said, tugging at the bill of her cap. He chuckled as he walked back to his jeep.

She watched him leave, her hands twitching at the sight of a firm and fine ass over well-toned thighs. She still hadn’t gotten past that night, how he’d felt next to her. She wished she could have persuaded him to do more. She sighed as his jeep started up and he waved a final time to her before turning and driving away.

She was too easy,
he thought, chuckling, gazing at her through his rearview mirror; she was uncomfortable, but still interested. Her eyes had told him that.
No, Will,
he reminded himself again,
too close to home
. She was out of the ordinary and that’s what had caused this new fascination and interest in her. Or that was at least the way he had chosen to explain it to himself.

***

Later on that evening, Katrina sat perched, as was her custom, on the top back step of her deck, her cell phone in hand, waiting for a call,
The Call
. In the next five minutes, this year’s gardening competition’s theme would be announced. Katrina checked her watch. Gloria, her friend on the inside, always passed on the news to her as soon as it became available. Her cell rang. Answering on the first ring, she said, “Hey.”

“A World of Gardens,” Gloria said, skipping right to the reason for the call.

“A World of Gardens?” Katrina repeated, puzzled, moving her hand to her forehead. “What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means the gardens in the competition this year will reflect gardening styles found in other countries. It’s our little city’s attempt to go global. As if producing our own vegetables wasn’t a big enough task, and going green wasn’t an even larger additional burden, the city would like to add a little international flavor to the growing list of its attributes,” Gloria said.

“Okay. That so works for what I have in mind,” Katrina said.

“I’m sure, Katrina. You’re always cooking something up in that mind of yours. Good luck, although I shouldn’t wish you any. You’ve won the last three years; the rest of us would like a chance.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it. Last year’s win was only by five points, and that was closer than it’s ever been. I hope I’m not losing my edge,” Katrina said.

“We’ll see. I’ve got to go; I’ve got other garden junkies to call with the news. See you soon,” Gloria said, and hung up.

“A World of Gardening,” Katrina said out loud, looking over her backyard. She’d designed her space to reflect what she’d hoped one would find in a typical English cottage garden. She loved the abundance of color, the fullness, warmth, variety, and energy she’d found in those gardens.

She had taken only one trip in her lifetime so far, and it had been to England to visit the Queen—not really, just to stand outside the gate of Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guards. She and her parents had toured London and the surrounding countryside and she’d fallen in love with the flowers and gardens she’d seen there. Back home she’d tried to replicate those gardens with varying degrees of success. What she wouldn’t give for a wetter climate and less heat.

The competition this year would finally offer her a chance to design something she had so much passion for. She could hardly wait to get started.

***

A week later, Katrina went to the garden center to talk with two of her mentors, Sandy and Mrs. Washington, both residents of her neighborhood and members of its gardening committee. She had dropped by to run her initial plans by them, having immediately started work on her design for this year’s competition after her conversation with Gloria. The women had been good and dear friends of Katrina’s mother.

Most neighborhoods were managed by some small governing organization that was responsible for all of its garden-related business. Some were more effective and better organized than others. Shining Creek’s board was very organized and productive. Katrina had never sat on the actual committee, and as long as she was the leader, she wouldn’t. Her sitting on the committee would be a conflict of interest, as the board selected the leader each year.

Sandy and Mrs. Washington had helped her the last three years, offering helpful hints and critiquing her designs. She entered the gardening center. Gloria was at her usual post by the door. Today the room was filled with visitors, most here to pick up information regarding the history of gardening in this city. There was ample information here, both for the novice and the master gardener.

“Hey, Gloria, thanks for the call the other day,” Katrina said.

“Don’t mention it. If you’re looking for Sandy and Mrs. Washington, they are already in the library, waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling but not breaking stride as she walked down the hallway. The library was the last door at the end of the hall, and was not a library per se as much as a small room filled with gardening books, and a small table that could seat four, if you didn’t mind being close to your neighbor. She heard voices as she approached. “I’m not going to be the one to tell her,” was the last thing she heard before entering the room.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said, smiling brightly. She paused in the doorway, feeling like an interloper interrupting an intense conversation. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you want me to come back, give you a few minutes?” she asked.

“No,” they said in unison. Both looked very uncomfortable for some reason.

“You sure?” she asked.

“No, now is a good time. We weren’t talking abut anything important, just sharing gossip,” Mrs. Washington said. Mrs. Washington was African-American, her hair permed and curled, always dressed like every day was a trip to church. Sandy was red-haired and small next to Mrs. Washington’s larger frame.

“Okay, well, I’ve gotten a head start on the designs for the garden competition this year. I made some preliminary sketches that I would like you to look at and give me your honest and constructive feedback on.”

Katrina put her designs down on the table, took a seat, and began talking in earnest.

“This is my idea for my entry this year. The design you see here is based on an English cottage-style garden, where you’d find a mixture of shrubs, annuals, and perennials native to Texas, a merging of the English style with Texas plants. It would be a replication of what’s in my backyard, but on a much larger scale, as you can see from my first drawing,” she said, pointing at the table.

Katrina spent the next thirty minutes with them discussing her ideas and plans. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t pick up on the furtive glances between the two women or on their lack of enthusiasm for her designs.

“Well, you’ve certainly put a lot of work into this,” Sandy said.

“And you are ahead of schedule this year, too,” Mrs. Washington added.

“Well, once the city announced the theme, I knew that finally my time had arrived. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve enjoyed all the past themes. I mean, there is fun in transforming any outdoor space, but this year’s theme works so well with my love of English cottage gardens. Getting the chance to design a larger one would be a dream come true,” she said, pausing, catching herself before she got started again. “Sorry, I can get way carried away, but you two know that already,” she said, grinning sheepishly.

“Well, we really appreciate the hard work and dedication you’ve given to gardening in this city, and to our neighborhood in particular. Always remember that,” Mrs. Washington said, placing her hand over Katrina’s as it rested on the table.

“Okay, sure,” she said, wondering about that last comment. “Thanks for your time. I didn’t mean to hold you two hostage so long,” she added, standing up and gathering her designs. “Goodbye.”

***

Standing inside the foyer of Will’s home, John said, “Thank you again for taking this on, Will. I can’t tell you how impressed the committee was with your backyard and your abilities. We are so excited to have you as leader this year,” he said, holding out his hand to shake Will’s for the third time.

“You’re welcome. I’m looking forward to the challenge,” Will said.

“I didn’t mention this at the beginning, as I didn’t want it to influence your decision, but I think we should be prepared for a not-so-favorable reaction from Katrina, your neighbor,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Not surprising, as she has been the leader for the past four years, three of which she’s won. The first year is difficult for everyone,” he said, by way of explaining Katrina’s first year loss. “Katrina is a very valued member of the city’s gardening community, very good at what she does, and, as such, it might be a little hard for her to accept your selection; not you specifically, but someone other than she,” he said, seeing the concern on Will’s face.

“Oh, don’t worry; it’ll all work out. Here I am, as usual, borrowing trouble. Really, don’t worry, she’ll be fine. The committee would like her to work as your assistant this year. And I must say, you’d be hard pressed to find a more knowledgeable person as an assistant.”

“I don’t have to lead this year. I am flattered by this opportunity, but it’s not set in stone for me,” he said.

John cut him off. “No, no, it will work out. Katrina always does what is best for our neighborhood,” he said, his expression somewhat pained and at odds with this statement.

“Are you sure?” Will asked, taking in John’s expression.

“Yes, sometimes life can be difficult,” he said, as if shoring up his internal resolve. “Thank you again, Will. You’ll be hearing from the committee soon. Hopefully Katrina will be the one calling you, and all my worries will have been for naught. You two will meet, work out all the details and deadlines, and everything will be fine,” he said.

Will opened the door for John and followed him out.

“You sure?” Will asked.