No more Ms. Nice Guy.
Girl.
Whatever.
There I went again, rambling to myself. Never a good sign my day was going to go well.
I decided to make myself useful as Kit tackled the backyard with the help of Ignacio and his crew.
To help ease my tension, I decided to get started with the planters. Nothing soothed me more than planting flowers, getting my hands dirty. I dumped my clipboard into the cab 34
Heather Webber
of my TBS truck and made sure my cell phone was clipped to my waistband.
The only color in the front yard was a terra cotta pot full of thriving white pansies on the front step. Maybe if there were leftover flowers from the backyard, I’d have Deanna add some to the front mulch bed, where three sad- looking spireas were in need of pruning.
From the bed of the truck I pulled out five large glazed white pots and set each on the ground. They were tall, maybe two and a half feet high, but not very wide. Maybe eighteen inches at best.
I hunted around the utility truck for gravel, which would provide good drainage and stability, and for potting soil, which I would mix with topsoil for planting.
I’d just finished stacking five sacks of potting soil on the Lockharts’ driveway when a hoity-toity female voice said from behind me, “Who are you?”
I turned. A small woman with long blonde hair stood on the curb, eyeing me.
“Nina Quinn,” I said. I held out a hand to shake, but caught a glimpse of it. Filthy. I rarely used gloves when planting. I pulled my hand back. “And you are?”
“Meredith Adams.”
That cleared that up.
Under severely plucked eyebrows big blue-gray eyes bulged slightly. Why they bulged I had no idea. Was this some sort of evil eye I’d never encountered?
When she continued to stare, I began wondering if she was all there. Upstairs.
“What are you doing here?” she finally said on an exas-perated sigh, and I realized she’d been waiting for an explanation. That cleared up the eye-flaring thing.
Unfortunately, I had issues with people interrogating me
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for no apparent reason. “What are
“I asked first.”
“So?”
“So? So answer!”
It was wrong toying with her like this, but I couldn’t help myself. Not with the way she stood there, five feet of quiver-ing righteous indignation. “You.”
She drew in a deep breath, held it, and then released it in a snorty way, like a bull before it charged. “I am Meredith Adams, vice president of Fallow Falls Homeowners Association. I demand to know what is going on.”
I just couldn’t help myself. I blamed it on the stress of my day. “Sorry. I only speak to presidents.” I lifted a bag of potting soil and shrugged.
She turned from valentine pink to fire engine red in two seconds flat. Her mouth opened widely, then closed again with an audible click. Pencil thin pale eyebrows dipped dangerously low as she tried hard for an evil eye. With the slight bulge, she just couldn’t pull it off.
I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.
“Uhhnn!” she squawked, spinning on her Ann Taylor wedges. Fists pumped as she speed-walked down the sidewalk.
I was definitely going to hell.
My mood lifted, I turned, potting soil in hand. “Eee!” I screamed as a big black blur barreled down on me.
“Nina, look out!” someone yelled unnecessarily.
I didn’t even have time to brace myself before two enormous paws landed on my shoulders and pushed me backward. I tripped on the stack of potting soil sacks and fell down on the grass.
Pain radiated from my, er, backside. The sacks of soil I’d already stacked stopped my head from hitting the cement.
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Bits of soil flew everywhere as claws tore into the bag I still held onto. For dear life.
A huge tongue assaulted me, licking my face up and down, side to side.
I knew that tongue.
