“I suppose I do.” Suzanna sighed then turned back to Holt. “What can I do for you?”
She was wearing her hair loose, with a little blue cap over it that made her look about sixteen. Holt suddenly felt as foolish and awkward as a boy asking for his first date.
“Do you still need part – time help?”
“Yes, without any luck.” She began to pinch off begonias. “All the high school and college kids are set for the summer.”
“I can give you about four hours a day.” “What?”
“Maybe five,” he continued as she stared at him. “I've got a couple of repair jobs, but I call my own hours.”
“You want to work for me?”
“As long as I only have to haul and plant the things. I ain't selling flowers.”
“You can't be serious.”
“I mean it. I won't sell them.”
“No, I mean about working for me at all. You've already started up your own business, and I can't afford to pay more than minimum wage.”
His eyes went very dark, very fast “I don't want your money.” Suzanna blew the hair out of her eyes. “Now, I am confused.”
“Look, I figured we could trade off. I'll do some of the heavy work for you, and you can fix up my yard some.”
Her smite bloomed slowly. “You'd like me to fix up your yard?”
Women always made things complicated, he thought and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don't want you to go crazy or anything. A couple more bushes maybe. Now do you want to make a deal or don't you?”
Her smile turned to a laugh. “One of the Andersons' neighbors admired our team effort. I'm scheduled to start tomorrow.” She held out a hand. “Be here at six.”
He winced. “A.m.?”
“Exactly. Now, how about lunch?”
He put his hand in hers. “Fine. You're buying.”
Good God, the woman worked like an elephant. She worked like two elephants, Holt corrected as the sweat poured down his back. He had a pick or shovel in his hand so often, he might as well be on a chain gang.
It should've been cooler up here on the cliffs. But the lawn they were landscaping – attacking, he thought as he brought the pick down again was nothing but rock.
In the three days he'd worked with her, he'd given up trying to stop her from doing any of the heavy work. She only ignored him and did as she pleased. When he went home in the midarternoon, every muscle twinging, he wondered how in holy hell she kept it up.
He couldn't put in more than four or five hours and juggle his own jobs. But he knew she worked eight to ten every day. It wasn't difficult to see that she was throwing herself into her work to keep from thinking about the fact that the kids were leaving the next day.
He brought the pick down again, hit rock. The shock sang up his arms. At the low, steady swearing, Suzanna glanced up from her own work. “Why don't you take a break. I can finish that.” “Did you bring the dynamite?”
The smile touched her lips for only a moment “No, really. Go get a drink out of the cooler. We're nearly ready to plant.”
“Fine.” He hated to admit that the whole business was wearing him out. There were blisters on top of his blisters, his muscles felt as though he'd gone ten rounds with the champ – and lost. Wiping his face and neck dry, he walked over to the cooler they'd set in the shade of a beech tree. As he pulled out a ginger ale, he heard the pick ring against the rocky soil. It was no use telling her she was crazy, he thought as he guzzled down the cold liquid. But he couldn't help it.
“You're a lunatic, Suzanna. This is the kind of work they give to people with numbers across their chest.”
“What we have here,” she said in a thick Southern drawl, “is a failure to communicate.”
Her quote of the line from Cool Hand Luke made him grin, but only for an instant. “Stark, raving mad,” he continued, watching her swing the pick. “What the hell do you think's going to grow in that rock?”
“You'd be surprised.” She took a moment to wipe at the sweat that was dripping in her eyes. “See those lilies on the bank there?” She gave a little grunt as she dislodged a rock. “I planted them two years ago in September.”
He glanced at the profusion of tall, colorful flowers with grudging admiration. He had to admit that they were an improvement over the rough, rocky soil, but was it worth it?
“The Snyders gave me my first real job.” She hefted a rock and tossed it into the wheelbarrow. Stretching her back, she listened to the fat bees buzzing in the gaillardia. “A sympathy job, seeing as they were friends of the family and poor Suzanna needed a break.” Her breath whooshed out as she struck soil, and she blinked away the little red dots in front of her eyes. “Surprised them that I knew what I was doing, and I've been working here on and off ever since.”
“Great. Would you put that damn thing down a minute?” “Almost done.”
“You won't be done until you keel over. Who's going to see a few posies wilting all the way up here?”
“The Snyders will see them, their guests will see them.” She shook her head to clear a haze brought on by the heat. “The photographer from New England Gardens will see them.” Lord, the bees were loud, she thought as the buzzing filled her head. “And nothing's going to wilt. I'm putting in pinks and campanula and some coreopsis, some lavender for scent and monarda for the hummingbirds.” She pressed a hand to her head, ran it over her eyes. “In September we'll plant some bulbs. Dwarf irises and windflowers. Some tuberoses and...” She staggered under a hot wave of dizziness. Holt made the dash from shade to sun as the pick slid out of her hands. When he grabbed her she seemed to melt into his arms.
Cursing her helped relieve the fright as he carried her over and laid her down under the tree. Her body was like hot wax he could all but pour onto the cool grass. “That's it.” He plunged his hand into the cooler then rubbed icy water over her face. “You're finished, do you understand? If I see a pick in your hands again. I'll murder you.”
“I'm all right” Her voice was weak, but the irritation was clear enough. “Just a little too much sun.” The water on her face felt heavenly, even if his hands were a bit rough. She took the ginger ale from him and drank carefully.
“Too much sun,” he was ranting, “too much work. And not enough food or sleep from the look of you. You're a mess, Suzanna, and I'm tired of it.”
“Thank you very much.” She pushed his hands away and leaned back against the tree. She needed a minute, she'd admit. But she didn't need a lecture. “I should have taken a break,” she said in disgust “I know better, but I've got things on my mind.”
“I don't care what you've got on your mind.” God, she was white as a sheet He wanted to hold her until the color came back into her cheeks, to stroke her hair until she was strong and rested again. But the concern came out in fury. “I'm taking you home and you're going to bed.”
Steadier, she set the bottle aside. “I think you're forgetting who works for whom.”
“When you pass out on me, I take over.”
“I didn't pass out,” she said irritably. “I got dizzy. And nobody takes over for me, not now, not ever again. Stop splashing water in my face, you're going to drown me.”
She was recovering fast enough, he thought, but it didn't cool his temper. “You're stubborn, hardheaded and just plain stupid.”
“Fine. If you've finished yelling at me, I'm going to take my lunch break.” She knew she had to eat, She didn't mind being stubborn or hardheaded, but she did mind being stupid. Which, she thought as she snatched a sandwich out of the cooler, was exactly what she had been to skip breakfast.
“Maybe I haven't finished yelling.”
She shrugged as she unwrapped the sandwich. “Then you can yell while I eat. Or you can stop wasting time and have some lunch.”
He considered dragging her to the truck. He liked the idea, but the benefits would only be short-term. Short
