Meeting Mr. Right (3 page)

He didn’t immediately release her, giving them both time to get their bearings. For a moment she just stared up at him, her cheeks flushed a pretty crimson. Her dark eyes first flared with surprise and then simply sparkled with what Ben suspected was mirth, though he couldn’t imagine what she considered to be funny in this situation.

“Mozart,” she informed him, wriggling out of his grasp as if she only now realized that he was still holding her up. She stood to her full height, but even so, the top of her head didn’t reach Ben’s shoulder. “And you should be ashamed of yourself, sneaking up on a person that way. You nearly scared the life out of me. I could have really been hurt there!”

“I didn’t sneak,” he responded, trying to keep his jaw from dropping. Why was
she
chewing
him
out? She should be eternally grateful for his efforts on her behalf. “What I
did
was save you from a major catastrophe just now. You should be thanking me, not railing on me. And you should know better than to stand on the top rung of a ladder. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s just a step stool,” she rejoined with a scowl. Now
that
was a familiar expression from her, especially combined with her backing away from where his outreached hand tried to offer her some support. Although she’d landed in his arms and had not—thanks to him—taken a digger on the ground, she brushed off her jeans as if she’d hit the dirt on both knees.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But you’re still begging for an accident by name. In case you’re not aware of the rules, you’re not supposed to stand on the very top rung of a ladder, step stool or otherwise. You can’t balance that way. Didn’t anyone ever teach you better?” He kept his tone light and hoped his words sounded like banter and not a reprimand.

It partially worked. Her frown eased a little, though it didn’t go away. She rolled her eyes and took another step back. “Are you kidding? With an overprotective dad and two big brothers, I’ve had every lecture in the book and then some.”

“Any reason why this lesson didn’t stick?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully and shrugged. “Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. I’m pretty independent. I’ve been told I’m stubborn, too, if my brothers have an opinion about it.”

Her response seemed serious, and she was still frowning at him. Ben wasn’t sure what to say or why the woman was so determined to be angry with him when he’d just saved her from breaking her neck.

He shifted from foot to foot, measuring his words before speaking to the overly testy woman. Speaking suddenly felt like a new and difficult skill, one of which he was nearly incapable. He hadn’t yet sorted out words in his brain, much less found the faculties necessary to utter them from his lips, before she spoke again.

“Climbing to the top rungs of ladders is just one of many of the perils of being short,” Vee explained. She waved the hanging basket in front of him. “At least I got the basket, thank you very much.”

“Right,” he agreed, but he was shaking his head. “We wouldn’t want you to have to climb back up on that ladder and risk putting life and limb in danger again.” He paused and cocked his head, staring at her speculatively. “So tell me why, exactly, are you stealing flowerpots from my parents’ backyard?”

Her frown deepened, and for a moment he worried that she’d taken his teasing seriously. She was always pretty quick to think the worst of him. To his relief, she relaxed after a moment instead. “Of course I’m not trying to steal anything. Your folks asked me to come here to do a little spring landscaping for them.”

“Why would they do that? If they want some work done, I can do it for them.”

That, and the fact that of all the people on the planet they’d chosen to work on their yard, it had to be the one woman he had trouble working with at all. And he
would
be working here, now that he’d discovered his parents’ plan. But there was no reason why Vee had to stay. All he had to do was to talk his parents out of this decision, which shouldn’t be that difficult, right? Then Vee could go on her merry way.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him like he was slow on the uptake. Could she really blame him? He was still reeling from the nearly averted disaster of catching a plunging-to-the-pavement woman. His heart was still pounding heavily in his chest, stoked by adrenaline. He couldn’t set it aside as easily as she appeared to have done.

“It’s my job, remember?” she pointed out in a pithy tone of voice. “I work at Emerson’s Hardware. Lawn and garden. Ring a bell? I know I’ve waited on you at least a few times over the years.”

“No, of course I know you work at Emerson’s,” he said, quickly backtracking. Was she making fun of him? “What I meant was, why are you
here,
in my parents’ backyard, trying to release flowerpots from their hooks? They didn’t mention any gardening projects. I’m surprised they didn’t consult me first.”

“Why would they?”

Ouch. She had a point, and she hadn’t made it softly, either.

His parents didn’t need
his
permission to landscape their yard, but it disturbed him just the same that they hadn’t asked for his help. He was more than willing to lend a hand. And seriously, what could Vee do for them that he couldn’t do himself?

“I can dig in the dirt as well as anyone. For
free,
” he added with extra emphasis. His parents were paying good money when they didn’t need to be.

Her dark eyebrows rose in perfect curves. “I’m a landscaping specialist, you know. There’s a lot more to it than just digging in the dirt. Apparently your parents seem to think I’m needed here.”

“Apparently,” he repeated, absently rubbing a spot on his temple that was beginning to throb incessantly. He didn’t get many headaches, but he had a feeling that today might be the exception.

“You don’t believe me?” She gestured toward the sliding glass door that led to the dining room of the Atwoods’ house. “Be my guest. Ask your mom why she hired me.”

It wasn’t that he thought she was lying when she’d stated that his parents had hired her. He just didn’t want to accept it. The real problem here, as he was well aware, was that his pride was wounded. He knew it shouldn’t matter that they’d hired, of all people, Vee to do their yard work, but that knowledge scraped across every self-righteous nerve in his body.

Did his parents think he wasn’t up to a simple landscaping job? Did they think Vee could do it better?

Honestly. How hard could it be to plant a few flowers and trim a few shrubs? They could have at least asked him if he wanted to do it before they called on outside help. He was certain he could do at least as good a job as Vee.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, gesturing to the back door. “I want to speak with my mom for a second.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “I’ll be here, planting my flowers and humming my Mozart.”

“You do that. And try not to fall off any step stools while I’m gone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Ben entered the house through the sliding glass door, familiar sights and smells enveloped him. He breathed deeply and released the tension corded through his neck and shoulders. It was amazing how comforting it was simply to step into the house where he’d spent his youth. Entering his home was like being wrapped in a cozy blanket, not only for warmth but for reassurance.

“Mom?” he called as he wiped his feet on the welcome mat by the door. “It’s Ben. Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, honey.”

He should have known that’s where she would be. His mother was always in the kitchen, baking things from scratch. Cooking was her hobby, and she was excellent at it. She spent hours every week poring over cookbooks and magazines trying to find new dishes to try or new twists on old favorites. It wasn’t until Ben was an adult that he’d really learned to appreciate the work she did.

He inhaled deeply and groaned with pleasure. The whole house smelled like cinnamon and fresh bread. If he was lucky, she was baking his favorite rolls. His mouth was watering already.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he entered and before he’d said so much as a single word. His mother was like that—naturally intuitive where her children were concerned. So why hadn’t she realized he’d be bothered by her landscaping plans?

“I saw Vee outside,” he said, trying for a conversational tone, though he doubted he succeeded.

“Oh, yes. Isn’t she a dear, willing to work on our yard even when it’s nippy outside? She said she likes being outside, whatever the weather. I really like her. Smart and sensible. And she’s a cute little thing, too, don’t you think?”

Ben’s gaze widened. Whatever else he thought of Vee, he’d never categorize her as a
cute little thing.
Fearless, maybe. Spirited, definitely. But cute?

Not only that, but if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like his mother was hinting at something beyond simply drawing his attention to the fine work Vee was doing. His mother had been trying to set him up with women since the day he turned twenty. Apparently she wanted grandchildren, and the sooner the better.

But Vee? That was definitely pushing the limits, even for his mother. Vee had never made any secret of the fact that she didn’t care for him, and someone as perceptive as his mother had to have noticed.

As if to make it up to him for the suggestion, she pushed a dessert plate loaded with freshly baked cinnamon rolls in his direction. He poured himself a tall glass of milk and settled down with his favorite treat. At least he had timed
that
right.

“Are you having trouble with your yard?” he queried before popping a large chunk of cinnamon roll in his mouth. “Why didn’t you come to me for help? I would have been happy to have done your project for you.”

His mother’s gaze widened in surprise at the change of subject and then narrowed on Ben. “I see,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off of him.

He sunk a little lower in his chair at the maternal look she was giving him. It was
the look,
the one that brought down many a child. Ben might be a full-grown man, but it still affected him.

“I’m just asking.”

His mother nodded thoughtfully. “Do you have training in landscape architecture?” She paused for less than one second. “No? I didn’t think so. That’s why I hired Vee,” she explained smoothly, wiping her hands on the frilly green apron tied at her waist.

“Did you see the pretty tulips and daffodils already blooming out front next to the dogwood tree?” she continued. “That’s Vee’s work. She planted a few bulbs for us last fall. It made such a difference in the front that when spring arrived, we decided to hire her to rework our backyard, too. I’m very excited to make more changes in our yard. Your father and I have been talking about doing it for years, but it never seemed like quite the right time. I’m finally going to have the garden I’ve always wanted.”

“I’m as good with a shovel as anyone,” he insisted. “Surely I can plant your seeds and tend to your flowers for you. I’m happy to help. You don’t need to pay anybody.”

“I think I do. It’s more than just planting and watering—Vee is designing it all to look just right. I’ve seen some of the work she’s done for our neighbors and I love it. Plus, she has the know-how to pick the right plants to match the weather and amount of shade, to make it all as little work for me to maintain as possible. And that’s just the flowers. She has equally wonderful ideas for the vegetable garden. This is how I want to spend my money, Ben. I want everything perfect so your father and I can relax and enjoy ourselves in the backyard. Vee has all kinds of lovely ideas for the backyard and the garden.” His mother’s face brightened and she slapped both hands on the counter in her exuberance. She was apparently really excited for this garden of hers.

“But if you’re eager to help, then that’s wonderful,” his mother exclaimed. “I may even ask you to build me a gazebo after all the landscaping is finished and my garden is planted. And I’m sure Vee can use you today, too. Most certainly you can do the grunt work—digging in the dirt, like you said. You did enough of that as a young boy. I’m sure you’re an expert by now. That will give Vee more time to focus on the brainwork and not have to get her lovely hands so dirty. Bless you, sweetheart, for offering to help.”

He hadn’t exactly offered, but what else could he say when his mother leaned across the counter and kissed his cheek with unbridled enthusiasm? He didn’t want to let her down, especially since he’d run off at the mouth so much today already.

She knew exactly what she was doing, too—forcing him into this situation, knowing perfectly well that he could not and would not turn her down.

Oh, well. A little dirt never hurt anyone, right? Working with Vee, though? That might be another thing entirely.

Chapter Three

Dear Veronica Jayne,

You know why you’re so special? You challenge me to look at the world around me through new eyes. To me, planting anything is just—well—digging in the dirt.

I tend to see life around me that way, too—in black-and-white. It’s only since I’ve been writing to you that I’ve started to see colors blooming in my world. You’re my flower girl.

All the best,

BJ

“D
id you get everything straightened out with your mom?” Vee asked as Ben returned to the back patio. Not that she really had to ask to know how the conversation had gone. Even with only a sidelong glance, she could see that his face was the color of a ripe cherry.

“If by ‘straightened out’ you mean my mother set me in my place and told me to keep my mouth shut and help you dig, then yes. I’ve definitely been straightened out.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any problems for you, Ben.”

He arched a brow as if he doubted her good intentions. “No, of course you didn’t. It’s my own blustering that got me into trouble. I may be a thirty-year-old man, but Mama won’t take any sass from me.”

Vee’s throat burned and she quickly turned her gaze from his, blinking rapidly as memories of her own mother overwhelmed her again.

The recollections made her want to laugh.

And cry.

Maybe both simultaneously.

She pulled in a ragged breath, but the air seemed sharp, piercing her throat and lungs. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about her mother. She’d be all right for a while, and she even felt like she could function normally most days, but then grief would sneak up and reappear out of nowhere, jumping out from behind her back and wrenching her heart in two once again.

This was one of those times, and she was mortified that Ben was here to witness it once more. Dealt with the sudden blow of emotions she was unable to handle, she would have turned away to hide them, but Ben gently stayed her with his large, callused hand as he grasped her elbow.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” he murmured in an unexpectedly tender, soft tone. “I have a bad habit of sticking my boot in my mouth.” Ben was a rough-edged man, and in Vee’s opinion, not a very nice one, so the sympathy pouring from his gaze surprised her. “I’m truly sorry about your mother, Vee.”

He didn’t say anything else. In her experience, people tended to chatter when they were uncomfortable with a situation, but not Ben. He just stood there, strong and silent, waiting for her to gather herself together. She wasn’t sure how he’d figured out where her thoughts had gone, but she was grateful to him for giving her the moment she needed to compose herself.

But composure failed to come. Despite her best intentions, tears welled. She fought and nearly lost herself to the blaze that was burning in her throat and behind her eyes.

She wasn’t a bawler. She’d learned long ago that crying didn’t get you anywhere—not with two big brothers around to tease her about it. If anything, breaking into tears only made things worse, so she’d learned not to do it. Her brothers had literally thrown her into the deep end of the pool and expected her to swim. They’d taught her to be tough. She was a Bishop, and Bishops were a strong lot.

But in this case, reminding herself of her heritage didn’t seem to help. Nothing did. She wasn’t sure if she could keep her tears from falling despite her best efforts.

Ben slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a close embrace. The comfort of his rock-solid chest and the steady sound of his heartbeat somehow reassured her.

Depending on someone else, even for a moment, was unfamiliar to her. And she couldn’t believe that the person she was leaning on was Ben Atwood—possibly the least reliable person she knew. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to breathe slowly, fighting desperately against the urge to let loose the roaring broil of her emotions and bawl into Ben’s chest. She barely restrained herself from wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him back.

She couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Ben. Bishops were strong people, she reminded herself again. They didn’t let anything get the best of them, not even a grief that felt like it was ripping her apart.

She sucked in another big gulp of air and backed away. The sudden sensation of warm fur crisscrossing her ankles in a figure eight caused her to jolt, but she was careful not to step on whatever it was that was twirling around at her feet. She looked down to find a large gray poof-ball rubbing against her and purring louder than the engine on her truck.

“Is that a cat?” she asked with a chuckle that came out as half a sob. She hitched her breath.

Ben leaned down and scooped the ball of fur into his arms, brushing the hair back from the feline’s face with the palm of his hand. Vee could barely make out eyes and a black button of a nose.

“This,” Ben said, “is Tinker. And you should feel privileged. He’s given you quite an honor. He doesn’t usually take to people he doesn’t know very well.”

As he said the words, the cat sprung from his arms to hers. She caught him with an exclamation of surprise.

“Warn me, next time, will you, kitty?” She tucked Tinker under her chin, oddly comforted by the vibration of the cat’s purr and the warmth of his fur.

“I never had a kitten,” she said, stroking Tinker’s soft, downy fur. “Or a dog. My mom was one of those people who thought all animals should stay outside in the barn.”

Another hiccup.

Ben jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, not speaking but urging her on with a smile.

“I had a hamster once, though, when I was about nine. Alvin the hamster. He’d run on his little wheel all night long. That sound was like a lullaby to me. I slept so soundly when he was around.”

“Tinker is a second-generation Atwood cat,” Ben explained, reaching out to tickle Tinker under his chin. “His mama was Belle. Tinkerbelle, actually, but most of the time I just called her Belle.”

“Oh, my,” exclaimed Vee, putting two and two together. “Please don’t tell me that this poor boy...”

“...is Tinkerbelle the Second. In my defense, I was a teenager at the time, and kittens weren’t a big deal to me. I was too busy worrying about my social life, which...well...” He cut himself off and gave her a charming smile. She noticed it looked a little strained around the edges, as if he disliked thinking back on those memories but was trying to hide it. “I gave him his moniker without actually bothering to see if it was a he or she, and my mother didn’t correct me. I think maybe she was trying to teach me a life lesson. Tinker here got the bad end of that deal.”

“Poor Tinker,” Vee said on a long, counterfeit sigh, stroking the cat from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, causing his purr to rumble even louder. “It’s a wonder he still associates with you at all.”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed with a self-deprecating shrug. “You’re probably right about that.”

Tinker started wiggling, and Vee reluctantly released him to the ground. “I think Tinker is giving me a nudge. I suppose I’ve had enough of a work break now. Your parents aren’t paying me to talk. I should get back to planting flowers.”

She turned, then paused, her shoulders tensing as she realized she’d returned to a touchy subject for Ben. Was he going to belittle her efforts again—tell her once more how little he valued all her careful planning and design work? She shouldn’t have been surprised that he had no appreciation for her craft, yet she had still felt hurt at his clear dismissal earlier.

“Where would you like me to start digging?” Ben asked, surprising her when he reached for a nearby shovel.

Vee released a quiet breath. Gardening was her comfort zone, her sweet spot where she could let go of everything else and just be thankful to God for His beautiful creation. Some might see it as just “digging in the dirt,” but for her, working with flowers brought Vee her greatest joy.

Did she want to share that with Ben?

Not really. But if putting him to work meant he’d stop giving his mother a hard time, then what choice did she have? Maybe if he could see how dedicated she was to the task, he’d realize that her work truly was important—to her, if not to him.

She pointed to the flower beds on opposite sides of the screened-in back fence, and then at the large plot she’d lined out with stakes and thread marking a place for the garden.

“If you’d please break up and turn the earth for me, I’d appreciate it. I’ll bring you a bag of compost so you can fertilize as you go.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered. “It’s in the back of your truck, right?”

“Yes, it is.” She hesitated. “I hate to have you make two trips, but can you also bring back some potting soil for me? I brought new annuals, mostly petunias and mums, to plant in the hanging pots.”

Ben assented with a nod and strode away. Vee’s gaze followed him until he turned the corner of the house. Then she propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the property, ticking off projects in her mind. The flower beds would be the home to a dozen new rosebushes, and the garden still needed to be seeded with vegetables. Several decorative pots for the back porch awaited her attention, too.

Now, where had she been before Ben arrived?

Oh, right. The hanging basket. Falling into Ben’s arms. How could she have forgotten that so easily? It was not her most graceful moment. Her face flamed just thinking about it, so she redirected her thoughts to the tasks at hand.

She was gathering a variety of hanging and standing flowerpots into a line on the porch when Ben returned to the backyard, a twenty-five-pound bag of potting soil under one arm and a fifty-pound bag of fertilizer slung over his other shoulder. She hadn’t expected him to bring both bags at the same time. He was probably trying to show off his strength, but the gesture was lost on Vee.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite
lost
because she’d obviously noticed. It was hard
not
to notice the solid muscles across his arms and shoulders. But a good man was made up of more than his muscles, and she knew what kind of man Ben was.

Ben had broken her best friend’s heart. Olivia had stayed in bed for a week depressed and crying over their breakup, which was all Ben’s fault. Vee wasn’t in any hurry to forgive him for that, no matter how good he looked in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Where do you want it?” Ben asked. He nodded his square chin toward the bag of soil under his arm.

“Right here is fine,” she answered, sweeping her arm indistinctly toward the ground at her feet.

Grunting with the effort—or possibly just for the effect the sound gave—he dropped the bag of potting soil where she’d indicated and then lowered the fertilizer bag near the closest flower bed.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d do the flower beds first,” she said, deciding there was no reason not to be civil with Ben since he’d offered to help—as a non-paid apprentice. “I’ve got a dozen rosebushes in the back of the truck that I’ll be planting in those beds today.”

“Yeah, I noticed them when I was getting the soil. Do you want me to bring those back here for you, too?”

“Eventually. For now, just dig.”

“Pink and red,” he said, sounding like he was just making conversation. “Did you pick out those colors, or was it my mother?”

“Your mother, actually. I’ve planned most of the landscaping colors palette, but she specifically asked for red and pink roses. Red for love. Pink for gratitude. She said it would remind her every day to be thankful for her family.”

“That sounds like my mother,” Ben murmured.

“I’ll get these planters finished and then we’ll worry about the rosebushes. After that you can turn the earth for the garden and I can start seeding behind you,” she said, pulling on her gardening gloves and picking up a trowel.

She reached for the first tray of yellow mums and easily fell into her task. She’d organized the flowers and seeds according to the layout print she’d prepared of the Atwoods’ backyard. She’d spent a long time planning what would go where according to the palettes she’d created. She loved seeing the way the colors came together to make a final product she could be proud of and the Atwoods would enjoy. It was her artist’s canvas, available for everyone to see and appreciate.

Ben let out a low wolf whistle as he surveyed her print. She hadn’t realized he was standing over her shoulder. He was supposed to be digging.

“That looks complicated,” he commented. “And here I thought we were just playing around in the dirt.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” she fired back before taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she’d decided to be civil. “It’s actually quite interesting, or at least it is to me. The vegetable garden itself is determined by what your mom and dad want to grow, of course, but you get a better yield, not to mention a better aesthetic experience, if you know which vegetables should be planted next to each other for optimum growth and health. We’re going to do green beans, snap peas, carrots and tomatoes for starters.”

She gulped in a breath of air and continued enthusiastically. It didn’t take much for her to warm to her subject. “As for the hanging baskets, I not only consider which blossoms develop well in this area, but also the arrangement of color palettes...”

She hadn’t realized she’d launched into a full-throttle landscaping lecture until she noticed the pensive look on Ben’s face. Clearly his mind had wandered, and she flushed at the realization that she’d probably been boring him to tears.

“And...you really don’t care a whit about color palettes. Sorry. Too much information,” she said with a wince and a guarded chuckle. “I forget that not everyone is as ardent about gardening as I am.”

“Don’t apologize. I am interested. It’s just that what you said reminded me of a friend of mine who—”

He broke off his sentence as suddenly as he’d started it, his eyes widening to enormous proportions, as if he’d almost said something monumental, something he’d regret. He definitely looked a little green around the gills.

“A friend of yours who...?” she prompted, curious as to why he had stopped speaking so suddenly. She usually wasn’t the nosey type, preferring to mind her own business and give others the same courtesy. But he’d started it, and now she wanted him to finish.