Hearts In Bloom. Mae Nunn

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      Chapter Two

      Just before 7:00 a.m., Jessica perched on the kitchen stool waiting for the first dose of caffeine of the day to drip. She yawned and gracefully stretched long arms overhead, flinching at the slight pain in her sunburned shoulders.

      Frasier nudged at her ankle, demanding his morning walk. Ignoring his urgency would result in a puddle on the tile, so she took the leash from a peg by the front door.

      “Come on, buddy. Let’s head for the back lawn.”

      At the dog’s insistence, she navigated the pathway a little more quickly each day. She preferred to start off slowly, letting her muscles warm up naturally. But there’d been little of that since Becky Jo had shown up on April Fool’s Day with the critter under her arm. What an unexpected gift they’d been.

      The accident had left Jessica lying on the couch for months, burying her grief and guilt in bags of cookies. Unable to give up the practice of her daily weigh-in, she’d watched the number on the scale rise as she scoured childhood memories for the sin that had surely earned her body God’s wrath.

      Her only distraction was her lifelong best bud, who had kept the phone wires hot between Atlanta and Dallas. Becky Jo had been there day and night for Jessica to lean on, in the same way she leaned upon the detestable aluminum cane.

      A month ago she’d answered the loud pounding on her front door to find the sweetest sight of her life—Rebecca Josephine Osborne standing in the hall with a squirming white dog firmly tucked in the crook of her arm. She’d come to stay awhile. Subletting her apartment to a college student, Becky Jo had packed up her eccentric retro wardrobe and folded her massage table into the back of her turquoise van.

      Somewhere along the more than seven hundred miles of I-20, a tape had jammed in her eight-track player. Desperate for company, she’d located the animal shelter in the next small town and adopted Frasier. In a way peculiar to Becky Jo, she’d reasoned that a dog would be good physical therapy for her friend. Fortunately, she’d been right.

      Every morning Becky Jo set off for the health spa and Jessica found herself the pup’s primary caregiver. For the past month the rascal had kept her in constant motion. She stretched to move things out of his reach, bent to attach his leash and picked up the pace to keep up with his insistent tugging.

      Frequent walks kept her mind off her problems and forced her to critically assess the beds and gardens she’d agreed to develop four years earlier when the property owner, Daniel Ellis, had reduced the price of her town home in exchange for her horticultural services.

      Now, if she spotted a weed, it had to be pulled. Empty spaces in the perennial island had to be filled. As spring flowers bloomed, she became aware of the need for more balance, more texture or color. Folding new life into the soil was only surpassed by the satisfaction of admiring the results.

      She was doing just that while she waited for Frasier to finish his morning business when a big dual-cab pickup pulled a rental trailer through the gates. The driver propped his elbow on the ledge of the open window, his muscular arm visible. He sported a baseball cap, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, but there was no mistaking that goofy little mustache or the very solid jaw.

      Rambo.

      Her stomach did a quick flip-flop.

      Dropping her gaze self-consciously, she grimaced at the cheap shorts and tank top. Recent purchases, but already permanently stained. Her sneakers were old favorites, well past their prime. Even with one pinkie toe visible where the canvas had worn completely through, she refused to discard them.

      She reached up, running a hand through the mess she called morning hair, and slid a disapproving tongue across fuzzy teeth. Worse still was the glow from fish-belly-white skin on exposed arms and legs. A little sunburn helped, but frying to a crisp wouldn’t eliminate that fresh layer of cellulite that puckered just below the surface.

      Anxiously she glanced up the path, seeking an escape route.

      “Let’s go, Frasier.” She yanked the leash to get his cooperation. “Hurry up the front way, and we’ll avoid him.”

      They made the long climb with the dog determined to stop every few feet. If Drew Keegan came around the corner for any reason, they’d be spotted. She could СКАЧАТЬ