Hearts In Bloom. Mae Nunn

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ were drawn to her hands, to the nails that were in desperate need of a manicure. The fashionable mid-town salon had probably figured out months ago that she wouldn’t be keeping her regular appointment any longer.

      She’d kept her nails maintained only out of responsibility anyway, hating the busy metallic clicking of the clippers and the rough filing and the smell of acrylic. But a principal performer for the Atlanta Dance Theater could hardly greet supporters with soil under her fingernails. Now the trace of dirt beneath her short nails was a welcome sight.

      How quickly priorities could change. One moment she had been navigating the dark highway, the next she’d been blinded by the overhead lights of the operating room.

      From where she sat, Jessica had a clear view of the security gate. It swung open to admit a fancy white sedan that pulled a little too quickly into the parking lot. That could mean only one thing. Valentine was late to meet a prospective buyer.

      With the always immaculately dressed real estate agent close by, Jessica paused to consider her own attire. She surveyed the baggy sweat suit, stained with everything from mulch to mustard. She needed new clothes desperately, but refused to acknowledge the result of her sixty-pound weight gain in such a permanent manner.

      From outside the gates, a sports car’s too-loud engine growled. A shiny blue car glided to a stop beside the sidewalk and a hulk of a man rose from the car and stepped into the sunshine. Standing ramrod straight, he surveyed the community of private town houses. With an arm raised to shield his eyes against the glare, he appeared to salute.

      Jessica scoffed at the memory it evoked. Her worthless father had teased her mother with a similar gesture on the rare occasions when he’d meandered through their lives. The braided rug beside Jessica’s childhood bed had worn thin where she’d knelt. Prayers for her father to stay with them had gone unanswered, so she’d given up on prayer altogether.

      She wagged her head to shake off the daydreaming, a thick ponytail swishing about the neck of her shirt, and swiped at her forehead with a dirty hand.

      With an aluminum cane tucked beneath her arm, she returned to the task of fertilizing the prizewinning azaleas. She scooted backward across the grass to the next spot needing attention, eased over, careful to avoid the still-mending leg, and returned to work.

      Drew Keegan had emerged from the shady interior of his perfectly restored ’67 fastback into the afternoon sun. He stood, hand raised to block the glare, admiring the grounds of Sacred Arms. In many ways the property, located in the historic Grant Park district of Atlanta, still had the look of the 1920s Christian school it had once been.

      “Very interesting.” He spoke aloud to himself.

      Making the scene even more interesting, the same white luxury car that had blown past him on the interstate was now pulled to the curb farther inside the gate.

      The driver swiveled to the left, extending shapely legs. She offered an appealing view of cream-colored stockings that led to a fashionably short, pale pink linen skirt.

      Just as he realized the long, low whistle came from his own lips, the matching pink jacket appeared and above it a charming face, sporting a devilish smile.

      “Dahhhlin’! You must be Drew. How sweet of you to make a pass at a woman old enough to be your mama.”

      The woman was actually old enough to be his grandmama, but she’d probably never look it as long as there were good plastic surgeons in Georgia.

      “Ms. Chandler?” Drew had a terrible suspicion that he was blushing, something he’d rarely done in his adult life. “Please accept my apology, ma’am. I don’t know what possessed me to do such a thing.”

      “Oh, honey, you couldn’t help yourself. I’ve always had that effect on handsome young men.”

      Realizing she was quite serious, he accepted that he was excused for having no control over his own actions and reached to shake the brightly jeweled hand she offered.

      “I appreciate you meeting me so late in the afternoon, Ms. Chandler.”

      “Please call me Valentine, and it’s no problem at all. Besides, Sacred Arms is so beautiful this time of day, don’t you agree?” She extended her right arm in a sweeping gesture, as if presenting the property for his approval.

      The sun played off the colorful Tennessee fieldstone, producing every shade of brown, gold and orange. Fighting for attention were the beautifully restored stained-glass windows that had been painstakingly assembled three quarters of a century earlier. The enduring images of Christ welcoming little children, blessing the fishes and loaves, talking with the woman at the well and praying at the garden at Gethsemane glowed beneath the warm rays.

      Father, could Your will for my life be any more obvious? Thank You for guiding me to this special place, he silently prayed.

      Drew let his gaze wander from the structure that had been the chapel and sweep the rest of the spacious compound. There were four primary buildings that had been converted into living space. The fifth, containing an extraordinary copper-domed rotunda, was what Valentine had described over the phone as the Commons.

      “I know it’s warm out here and you’d like to visit the models, but let’s just take a minute to walk around back so you can see the gardens. A good friend of mine, a precious girl, really, grows the most amazing plants in this old red clay.”

      They approached a waist-high stone wall. Behind it, a bright bed of tall azaleas graciously set off the gray river rock. As they rounded the end of the wall, his eye caught some movement beneath the blossoms.

      Expecting to see a house pet enjoying a roll in the grass, he was surprised to witness the grass-stained backside of a woman slowly emerge as she scooted precariously out of the bushes on her hands and one knee. Her left hand clutched a bag of fertilizer spikes. Her right hand reached for a cane.

      “Jessica, dahhhlin’, there you are. Come and meet the gentleman who’s about to buy a home here.”

      Trained for years to embody grace, Jessica found herself in the most ungraceful position of her life. She stopped her backward crawl, face pointed toward the foliage, back end toward the unexpected visitors, and ground her teeth at the unwanted interruption. With her damaged knee, rising quickly to recover from the embarrassing introduction was simply not an option. She folded her good leg beneath her, dropped to her hip and turned to face them.

      Smiling down at her from a towering height was one of the biggest men she’d ever seen. No doubt the guy was part of a major football team’s defensive line. She didn’t mean to give him the once-over, but from her position she couldn’t help but take him in from the bottom up.

      Expensive loafers peeked from beneath well-tailored khakis. His chest and shoulders were broad, arms well developed, neck thick and jaw very square. A silly Rhett Butler mustache twitched above a smiling mouth, while warm hazelnut eyes clashed with military-issue, close-cropped dark brown hair.

      “Ms. Jessica Holliday, may I introduce Captain Andrew Keegan. He just moved here from Virginia and is hoping to make Sacred Arms his new home. Jessica, Drew was a Green Beret.”

      Oh, great, Rambo for a neighbor!

      The judgment must have shown on her face. His smile disappeared, stealing with it the slight dimple in his left cheek. But the intense look in his eyes never changed. He glanced from her face down to the cane and back again.

СКАЧАТЬ