That Wilder Boy Read online

  The groundskeeper. Rocky. Of course.

  Her heart turned a little somersault as she envisioned his tan, long-fingered hands plucking those delicate blossoms and arranging them into a little bouquet. Turning to the desk, she lifted the flowers to her nose then picked up the book. The flowers were obviously from the courtyard, but where could he have gotten the book? She had no idea, but she couldn’t believe how special it made her feel to think he had gone to that trouble. How long had it been since someone had done something so unexpectedly sweet for her? Not since Carl.

  The happy lift in her heart plummeted as she thought of Carl. Even after two years it stung to remember how hopelessly in love she’d fallen only to discover Carl’s kindness was meant to win her trust fund, not her heart. With a sigh she pushed aside thoughts of Carl and focused on the pink and white bouquet.

  The poor little petals drooped. Maybe a drink would refresh them. She hoped so. She walked to the kitchenette and scrounged around for a plastic cup which she filled with water. Then she arranged the flowers in the cup. They spilled over the cup’s brim in a haphazard manner, but she didn’t care. Returning to the office area, she cleared the corner of the desk and placed the flowers where they’d receive a splash of afternoon sun.

  Funny how cheerful the whole room seemed with the addition of the flower bouquet. As she worked, her gaze often drifted to the flowers, and each time her heart gave that same happy lift. Around two thirty she heard the rev of a lawn mower starting up—Rocky—and she nearly jumped out of her seat to race to the window. But just as her palms pressed the desk top, ready to push herself from the chair, good sense took over.

  How ridiculous would she look, running to the window for a peek at the gardener? The man accidentally ruined her lunch and her book—and he made a simple gesture of apology. She shouldn’t read any more into it than that. The last thing she needed was for him to get the wrong idea.

  She kept herself in her seat, but as the mower’s motor volume increased, indicating the mower was moving closer, she couldn’t help straining upward to peer out for a glimpse of him as the machine went by. And as it passed the window he turned his head and caught her looking.

  She jerked her gaze back to the desk top where it collided with the romance novel. Her heart rate increased to double-time. RRRRRRRrrrrrrrr. . . . The mower moved on. But her pulse didn’t slow. She pressed her hand to her chest and said, “Stop it! Just get busy here.”

  And she tried. But when she heard the mower’s approach—rrrrrrrrRRRRRRR—she couldn’t resist another peek. Sure enough—he looked, too. And this time he smiled.

  She smiled back. She couldn’t stop herself. Then she looked away, certain her face flamed red even through her tanning booth bronze. RRRRRRRrrrrrrr. . . . The mower and its rider moved beyond her sight. She stuck out her lower lip and blew, ruffling her bangs. Enough of this now! Determinedly she set her attention on the rent receipts. But the mower’s coming and going continued to disrupt her focus.

  ❧

  Rocky couldn’t hold back his grin. He’d seen Carrie’s big blue eyes peeking through that window as he went by on the mower. And he’d seen her face break into a smile.

  She’d found the book and flowers. And she appreciated them.

  Felt really good to do something nice like that. When he looked back on his life, he couldn’t find too many instances of doing good. He’d terrorized smaller kids in grade school, hungry for the power bullying brought. In junior high and early high school he’d run with a rough crowd and had gotten into more than his fair share of trouble from vandalism to breaking curfew. But not until he got caught stealing did he figure out the consequences weren’t worth the risk. He’d quit breaking the law, but he’d never really grasped the idea of doing good deeds. Instead, he’d remained a bully. Made his heart ache now, thinking of how many people he had hurt with his actions.

  He sure wished it hadn’t taken him twenty-nine years to figure out doing good brought more pleasure than causing trouble, but at least he was finally there. Now he had a lot of making up to do. Funny how God had plunked him here at Elmwood Towers, right where one of the people he’d wronged was living.

  In his mind he could still see the teen-aged John’s trusting face, expecting Rocky to offer assistance when he needed it, but instead Rocky had played a dirty trick. At the time he’d thought it was funny, causing the disabled boy to look like a fool, but now? His grip tightened on the steering wheel. As uncomfortable as it made him to be around John and the reminder of how mean he’d been, he was glad for the opportunity to set things right. He whispered a prayer for John right then, that the man would have a good day at work and no one would do anything unkind to him. It felt good to talk to God so easily, too.

  Rocky slowed the mower to maneuver around the rock border of one of Eileen’s garden plots, and the sight of those flowers reminded him of his promise to dig up another garden spot for her. A grin tugged at his cheeks. That Eileen—she sure was something, friends with everybody. He could learn some lessons from her on being Christlike, that’s for sure.

  He straightened the mower again, aiming it past the office’s window. His attention immediately reverted to the girl in the office. Would Carrie step out, flag him down, thank him for the book and flowers? His hopeful gaze drifted to the window, but this time Carrie didn’t even look up as he went by.

  He blew out a breath of discouragement and thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. That was the problem with a mindless task like mowing—it let a person’s mind wander too much. What was he doing thinking about Carrie anyway? He had no business sneaking glances at someone like her. She was obviously quality. Quality wasn’t a word anyone would attach to Rocky. Not even Eileen in her kindest moment.

  The mower made a final swing through the center of the courtyard. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a floral sundress. Against his will his head swivelled in that direction. Sure enough, it was Carrie. His heart pounded hard under his sweaty T-shirt. Was she waiting to talk to him? But, no, she was moving—heading down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

  He swallowed the lump of disappointment that filled his throat as she climbed into her little car and pulled away without a backward glance. Defeated, Rocky turned his gaze straight ahead. Sure, he was making changes on the inside, but on the outside? He was still rough ol’ Rocky Wilder. Nothing but a glorified gardener. His pop had told him he’d never amount to a hill of beans, and in all likelihood Pop was right. His brother, Philip, had been the smart one. Rocky barely squeaked by in high school. Manual labor was all he was good for. Carrie must have seen the truth, too. Why would a girl like that bother with a rough laborer like him?

  Just focus on your work, he told himself firmly, wiping sweat that trickled from his forehead. Remember that verse. . .whatever you do, do it as for the Lord, not for men. Even if it’s just gardening, do your best. But quit thinking about impressing some girl who’s out of your league. It’s a waste of time.

  ❧

  Carrie sat at the stop sign, letting several opportunities to pull into the flow of traffic escape, while she fingered the copy of Loyal Traitor which rested on the console. Guilt pinched her conscience. She should have said thank you. It was rude not to acknowledge a kind gesture. Her mother had certainly taught her manners! Why hadn’t she said anything to Rocky?

  She knew why. Fear, plain and simple. Rocky was a gardener. Probably didn’t make much more than minimum wage. The minute he found out she had money, he’d be after her at full throttle, but not because he liked her. Because he liked her wealth. Maybe he’d already figured it out. After all, everyone in town knew of the Steinwoods. Even though she insisted on using her deceased father’s name rather than her stepfather’s, it was common knowledge that Carrie Mays was Mac Steinwood’s stepdaughter. Between her father’s millions and Mac’s millions, men looked at Carrie and saw dollar signs. It had happened before. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

  It didn’
t matter at all that Rocky set her heart to fluttering as it hadn’t fluttered in more than two years. What mattered was that her heart would only be broken if she allowed him in. And Carrie wouldn’t suffer through another broken heart.

  She removed her foot from the brake and eased into traffic, aiming her car toward home. She drove automatically, her mind refusing to let go of Rocky. What was it about him? He was undeniably handsome with his thick, unruly hair and chiseled features. His boyish smile, with the overlapping front teeth, had a charm that was nearly irresistible. His muscular arms, wide shoulders, and narrow hips spoke of a man who knew how to work hard. That strength appealed to her, she realized. So many of the men her stepfather encouraged her to date used their minds rather than their muscles at their jobs, and most had gotten soft. She couldn’t call Rocky soft. The name Rocky fit him well—he seemed as solid as a rock.

  Yet there must be a tenderness underneath. Concern had made him scold when she’d run down the wet sidewalk. His penitent expression when he realized he’d ruined her book and her lunch also showcased kindness. He’d offered to replace her lunch, had managed to replace her book, and had even taken the time to pick her some flowers as an apology. Sweet. . . . Despite his rough appearance Rocky was very, very sweet.

  Her fingers found the book again, and she caressed the smooth cover, wishing she were running her fingers across the back of Rocky’s hand instead.

  Stop it! This was ridiculous. She was fantasizing like some love-sick high school girl. How silly to fixate on a man she would likely never see again. Her time at Elmwood Towers would last as long as Jim’s vacation—another nine days. Obviously she and Rocky moved in different social circles. She’d be back in graduate school soon, finishing her second degree. Why spend time mooning over someone who would be in and out of her life in a matter of days?

  Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

  She pulled up to the gates of the Steinwood estate, pushed the button to lower the car’s window, and punched in the security code on the button pad. The gates obediently swung wide, and she pulled through, following the curving bricked driveway to the four-car garage behind the house. She pushed the remote to open her port in the garage, guided the car into its spot then pushed the remote again to seal herself inside. Opening the car door, she reached for her purse and the book.

  The moment her hand closed over the novel, guilt slapped her again. She owed Rocky a thank-you. Not only was it bad manners to ignore his gesture, but it was unchristian as well. She knew the Bible verse about whatever a person did for the least of these was like doing it for God. She had failed her Savior by ignoring Rocky this afternoon.

  She lowered her head and offered a brief prayer of apology to God. She then asked Him to help her find a way to apologize to Rocky. “But don’t let me lead him on, Lord,” she added fervently. “He’s too. . .appealing. I don’t want to give him the wrong impression. I just want to say I’m sorry. Help him see only an apology in my words, not an invitation to pursue me. I don’t want that, Lord!”

  Her prayer finished, she left the garage and entered the house through the service porch and into the kitchen. Her favorite scent—cinnamon and apples—greeted her nostrils the moment she stepped through the door, and she sniffed appreciatively, shooting a wide smile at Myrna, the cook.

  “Mm, something smells great!” Her gaze located a dozen muffins cooling on a rack on the marble-topped counter. “Are they for anything special? Mom having her book club ladies over or something?”

  Myrna returned Carrie’s smile, her full cheeks dimpling. “No, Miss Carrie. I bought a bushel of apples this morning, and I’ve been making pies all afternoon to put in the freezer. I had some leftover slices, so I grated them for muffins. They’re still warm. Would you like one now?”

  Carrie eagerly reached for a muffin. The crumbly topping of brown sugar and cinnamon melted in her mouth with the first bite. She rolled her eyes and released a groan of pleasure. “Oh, Myrna, these are wonderful!” She licked the cinnamon from her finger and winked. “And I bet you left out the calories, too, right?”

  Myrna laughed, and Carrie joined in. But both women kept their voices quiet. Carrie’s parents didn’t approve of her carrying on with the staff. She finished her muffin while Myrna began stacking dirty mixing bowls in the dishwasher.

  “Thanks so much,” Carrie said after finishing the last bite. “That was scrumptious.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Carrie,” Myrna said with a warm smile.

  Carrie started to leave the kitchen, but then an idea struck. She spun back to face the cook. “Myrna, if those muffins aren’t for anything special, could I possibly have some of them? Maybe a half dozen—or even just four—to take to work tomorrow?”

  Myrna shrugged. “Certainly. When they’re cool, I’ll put them in a container for you. They’ll be in the butler’s pantry.”

  Carrie dashed back and gave the sturdy cook a quick hug. “Thanks, Myrna! You’re a doll!”

  Myrna blushed with pleasure, but she didn’t say anything.

  Carrie headed for her bedroom, a smile on her lips. Her thank-you would be made in a way sure to please Rocky. And then she could set aside her guilt and forget all about him. But when she placed Loyal Traitor on her bedside table, the title suddenly mocked her. Would Rocky prove to be loyal or a traitor if she gave him a chance?

  She shook her head, irritated with herself. It seemed apparent her heart would prove to be traitorous when it came to forgetting Rocky.

  Three

  Rocky trooped across the still-dewy grass, a spade over one shoulder and a length of garden hose looped through his elbow. He hoped Eileen would be pleased with the area he’d cleared for her tulips and daffodils. His research indicated a sunny area was preferable, so he’d chosen a spot along the walking path behind the Towers, the one that led to the recreation areas.

  Instead of clearing a rectangle, he’d laid the hose in a shape that resembled the top of a grand piano, its straight base against the concrete walkway. He’d do some checking and see if he could locate another concrete bench in the storage barn. If he bought a flowering bush and some perennials, the garden would make a pleasant spot for residents to sit and relax from spring through fall. Maybe he could even rig up one of those solar lamps to provide light in the area at night and add a touch of elegance.

  Whistling, he rounded the corner toward the tool shed, and something caught his eye. His steps slowed. A little wicker basket with a napkin draped across it hung from a nail in the doorjamb. Where’d that come from? He swung the spade from his shoulder, leaned it against the shed wall and unhooked the basket. Pinching the napkin between his thumb and first finger—his hands were filthy—he lifted the edge of the blue-and-white checkered cloth and peeked inside.

  Muffins, shaped like over-sized toadstools, with some sort of crumbly stuff across their tops. He stuck his nose over the basket and sniffed, and the scent of cinnamon tickled his nostrils. Licking his lips in anticipation, he carried the basket into the shed and set it down on a shelf. He hung up the hose and put the spade away then smiled at the basket as he passed it on the way back outside to the hydrant where he washed his hands.

  He knew who left them. He’d seen Eileen troop off about an hour ago with her boys, obviously taking them to work. She must have seen him, too, and figured out he was clearing her garden spot. The muffins were her thank-you. Well, as soon as he was cleaned up, he’d head to her apartment and give her a big hug of thanks.

  He dried his hands on the seat of his pants, tucked the basket under his arm and headed to Tower Three. He hummed as he rode the elevator to the fifth floor. A knock on Eileen’s door brought an immediate response.

  “Rocky!” Eileen greeted him. Her cat, Roscoe, hung from her arm. She waved a hand, inviting him in. “Taking a break?”

  “I just came to say thanks.” He tipped the basket in her direction. “These look great.”

  Eileen lifted the edge of the napkin and peeked inside. Her ey
ebrows shot upward. “They do look great.” Roscoe tipped his nose toward them, too, so she put the cat down. “But why are you telling me thanks?”

  He frowned. “Didn’t you leave them for me?”

  She shrugged. “Can’t blame me. I bake cookies, not muffins.” She ran her pudgy finger along the edge of the woven basket. “Besides, I wouldn’t package something up that fancy. Baggies or recycled margarine tubs are my containers of choice.”

  “Oh.” He looked into the basket. “I just figured you’d seen me clearing your new garden spot and left me these as a reward.”

  Eileen put her hands on her hips. “Now wait a minute. That’s what the book was for, right?”

  Rocky grinned.

  “But where’d you put my new spot?”

  The eagerness in her voice increased Rocky’s eagerness to share it with her. He guided her to the kitchen where he could point out the window. Roscoe followed and rubbed against his leg.

  “See along the walking path? I cleared an area big enough to hold a bench as well as a nice flowering shrub—maybe a hydrangea or butterfly bush.” He gestured as he spoke, envisioning the finished garden. “I could plant some ground cover, something your tulips and daffodils can pop through, and then after they’ve bloomed and died out, we could put in some annuals so the garden will keep blooming all through the summer and into fall.”

  Eileen stared at him in amazement. “Rocky, that sounds wonderful! All I wanted was a few holes to drop bulbs in. I didn’t expect a whole landscaped garden.”

  Rocky shrugged. “Once I got started, the ideas kept growing. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay,” she said. She crossed her arms, leaned against the counter, and smirked at him. “You’ve got a knack, young man. You’re going to have this place looking so spiffy they’ll raise the rent.”