That Wilder Boy Read online

  He laughed. “Not likely.”

  “I’m serious, Rocky. You should consider hiring yourself out as a landscaper.”

  Rocky felt his chest puff with pleasure at her praise. Still, he countered, “You have to go to school if anybody’s gonna take you seriously as a landscaper. I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged. There were a number of reasons, funding being a major part of it. But he said, “Too dumb, I guess.”

  “Nonsense. You should think about it. And pray about it. God gives gifts, and He expects us to use ’em.” Then she pulled her mouth sideways and added, “ ’Course, we didn’t solve the mystery of the muffins, did we?”

  Rocky looked into the basket again. “No, I guess we didn’t.”

  “Well, I think I can solve it.” Eileen crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a jug of milk. She poured two glasses as she continued. “This morning, when I took the boys to work, we passed the manager’s office and waved at that cute little substitute. She was eating a muffin that looked an awful lot like those in the basket.”

  Rocky felt his ears go hot. “She—she was?”

  “Yep.” Eileen plunked the two glasses of milk on the kitchen bar and gestured for Rocky to sit. “So my guess is those muffins are a thank-you—but not from me. They’re a thank-you from the girl you gave Loyal Traitor to yesterday.”

  Rocky sat down and took a sip of cold milk. Carrie, huh? He felt a smile growing, but he tugged it down with his finger. Can’t read too much into it, he told himself. Just a you-scratched-my back, I’ll-scratch-yours sort of thing. Still, imagining her sneaking over to the tool shed and leaving that little basket made his chest feel tight.

  “So can I have one?”

  Eileen’s voice brought Rocky back to the present. “Huh? Oh. . .sure.” He flipped the napkin off the basket. “Go ahead.” They each took a muffin and munched in companionable silence while Roscoe moved back and forth between their feet, his gold eyes turned upward in hopefulness.

  When Eileen had wiped her hands clean on a paper towel, she turned to Rocky and asked brightly, “So what’s your next move?”

  Rocky jerked his gaze in her direction. “What?”

  She shook her head. “Your next move. It’s your turn, you know. You gave her a book; she gave you muffins. Now it’s back to you.”

  “Oh.” Rocky rubbed the back of his neck. “I–I guess maybe I should at least say thanks, huh?”

  Eileen nodded. “Yep. You should.”

  Then something occurred to him. “But what if it wasn’t Carrie? I thought it was you, and I was wrong. What if you’re wrong? What if whoever gave me the muffins also gave some to Carrie? That could be why you saw her eating one.”

  Eileen scratched her chin. “I suppose that’s a possibility. . . .”

  The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Carrie had just taken off yesterday without so much as a good-bye. Was it likely she’d bake him muffins after ignoring him? But then again maybe the muffins were an I’m-sorry message. Maybe she felt bad about not acknowledging the book. Maybe this was her way of apologizing. . . .

  “What’re you thinking?” Eileen cut into his thoughts again.

  He offered a sheepish grin. “I was just trying to figure out why Carrie might’ve left them. Assuming she’s the one who did.”

  “Seems obvious to me,” Eileen said as she got up and swept the crumbs from the counter into her palm. She headed for the kitchen wastebasket with Roscoe on her heels. “It’s a thank-you gesture, pure and simple. ’Course”—she fixed him with a firm look—“there’s only one sure-fire way to find out.”

  He sucked in his breath.

  “You just gotta go ask.”

  ❧

  Carrie rustled through the file of applications, searching for a blank document. She heard the office door open and felt a brief rush of warm air that activated the apple scent from the air freshener. Without turning around she said, “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

  “No hurry.”

  The deep, masculine voice fired her heart into her throat as if from a slingshot. She spun around, slamming the drawer shut with her elbow. The crack! made her jump, and she felt a blush climbing her cheeks. She twisted her hands together behind her back to keep from covering her face.

  “G–good morning.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high, unnaturally bright. The heat in her face increased. Just knock it off, Carrie!

  “Good morning.” A lazy smile—the same one that had set her heart to beating like the bass drum in a marching band yesterday—tipped up his lips. His brown eyes sparkled warmly. He wore another T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and on the right side a string dangled, calling attention to his clearly defined bicep.

  She forced her gaze downward to his hand and encountered the wicker basket she’d left outside the tool shed, its napkin crumpled in the bottom. So he’d found the muffins. She swallowed hard and raised her gaze to meet his.

  “I–I wondered. . .” Rocky lifted the basket and waved it up and down. “Someone left me a little surprise this morning. Was it you?”

  For a split second Carrie considered denying it just to avoid having to explain why she’d done it. But she couldn’t make herself lie. She also couldn’t find her voice. What was it about this man that made her tongue-tied? She’d never suffered such an intense reaction to anyone. Silently she offered a quick nod. Scurrying across the floor to the desk, she began shifting things, creating stacks, knowing she was only going to have to unstack everything again later.

  His smile widened, bringing out crinkly lines around his eyes. The effect was devastating. Her hands stilled as she found an answering smile building on her face.

  “Thank you,” he said. “They were really good. I shared them with my friend, Eileen. She said they were good, too.”

  Eileen? Carrie’s heart skipped a beat. So he had a girlfriend. Well, that settled that. Then she mentally kicked herself. What on earth was she thinking? “Oh? Well, good.” She finally found her voice. It snapped out tartly. “I’m glad you and Eileen enjoyed them.”

  He seemed to falter for a moment, his smile fading. Then he reached out—she held her breath as his hand neared—and placed the basket on the edge of the desk.

  “You’ll want your basket back. Thanks again, Carrie.” He turned to leave.

  He’d pushed the door open, had his foot raised to step out when she called, “Wait!”

  He turned back slowly, allowing the door to shut. “Yeah?”

  “I–I need to say”—she pulled at the collar of her blouse with one finger—“that is, I thank you for the book. And the flowers yesterday.” Curiosity got the best of her, and she blurted out, “Where did you find a replacement for Loyal Traitor? ”

  Rocky’s grin returned. “Eileen. She has a whole slew of those romance books, so she was willing to part with one. I’m glad I could replace it.”

  Eileen again. Carrie turned back to the desk. “Yes, well, tell her thank you for me, will you? It was kind of her to give it up.”

  Rocky nodded slowly. The smile slipped away again at her sharp tone. “I’ll do that. See you around, Carrie.” He left.

  Carrie sank into the chair and covered her face with her hands. She’d been rude. Again. An attack of jealousy had done it. And she had no reason to be jealous—none whatsoever. With a sigh she shook her head, unstacked all the papers she had slung together and tried to put them in order. But she couldn’t concentrate.

  Releasing a huff of aggravation, she pushed herself from the desk and stomped toward the door. Her conscience pricked sorely, and she wouldn’t be able to work until she’d set things straight. She’d have to find Rocky and apologize. Where would he be in the middle of the morning? Then she heard something fire up—a weed eater, maybe? She followed the sound and located Rocky slicing down the growth next to the foundation of Tower Four.

  She waited on the sidewalk until he paused, shutting off the machine to l
ean over and pick up something. As he bent forward, his T-shirt slid up in the back, and a small book in the rear pocket of his jeans caught her attention. A little testament with a green cover, like the ones the Gideons used to hand out in elementary schools.

  Rocky read the Bible? He carried it to work with him? Her heart began to thrum as happiness filled her chest. That must mean he was a Christian.

  He turned then and found her watching. He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it in sweat-stiffened spikes. “Hey. Did you need something?” He seemed wary. She couldn’t blame him, after the way she’d just acted in the office.

  She took two steps forward, nodding. “Yes. To apologize. I’m sorry I got snappy.” She didn’t offer an explanation.

  He didn’t ask for one. Just raised one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s okay. Apology accepted.” His gaze shot past her shoulder, and he raised his hand to wave.

  Carrie looked behind her to see an older lady—mid-sixties probably—on the sidewalk across the courtyard. She recognized her as the resident caretaker for a group of men with handicaps.

  The lady held up a plastic grocery sack and hollered, “Martin forgot his lunch! I’m taking it to him. Want to meet at noon at my place for some tuna casserole? Pay you back for that muffin.”

  “Sure!” Rocky called. “See you then!”

  Carrie spun back to face Rocky. So that was who he’d shared the muffins with. Then that meant— She fought the urge to giggle as she realized how misplaced her jealousy had been. Eileen was obviously not Rocky’s girlfriend. Rocky’s attractiveness, the gift of the book and flowers, and the little testament in his back pocket all combined to create a picture Carrie wanted to explore more thoroughly.

  “Rocky,” she heard herself say, “what are you doing after work?”

  He shielded his eyes with his broad hand. “Nothing. Why?”

  Surprised by her own audacity, Carrie asked, “I thought maybe we could take a walk around the grounds. Get. . . acquainted.”

  He seemed to study her for a few silent minutes, and she held her breath, certain he would refuse. But finally he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds good. Want me to come by the office around four?”

  “How about I come looking for you when I’m finished?” She thought of the mess she’d made of the stacks of paperwork on the desk. “I have some catching up to do in the office.”

  “Okay then.”

  Her heart tripped happily at the prospect.

  He stepped forward, swinging his hand toward her. “Here you go. It’s just a weed, but I hated to whack it off when it’s so pretty.”

  Between his fingers he held a fragile green stem with a cup-shaped white flower on its end. Carrie thought her heart might melt. She took the tiny blossom, pressed it to her bodice and gave Rocky the biggest smile she knew how to give. Then she dashed down the sidewalk.

  Four

  Rocky lifted the handle on the hydrant behind the tool shed. The pipe jerked for a few seconds; then water spurted out in a solid flow. He pushed his forearms under the rush and used his hands to scrub away the bits of grass, dust, and sweat all the way from his wrists to his shoulders. The water was ice cold. It made him shiver, but it felt good. Cupping his hands, he trapped water and splashed it over his face once, twice, then again. Finally he ran his wet hands over his hair, smoothing the wild strands into place.

  He slammed down the hydrant’s handle, stopping the flow, and glanced at his clothes. Too bad he couldn’t pop his whole self under that water and really get clean. His jeans showed signs of his labors—dirt smudges, grass stains, and even a blotch of oil from refilling the mower’s oil pan. Nothing he could do about that, though. Maybe he should start carting a clean pair of jeans and a shirt to work every day, just in case. . . .

  Aw, what was he thinking now? He stomped away from the hydrant and entered the shed to lean against the workbench. It was stuffy in the shed, but he stayed put anyway, out of sight. He felt a strange tremble in his belly that had nothing to do with the shock of cold water after being in the sun all day. The tremble was nervous excitement.

  Carrie.

  Just her name was enough to make his gut clench. He couldn’t quite figure out what made her so special. He’d been around pretty girls before. Been around girls who dressed nice and smelled good, too. But somehow when Carrie dressed nice, it looked natural, not made up. And instead of perfumey, she smelled—he crunched his forehead, trying to identify the scent—like apples. That was it. She always smelled like apples—a clean, fresh scent that suited her clean, fresh appearance.

  He chipped at some loose paint on the workbench with his thumbnail as he considered the next hour or so in her company. He pictured them side by side—him in his grubby work clothes, smelling of earth and sweat, her in her green blouse and flowered skirt, smelling of fresh fruit. What a pair they made. Why would she want to spend time with him? He couldn’t imagine.

  But one thing he knew—he’d enjoy every minute of it. It was doubtful Carrie would ever ask to go for a walk with him again. When would they have the chance? So he’d enjoy today. He sure wished his stomach would settle down though. To calm himself he slipped his New Testament from his back pocket and hunted for words of encouragement.

  He felt inept as he flipped random pages, scanning text that was still pretty unfamiliar. But then in the fifteenth chapter of John he latched onto verse sixteen. He read the words aloud. “ ‘Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you.’ ”

  Rocky chuckled. “Well, God, that sounds pretty good, considering how Carrie smells like apples and I spent some time transplanting a crab apple tree by the swimming pool this afternoon. And I like the idea of asking for something in Your name and actually getting it. So, if You don’t mind, could You give me a calm stomach? Get rid of the nervousness. I’d like to enjoy my time with Carrie, not be afraid of it.”

  Funny. The prayer did make his stomach feel better. He smiled toward the ceiling. “Thanks a lot, God.” As he slipped the Bible back into his pocket, he heard a scuffle. His gaze landed on the doorway, and he found Carrie waiting, a timid smile on her face. He pushed off from the workbench. Had she heard him praying?

  He shot past her into the sunshine, a cold sweat breaking out across his shoulders and back. “Hey, Carrie. Ready for that walk?”

  She stepped aside as he closed the shed doors and slipped a padlock into place. “Yes. But you’ll have to choose where we go. I’m not all that familiar with the grounds. It’s been awhile since I was out here on a regular basis.”

  Rocky heard the quaver in her voice. She must be nervous, too. He found that comforting. Offering a smile, he said, “We’ve got a nice walking path that leads to the pool, along the golf course and back. It’s about a two-mile hike. Are you up to that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  They walked in silence for several minutes, taking slow, relaxed steps. Carrie had some sort of high-heeled sandals with a strap across her toes but no other way to hold the shoe on her foot, and Rocky worried she might fall out of the things. He noticed she moved gracefully, though, despite the dangerous-looking footwear. He swallowed and turned his gaze across the grounds. Pride filled him as he took in the neatly manicured lawns, trimmed shrubs, and garden plots. All the fruits of his labor.

  The verse from John—the part about being ordained to bring forth fruit—mingled with Eileen’s words, “You’ve got a knack,” and he found himself admitting a real interest in doing this kind of work on his own. Could it be God had that in mind for him, too?

  “Things look so nice and neat.” Carrie’s soft voice intruded into Rocky’s thoughts.

  “Thanks.” He glanced at her, giving her an appreciative smile. “I work pretty hard at it.”

  “I can tell.” She paused beside the spot of ground he’d dug that morn
ing for Eileen’s tulips. “I mean, just the shape of this area. It mimics the curve of the sidewalk yet is different enough that it’s eye-catching, something an artist would do. Did you get the idea from a gardening book?”

  Rocky shoved his hands into his pockets. “No. I just laid out a garden hose and played with it until I found a shape I liked.”

  She looked at him, her blue eyes wide. “A garden hose? What an ingenious idea.”

  Ingenious. She’d said he was ingenious. Rocky thought his chest might explode. He shrugged and forced a calm tone. “Whatever works.”

  They started walking again, following the concrete path. The sun felt hot on Rocky’s head, and he noticed little beads of sweat on Carrie’s nose, but she didn’t complain. He didn’t either. Usually by this time he was plunked in his recliner in front of the little window air conditioning unit in his trailer. But walking in the sunshine with Carrie was even better than sitting under that cold blast of air.

  “So. . .all of these garden areas. . . .” She tucked her hair behind her ear and peeked up at him. “Did you design all of them?”

  Rocky shook his head. “No, not quite. Eileen and her boys—that’s what she calls John, Tim, and Martin, the three men in her quad—started planting flowers last spring. Eileen likes color, and the grounds had bushes but not many flowers. She was spending her own money, buying flowers; then she and her boys would plant them.”

  He scratched his head, chuckling. That Eileen was something else. “I told her I’d help, so I started looking for places where the residents might enjoy seeing some flowering plants and also tried to think of the overall appearance of the grounds, giving it a balance of grassy and flowered areas.”

  “Well, you’ve done a commendable job. I would imagine the owners are pleased.”

  “I hope so. They haven’t fussed about it anyway.”

  They passed the swimming pool where two women in one-piece suits and bathing caps stood in waist deep water and visited. Carrie waved when the women waved; then she turned back to Rocky. “How long have you worked here?”