Meeting Mr. Right. Deb Kastner
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
“Did 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