Page 12 of Suzanna's Surrender
“Wasn’t he cute? I love it when they blush. Well.” She turned her smile on Suzanna. “You’re back early.”
“It didn’t take as long as I thought.” She didn’t feel it was necessary to add she’d had unexpected and unwanted help. Carolanne was a hard worker, a skilled salesperson and an inveterate gossip. “How are things here?”
“Moving along. All this sunshine must be inspiring people to beef up their gardens. Oh, Mrs. Russ was back. She liked the primroses so much, she made her husband build her another window box so she could buy more. Since she was in the mood, I sold her two hibiscus—and two of those terra-cotta pots to put them in.”
“I love you. Mrs. Russ loves you, and Mr. Russ is going to learn to hate you.” At Carolanne’s laugh, Suzanna looked out through the glass. “I’ll go and see if I can help those people decide which roses they want.”
“The new Mr. and Mrs. Halley. They both wait tables over at Captain Jack’s, and they just bought a cottage. He’s studying to be an engineer, and she’s going to start teaching at the elementary school in September.”
Shaking her head, Suzanna laughed. “Like I said, you’re amazing.”
“No, just nosy.” Carolanne grinned. “Besides, people buy more if you talk to them. And boy, do I love to talk.”
“If you didn’t, I’d have to close up shop.”
“You’d just work twice as hard, if that’s possible.” She waved a hand before Suzanna could protest. “Before you go, I asked around to see if anyone needed any part-time work.” Carolanne lifted her hands. “No luck yet.”
It wasn’t any use moaning, Suzanna thought. “This late in the season, everyone’s already working.”
“If Tommy the creep Parotti hadn’t jumped ship—”
“Honey, he had a chance to make a break and do something he’s always wanted to do. We can’t blame him for that.”
“You can’t,” Carolanne muttered. “Suzanna, you can’t keep doing all the site work yourself. It’s too hard.”
“We’re getting by,” she said absently, thinking of the help she’d had that day. “Listen, Carolanne, after we deal with these customers, I have another delivery to make. Can you handle things until closing?”
“Sure.” Carolanne let out a sigh. “I’m the one with a stool and a fan, you’re the one with the pick and the shovel.”
“Just keep pushing the carnations.”
An hour later, Suzanna pulled up at Holt’s cottage. It wasn’t just impulse, she told herself. And it wasn’t because she wanted to pressure him. Lecturing herself, she climbed out of the truck. It certainly wasn’t because she wanted his company. But she was a Calhoun, and Calhouns always paid their debts.
She walked up the steps to the porch, again thinking it was a charming place. A few touches—morning glories climbing up the railing, a bed of columbine and larkspur, with some snapdragons and lavender.
Day lilies along that slope, she thought as she knocked. A border of impatiens. Miniature roses under the windows. And there, where the ground was rocky and uneven, a little herb bed, set off with spring bulbs.
It could be a fairy-tale place—but the man who lived there didn’t believe in fairy tales.
She knocked again, noting that his car was there. As she had before, she walked around the side, but he wasn’t in the boat this time. With a shrug, she decided she would do what she’d come to do.
She’d already picked the spot, between the water and the house, where the shrub could be seen and enjoyed through what she’d determined was the kitchen window. It wasn’t much, but it would add some color to the empty backyard. She wheeled around what she needed, then began to dig.
Inside his work shed, Holt had the boat engine broken down. Rebuilding it would require concentration and time. Which was just what he needed. He didn’t want to think about the Calhouns or tragic love affairs or responsibilities.
He didn’t even glance up when Sadie rose from her nap on the cool cement and trotted outside. He and the dog had an understanding. She did as she chose, and he fed her.
When she barked, he kept on working. As a watchdog, Sadie was a bust. She barked at squirrels, at the wind in the grass and in her sleep. A year before there’d been an attempted burglary at his house in Portland. Holt had relieved the would-be thief of his stereo equipment while Sadie had napped peacefully on the living room rug.
But he did look up, he did stop working when he heard the low, feminine laughter. It skimmed along his skin, light and warm. When he pushed away from the workbench, his stomach was already in knots. When he stood in the doorway and looked at her, the knots yanked tight.
Why wouldn’t she leave him alone? he wondered, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d told her he’d think about it, hadn’t he? She had no business coming here again.
They didn’t even like each other. Whatever she did to him physically was his problem, and so far he’d managed quite nicely to keep his hands off her.
Now here she was, standing in his yard, talking to his dog. And digging a hole.
His brows drew together as he stepped out of the shed. “What the hell are you doing?”
