Suzanna's Surrender

When the little voice broke, Holt let out a deep breath and crouched down. “It's tough having to do things you don't want to. I guess you'll have to look after Jenny while you're gone.”

Alex shrugged and sniffled. “I guess. She's scared to go. But she's only five.”

“She'll be okay with you. Tell you what, I'll look after your mom while you're gone.”

“Okay.” Feeling better, Alex wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Can I see on your leg where they shot you?”

“Sure.” Holt pointed to a scar about six inches above his kneecap on his left leg.

“Wow.” Since Holt didn't seem to mind, Alex ran a fingertip over it. “I guess since you were a policeman and all, you'll take good care of Mom.”

“Sure I will.”

Suzanna wasn't sure what she felt when she saw Holt and her son, dark heads bent close. But she knew something warm stirred when Holt lifted a hand and brushed it through Alex's hair.

“Well, what's all this?”

Both males looked over then back at each other to exchange a quick and private look before Holt rose. “Man talk,” he said, and gave Alex's hand a squeeze.

“Yeah.” Alex pushed out his chest. “Man talk.”

“I see. Well, I hate to interrupt, but if you want pizza, you'd better go wash your hands.”

“Can he come?” Alex asked.

“His name,” Suzanna said, “is Mr. Bradford.”

“His name is Holt.” Holt sent Alex a wink and got a grin in return. “Can he?”

“We'll see.”

“She says that a lot,” Alex confided, then raced' off to find his sister.

“I suppose I do.” Suzanna sighed then turned back to Holt. “What can I do for you?”

She was wearing her hair loose, with a little blue cap over it that made her look about sixteen. Holt suddenly felt as foolish and awkward as a boy asking for his first date.

“Do you still need part – time help?”

“Yes, without any luck.” She began to pinch off begonias. “All the high school and college kids are set for the summer.”

“I can give you about four hours a day.” “What?”

“Maybe five,” he continued as she stared at him. “I've got a couple of repair jobs, but I call my own hours.”

“You want to work for me?”

“As long as I only have to haul and plant the things. I ain't selling flowers.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I mean it. I won't sell them.”

“No, I mean about working for me at all. You've already started up your own business, and I can't afford to pay more than minimum wage.”

His eyes went very dark, very fast “I don't want your money.” Suzanna blew the hair out of her eyes. “Now, I am confused.”

“Look, I figured we could trade off. I'll do some of the heavy work for you, and you can fix up my yard some.”

Her smite bloomed slowly. “You'd like me to fix up your yard?”

Women always made things complicated, he thought and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don't want you to go crazy or anything. A couple more bushes maybe. Now do you want to make a deal or don't you?”

Her smile turned to a laugh. “One of the Andersons' neighbors admired our team effort. I'm scheduled to start tomorrow.” She held out a hand. “Be here at six.”

He winced. “A.m.?”

“Exactly. Now, how about lunch?”

He put his hand in hers. “Fine. You're buying.”

Good God, the woman worked like an elephant. She worked like two elephants, Holt corrected as the sweat poured down his back. He had a pick or shovel in his hand so often, he might as well be on a chain gang.

It should've been cooler up here on the cliffs. But the lawn they were landscaping – attacking, he thought as he brought the pick down again was nothing but rock.

In the three days he'd worked with her, he'd given up trying to stop her from doing any of the heavy work. She only ignored him and did as she pleased. When he went home in the midarternoon, every muscle twinging, he wondered how in holy hell she kept it up.

He couldn't put in more than four or five hours and juggle his own jobs. But he knew she worked eight to ten every day. It wasn't difficult to see that she was throwing herself into her work to keep from thinking about the fact that the kids were leaving the next day.

He brought the pick down again, hit rock. The shock sang up his arms. At the low, steady swearing, Suzanna glanced up from her own work. “Why don't you take a break. I can finish that.” “Did you bring the dynamite?”

The smile touched her lips for only a moment “No, really. Go get a drink out of the cooler. We're nearly ready to plant.”

“Fine.” He hated to admit that the whole business was wearing him out. There were blisters on top of his blisters, his muscles felt as though he'd gone ten rounds with the champ – and lost. Wiping his face and neck dry, he walked over to the cooler they'd set in the shade of a beech tree. As he pulled out a ginger ale, he heard the pick ring against the rocky soil. It was no use telling her she was crazy, he thought as he guzzled down the cold liquid. But he couldn't help it.

“You're a lunatic, Suzanna. This is the kind of work they give to people with numbers across their chest.”

“What we have here,” she said in a thick Southern drawl, “is a failure to communicate.”