Hearts In Bloom

“Well, I guess I have called you that a time or two….” She held up a hand in defense as his eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “But you have to admit, it’s an obvious comparison under the circumstances.”

“And what exactly are the circumstances?” He arched a dark eyebrow in challenge.

Realizing no good could come from continuing the conversation, she opened the door and prepared to leave. Drew moved toward her and she blocked any advancement with the end of her cane aimed squarely at his broad chest. The image of a lion tamer using a chair to hold off the king of beasts came to her mind.

“Okay,” he conceded. “You’re not the first person to typecast me in that role. But do me a favor and get to know me a little better before you label me. Fair enough?”

She slowly lowered the cane back to its usual place, beside her right leg.

“Fair enough.”

Jessica caught sight of her dog, watching from atop a leather recliner. “Come on, Frasier, let’s go home.”

His head cocked to the left when he heard his name, but he stayed in his comfortable position. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor beside her heel. Frasier dropped his chin and closed his eyes. She heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Before you go, I need to ask—where do you plan to store all those bags of fertilizer you have stacked beside your car?”

“I hadn’t really given it much thought. Why? Are they in your way?”

“Let’s just say I’d enjoy the view a great deal more if they weren’t cluttering up the parking lot.”

“Then let’s also say you wouldn’t be enjoying the view at all if I didn’t have easy access to the bags when I need them.” She stepped outside the door into the hallway.

He tried a smaller request.

“I expect you’ll at least sweep the walk and the hallway clean after you finish for the day.”

Jessica took her weight off the walking stick and straightened to her full height. Standing taller than most women could, and probably closer than most men dared, she fixed him with an icy stare. “What branch of the service did you say you were in again?”

“The United States Army, Special Forces.” He stared right back.

“What was your title?”

“Is. My rank is Captain.”

“Well, Captain Keegan of the United States Army, Special Forces, I am not one of your new hires, or recruits, or privates, or whatever you call them, so don’t presume to talk to me like one. I am the woman who lives next door. Your neighbor. I’ll do my best to clean up any mess I make. You do your best to hold the noise down and we’ll get along fine.”

She looked from the bemused hazel eyes over to the ones that peeked through a veil of white hair. Snapping her fingers and pointing beside her foot, she said in a calm but firm voice, “Frasier. Heel!”

With no hesitation, the dog jumped to the floor.

Drew watched as the pup followed the bare feet beneath the colorful robe back to their own door, where it closed firmly behind them both.

“I’d say you handled that pretty well.” Hank leaned against the bookcase, shaking his head.

“What’d I say wrong?” Drew asked, completely confused.

“Didn’t your mama teach you that you catch flies with honey, not vinegar?”

“I suppose you would have handled it differently?”

“Son, you need some coaching. For such a smart kid, you are completely lacking any female emotion sensors.” Hank made himself at home on the sofa, crossing one worn-out boot over the other, then continued.

“Well, the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. You can make friends with that woman, help her see things your way, or you can knock heads with her and not accomplish a blasted thing. You’ve been here twenty-four hours and she’s mad at you already. If you don’t make some effort to change that soon, it’s only gonna get worse.”

While Drew considered his friend’s comment, he absentmindedly straightened a pillow askew from the dog’s visit. One of his primary reasons for being in Atlanta was a woman. He was going to have his hands full when he started that project. The last thing he needed was a difficult female next door.

“Okay, what do you suggest?”

“Think of this as a military situation. You need to turn an enemy into an ally. What’s your strategy?”

Finally on familiar ground, Drew took heart. He perched on the edge of an ottoman considered oversize for most. For him, it was a perfect fit.

“First I evaluate the opponent’s position. What are his strengths and weaknesses? What does he stand to gain or lose from an alliance? How can we mutually benefit from me helping him reach his own goals?”

“That’s a beginning,” Hank drawled. “Now start thinking in terms of her instead of him and start calling her your neighbor instead of your opponent.”

“Got it.” Drew made a mental check mark.

“So, what do you see as her strengths?”

Hank leaned back, threading long fingers behind his head.

“She’s a beautiful woman with a strong right cross.” Drew massaged the shoulder where she’d punched him. “She’s obviously blessed with a green thumb, seems to be very honest and she’s certainly not afraid to speak her mind.”

“You admire all those qualities, don’t you?” Hank asked.

Drew had to think about that for a moment. He did admire them. Maybe that helped explain his strange behavior yesterday. He still struggled with the impulsively blown kiss.

“Yes, I do,” he admitted.

“Now we’re making progress. So what do you see as her weaknesses?”

This one would be even easier.

“She’s a train wreck! You should see the inside of her home. It’s a mess, too. I don’t know how anybody can accomplish so much with poor organizational skills.”

“This is starting to sound like a radio psychology show,” Hank admitted. “But since you recognize her accomplishments, how do you suppose you could help her improve in the organization area?”

“I could go over there and offer her some pointers on how to get her house and her business in order.” Drew thought it was a sensible idea.

“Yeah, you could do that. And I think she’d probably appreciate it like a roach in her potato salad.”

“Too straightforward, huh?”

Both men nodded agreement.

Resting his elbows on the extra-wide leather chair, Drew leaned back to gaze at the vaulted ceiling. He’d always been the hardheaded, show-me type. Maybe Jessica was, too.