showed signs of having been properly folded right out of the dryer.
Their eyes met again. His kind smile threw her off balance. Literally. Her shoulder began to slide backward, down the wall. Her weight had been on her recovering leg and she didn’t dare kick out with her other foot to counter the backward movement of her torso.
Instinctively both arms cast out, hands grasping at the air in front of her. With eyes squeezed shut, she waited for the pain sure to accompany a fall. Instead she felt an iron grip on her wrists, and then her face crushed against a rock-solid surface. Warm muscular arms enfolded her.
Drew had moved so quickly she hadn’t heard a sound, just felt the security of being rescued. She held her breath, aware of a faint thumping, a light drumming. As she prepared to push away from the heartbeat and circle of protection, the security door creaked behind them.
“Well, I’m glad to know you’re already getting a little Southern hospitality.”
Jessica looked in the direction of the newcomer and then into the eyes of the man who held her in an awkward embrace.
She flushed with embarrassment.
Drew released her, but kept a secure grip on one arm as she leaned for her cane.
“Jessica, this is my business partner, Hank Delgado. Hank, this is my new neighbor, Jessica Holliday.”
She offered the tall, silver-haired man what was surely a weak smile and ran a shaky hand through her hopeless mane.
“Hi, pleased to meet you.” They shook hands over Frasier’s excited effort to sniff up another stranger. “Your partner here just saved me from hitting the floor like a deflated volleyball.” She nodded with gratitude at Drew as she spoke, silently vowing never to leave her front door again without makeup and clean clothes.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll see if my coffee is ready.”
“Coffee sounds great. I take mine black.” The older man spoke up.
“Well, sure.” She turned to Drew. “And you?” she asked reluctantly.
What could she possibly do but be gracious after he’d literally caught her in his arms? Becky Jo would hoot over this.
“Nothing for either of us.” Drew eyed his partner pointedly, acknowledging they hadn’t been offered any coffee. “But thanks.”
“Oh, go ahead and get us both a cup. I’ll just haul another load of your stuff out of the truck. Take your time, son.”
“I don’t mind.” She relented.
“If you’re sure.”
She smiled weakly and nodded.
“Thanks, Hank. I’ll be right out. The front door’s unlocked. Just sit boxes anywhere on the floor and I’ll put them where they belong later.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessica.” Hank turned toward the exit, exposing a long, thin, rat-tail braid that fell about eight inches below his collar.
“You, too, Mr. Delgado.”
“It’s Hank,” he called over his shoulder as he passed through the security door. “Mr. Delgado was my daddy.”
Jessica pulled a key from her pocket. The lock turned easily. Frasier rushed ahead and up the stairs in search of some doggie treasure. The inviting aroma beckoned from behind the ficus grove. Leaning heavily upon the cane, she navigated the usual articles strewn about the floor. She turned behind the potted trees and climbed the steps to the kitchen landing.
Drew hesitated in the doorway hoping for a true invitation.
“Hello?” Her voice carried from the kitchen.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Well, why don’t you come on up and help yourself? It’s kind of hard for me to carry three cups these days.”
That was the only request he was likely to get. He picked his way carefully through the maze of colorful throw pillows that had been tossed or dragged off the furniture. His fingers twitched to return the cushions to their rightful places.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Just sugar, please.”
He rounded the greenery to get his first look at the kitchen, where a garden of potted ferns dangled from the ceiling. Her ceramic mug sat on the counter next to a stack of paper cups, the steaming brew waiting. Piles of magazines teetered on the ledge, pages dog-eared, notes jotted on a nearby legal pad.
Drew couldn’t help but appraise the woman before him. If it were possible, she was even more rumpled than she had been at their first meeting. But something about her was so appealing.
Clear fair skin was creased with faint lines around her wide-set eyes. There could be a crayon named for the unique shade of green, but he wasn’t sure. He did, however, know lots of words to describe her mass of blond hair. He fought the desire to reach out and touch the soft tangles that danced around her shoulders.
Excited barking echoed from the loft upstairs.
“Would you excuse me for a minute? I need to see what that animal is up to.” She edged past him.
“Sure.” He hesitated for a moment and then added, “I must be intruding. I’ll just fill our cups and be on my way.”
“That’s okay. My time is pretty much my own these days, so my work can wait. There’s the sugar. Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared around the trees and he heard her steady climb up the stairs. Trained to note even the smallest detail, he let his eyes sweep the rest of the kitchen and dining area. There was clutter everywhere. Not trash, because everything seemed clean and useful. Just clutter. The kind he’d been taught to avoid or correct.
Gardening supplies filled every available space. The built-in wall unit, intended as a china hutch, instead displayed every conceivable hand tool for digging and planting. Judging from the seedling plants crowded onto the pine table and countertops, the local produce market was under serious threat. He sipped cautiously and studied the tags identifying the new crop as cucumbers and squash.
Jessica made her way back down the stairs. She’d changed into a faded T-shirt and pulled her thick sandy-blond hair into a neat ponytail. He smiled appreciation.
“If you like yellow squash, you’ve come to the right place.”
He glanced around the room slowly, his gaze finally coming to rest on her incredible mossy eyes.
“It looks that way. Actually, I’m wondering how you find the space to cook and serve with all the gardening paraphernalia you’ve got in here.”
“I don’t do much of either,” she confessed. “We mostly order in or go out for meals, or I just microwave something. For years I lived on poached fish and steamed vegetables. It’s about the only thing I learned to cook, since it only required minimal effort.”
“From what I’ve seen of your work so far, you don’t seem like the kind of person who avoids effort.”
“Oh, it’s not that.” She shook her head. “I’ve worked hard all my life to make things happen for myself.”
He nodded understanding, remembering too well his own misguided concept of being the one in control.
“It’s just that I never had the time to cook,” she admitted. “When you’re young and don’t have plans for a family right away, you don’t worry about learning things like that. When I finished college I went straight to work. Until a few months ago, there was never any time. So I didn’t bother to learn.”
She hooked the handle of her cane over the high-backed kitchen chair and continued, “My mama’s a great cook. Maybe one day I’ll practice some of the things I used to watch her do in the kitchen.”
Drew