Chapter Three

Neal leaned against the pickup and stared at the sway of Candace’s hips as she ran up the steps and disappeared inside the house. Telling himself he had no business watching, and imagining, did little to prevent him from doing both.

How the hell did he expect to be able to protect Candace from any kind of threat, even one he perceived as exaggerated, much less keep his hands off her? Or keep her hands off him?

He didn’t need someone—especially a long-legged, brown-eyed, simmering package of volcanic sensuality—mucking up the life he’d made. He had a job he enjoyed and took pride in doing well. He had a home of his own and a few close friends. After an unsure upbringing that few in this town had forgotten, he deserved some peace and stability. If there were other needs and desires, well, there were ways to take care of them as well. In those cases, he’d never before expected, looked for, or promised anything more than temporary comfort or release.

Once again he considered all the reasons why he had no business being around Candace. She was a pampered granddaughter raised with the best money could buy. He didn’t even know who his father was while her pedigree was as old as the town. She held a prominent position in the family business. Her attendance at society functions was the result of family background rather than reluctant invitations such as the one he’d just been handed.

What would Candace think or do, if she had an inkling of all the dark and needy ways he’d imagined her beneath him?

Despite his own misgivings, Neal’s lips curved in a grin. She would probably demand to know what took him so long to admit them.

God help him, both of them, he was beginning to wonder the very same thing himself.

“I’m ready now.”

Slightly out of breath from her fast scamper down the steps, Candace gestured with the portable radio in her hand. She came to an abrupt standstill at the way Neal stared at her.

He said nothing, just continued to look at her. Candace felt her breath slow until it felt as thick as the humidity of a Georgia summer. This was her first glance, her first hint, of the attraction she had long dreamed Neal felt for her. It was even more thrilling than she’d imagined.

“How about you, Neal?” she asked, moving closer. “Are you ready?”

He closed his eyes. “Back off,” he demanded, his voice equally low and hushed. “Before you have more on your hands than you can handle.”

Without hesitation, she lifted a hand to spread over his chest. Beneath her palm she felt the cotton of his shirt, the strength of developed muscles. The rapid beat of his heart. Slowly he opened his eyes to stare at her.

“I seem to be handling everything fine so far.”

“This isn’t a game, Candace.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” But she withdrew her hand and took a step in retreat. “I’m just glad you realize it as well.”

“We’re wasting time.”

Rather than contradict his claim, Candace followed his lead and climbed into the truck. It smelled like him, a not altogether unpleasant odor of sweat and basic masculinity. As she clicked her seat belt into the buckle, she glanced at the clipboard on the console between them. Neal’s legible-only-to-him handwriting filled the margins of a printed sheet. A metal clip secured a long red cord attached to the coaches’ whistle.

“What’s this?”

“Mine,” Neal said, moving the clipboard from the console to the dashboard—on the left side of the steering wheel—before she could get a closer look.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Neal started the engine but stared out the windshield rather than put the truck into gear. “It’s just football stuff,” he finally said.

“You don’t have to explain,” she assured him, recognizing the painfully stiff way her voice sounded. It hurt, she admitted, to see how easy it was for him to block her out of his life.

“You wouldn’t understand it, Candace. It’s some new offensive plays I’m trying to come up with.”

She looked at him. “Have I ever missed any of the games you’ve coached?”

“What does that have to do—”

“Have I?” she insisted.

“Only while you were in Italy.”

Candace refused to look away, in either regret or shame. “You’re doing this—” She gestured to the clipboard with a tilt of her chin. “—because you want to take advantage of Corey Watson’s throwing arm, both because he’s a great quarterback and because you want to get him some attention from college recruiters.”

She could add he was also doing it because he knew how it felt to use football as the means to leave behind a childhood that could never be forgotten. But she didn’t think he was ready for her to voice that much perception.

“You also have the potential for a terrific running back in Cameron Dunn, so you’re working on formations that leave the other teams unsure whether you’ll call a pass play or run with the ball.”

Neal blinked in surprise, making him look nearly as stunned as he had when she announced she was courting him. Candace felt a flicker of satisfaction. One of these days, soon, he was going to realize she knew him, understood him. Loved him.

She leaned forward, grinned. “Want to play some poker?”

“No,” he answered, but his mouth twitched in resistance to curving in a grin. A sense of satisfaction swelled larger within her. “Definitely not.” Turning away from her, he put the car in gear.

“Chicken.”

He gave in and chuckled. “Smart. Dawson told me about the time you beat him in five card, and he had to do your laundry for a week.”

“He ruined my favorite blouse.”

They chatted comfortably the rest of the way to the nursery. She imagined some women might feel slighted that Neal chose to dwell only on their friendship. Because of the dismal failure of her marriage, Candace understood how essential trust was to a relationship. And trust built on friendship stood a better chance of surviving turmoil and disappointment.

She was looking forward to that trust and friendship going a step further into the intimacy of being lovers.

It might be well past the spring planting season, but the nursery parking lot still contained more filled than empty spaces. Because Candace had preordered the bags of topsoil, manure, and Cyprus mulch they would be using, it took little time to begin loading the bags into the bed of Neal’s truck. An assortment of bushes and flowering perennials followed.

Candace stood by while Neal and Corey Watson loaded everything. She enjoyed listening to them and watching the relaxed casualness between them that reached beyond the coach-player relationship. They included her in much of their talk and before long she asked Corey for his advice on some of her ideas for the renovation of the youth center.

“So, Corey,” Candace said to the young man as he lifted two last-minute additions of forty-pound bags of topsoil. “How long was it before you realized this job was a way to keep you in shape over the summer?”

The young boy, with a shock of red-gold hair that needed a good trim, grinned. Candace hadn’t needed to hear Corey’s muttered thanks to Neal about helping him get the job to understand Neal had spoken to the nursery manager.

She knew he often did what he could to see the boys on his football team were able to find a way to contribute to family financial needs without sacrificing practice and playing time. It was one more facet to admire and respect about the man she loved.

“Oh,” Corey answered. “I knew Coach had some supplemental weight lifting in mind as soon as he told me where the job was.”

“Well…” Candace nodded in the direction of an impressive set of biceps when Corey grabbed and lifted three containers of azaleas in each hand with what looked like considerable ease. “It certainly seems to be paying off.” Hearing youthful laughter, she glanced over her shoulder and saw three high school girls trying hard, and failing, not to get caught staring at Corey. “In more ways than one.”

She grinned when she turned back and saw the blush of embarrassment and not exertion blooming on Corey’s face.

“I think I’ll leave you two strong men to finish up this heavy work, while I go pick out the rose bushes.”

“Ms. Hart seems like a nice lady,” Corey commented as Candace walked away.

Neal watched the gentle sway of Candace’s hips, heard her soft laughter as she said something to the three girls who’d been in his Modern American History class last year.

“I didn’t know you two were dating.”

Neal resisted the urge to swear. In general he was open to answering questions, offering advice, or simply listening when any of his players needed to unload. This time, however, he would have preferred his star quarterback keep his thoughts and questions to himself.

“We’re doing this wedding gift thing for her brother and sister-in-law.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“That’s all there is to it, Corey. I am not dating Candace Hart.”

Corey set a container of variegated hosta on the truck bed and swiped his forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I don’t know why not, Coach. Unless you took one too many hits without a helmet when you were playing.”

“Finish up.” Ignoring the echo of agreement in his head, Neal climbed down from the truck. “And we’ll see who takes too many hits the next time I have the defense run a rush alignment at you.”

Neal found Candace in the area of the garden center reserved for rose bushes. Not a single bud showed open as she ran her hands over the stems. He winced at the possibility of a thorn becoming imbedded in the flesh of her thumb. She checked the paper tag identifying the variety, then tilted and shifted the container at several different views and angles before either approving or setting it aside in rejection. A collection of three waited on a low cart.

“I just need one more,” she explained even as she continued to study the rose bushes.

“This one looks healthy.”

She turned in his direction, reached for the paper tag. “Nope,” she said, dropping the tag and turning away. “I already have two Peace roses; I’m looking for one more Chrysler Imperial.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Peace is a yellow rose, Chrysler is red.”

“So?”

She looked at him; her gaze filled with more emotion than should be possible in one look for a question that dealt with flowers. Even with the bill of her cap shadowing her face, he saw there were secrets in her gaze, deep feminine secrets. He wanted to know them and teach her yet more. Though the words and the thought surprised him, should have disturbed him, he admitted it wasn’t simply a physical longing he struggled against. He wanted the luxury of touching her soul and discovering those emotions she now gave him a glimpse of. He wanted her to do the same with him.

And that admission was, perhaps, more dangerous than his physical desire for her.

Neal actually took a step toward her before he realized the inappropriateness of both his thoughts and the move.

“Yellow roses are traditionally meant to symbolize friendship. Red roses are for love,” Candace explained. “Tara told me that this second time she felt she and Ben had a better chance at making their marriage work because they had finally found a balance between love and friendship. So I want an equal number of yellow and red rose bushes.”

“I guess you had plenty of red roses at your wedding,” Neal commented.

Despite his long-standing association with the family, he’d managed to make an acceptable excuse and avoid the ceremony. Neal might not admit he wanted Candace for himself, but he damn sure hadn’t been prepared to sit and smile while she married another man.

“No, actually I didn’t,” she answered and then, in the way they so often seemed to know where the other was leading, she explained before he could ask.

“It’s common practice for the groom to pay for the bride’s bouquet. You’ll have to ask Anthony why he insisted there be no roses. Red or otherwise.”

“What else didn’t he give you?”

“It makes no difference, Neal. Not to me. Not anymore.”

She turned away, blithely going about selecting another plant.

“It matters to me.”

Slowly she straightened, turned to look at him. “Ironic, isn’t it?” she quietly asked. “You never want to discuss your past—especially when it concerns anything that might relate to your mother. But now you’re asking questions about mine. Why is that?” she demanded, taking a step closer, lifting a hand to stab a finger at his chest.

“Because you honestly want to better understand me?” She took another poke at him. “Or so you can use the information as another argument against us being together?”

Neal glanced around to see if they were being overheard. All he heard, however, was the low, irritated frustration in Candace’s throat. He turned back to face her.

“We are not going to be together.”

“Then there’s your answer, Neal.” Suddenly any and all signs of her temper vanished, and she looked unbearably sad. “Anthony didn’t, he couldn’t, give me the future I want.”

“Candace—”

She sidestepped his attempt to reach out to her. “This one.” She blindly pointed at a rose bush. Her voice hitched, but she managed to gulp down a fortifying breath. “If you don’t mind loading it onto the cart and taking them out to the truck, I’ll pay the bill and we can be on our way.”

Without waiting for his agreement, she turned away with the polished dignity he tried so hard to hold against her.

“I’m paying for half,” he called out as she made her way to the office. She raised her hand to indicate she heard him.

By time Candace returned to the truck, she had her emotions back under control. Perhaps she was only believing what she wanted, but she’d come to the conclusion that Neal’s questions about her marriage actually represented a step forward in their relationship.

Eventually she would have to reveal to Neal all that had gone wrong in her marriage and be forced to admit the fault she would always believe was hers. For now she was content that Neal cared enough to ask.

And it brought a smile to her lips when Corey gave her a thumbs-up of encouragement as she made her way to the truck.

“They’re sending you a bill for your half of the balance,” she informed Neal as he put the truck in gear and drove away.

They worked at a steady pace all morning, sometimes in silence, other times chatting easily. Though Candace made no concentrated effort to either encourage or avoid the attraction she felt for Neal, there was an undercurrent of seduction whenever their hands brushed or their hips bumped as they arranged plants and shrubs. At noon they spread a blanket beneath the shade of the oak tree where they’d hung a hammock and shared the picnic lunch she’d packed.

Afterward, they finished the final planting and spread mulch over the beds before cleaning up and packing away all the tools. As Neal carried the last of the tools to his truck, Candace unwound the water hose and soaked the plants.

“Here,” she said to him, directing the spray of water away from the bed of bright red impatiens when he returned. “Go ahead and wash off your hands and arms. There’s a couple of unused towels in the basket you can dry off with.”

Neal eyed her suspiciously enough to cause her to grin. “Trust me.” Now she ran her gaze up and down his body, not in suspicion but appreciation. “I’m not about to soak you when I know you’d have no trouble turning this hose back on me.”

He hesitated a little longer. “Chicken,” she challenged, which of course did the trick.

She watched his big hands rub together under the water and imagined what it would be like to be with him, to have him touching her, beneath the spray of a shower. Steam rising around them, as much from the heat of their desire as from the water temperature.

His body would be a delight to explore, all that defined muscle hers to trace and touch. Her body would be his for the taking, in whatever manner, at whatever speed, he wanted. Just as her heart waited to be claimed by him.

There could be laughter as well, the kind of happiness that came from the deep pleasure of sharing rather than the icy amusement of belittling.

The tiny spray of cold water Neal flicked from his fingertips toward her cheeks roused her from the daydream.

“Sorry,” he said, his grin contradicting his words. “You looked flushed, and I was worried you might be close to heatstroke.”

“Sure you were.”

“Hey!” He put a damp hand to his T-shirt. “Are you doubting my sincerity?”

“Of course not.” Candace took one long glance at the spray of water and then smiled at him. “As a matter of fact, I am feeling a little warm.”

Her gaze staying on his, she turned the end of the hose around, spraying herself in the chest. The shock of cold water caused her knees to waver a moment, then lock tight. Through the cotton material of her tank top, she felt her nipples tighten into hard buds while her stomach flashed fire. Then it was the dark look in his eyes, the lightning burst of desire that had heat rushing out to every nerve and pulse point in her body.

Neal swore, grabbed the hose, and flung it to the ground.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“You know very well what I’m thinking.”

“Candace.”

His voice had softened into a plea, one that was equal parts hunger and hesitation. She could all but feel the quivering tension in his muscled body as he held himself rigid. She knew if she stepped forward he would not be able to resist, and she would have her first taste of his desire.

But it would be a sour taste, for a kiss fueled by a heat based on resentful surrender rather than emotional or even physical need was too often flavored with bitterness. As she well knew.

“Go ahead and take the basket to the truck, Neal,” she said, bending down to pick up the hose. “The sun will dry me as I finish watering the plants.”

He didn’t move, he just continued looking at her, a hundred different torments shadowing his expression. Because she loved him, understood him, she was willing to be patient a little longer. After all, in the grand scheme of her life, what were a few more days or even weeks compared to the years she’d already waited?

“It’s okay, Neal. Go ahead.”

Rather than watch him walk away, or struggle with words she didn’t want to hear, Candace turned her back on him and gave her attention to soaking the green hosta plants. As she moved from one set of plants to another, she shut her mind to everything. Soon she felt more relaxed, pleased with the day’s accomplishments.

When she finally turned off the faucet and rolled up the hose, she discovered Neal stretched out in the hammock, his hands pillowed beneath his head, his eyes closed. He looked relaxed and so supremely male that tenderness swelled her heart and lodged a knot of longing in her throat.

He had been reluctant to come here today, in part she suspected—hoped—because he was afraid of the depth of his feelings for her. Still he’d come because the bond of friendship he shared with Ben and Tara expected nothing less.

And, because his mother had been too absorbed with her own material, selfish needs to accept the simple, priceless gift of her son’s love and adoration, he had a large store of love just waiting to be tapped and set free.

“Hey!”

“Scoot over a little, will you,” Candace instructed when he jerked as she stretched out beside him on the hammock. “I figure if this thing will hold the two of us together it’ll surely support Ben and Tara.”

Next to her, his body was stiff, but the hammock gave little choice but for them to stay pressed hip to hip. “Ben and Tara are going to love this,” she said, linking her hands together over her stomach rather than resting one on his thigh the way she wanted.

“This was a great idea, Candace,” Neal admitted, warming her with his praise.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Which has given me another idea,” she added, and then lightly elbowed him when he groaned. “Corey seemed interested in the renovation of the youth center.”

“He spends time there. Not everyone has a childhood that gives them a two-story playhouse in the backyard or piano lessons.”

“I had dance lessons; Dawson took piano lessons,” Candace corrected, ignoring his deliberate dig at what he considered to be her privileged upbringing. “The point is I bet some of the other kids have ideas or questions about the renovation.”

Neal shifted to an angle so he could see her face. Since it also brought the warmth of his leg in contact with hers, Candace held still.

“What are you getting at?”

“Why don’t we add a couple of kids to the committee? One of each gender is what I’m thinking. I figure you probably know a girl who would be interested, and I think Corey is an obvious choice. If the kids are the ones we’re doing this for, then they should have a say in what renovations are done. They could even do a couple of fundraisers. You know,” she added, growing more enthusiastic about the idea. “Be out in the community, let everyone see they care about and want the center. We could even save some money by using them for sweat labor and do some of the basic renovations like painting and landscaping. I’m thinking the kids would be more likely to take better care of something they worked on.”

“You’re serious.”

“It could work, Neal. I know a lot of people might doubt whether or not the kids would do a decent job or take care—”

“No, I mean you’re serious about seeing this project through to the end.”

She blinked, and then struggled to hold her temper—and disappointment—at bay. “Of course I’m serious. Why else did you think I got involved in the first place?”

He shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with her question. “It could work,” he agreed. “Sandra Logan would probably be good on the committee. She’s a little on the quiet side, but the kids seem to like her.” Neal grinned. “And Corey’s had a crush on her for months but has been too shy to ask her out.”

“Matchmaking,” Candace said with a laugh. “Oh, this is getting better and better.”

They talked a little longer about possibilities and ideas. It wasn’t until Candace paused to consider a thought that she realized she’d been doing most of the talking and Neal hadn’t said a word in some time. That’s when she shifted to discover he’d fallen asleep.

Perhaps her shifting was the reason why his arm slipped under her shoulders, only his arm tightened its hold, as if afraid she might move away. Blissfully content, Candace lay still and stared at him.

“Don’t worry, Neal,” she finally whispered. “I won’t leave you.”