After stowing away her garage sale finds, Rachel started on some much needed house cleaning. She was washing windows when she heard a lawn mower fire up next door. It was a sound no one had heard over there for a long time, and she peered out the family room window for a closer view. Sure enough, someone was mowing the lawn. Whoa. That was some someone.
She squirted more glass cleaner and quickly rubbed the window for a clearer view.
Holy Danielle Steel, but he was gorgeous. She took in the slim hips encased in Levis, the T-shirt stretched across broad pecs, and the arm muscles rippling under caramel colored skin and swallowed hard. This man could be a cover model. Why was he wasting time mowing lawns? Was there room in the budget for her to hire him to come mow hers?
Of course not. Darn.
The sun was out and the weather was balmy, making it a perfect day for weeding flower beds. Maybe she would just go out and pull a few weeds. Except she didn't have a thing to wear.
The man next door was now doing the side yard, giving her a clear view of raven black hair and straight black eyebrows, gorgeous brown eyes. And that strong, square jaw that practically screamed, “Touch me.” Would he like a drink of water? Was he hungry? Was he married? She craned her neck, trying to zoom in on his ring finger.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
Rachel gave a start and the bottle of window cleaner dropped from her weak hand. “Claire.” She picked up the bottle.
Her daughter looked at her like she had slipped a cog. Maybe she had. Ever since her library visit her brain had been operating under the influence of romance novels. From now on she was sticking to her finance books. “Did you need something?” she asked. She needed something, and she wasn't going to find it in any finance tome.
“Can you take Bethany and me to a movie?”
Rachel turned her back on the view out the window. “Is your room clean?”
Claire nodded emphatically. “Yes.”
“And you have money left from your allowance?”
Emphatic turned into hopeful. “Could I have five dollars?”
“Sweetie, I can't keep bailing you out every time you blow through your allowance. That's why it's called an allowance. You know, so much allowed for spending every week?”
Claire frowned. “You don't give me enough.”
Her daughter could find Rachel's guilt button blindfolded. She gave up. “All right.” Still, nickled and dimed and dollared to death— this was no way to save money. “I tell you what,” Rachel added. “I'll give you five dollars today, but that's the end of the line for the gravy train. Starting next week, we'll sit down together and work out a budget for your allowance. And when the fun money is gone, it's gone. No more bailouts. I am not the government. Got it?”
Claire nodded. “Got it.”
“Good.”
Of course, she probably didn't get it at all, Rachel thought as they walked to the car. How could she? She was only twelve. And at twelve why should she have to face the stark realities of life? Those came along soon enough.
Out of the corner of her eye Rachel was aware of Señor Gorgeous mowing the lawn. He was probably married. Or gay. Because that was one of those stark realities of life every woman over twenty-five had to face. Good men didn't grow on trees. And they sure didn't show up next door, mowing the lawn.
Still, that didn't mean she couldn't be neighborly. When she got home she'd offer him a glass of water. She surreptitiously checked out his truck, looking for the name of the lawn guy. The truck was an older model, white and beat up. She didn't see a lot of equipment or yard refuse in the truck bed, but maybe this was his first job of the day.
Picking up Bethany took some time since her mom wanted to chitchat. And then there were the usual arrangements to be made regarding the rest of the girls’ day. “I can pick them up, and Claire's more than welcome to stay for dinner,” Bethany's mother offered.
David was already off at a friend's house and wouldn't be back until after dinner. Rachel would have the whole day to … weed. She should have had the whole weekend, but Aaron had canceled his time with the children, claiming something had come up. Translation: Misty had gotten new lingerie. Something had come up all right.
“Mom?”
Rachel pulled herself back into the moment. “What?”
“Can I?” Claire asked eagerly.
Rachel pretended to consider. “I think we can make that. Thanks, Alice. Well, we'd better hurry,” she added, moving the girls up the front walk. “We don't want you to miss the movie.”
Halfway to the theater Claire said nervously, “Uh, Mom, you're going kind of fast.”
Rachel looked down at the speedometer and was surprised to see she was ten miles over the limit. She took her foot off the gas pedal. “Good catch. Thanks.” Speeding. She never sped.
She dropped the girls at the theater with all the usual admonitions. “Wait right in front of the theater for Bethany's mom, and don't talk to strangers.”
“We know, Mom,” said Claire in long-suffering tones, and shut the minivan door. “Don't speed.”
“Of course not,” Rachel said, highly incensed, and then sped off.
But by the time she got home the white truck was gone and so was Señor Gorgeous.
Fine. She didn't want to weed anyway.
With the temptation removed from her field of vision, her common sense returned. What were you thinking? she scolded herself. You need a man like a diabetic needs a Twinkie.
She sighed as the realization hit her. Just because a woman developed a problem with sugar, it didn't mean she lost her taste for sweet things. It sure looked like Rachel hadn't.
You are pathetic, she told herself. Maybe she needed a little aversion therapy. She took a moment to revisit the pain Aaron had inflicted on her in the past year and a half.
What gardener?