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Meeting Mr. Right
Deb Kastner


When Mr. Wrong Is Mr. RightA woman in a man’s world, firefighter Vee Bishop has to be tough as nails. She’s developed a hard shell that no one can penetrate. But Vee’s online friend BJ sees her softer side. BJ seems so kind and caring—just the opposite of Ben Atwood. Her annoying coworker has trampled expectations all over town, or so rumor has it.Turns out, once she agrees to give Ben a fair shot, he’s surprisingly vulnerable. As Vee prepares to make a difficult choice, an unexpected twist shows that love is always one step ahead. Email Order Brides: Online connections lead to forever love.







When Mr. Wrong Is Mr. Right

A woman in a man’s world, firefighter Vee Bishop has to be tough as nails. She’s developed a hard shell that no one can penetrate. But Vee’s online friend BJ sees her softer side. BJ seems so kind and caring—just the opposite of Ben Atwood. Her annoying coworker has trampled expectations all over town, or so rumor has it. Turns out, once she agrees to give Ben a fair shot, he’s surprisingly vulnerable. As Vee prepares to make a difficult choice, an unexpected twist shows that love is always one step ahead.


Ben might look like a tough guy on the outside, but he had a sensitive side.

He was sweet. And perceptive. Almost like BJ.

Vee almost choked on her sip of coffee. Ben couldn’t possibly be half the man BJ was, nor would he ever be. She jammed that frequency of thinking before it could be broadcast any farther.

Of course she was thankful for Ben’s help. He’d been there to rescue her earlier, with his big old tow truck and amiable half grin. And now he was being nice to her father, which was a big plus in her book.

But the feelings she was experiencing—those couldn’t be more than mismatched forms of gratitude, could they? She didn’t even like Ben.

He might be acting nice today, but not all that long ago he’d broken her best friend’s heart.

BJ wasn’t like that. That was good enough for her.

Or was it?


DEB KASTNER

lives and writes in colorful Colorado with the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains for inspiration. She loves writing for Love Inspired Books, where she can write about her two favorite things—faith and love. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and broody heroes. Her plots fall anywhere in between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional. Deb’s books have been twice nominated for the RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Book of the Year for Love Inspired. Deb and her husband share their home with their two youngest daughters. Deb is thrilled about the newest member of the family—her first granddaughter, Isabella. What fun to be a granny! Deb loves to hear from her readers. You can contact her by email at Debwrtr@aol.com, or on her MySpace or Facebook pages.


Meeting Mr. Right

Deb Kastner






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.

—Matthew 5:14–16


To my grandchildren, Izzie and Anthony.

My heart “beeps” for you both.


Contents

Chapter One (#u33b673cb-5066-5ee0-a9ba-010d4d661f5a)

Chapter Two (#u0ad61bca-5e90-5a50-bda6-2238588ade8f)

Chapter Three (#u5fd7ff5e-e7ac-5fde-b38e-3751632e2836)

Chapter Four (#u9192c595-c29b-5392-8bc9-fc0122627c2a)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Dear Veronica Jayne,



I can’t believe we have less than two months until our online Spanish class is finished. Have you given any more thought to picking a mission organization? We need to get our applications in soon. I’ve been seeking the Lord’s will on it, but I’ll admit I’m dragging my heels a little bit until I know for sure where you are planning to go.

Speaking of our Spanish class, we need to start thinking about how to wrap up our team project. Your idea for our PowerPoint presentation rocks. The Benefits of Knowing Spanish on the Mission Field. It’s perfect because we’re both going into stateside missions and there are so many Spanish-speaking folks here in America. We’ll get an A for our work on the project, and it certainly won’t hurt us to know all about the missions that need our skills when we’re working on our applications.

By the way, what I’ve seen of the script you’ve written is awesome. Keep it up! I’m still gathering and integrating charts and graphics to go along with the explanations you’ve presented.

I’ve got to say, this collaboration is surprising in more ways than one. I’m so happy that the professor placed us together as a team. We work well together. I trust you—especially because the team project is nearly half of our grade. Not only that, but I’ve made a new friend, which trumps any school grade, even an A+.

I’m glad that friend is you, Veronica.

Sorry—I’m starting to sound lame. It’s late, and I’d better wrap this up. I have an early day tomorrow.



All the best,

BJ



At least I can look forward to working on that project with BJ, Veronica Jayne Bishop, known as “Vee” to everyone in Serendipity, Texas, thought to herself. Because the other man I have to work with today is driving me nuts.

“I cooked dinner last night.” Vee crossed her arms, leaned her hip against the counter and glared at the paramedic Ben Atwood, who lounged casually on a folding chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and his fingers were laced through the thick ruffle of dark brown hair he wore long enough to curl around his collar.

Their gazes locked. Ben’s eyes were arguably his best feature. Displaying both amusement and intelligence, they were a compelling mixture of green and bronze and contained what looked like a purely and disarmingly friendly luminescence that most women would easily get lost in.

But Vee wasn’t most women. And she wasn’t buying that oh-so-charming demeanor for a moment.

She scoffed inwardly. She knew just exactly what was behind that sparkling gaze, and it didn’t bode well for any woman with a lick of sense in her—just ask her dearest friend Olivia Tate, who knew firsthand how unreliable Ben’s handsome smile could be. It still rankled Vee every time she thought about it.

“I’m just sayin’—” Ben started to explain, but Vee didn’t allow him to finish.

“What? That because I’m a woman, by definition I should do all the cooking at the firehouse? Benjamin Atwood, you know perfectly well that each of us is responsible for one evening a week in front of the hot stove, men and women alike. The fact that I’m the only woman who works for this fire department makes your attitude all that much more reprehensible. You’re welcome to step into the twenty-first century anytime now.”

There was a flash of irritation in his eyes, but it vanished as she watched.

“Okay, first of all, only my mama calls me Benjamin,” he drawled, his gaze sparkling as a smile crept up one side of his lips. “And second, that wasn’t what I was about to say at all.”

He lifted his hands level with his shoulders to show he was harmless. “If you would have let me finish, I would have been able to make my point.”

She narrowed her gaze on him suspiciously. “And that would be?”

He chuckled. “Only that I’m the world’s worst cook, while the lasagna you made last night was mouth-wateringly delicious.” He tilted his head and a shrug rippled across his broad shoulders. “It was supposed to be a compliment.”

She arched a brow. His expression was absolutely earnest and without the least bit of guile, so why didn’t she believe him?

Let me count the ways, she thought to herself.

Because the man was a chronic liar. And a cheat. He used his charm to get what he wanted. She couldn’t trust him or his winsome smile any further than she could throw him, and because he was a good two-hundred pounds and she a mere one-twenty, that wouldn’t be very far.

“No, really,” he insisted. “I know it’s my turn. Look,” he said, swinging off his chair with sleek, catlike grace and reaching for a paper grocery bag on the counter. “See? I came prepared.”

Vee peeked skeptically over the rim of the bag. “Cans of chili? What kind of dish are you preparing with that?”

His grin widened. “Chili.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Why did I even ask?”

“Slow cooker chili,” he amended, his brow dancing. “My own secret recipe.”

“What makes it a secret?” She had to ask. She really didn’t want to make small talk with the man, but she had to admit she was curious.

The bronze in his eyes danced with the green. “If I told you, it wouldn’t really be a secret, now would it?”

“Seriously? Do you want me to leave the room while you prepare your secret recipe?”

“I’ll let you in on it,” he acknowledged in a pseudo whisper, “if you promise you won’t breathe a word of it to any of the guys.”

Vee nodded grudgingly. She didn’t like the idea of sharing anything with him—not even a secret—but she couldn’t resist a mystery. She watched carefully, curious to see what Ben would add to canned chili to make it his special recipe, something her fellow firefighters might find especially unique and tasty.

Vee wondered if Ben’s recipe was something his mother had taught him, and then her heart gave a sudden, jagged tug, twisting painfully as she was once again reminded of her own mother’s recent passing, just six months ago.

Would it ever get any easier? She would be fine one minute—or at least she’d convince herself she was all right—and then the next she’d be struck by a sharp-toothed edge of grief that made her nearly double over.

“Need help?” she offered, her voice raspy as she fought to control her emotions. She refused to let what she was feeling show on her face. Busy hands and an engaged mind helped her not to dwell on the unpleasant emotions sparring inside her.

“Nope,” he replied, turning to plug each of the slow cookers into separate outlets.

Vee stared at his back, letting out her breath when she realized he didn’t have a clue that she’d just fought an emotional battle and had barely come out unscathed. This was one time she was thankful for the man’s insensitivity.

“As you so enthusiastically reminded me,” he continued, tossing a glance over his shoulder, “it’s not your day to cook. I’ve got it covered.”

He was right, of course. She had just declared that it wasn’t her turn to cook. In fact, she’d made a big stink about that very issue. But willingly offering her assistance wasn’t the same thing as being expected to do all the work. Besides, it made her antsy to sit around doing nothing.

“At least let me open the cans for you,” she insisted, reaching into the paper bag and grasping a can.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She opened several sizeable cans of chili and handed them off to Ben, who scooped the contents into three large olive-green slow cookers that looked like they were throwbacks from the seventies—which they probably were, come to think of it. The men at the firehouse often used the slow cookers to heat their food, allowing them to throw together simple meals that made large portions—the two main requirements in any firehouse kitchen. The boys had hearty appetites, especially after they’d been working out with extra PT—physical training—as they were doing today.

Ben and Vee had been left to cover the firehouse. In case of an emergency, they would be first on call. It was part of their duties as volunteers for the tri-county emergency team. They were each paid a small stipend, but nearly everyone, with the exception of Chief Jenkins, had second jobs to support themselves, Vee included. She worked in the gardening department at Emerson’s Hardware. She knew Ben worked at his uncle’s auto garage as a mechanic, using the paramedic training he’d learned in the National Guard as a volunteer for the county.

Ben stirred the contents briefly, took a whiff, groaned in anticipation and covered each pot with a glass lid.

Vee raised a brow. “I thought you said you have a special recipe.”

“I said I have a secret recipe. That’s not exactly the same thing.”

Vee shook her head. Now she was really confused. “Okay, then...what’s the secret? I didn’t see you add anything to the beans.”

“Exactly.” Ben crossed his arms over the broad muscles of his chest, a movement that highlighted his large biceps—which was probably exactly what he’d intended.

Vee remembered him as being rather scrawny and easily overlooked in high school, but he certainly made up for that now. Women flocked to the man like pigeons to a piece of fresh bread. He had the build of a magnificent sculpture, every plane and muscle clearly defined, flaunting the many hours he’d spent in the gym—but sadly enough, he knew it. It was no wonder he drew attention to his physical assets—especially since he so clearly lacked anything emotional or romantic to offer.

“Come again?” she asked, pulling her gaze away from his upper arms.

“I didn’t add anything. So you see, that’s my secret.”

Vee didn’t want to react. She definitely didn’t want to encourage him in any way. But how could she not laugh at the utter ridiculousness of the situation? “So let me get this straight. Everyone else adds herbs and spices to the chili to doctor it up, and you, by contrast, just serve it right out of the can.”

His grin widened to epic proportions. He certainly looked pleased with himself. “Brilliant, huh? I’m not too keen on onions and tomatoes, anyway,” he informed her, making a face like a five-year-old boy being served brussels sprouts. “Give me good, plain beef steak any day of the week.”

“Or chili?”

“Or chili,” he agreed with a clipped nod. “I told you I’m a horrible cook. I don’t even trust myself to add things to the food that comes out of a can. I wouldn’t want to subject anyone else to what qualifies as my attempt to make homemade food from fresh ingredients. No doubt what I’d cook up would be nothing short of a blooming disaster—food so spicy you’d burn your tongue to a crisp and your eyes would water until you couldn’t see out of them, or on the flip side, food so bland it’d put you to sleep.

“If it doesn’t come out of a can or a bottle, I’m helpless. If I lived in a bigger town I’d order takeout every night. As it is, Cup o’ Jo Café and the deli at Sam’s Grocery get a lot of my business. I actually enjoy my shifts at the firehouse because I get to eat decently, something a little bit closer to home-cooked.”

Vee crinkled her nose. Granted she hadn’t been working here very long, but she wouldn’t classify any of the food she ate at the firehouse as decent. Acceptable at best, and barely palatable at worst. Cans of plain chili might be a promotion from what she was usually subjected to.

“And I visit my mama every Sunday afternoon,” he added, more as an exclamation than an afterthought. “She enjoys cooking for her son, and naturally I’m keen to eat whatever she makes for me.”

“Spoiled,” she quipped, but she nodded in approval just the same. He might be a player with the women he dated, but she knew he took good care of his parents, which Vee had to admit was a small mark in his favor.

Not enough to erase the black smudges, but perhaps a small offset.

“A little,” he admitted. “But mostly I’m just being a dutiful son.”

“I’m sure your parents appreciate that, especially your mother.” Her voice cracked a little on the last word, and she scolded herself for being so transparent in front of him. But she couldn’t help remembering how blessed she had felt to have had the chance to spend time with her own family, before her mother’s recent passing. Now her dad kept to himself, and neither she nor her two brothers could help him get beyond his grief.

Ben regarded her with a thoughtful frown. “I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be difficult for you, losing your mother.”

“What? No. I mean, thank you. At least I know she’s with the Lord.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Your mom’s faith was a real inspiration. But it still must be hard on you, having her pass so suddenly.”

She didn’t know whether she was more surprised by Ben’s openness or the fact that there was a genuine note of compassion in his voice. She knew he was a churchgoing man, but then, so was almost every man in Serendipity. Attending church didn’t necessarily mean he was a man of faith.

“It was difficult to lose her,” she admitted, wondering how they’d gotten on such a serious topic—how he’d turned the conversation and gotten her to talk about herself. She didn’t know why she continued, but she did. “It’s still difficult. To be honest with you, I don’t quite know how to respond when someone says they feel sorry for me.”

She shrugged away the statement, wishing it could be simple to shirk off the turmoil of emotion teetering near the edge of her consciousness. She didn’t like feeling as if she were on the verge of an emotional breakdown all the time. She preferred to keep her feelings locked tightly away.

“It’s a good thing that you’re close to your family. There’s nothing wrong with that. And despite my loss, I’m still blessed to have my father and brothers, although we don’t get together as often as I’d like now that we’re all grown up and living away from home.”

“Right. There’s a change in family dynamics when we reach adulthood. How does Cole like the Navy?”

“Are you kidding? He was born for service,” she said, cheering up a little at the change of topic. Cole was the middle of the three Bishop children, the one who was always causing mischief of one sort or another—often involving his naive little sister and leading her into trouble. Now those days seemed pleasantly nostalgic.

“Cole was always one of the tough guys, and serving the country in the military suits him. Same with Eli. He was playing cops and robbers from the time he could walk,” she commented of her oldest brother. “I guess it’s lucky for us he ended up on the cop side of the equation.”

Ben chuckled at her weak attempt at humor. “And you, the firefighter.”

“Me, the firefighter,” she agreed. “But I never played with matches. No correlation there.”

“Never?” he asked, a curious gleam in his eye. “Come on. You can admit it. I won’t tell.”

She gnawed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, wondering how much she should divulge. Was he baiting her, or was this a sincere attempt on his part to be civil? She decided to take a chance on him. A very small chance. “I might have lit a twig on fire...once or twice, when I was little.”

One side of his mouth crept upward in an appealing half smile, the one that sent the single female population of Serendipity all aflutter. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff. If the fellows here at the firehouse ever learned that you—”

“But you said—”

Jerk.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he assured her. “I’m just teasing. I won’t say anything. Besides, if that’s the worst of your record, I can assure you that you’re lagging far behind me.”

“Is that right? How so?”

He returned to his folding chair and leaned his elbows against the long table. His gaze met and locked with hers. “We all have some skeletons in our closets, don’t you think? I’m every bit as human as the next guy.”

“Really?” Was he sorry for the mistakes he’d made, the way he’d hurt people like Olivia? As far as she knew, he’d never apologized. And even if he had, he’d done some truly callous things in his past, things Vee was slow to forgive.

“I’m just saying my secrets are probably, shall we say, more interesting than yours?”

If he thought of his secrets as “skeletons in the closet” then they were probably nothing she would want to know. Her own best, most closely held secret was light and bright and made her grin every time she thought of it. In this case, she highly doubted that any one of his secrets could rival hers. She smothered her grin behind her fist.

Lighting a few pine twigs on fire with a magnifying glass in the sunshine didn’t even begin to cover the mysteries she was hiding in her heart. Her mind immediately flashed to the wonderful internet relationship she was building with BJ. She’d met him through a college-level online Spanish class. They’d been paired up together for a project and had been emailing each other daily for the several weeks since. She’d started anticipating his emails, and reading them had become the best part of her day.

That she’d never seen him in person was just a trivial detail. They weren’t officially dating or anything—it wasn’t probable that she could form a truly romantic relationship in cyberspace—but they’d often spoken of working at the same mission, more and more as the days went by—and who knew what would happen then?

BJ definitely qualified as a secret. She hadn’t told a single soul in Serendipity about him, not even her best friend, Olivia. It might be pride, or even embarrassment at the fact that the closest thing she had to a real relationship was a cyber Prince Charming, but right now, this minute, BJ was hers and hers alone. Her heart warmed just thinking about him.

She realized Ben was staring at her speculatively and a blush rose to her face. It was disconcerting to realize his gaze could affect her, even if what she was feeling was discomfiture.

“You look like you’re deep in thought,” he teased. “Anything else you want to ’fess up to?”

Like she’d tell him.

She tossed her chin and scoffed dramatically. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You’d better believe it,” he agreed, his grin deepening to reveal his dimples. His eyes sparkled.

She took a deep breath, mentally coaching herself to relax her shoulders. The warmth spreading from her chest to her face had nothing to do with Ben, she assured herself, but it still disquieted her.

Ben was a flesh-and-blood man sitting directly opposite her. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to—and that was the problem. Even if Ben hadn’t been someone she disliked on principle, teasing and flirting just weren’t her style. She knew that had to be the reason why she’d gotten through so many years without a serious relationship.

But online was a completely different story. BJ was safe because he wasn’t entirely real, so she didn’t have to be nervous when they chatted. She could share her enthusiasms and talk freely with him, sometimes even flirt a little. As a result, she felt closer to him than to most of the people in town she’d known all her life. People like Ben Atwood.

She may not have met BJ in person, but she knew he was kind and thoughtful with a heart driven toward helping others. She didn’t have to see him face-to-face to know all of that.

She also could see exactly the kind of man Ben was. He was right before her eyes.

A heartbreaker.


Chapter Two

Dear BJ,



I’m still working on the script for our project. I haven’t had time this week to do much more than try to keep up on the reading assignments, much less work on the draft. It’s that time of year again. My schedule is filled to the brim with flowers, flowers, flowers.

I love planting seeds in the springtime. Winter has borne down upon the land, harsh and unforgiving, but seeds hold the fresh promise of spring inside them. It’s humbling to hold such future magnificence in the palm of my hand. And then to clip the blooms and arrange them into beautiful bouquets—could there be anything lovelier?

On another topic, what are your thoughts about the Sacred Heart Mission to America? I’ve been researching them and I’ve learned that they’re usually right in the middle of the action, building shelters and offering both physical and spiritual aid for folks affected by hurricanes, tornadoes or floods.

I don’t know about you, but that’s what I’m looking for—to be where people need me. I can’t imagine anything better than to minister to others during their hardest struggles, and I know you share the dream. I’m sure your skills in the medical field will be highly valued.

I’m anxious to hear your thoughts—school wise, mission wise, and anything else you care to add.



Faithfully waiting,

Veronica Jayne



Ben snapped his laptop closed and grinned. He could always count on an email from Veronica Jayne to have him smiling from ear to ear. Beautiful Veronica Jayne, his refined, gracious flower girl, his very own My Fair Lady. Even her name was feminine and graceful. He didn’t have to see a picture of her to know she was exquisite. Her elegance shined through every word she wrote. In a word, she simply charmed him.

He’d finished his morning workout early in his rush to get home and see if Veronica Jayne had replied to his email, so he decided to use his extra time to walk over to his folks’ house to see how they were faring. He’d missed the previous weekend’s Sunday dinner because of an emergency call. Though his parents were in perfect health, they were getting up in years and Ben still worried, despite their protests. He wanted to make sure everything was going well—and maybe catch a bite to eat, if he timed it just right.

As he strode the short distance to his parents’ residence, he mused about last night, when he’d been kicking back with Vee Bishop at the firehouse. He was surprised at how much she’d had to say to him—usually she went out of her way to keep her distance. But last night, she’d opened up—just a little. Her cryptic response to his question about what secrets she wasn’t revealing intrigued him, even knowing it was none of his business whatsoever.

Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t told him so herself.

When he’d started mindlessly carrying on about the theme of secrets, he’d half expected her to blow him off completely. That or blow up at him. He was fairly certain she didn’t particularly like him, although exactly why that was he couldn’t say. She’d been short with him on more than one occasion in the past.

But in this instance, she hadn’t blown him off, nor had she become angry. Instead, she’d gracefully sidestepped the whole subject, which intrigued him far more than if she’d become annoyed. What she did or did not care to share with him was none of his business. They might have lived in the same town all their lives, but in truth they didn’t even know each other particularly well.

While he was fairly certain he’d rattled her with his tactless digging, for once he seemed to have avoided making her angry. He wished he knew how he’d dodged the bullet this time—usually it seemed like everything he did upset or offended her, even if she rarely vented her feelings out loud.

He increased his pace as a shiver ran through him. He’d be the first to admit he had trouble speaking to women. They were a complete enigma to him in every way, and he put his boot in his mouth more often than not. His appalling trail of failures with the list of women he’d dated proved that point in a major way.

The only consolation was that his very cluelessness usually convinced his ex-girlfriends that he hadn’t meant any harm. In most cases, he’d been able to charm his way back into being friends. But any attempt to charm Vee only seemed to make her angrier.

Vee was a tough nut to crack. She intimidated him with the way she pulled her hair back into a stark bun that defined her cheekbones into sharp lines, not to mention the incessant way she was always scowling at him with a permanent frown etched into her features whenever he was around. That he’d gotten her to laugh once or twice during their exchange the night before was definitely the exception to the rule. Maybe he was making some progress.

“Progress” just made him think of the other projects in his life—like his plans for mission work, for example, and the online Spanish class he was taking to prepare.

But most of all, he thought about the plans to meet and hopefully date his beautiful Veronica Jayne.

No one in Serendipity knew of the developing relationship with his internet classmate. Not his paramedic partner Zach Bowden. Not his friends. Not even his parents. He supposed that deep down he just wasn’t ready to share her yet.

What a sweet secret to have.

Ben grinned to himself as he reached the one and only intersection off of Main Street, glanced both ways and crossed over to the other side. Serendipity, with its population of less than a thousand, didn’t even merit a stoplight and just barely bothered with three-way stop signs. There was seldom traffic to watch out for, and today was no exception.

In fact, it was an unremarkably quiet day in Serendipity, with most folks going about their business as usual. Even the three retired men in their matching bib overalls who usually congregated in front of Emerson’s Hardware in their wooden rocking chairs were nowhere to be seen.

With nothing interesting to view on the horizon, Ben’s mind shifted to Veronica Jayne and the unlikely development of their cyber relationship. It had started innocently enough, emailing each other back and forth about their combined class project. After a while the conversation had drifted to chattering about weekly assignments, and before he knew it, they were talking personal issues—sometimes very personal issues, especially when they’d discovered they had the same plans for stateside mission work.

He’d been praying for his future wife for some time now, and if he was being honest with himself, the thought that Veronica Jayne might be that woman had crossed his mind more than once, even if they’d agreed they wouldn’t pursue anything romantic until—and if—they met in person.

Frankly, it was easier keeping Veronica Jayne at a distance, on the other end of cyberspace, where he wasn’t as apt to screw things up. He didn’t exactly have a stellar track record where women were concerned.

He’d been a skinny, awkward teenager who was often embarrassed and humiliated by school bullies, a boy who hid in his uncle’s auto garage to avoid having to deal with his callous peers, never mind girls his age, who would either ridicule or ignore him. Girls simply weren’t interested in boys like him. His mother had told him not to worry, that his day would come, but he hadn’t believed her.

Then, in a desperate attempt to get away from everything and everyone he knew, he’d enlisted in the Army National Guard Reserves. He’d bulked up and put on a uniform, and that had changed everything. He’d returned to Serendipity to find the women—those same girls who’d thumbed their noses at him in his youth—all grown up and fawning over him.

He was the first to admit he hadn’t handled it very well. What could he say? He was a guy, and the attention of pretty ladies went straight to his head. Being as inexperienced as he was in the world of women, he knew he’d made quite a few mistakes along the way.

How was he supposed to know that after two or three dates, a girl would assume that they were dating exclusively and that he wasn’t seeing anyone else? He hadn’t even been looking for a serious relationship—not then, anyway—despite the impression he’d apparently given. He’d quickly learned that women had certain ideas in their heads, and they weren’t very forgiving when he didn’t catch their unspoken implications.

Which he rarely did. He didn’t know how to guess how a woman thought. He hadn’t known then, and he certainly didn’t know now.

No, he’d had enough of all that, thank you very much. Perhaps that was why the idea of finding someone outside Serendipity sounded so appealing to him. Someone who didn’t know what he’d been like as a kid. Someone unaware of his recent screw-ups in the love department.

If he left Serendipity, he could reinvent himself into anything he wanted to be. A tough guy or a dashing charmer. Sensitive or daring. It was a heady notion. But there was more to it than that. He truly felt called to make a difference on a scale he could never achieve in his small hometown. He wanted to get involved in difficult and often perilous stateside mission work, perfect for an adrenaline junkie like him who wanted to be part of an organization that ministered to people, body and soul.

At times he even dared to imagine the possibility of having a classy, incredible woman working at his side—a strong, independent, caring, Christian woman ready and able to both handle the worst and pray for the best.

It wasn’t completely beyond the realm of possibility that this woman was Veronica Jayne. In their emails, her dreams and future plans and goals matched his, and their personalities melded perfectly, each playing off the other’s strengths.

But that was online.

Reality? Well, that was probably nothing more than empty space. Would he even know her if he passed by her on the street? Would they connect on that kind of level?

He was almost certainly grasping at straws. If anything ever did happen between them, and that was a big if, Veronica Jayne eventually would learn everything about him—including his past, which he was still ashamed to think about. Then there was the fact that he had perpetual grease under his nails from working as a mechanic. And the fact that he lived in a miniscule Texas town—he had the impression, though she’d never stated outright, that she lived in a big city.

If he took her home, his mother would no doubt bring out his baby pictures and his yearbook, which would only serve to further humiliate him. One look and Veronica Jayne would discover what a gawky, pimple-covered youth he’d been. Too tall for his skinny physique and all elbows and knees.

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Anyway, he was getting way ahead of himself. They’d never met in person. Who knew if they’d even like each other when that time came, much less in any kind of romantic capacity? He must be getting soft in the head.

The moment he rounded the corner onto his parents’ cul-de-sac, he noticed the black truck parked in his parents’ driveway. The back end was loaded with red bricks and multi-colored rocks of various shapes and sizes and bags upon bags of soil and fertilizer. It wasn’t an old truck, but it wasn’t a new one either. It had some wear—definitely a sensible working vehicle. And though it looked vaguely familiar, he couldn’t immediately put a name to the owner. He was fairly certain he hadn’t serviced it at the auto shop recently, yet he could picture the vehicle in his mind, sans contents. So where did he know it from?

One way to find out.

He heard someone singing before he even reached the front porch. More telling, it was a female singing, or humming rather, and it definitely wasn’t his good, old-fashioned country mother, unless she’d developed a sudden propensity for something that sounded suspiciously like classical music to Ben’s untrained ears.

Instead of approaching the front door, his curiosity led him around the side of the house to see whose pretty, richly husky alto laced the air with Beethoven, or Bach or whatever it was.

When he got his first glance of her, he nearly stumbled with surprise.

Vee Bishop.

What was she doing here? She hadn’t mentioned visiting his parents when they’d been talking the prior evening.

She had her back to him, her slender figure accentuated as she stood on tiptoe on the top rung of a stepladder, precariously reaching for a flowerpot that dangled just out of her reach on a hook next to the patio door. She thought she was alone, as evidenced by the fact that she was humming aloud to the tune of the small mp3 player she had clipped to her belt.

“Beethoven?” he called. With his mind busy creating and discarding reasons why Vee might be in his parents’ backyard, he realized only after he’d spoken that she couldn’t have seen him approach and that the sound of his voice might startle her. She’d managed to unhook the basket with the tips of her fingers, but she didn’t have the basket firmly in her grasp and she overreached her mark at the sound of his voice. Wavering in a futile attempt to balance herself, she put one hand out to grasp for the wall, but nothing was there to stop her from falling backward. She squeaked in dismay, and her arms flailed wildly as she attempted to right herself against the ladder.

Ben acted instinctively, darting forward to sweep Vee into his arms before she hit the pavement. He barely felt the weight of her frame as he protectively flexed his biceps to curl her into the safety of his embrace, but he was intensely aware of the moment she wrapped her arm around his neck. The hook of the hanging basket she’d managed to hold on to dug deeply into his shoulder. The sensation didn’t register as pain, maybe because his adrenaline was so high. Her free palm rested against his chest, directly over his rapidly beating heart. He wondered if she could feel the pounding staccato rhythm of his pulse.

Crazy woman. What had she been thinking? It was a good thing for her that he’d arrived when he did. He hoped she realized that he had barely averted a disaster.

She could have had broken bones. Been knocked unconscious. Suffered a concussion. He could easily tick a dozen frightening scenarios off on his fingers.

He didn’t immediately release her, giving them both time to get their bearings. For a moment she just stared up at him, her cheeks flushed a pretty crimson. Her dark eyes first flared with surprise and then simply sparkled with what Ben suspected was mirth, though he couldn’t imagine what she considered to be funny in this situation.

“Mozart,” she informed him, wriggling out of his grasp as if she only now realized that he was still holding her up. She stood to her full height, but even so, the top of her head didn’t reach Ben’s shoulder. “And you should be ashamed of yourself, sneaking up on a person that way. You nearly scared the life out of me. I could have really been hurt there!”

“I didn’t sneak,” he responded, trying to keep his jaw from dropping. Why was she chewing him out? She should be eternally grateful for his efforts on her behalf. “What I did was save you from a major catastrophe just now. You should be thanking me, not railing on me. And you should know better than to stand on the top rung of a ladder. It’s dangerous.”

“It’s just a step stool,” she rejoined with a scowl. Now that was a familiar expression from her, especially combined with her backing away from where his outreached hand tried to offer her some support. Although she’d landed in his arms and had not—thanks to him—taken a digger on the ground, she brushed off her jeans as if she’d hit the dirt on both knees.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But you’re still begging for an accident by name. In case you’re not aware of the rules, you’re not supposed to stand on the very top rung of a ladder, step stool or otherwise. You can’t balance that way. Didn’t anyone ever teach you better?” He kept his tone light and hoped his words sounded like banter and not a reprimand.

It partially worked. Her frown eased a little, though it didn’t go away. She rolled her eyes and took another step back. “Are you kidding? With an overprotective dad and two big brothers, I’ve had every lecture in the book and then some.”

“Any reason why this lesson didn’t stick?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully and shrugged. “Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. I’m pretty independent. I’ve been told I’m stubborn, too, if my brothers have an opinion about it.”

Her response seemed serious, and she was still frowning at him. Ben wasn’t sure what to say or why the woman was so determined to be angry with him when he’d just saved her from breaking her neck.

He shifted from foot to foot, measuring his words before speaking to the overly testy woman. Speaking suddenly felt like a new and difficult skill, one of which he was nearly incapable. He hadn’t yet sorted out words in his brain, much less found the faculties necessary to utter them from his lips, before she spoke again.

“Climbing to the top rungs of ladders is just one of many of the perils of being short,” Vee explained. She waved the hanging basket in front of him. “At least I got the basket, thank you very much.”

“Right,” he agreed, but he was shaking his head. “We wouldn’t want you to have to climb back up on that ladder and risk putting life and limb in danger again.” He paused and cocked his head, staring at her speculatively. “So tell me why, exactly, are you stealing flowerpots from my parents’ backyard?”

Her frown deepened, and for a moment he worried that she’d taken his teasing seriously. She was always pretty quick to think the worst of him. To his relief, she relaxed after a moment instead. “Of course I’m not trying to steal anything. Your folks asked me to come here to do a little spring landscaping for them.”

“Why would they do that? If they want some work done, I can do it for them.”

That, and the fact that of all the people on the planet they’d chosen to work on their yard, it had to be the one woman he had trouble working with at all. And he would be working here, now that he’d discovered his parents’ plan. But there was no reason why Vee had to stay. All he had to do was to talk his parents out of this decision, which shouldn’t be that difficult, right? Then Vee could go on her merry way.

Her eyes widened and she stared at him like he was slow on the uptake. Could she really blame him? He was still reeling from the nearly averted disaster of catching a plunging-to-the-pavement woman. His heart was still pounding heavily in his chest, stoked by adrenaline. He couldn’t set it aside as easily as she appeared to have done.

“It’s my job, remember?” she pointed out in a pithy tone of voice. “I work at Emerson’s Hardware. Lawn and garden. Ring a bell? I know I’ve waited on you at least a few times over the years.”

“No, of course I know you work at Emerson’s,” he said, quickly backtracking. Was she making fun of him? “What I meant was, why are you here, in my parents’ backyard, trying to release flowerpots from their hooks? They didn’t mention any gardening projects. I’m surprised they didn’t consult me first.”

“Why would they?”

Ouch. She had a point, and she hadn’t made it softly, either.

His parents didn’t need his permission to landscape their yard, but it disturbed him just the same that they hadn’t asked for his help. He was more than willing to lend a hand. And seriously, what could Vee do for them that he couldn’t do himself?

“I can dig in the dirt as well as anyone. For free,” he added with extra emphasis. His parents were paying good money when they didn’t need to be.

Her dark eyebrows rose in perfect curves. “I’m a landscaping specialist, you know. There’s a lot more to it than just digging in the dirt. Apparently your parents seem to think I’m needed here.”

“Apparently,” he repeated, absently rubbing a spot on his temple that was beginning to throb incessantly. He didn’t get many headaches, but he had a feeling that today might be the exception.

“You don’t believe me?” She gestured toward the sliding glass door that led to the dining room of the Atwoods’ house. “Be my guest. Ask your mom why she hired me.”

It wasn’t that he thought she was lying when she’d stated that his parents had hired her. He just didn’t want to accept it. The real problem here, as he was well aware, was that his pride was wounded. He knew it shouldn’t matter that they’d hired, of all people, Vee to do their yard work, but that knowledge scraped across every self-righteous nerve in his body.

Did his parents think he wasn’t up to a simple landscaping job? Did they think Vee could do it better?

Honestly. How hard could it be to plant a few flowers and trim a few shrubs? They could have at least asked him if he wanted to do it before they called on outside help. He was certain he could do at least as good a job as Vee.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, gesturing to the back door. “I want to speak with my mom for a second.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “I’ll be here, planting my flowers and humming my Mozart.”

“You do that. And try not to fall off any step stools while I’m gone.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Ben entered the house through the sliding glass door, familiar sights and smells enveloped him. He breathed deeply and released the tension corded through his neck and shoulders. It was amazing how comforting it was simply to step into the house where he’d spent his youth. Entering his home was like being wrapped in a cozy blanket, not only for warmth but for reassurance.

“Mom?” he called as he wiped his feet on the welcome mat by the door. “It’s Ben. Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, honey.”

He should have known that’s where she would be. His mother was always in the kitchen, baking things from scratch. Cooking was her hobby, and she was excellent at it. She spent hours every week poring over cookbooks and magazines trying to find new dishes to try or new twists on old favorites. It wasn’t until Ben was an adult that he’d really learned to appreciate the work she did.

He inhaled deeply and groaned with pleasure. The whole house smelled like cinnamon and fresh bread. If he was lucky, she was baking his favorite rolls. His mouth was watering already.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he entered and before he’d said so much as a single word. His mother was like that—naturally intuitive where her children were concerned. So why hadn’t she realized he’d be bothered by her landscaping plans?

“I saw Vee outside,” he said, trying for a conversational tone, though he doubted he succeeded.

“Oh, yes. Isn’t she a dear, willing to work on our yard even when it’s nippy outside? She said she likes being outside, whatever the weather. I really like her. Smart and sensible. And she’s a cute little thing, too, don’t you think?”

Ben’s gaze widened. Whatever else he thought of Vee, he’d never categorize her as a cute little thing. Fearless, maybe. Spirited, definitely. But cute?

Not only that, but if he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like his mother was hinting at something beyond simply drawing his attention to the fine work Vee was doing. His mother had been trying to set him up with women since the day he turned twenty. Apparently she wanted grandchildren, and the sooner the better.

But Vee? That was definitely pushing the limits, even for his mother. Vee had never made any secret of the fact that she didn’t care for him, and someone as perceptive as his mother had to have noticed.

As if to make it up to him for the suggestion, she pushed a dessert plate loaded with freshly baked cinnamon rolls in his direction. He poured himself a tall glass of milk and settled down with his favorite treat. At least he had timed that right.

“Are you having trouble with your yard?” he queried before popping a large chunk of cinnamon roll in his mouth. “Why didn’t you come to me for help? I would have been happy to have done your project for you.”

His mother’s gaze widened in surprise at the change of subject and then narrowed on Ben. “I see,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off of him.

He sunk a little lower in his chair at the maternal look she was giving him. It was the look, the one that brought down many a child. Ben might be a full-grown man, but it still affected him.

“I’m just asking.”

His mother nodded thoughtfully. “Do you have training in landscape architecture?” She paused for less than one second. “No? I didn’t think so. That’s why I hired Vee,” she explained smoothly, wiping her hands on the frilly green apron tied at her waist.

“Did you see the pretty tulips and daffodils already blooming out front next to the dogwood tree?” she continued. “That’s Vee’s work. She planted a few bulbs for us last fall. It made such a difference in the front that when spring arrived, we decided to hire her to rework our backyard, too. I’m very excited to make more changes in our yard. Your father and I have been talking about doing it for years, but it never seemed like quite the right time. I’m finally going to have the garden I’ve always wanted.”

“I’m as good with a shovel as anyone,” he insisted. “Surely I can plant your seeds and tend to your flowers for you. I’m happy to help. You don’t need to pay anybody.”

“I think I do. It’s more than just planting and watering—Vee is designing it all to look just right. I’ve seen some of the work she’s done for our neighbors and I love it. Plus, she has the know-how to pick the right plants to match the weather and amount of shade, to make it all as little work for me to maintain as possible. And that’s just the flowers. She has equally wonderful ideas for the vegetable garden. This is how I want to spend my money, Ben. I want everything perfect so your father and I can relax and enjoy ourselves in the backyard. Vee has all kinds of lovely ideas for the backyard and the garden.” His mother’s face brightened and she slapped both hands on the counter in her exuberance. She was apparently really excited for this garden of hers.

“But if you’re eager to help, then that’s wonderful,” his mother exclaimed. “I may even ask you to build me a gazebo after all the landscaping is finished and my garden is planted. And I’m sure Vee can use you today, too. Most certainly you can do the grunt work—digging in the dirt, like you said. You did enough of that as a young boy. I’m sure you’re an expert by now. That will give Vee more time to focus on the brainwork and not have to get her lovely hands so dirty. Bless you, sweetheart, for offering to help.”

He hadn’t exactly offered, but what else could he say when his mother leaned across the counter and kissed his cheek with unbridled enthusiasm? He didn’t want to let her down, especially since he’d run off at the mouth so much today already.

She knew exactly what she was doing, too—forcing him into this situation, knowing perfectly well that he could not and would not turn her down.

Oh, well. A little dirt never hurt anyone, right? Working with Vee, though? That might be another thing entirely.


Chapter Three

Dear Veronica Jayne,



You know why you’re so special? You challenge me to look at the world around me through new eyes. To me, planting anything is just—well—digging in the dirt.

I tend to see life around me that way, too—in black-and-white. It’s only since I’ve been writing to you that I’ve started to see colors blooming in my world. You’re my flower girl.



All the best,

BJ



“Did you get everything straightened out with your mom?” Vee asked as Ben returned to the back patio. Not that she really had to ask to know how the conversation had gone. Even with only a sidelong glance, she could see that his face was the color of a ripe cherry.

“If by ‘straightened out’ you mean my mother set me in my place and told me to keep my mouth shut and help you dig, then yes. I’ve definitely been straightened out.”

“I didn’t mean to cause any problems for you, Ben.”

He arched a brow as if he doubted her good intentions. “No, of course you didn’t. It’s my own blustering that got me into trouble. I may be a thirty-year-old man, but Mama won’t take any sass from me.”

Vee’s throat burned and she quickly turned her gaze from his, blinking rapidly as memories of her own mother overwhelmed her again.

The recollections made her want to laugh.

And cry.

Maybe both simultaneously.

She pulled in a ragged breath, but the air seemed sharp, piercing her throat and lungs. Not a day went by that she didn’t think about her mother. She’d be all right for a while, and she even felt like she could function normally most days, but then grief would sneak up and reappear out of nowhere, jumping out from behind her back and wrenching her heart in two once again.

This was one of those times, and she was mortified that Ben was here to witness it once more. Dealt with the sudden blow of emotions she was unable to handle, she would have turned away to hide them, but Ben gently stayed her with his large, callused hand as he grasped her elbow.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” he murmured in an unexpectedly tender, soft tone. “I have a bad habit of sticking my boot in my mouth.” Ben was a rough-edged man, and in Vee’s opinion, not a very nice one, so the sympathy pouring from his gaze surprised her. “I’m truly sorry about your mother, Vee.”

He didn’t say anything else. In her experience, people tended to chatter when they were uncomfortable with a situation, but not Ben. He just stood there, strong and silent, waiting for her to gather herself together. She wasn’t sure how he’d figured out where her thoughts had gone, but she was grateful to him for giving her the moment she needed to compose herself.

But composure failed to come. Despite her best intentions, tears welled. She fought and nearly lost herself to the blaze that was burning in her throat and behind her eyes.

She wasn’t a bawler. She’d learned long ago that crying didn’t get you anywhere—not with two big brothers around to tease her about it. If anything, breaking into tears only made things worse, so she’d learned not to do it. Her brothers had literally thrown her into the deep end of the pool and expected her to swim. They’d taught her to be tough. She was a Bishop, and Bishops were a strong lot.

But in this case, reminding herself of her heritage didn’t seem to help. Nothing did. She wasn’t sure if she could keep her tears from falling despite her best efforts.

Ben slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a close embrace. The comfort of his rock-solid chest and the steady sound of his heartbeat somehow reassured her.

Depending on someone else, even for a moment, was unfamiliar to her. And she couldn’t believe that the person she was leaning on was Ben Atwood—possibly the least reliable person she knew. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to breathe slowly, fighting desperately against the urge to let loose the roaring broil of her emotions and bawl into Ben’s chest. She barely restrained herself from wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him back.

She couldn’t break down. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Ben. Bishops were strong people, she reminded herself again. They didn’t let anything get the best of them, not even a grief that felt like it was ripping her apart.

She sucked in another big gulp of air and backed away. The sudden sensation of warm fur crisscrossing her ankles in a figure eight caused her to jolt, but she was careful not to step on whatever it was that was twirling around at her feet. She looked down to find a large gray poof-ball rubbing against her and purring louder than the engine on her truck.

“Is that a cat?” she asked with a chuckle that came out as half a sob. She hitched her breath.

Ben leaned down and scooped the ball of fur into his arms, brushing the hair back from the feline’s face with the palm of his hand. Vee could barely make out eyes and a black button of a nose.

“This,” Ben said, “is Tinker. And you should feel privileged. He’s given you quite an honor. He doesn’t usually take to people he doesn’t know very well.”

As he said the words, the cat sprung from his arms to hers. She caught him with an exclamation of surprise.

“Warn me, next time, will you, kitty?” She tucked Tinker under her chin, oddly comforted by the vibration of the cat’s purr and the warmth of his fur.

“I never had a kitten,” she said, stroking Tinker’s soft, downy fur. “Or a dog. My mom was one of those people who thought all animals should stay outside in the barn.”

Another hiccup.

Ben jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, not speaking but urging her on with a smile.

“I had a hamster once, though, when I was about nine. Alvin the hamster. He’d run on his little wheel all night long. That sound was like a lullaby to me. I slept so soundly when he was around.”

“Tinker is a second-generation Atwood cat,” Ben explained, reaching out to tickle Tinker under his chin. “His mama was Belle. Tinkerbelle, actually, but most of the time I just called her Belle.”

“Oh, my,” exclaimed Vee, putting two and two together. “Please don’t tell me that this poor boy...”

“...is Tinkerbelle the Second. In my defense, I was a teenager at the time, and kittens weren’t a big deal to me. I was too busy worrying about my social life, which...well...” He cut himself off and gave her a charming smile. She noticed it looked a little strained around the edges, as if he disliked thinking back on those memories but was trying to hide it. “I gave him his moniker without actually bothering to see if it was a he or she, and my mother didn’t correct me. I think maybe she was trying to teach me a life lesson. Tinker here got the bad end of that deal.”

“Poor Tinker,” Vee said on a long, counterfeit sigh, stroking the cat from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, causing his purr to rumble even louder. “It’s a wonder he still associates with you at all.”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed with a self-deprecating shrug. “You’re probably right about that.”

Tinker started wiggling, and Vee reluctantly released him to the ground. “I think Tinker is giving me a nudge. I suppose I’ve had enough of a work break now. Your parents aren’t paying me to talk. I should get back to planting flowers.”

She turned, then paused, her shoulders tensing as she realized she’d returned to a touchy subject for Ben. Was he going to belittle her efforts again—tell her once more how little he valued all her careful planning and design work? She shouldn’t have been surprised that he had no appreciation for her craft, yet she had still felt hurt at his clear dismissal earlier.

“Where would you like me to start digging?” Ben asked, surprising her when he reached for a nearby shovel.

Vee released a quiet breath. Gardening was her comfort zone, her sweet spot where she could let go of everything else and just be thankful to God for His beautiful creation. Some might see it as just “digging in the dirt,” but for her, working with flowers brought Vee her greatest joy.

Did she want to share that with Ben?

Not really. But if putting him to work meant he’d stop giving his mother a hard time, then what choice did she have? Maybe if he could see how dedicated she was to the task, he’d realize that her work truly was important—to her, if not to him.

She pointed to the flower beds on opposite sides of the screened-in back fence, and then at the large plot she’d lined out with stakes and thread marking a place for the garden.

“If you’d please break up and turn the earth for me, I’d appreciate it. I’ll bring you a bag of compost so you can fertilize as you go.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered. “It’s in the back of your truck, right?”

“Yes, it is.” She hesitated. “I hate to have you make two trips, but can you also bring back some potting soil for me? I brought new annuals, mostly petunias and mums, to plant in the hanging pots.”

Ben assented with a nod and strode away. Vee’s gaze followed him until he turned the corner of the house. Then she propped her hands on her hips and surveyed the property, ticking off projects in her mind. The flower beds would be the home to a dozen new rosebushes, and the garden still needed to be seeded with vegetables. Several decorative pots for the back porch awaited her attention, too.

Now, where had she been before Ben arrived?

Oh, right. The hanging basket. Falling into Ben’s arms. How could she have forgotten that so easily? It was not her most graceful moment. Her face flamed just thinking about it, so she redirected her thoughts to the tasks at hand.

She was gathering a variety of hanging and standing flowerpots into a line on the porch when Ben returned to the backyard, a twenty-five-pound bag of potting soil under one arm and a fifty-pound bag of fertilizer slung over his other shoulder. She hadn’t expected him to bring both bags at the same time. He was probably trying to show off his strength, but the gesture was lost on Vee.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite lost because she’d obviously noticed. It was hard not to notice the solid muscles across his arms and shoulders. But a good man was made up of more than his muscles, and she knew what kind of man Ben was.

Ben had broken her best friend’s heart. Olivia had stayed in bed for a week depressed and crying over their breakup, which was all Ben’s fault. Vee wasn’t in any hurry to forgive him for that, no matter how good he looked in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Where do you want it?” Ben asked. He nodded his square chin toward the bag of soil under his arm.

“Right here is fine,” she answered, sweeping her arm indistinctly toward the ground at her feet.

Grunting with the effort—or possibly just for the effect the sound gave—he dropped the bag of potting soil where she’d indicated and then lowered the fertilizer bag near the closest flower bed.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d do the flower beds first,” she said, deciding there was no reason not to be civil with Ben since he’d offered to help—as a non-paid apprentice. “I’ve got a dozen rosebushes in the back of the truck that I’ll be planting in those beds today.”

“Yeah, I noticed them when I was getting the soil. Do you want me to bring those back here for you, too?”

“Eventually. For now, just dig.”

“Pink and red,” he said, sounding like he was just making conversation. “Did you pick out those colors, or was it my mother?”

“Your mother, actually. I’ve planned most of the landscaping colors palette, but she specifically asked for red and pink roses. Red for love. Pink for gratitude. She said it would remind her every day to be thankful for her family.”

“That sounds like my mother,” Ben murmured.

“I’ll get these planters finished and then we’ll worry about the rosebushes. After that you can turn the earth for the garden and I can start seeding behind you,” she said, pulling on her gardening gloves and picking up a trowel.

She reached for the first tray of yellow mums and easily fell into her task. She’d organized the flowers and seeds according to the layout print she’d prepared of the Atwoods’ backyard. She’d spent a long time planning what would go where according to the palettes she’d created. She loved seeing the way the colors came together to make a final product she could be proud of and the Atwoods would enjoy. It was her artist’s canvas, available for everyone to see and appreciate.

Ben let out a low wolf whistle as he surveyed her print. She hadn’t realized he was standing over her shoulder. He was supposed to be digging.

“That looks complicated,” he commented. “And here I thought we were just playing around in the dirt.”

“It’s a lot more than that,” she fired back before taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she’d decided to be civil. “It’s actually quite interesting, or at least it is to me. The vegetable garden itself is determined by what your mom and dad want to grow, of course, but you get a better yield, not to mention a better aesthetic experience, if you know which vegetables should be planted next to each other for optimum growth and health. We’re going to do green beans, snap peas, carrots and tomatoes for starters.”

She gulped in a breath of air and continued enthusiastically. It didn’t take much for her to warm to her subject. “As for the hanging baskets, I not only consider which blossoms develop well in this area, but also the arrangement of color palettes...”

She hadn’t realized she’d launched into a full-throttle landscaping lecture until she noticed the pensive look on Ben’s face. Clearly his mind had wandered, and she flushed at the realization that she’d probably been boring him to tears.

“And...you really don’t care a whit about color palettes. Sorry. Too much information,” she said with a wince and a guarded chuckle. “I forget that not everyone is as ardent about gardening as I am.”

“Don’t apologize. I am interested. It’s just that what you said reminded me of a friend of mine who—”

He broke off his sentence as suddenly as he’d started it, his eyes widening to enormous proportions, as if he’d almost said something monumental, something he’d regret. He definitely looked a little green around the gills.

“A friend of yours who...?” she prompted, curious as to why he had stopped speaking so suddenly. She usually wasn’t the nosey type, preferring to mind her own business and give others the same courtesy. But he’d started it, and now she wanted him to finish.

“She—er—works in flowers. I can’t really tell you much more than that, I mean about her career.” He turned his back to her and scanned the flower bed. “Is it all right if I just rip into this bag any way I want, or is there a secret procedure I’m not aware of?”

Clearly he was deflecting. Vee was tempted to press the issue just to stir things up a bit, but she refrained. Once he’d finished breaking Olivia’s heart, Ben’s female “friends” had become no business of hers.

“No special instructions,” she informed him. “Just try to open it so too much of the fertilizer doesn’t spill out all at once.”

“Got it,” he said, flashing her a smile.

Who was this elusive she who worked with flowers? Vee wondered in spite of herself. He sounded as if he truly cared for her, whoever she was. Maybe he’d learned his lesson and matured some. Or maybe he’d met a woman who hadn’t immediately fallen prey to his charms, and it had forced him to actually put some effort into a relationship. But if that was the case, this woman must really be something special. She would have to be a classic beauty. Vee could almost picture the woman—long, flowing blond hair and perfect makeup that accentuated deep cheekbones and a perfect chin.

The exact opposite of Vee, in other words. No one could call her heart-shaped face classic. The dimple in her chin marred any chance for that. At best, she could be called pretty—but it wasn’t the sort of pretty anyone noticed. She was way too easily overlooked for reasons that had nothing to do with her diminutive height. Her strength was her intelligence, not her beauty, and men didn’t line up at the door to date smart women. At least in her experience—or lack of—they didn’t.

Which mattered why?

She scoffed inwardly and turned her mind back to her work. She wasn’t going to consider any other possibility except that she might be nursing her own curiosity. And even that felt inappropriate. She shouldn’t care one bit about Ben or about any women that he knew and might care for.

At the end of the day, Ben was still the man who’d broken the heart of her best friend. That hadn’t and wouldn’t change. Unfortunately for Ben, Vee had a long memory, and though she knew God would want her to forgive him, she just wasn’t there yet.

It might have been easier if Ben had hurt Vee and not her friend. She could shake off an injury to herself, but going after someone she loved—that was stepping over the mark. She tended to go all mama tiger on anyone who hurt her friends and loved ones.

And by “anyone” she meant Ben.

Vee shook her head and jammed the trowel into the bag of soil, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was absolutely necessary. With a renewed effort, she set to work, trying to keep her mind focused on the task at hand and not the man turning the earth just a few feet to her left.

To her surprise, she and Ben worked well together. After Ben had turned the soil, they retrieved the rosebushes from the truck. It was nice to have an extra pair of hands. Planting went smoothly and much quicker than Vee had anticipated.

Then they moved their combined attention to the plot for the vegetable garden. Ben flipped over the dense spring turf and mixed it with fertilizer while Vee followed along behind him, planting seeds with her trowel.

They didn’t speak much, but that was just as well. Vee didn’t know what to say to him, and she hated it when she felt like she needed to chatter just to fill up the space. She wasn’t much for small talk.

Before she knew it, the entire afternoon had passed and the sun was starting to make its descent in the west. Vee glanced at her watch and was surprised to find it was after six o’clock in the evening. Where had the time gone?

“I think it’s about quitting time,” she said, tapping the face of her watch. “I’ll be back to finish what’s left tomorrow. I appreciate all your help today. I wouldn’t have gotten nearly this far without you.”

Ben wiped the sweat off his forehead with the edge of his shirt, then rubbed his palms together and grimaced.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” she asked, reaching out to examine his left palm.

“It’s nothing. I just got a couple of blisters.” Stubbornly, he drew his hand into a fist to prevent her from examining it.

“Let me see.” He refused at first, keeping his hand tightly clenched, but she ignored his protests and gently worked his fingers open so she could scrutinize his wound.

“See? It’s not so bad,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “No big deal.”

“Maybe not,” she answered in a conciliatory tone, “but you need to clean your palm so it doesn’t get infected. You stay there,” she said, pointing to a porch chair. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

She entered the house through the sliding door in the back and brushed her shoes against the welcome mat. “Excuse me, Mrs. Atwood?”

“You’re still here?” asked Ben’s mom in surprise as she entered the room. “I would have thought you’d have something better to do on a Friday night than hang around here, especially if you’re not on call at the fire station. Don’t tell me there’s no fancy date with a handsome hunk?”

Vee blushed so hard she thought her head might pop. “No, ma’am. Not tonight.”

Not ever, actually, but Vee didn’t see the need to elaborate on the subject.

Ben’s mother chuckled lightly. “Their loss.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed, becoming more embarrassed by the moment. She decided to change the subject before it got completely out of control. “I was wondering if you had any rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide that I could use. Ben has a few blisters on his hands, and I’d hate for them to get infected.”

“Of course. My son isn’t used to shoveling dirt, poor dear. Why don’t you sit down for a moment while I get them for you?” His mom sounded more amused than concerned by her son’s dire plight. She gestured to a chair at the dining room table, but Vee politely declined. Despite the woman’s kindness, Vee decided it was better for her to remain standing on the mat where she wouldn’t accidentally make a mess with her dirty clothing.

In less than a minute, Ben’s mother returned with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a roll of gauze, a handful of large cotton balls and a tube of antibacterial cream, delivered with a perceptive smile.

“There you go, hon. Everything you need to patch my boy up right.”

“This ought to do it,” Vee agreed warmly. Ben’s mother was one of the most pleasant women she knew. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Atwood.”

“Never a problem. You tell Ben that his mother said that he ought to wear gloves next time.”

Vee chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I will.” How nice, to have his mother’s permission to rub it in a little bit, both literally and figuratively.

Laden with her impromptu medical kit, she returned to where Ben waited, tucked onto a porch chair with his legs extended before him, crossed at the ankles. His head was back, his eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling evenly. Vee thought he might be asleep and wondered if she ought to wake him, but when she approached, his eyes, with those thick, long eyelashes that only men ever seemed blessed with, fluttered open.

His gaze narrowed on her tentatively when he saw the bottle of rubbing alcohol in her hand.

“Rubbing alcohol? That wouldn’t have been my first choice.” He sounded none too thrilled about it.

“Don’t be a baby. Now put out your hand.”

Ben frowned but allowed her to pry the fingers of his left hand open, palm upward.

Vee doused a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol, cupped his hand in hers and began dabbing at the red, angry blisters that covered his palm.

“Ow,” Ben complained, trying to pull his hand out of her grip. “That hurts.”

Vee persisted in wiping the wounds, ignoring his protests. “If you insist on pulling away like that, it’s going to take a lot longer to get this done.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked suspiciously. “You’re making it hurt on purpose.”

Was he teasing her? Maybe. She couldn’t tell, so she went for a neutral—though truthful—response. “Of course not. I would never do that.”

Vee carefully wrapped his hand in strips of gauze so he couldn’t accuse her of further assaults on his person. “There. All better. Just keep it clean, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

“Hey, are you forgetting who the paramedic is here?”

“Fine, then—mother’s orders. If you don’t like it, take it up with your mom. She’s the one who gave me the supplies to get you bandaged up. And if you don’t keep that gauze clean, you’ll be answering to her.”

“Do you really think I can do that? I work with cars, remember?”

“That could be an issue. I don’t know how you’re going to avoid grease when you’re tinkering with a car engine. I suppose you’ll just have to do the best you can.”

“I will,” he promised, but under his breath he muttered, “I’m glad you’re a firefighter and not a nurse.”

“That makes two of us. I didn’t try to hurt you on purpose, but I’ll be the first to admit my bedside manner is a little rough.”

“A little?” He chuckled and shook his head. “If that’s what you’re like when you’re trying to help me then I’d hate to think of the damage you could do if you really were trying to hurt me.”

Hurt you like you hurt Olivia? Vee thought to herself. He must have noticed the shift in her expression that accompanied the new direction of her thoughts because he quickly changed the subject.

“Now that the work’s done—the planting and the bandaging—would you like to stay for dinner? I know I told you I can’t cook, and I can’t, but even I can manage to throw a couple of steaks on the grill without ruining them. Mama usually ropes me into grilling for her when the weather cooperates, so I’m guessing that’s probably what she has in mind for today. We’ve got plenty of room at the table for one more, and I’m sure my parents would love for you to stay and visit the family.”

“I should be offering you a steak dinner for all the help you’ve been to me today. I wouldn’t have gotten even a quarter as far along as we did together.”

“No problem. I was glad to help. It was for a good cause. And we do work well together.”

He sounded as surprised as she felt. Vee shivered in what she thought must be discomfort, though in truth she didn’t dare identify the emotion. Is that what Ben thought, that they worked well together?

“As for dinner,” she said and then paused. She already had other plans. Not an in-person date with a handsome hunk who wanted to take her to dinner or out to the movies like Ben’s mother had suggested, but definitely the next best thing. Those plans in question were calling to her, tugging at her heartstrings to make short work of leaving and hurry along to Cup o’ Jo Café.

But then there was Ben, with his convincing half smile and dancing gaze. She hesitated.

Vee couldn’t believe she was tempted, even for a moment, to stick around and share a dinner with Ben and his family—but she was. No wonder Olivia had fallen for the man hook, line and sinker. Ben could be very charismatic when he wanted to be.

Nice, even. And he was good-looking, no denying that fact.

Which was exactly why she had to say no.

She took a deep breath and plunged in before she lost what was left of her mental faculties and caved to his suggestion.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she murmured, pausing only for a moment at his crestfallen look. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he actually cared what her answer would be.

But that wouldn’t change it. “As much as I’d love to share a meal with you and your parents this evening,” she continued, “I already have other plans.”


Chapter Four

Dear BJ,



This week has been very tough for me. Sometimes I just feel like I need to let my hair down—do you know what I mean? I’m so guarded all the time, worrying about what people think of me and, even more, what they expect of me. I’m afraid I might not be living up to everyone’s standards.

It’s stressful keeping everything bottled up inside all the time. It would be nice to be able to see things differently for a change, from another point of view. From a different set of eyes.

Oh, who am I kidding? I am what I am and that’s all...well, you know. I’m starting to sound like Popeye now. Terrific. Who ever knew that he was such a sage?

I guess I should just accept the way that God made me and not try to make myself anything different. I might feel like a distinct person inside my heart, but people don’t see that, do they?

That’s never going to change. I’m never going to change.

It’s just that when I read your emails, I feel...well, differently about myself. Stronger. I wish I could be as easygoing as you obviously are.

I downloaded the graphics you sent me. They’re really good! I’m attaching a revised script that incorporates the photographs, so we can begin preparing the final presentation. Let me know if you have any modifications you’d like me to make.



Faithfully,

Veronica Jayne



The rich smells of roasted coffee, nutmeg and baked apples warmed Vee’s nostrils as she entered the Cup o’ Jo Café. She inhaled deeply and the tension she always carried around in her shoulders and neck was immediately soothed by the colorful, welcoming atmosphere. The familiar quiet buzz of the other patrons talking as they sat in booths enjoying a hot meal heartened her. Cup o’ Jo had been a regular hangout for Vee growing up, and even now it was her go-to place when she needed a lift in spirits.

Or a computer with internet service. Tonight, she needed both. She couldn’t wait to see if BJ had replied to her last post.

Jo Murphy Spencer, the owner of the café, approached in her usual exuberant way, her red curls bouncing and her smile beaming. The woman never failed to put Vee at ease, no matter how she was feeling when she walked in the door. Jo, with her wacky T-shirts, observant nature and ear for the latest gossip, was like a second mother to most of the town. Vee suspected the older woman knew more about her than most of her friends and neighbors did, but she was okay with that. There was no one better than Jo for doling out sound advice, solicited or not.

“Vee, dear,” Jo exclaimed, waving the purple dishcloth she held in one hand. “Have you come to spend some time on the internet for your Spanish class, or shall I seat you at a table for a nice home-style dinner?”

Vee felt her face warm and hoped Jo didn’t notice the flush of her cheeks. Not much chance of that, though. Jo was extremely perceptive. She was bound to see that something was off, but to Vee’s relief, Jo did nothing more than raise a curious brow.




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