He moved to another bush, and then another, shaking his head and making clucking noises under his tongue. This was bad. Really bad.
“Well? What’s wrong?” Lucy blurted.
He straightened and turned to her. “More like what isn’t? You’ve got black spot, aphids, powdery mildew, root rot and rust.” He ticked the maladies off on his fingers.
She blinked at the pathetic plants, her mouth trembling. He braced himself for tears. Did he have a clean handkerchief anywhere?
“Can’t you do something?” she asked.
He looked at the roses again and sighed. “Maybe. It’ll take a lot of work.” Just what he needed. More work.
“That’s okay.”
Sure. A babe like her probably had a social life. “Um, what I meant to say is it will take a lot of my work.”
“Oh.” She traced a dollar sign in the oyster shell with the toe of her sandal. “Are you expensive?”
“I can be.” He grinned, unable to resist adding, “But then, I’m very good.”
She jerked her head up to stare at him and he gave her a lazy, half smile. Maybe trying to resuscitate Barb Lake’s roses wouldn’t be such a hardship. Especially if he could talk her daughter into working with him.
A noise in the bushes distracted them both. That little dog of hers was digging furiously in one of the beds. “Looks like the pup’s ready to get started,” he said.
“Hey! Get out of there!” She lunged and the dog darted away.
“What are you going to call her?” Greg asked.
She brushed aside the shower of leaves that had drifted onto her arms and shoulders when she’d gone after the dog. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“You found her in the garden. It ought to be something to do with gardening. How about Rose?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Rose doesn’t sound like a dog’s name.”
He looked around, seeking inspiration on the shelves outside the potting shed. Ortho—no. Daconil—He didn’t think so. Mille fleur fertilizer…He grinned. “How about Millie?”
She looked down at the dog. “I think I like it. What do you think, Millie?”
The dog’s ears drooped and she let out a low growl.
“I don’t think she likes it,” Greg said.
“Well, I do.” She scooped the dog into her arms. “From now on, I’m calling her Millie.”
He glanced around the garden again. “I’ll have a crew out on Monday.”
“Can’t you start today?”
He shook his head. “I have other jobs. This is going to take some time.” Although he didn’t know how much time the roses had left.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“You can pull all the mulch away.” He gestured to the beds. “We’ll need to dig out everything, put in new soil, prune, spray, fertilize….”
Her shoulders drooped and she cuddled Millie closer. “Uh, okay. I guess we’ll wait until Monday then.”
He grinned. “I’ll see you then.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll probably be at work.”
He thought he did a pretty good job of hiding his disappointment. “Where do you work?”
“Here and there.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m between jobs right now, so I’m doing temp work until I find something in my field.”
“That must be interesting.”
“It’s not. Most of it bores me out of my mind, but it pays the bills. Some of them, anyway.” She glanced back toward the house. “It’ll be good for me to stay here a while, to, uh, help out my dad, you know.”
“Yeah.” He’d moved back home the last few months of his father’s life. It had been a strangely disorienting experience, but one he didn’t regret.
They stood there for a moment, alternately looking at each other and the half-dead garden. Even disheveled with no makeup, she was beautiful. She had short, spiky dark hair and big green eyes with long dark lashes and delicate features. Not a conventional beauty maybe, but she definitely stirred something in him.
“Well…uh, I’d better let you be going,” she said finally. She took a step back toward the house. “See you around.”
“Yeah. See you.”
She let him out the back gate. He made himself walk to his truck without looking back, but he was sure he felt her gaze on him. When he reached the truck, he risked a glance in her direction. She was still there at the gate, the dog in her arms, a pensive look on her face, as if she was trying to figure him out.
“Then that makes two of us,” he said softly, and climbed into the truck. If you come up with any answers, be sure to let me know.
Lucy watched Greg drive off and waited for the overheated feeling inside her to vanish. She’d obviously been alone too long if an arrogant geek like Greg could make her all hot and bothered. With any luck she’d have a job on the other side of town Monday and she wouldn’t see him at all.
She went back inside and found Dad gathering up his keys and wallet. “Dad, where are you going?”
“I’m meeting a friend for brunch.”
She sniffed the air. The distinct smell of Brut wafted over her. “The same friend you were with last night?”
He grinned. “No, a different one.” He kissed her cheek. “See you later.”
“Great, my dad has a better social life than I do.” Millie didn’t offer any sympathy this time. She was still staring after Lucy’s dad, a funny look on her face.
Lucy decided to call shelters. Not that she really wanted anyone to claim Millie, but she figured she had to make an effort, in case the pup was some child’s dog. She didn’t want to be responsible for some kid crying herself to sleep every night for the next week.
“Hello, Noah’s Ark? I have a poodle that wandered into my yard last night…. It’s a toy poodle, about fifteen pounds…Her hair is orange. Well, not really orange, sort of pinkish orange…. Oh, all right then, apricot…. No one’s reported a missing apricot toy poodle? Thank you.” She left her number, just in case, and moved on to the next listing.
Six shelters and not one had a report of a missing apricot poodle. She set down the phone and smiled at Millie. “Well, girl, looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
“Woof!”
So now should she spend a Saturday morning home alone doing laundry, or should she try to scare up a little fun? As if the washing machine wouldn’t still be there tomorrow. She decided to do something productive—her nails. She was adding the second coat of Marvelous Mauve when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing answering the phone at your parents’ house? Is something wrong?”
“Hello, Gloria.” She rolled her eyes. Gloria Alvarez was her oldest and dearest friend, and the one person who wouldn’t let her get away with anything. “Why are you calling my parents’ house?”
“I called your number and got a recording that said it had been disconnected. Then I tried your cell and no one answered. I stopped by your place and