Ladies' Night (39 page)

Wyatt offered her his arm to steady her. There was a picnic bench under the tin-roofed shed, and now he turned, reached under the seat of the cart, and produced a paper bag, which he handed to her.

Grace looked inside and found a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. “It’s screw-top,” he said apologetically. “But the guy at the liquor store swears it’s good screw-top. You like red?”

“Sure,” Grace said.

“One other thing.” He picked up a can of insect repellent and sprayed his own neck, arms, and legs, and did the same for her.

Grace sat down on one side of the bench, and after a moment Wyatt sat beside her. He opened the bottle and poured a bit into the cup, handing it to her to sample.

“The guy at the liquor store was right. This is yummy.” She held out her cup and he filled it, then filled his own. They sat with their backs to the table, looking out over the fields, slowly sipping the ruby-colored wine.

“What all do you grow here?” Grace asked.

“Annuals for the flower beds out front and throughout the park, some perennials and shrubs. I’ve got some saplings going that I started from seeds or grafts from our existing trees,” Wyatt said. He nodded toward a row of palm trees at the far edge of the field. “I’ve had pretty good luck with the palm trees. Those are four years old.”

“Isn’t it a lot of trouble to grow all your own plants?” Grace asked. “Especially with everything else you have to do around the park?”

“It’s way cheaper than buying from wholesale nurseries, and anyway, I get a kick out of growing our own stock. It scratches my horticulture itch.”

“Very impressive,” Grace said, tapping her cup against his.

He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then brought out a carefully folded sheet of paper. “I, uh, well, when I was thinking about you last night, after I got back home and couldn’t sleep, I, uh, drew something for you.”

She took the paper and unfolded it. “A landscape plan?” It was an elaborate pencil drawing of a garden, with hand-lettered botanical names. Looking closer, she saw “Mandevilla Manor” in neat block letters in the lower right corner of the paper.

“Some nights my mind won’t shut up,” he said apologetically. “I have to get up and draw. This isn’t anything fancy. Just some ideas.”

“I get like that, too,” Grace admitted. “I’ll wake up in the middle of the night with an idea for a recipe I’d like to develop or some crazy scheme for a house. Since I’ve been working over at Mandevilla, some nights I only sleep a few hours, I’m so stoked. I think that’s how creative people operate.”

“Callie always said it was how crazy people operate,” Wyatt said.

Grace was examining the sketch. “So … no more lawn?” She pointed to the tightly packed rows of shrubs he’d sketched for the front yard.

“Very little grass,” Wyatt said. “You could change that, if you wanted, but in Florida it takes so much in the way of water and chemicals to keep large chunks of grass healthy. I think it would look better to do these planting beds with native ornamentals, and maybe some seasonal annuals for color. Here,” he jabbed a finger, “I’d do a crushed-shell parking pad, and then extend it to a path that winds through the flowers right up to your front door.

“I didn’t have time to label everything, but since I know now that you like blue flowers, I’d give you lots of blues and purples, with whites and green and silver,” he said.

“If it were my house, it would be perfect,” Grace said, leaning over and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll keep it. Maybe eventually I’ll have a house again, where I could plant something like this. Well, exactly like this.”

“Why couldn’t you just do it at Mandevilla Manor?” Wyatt asked.

“Arthur would never go for it,” Grace said. “I’m still trying to talk him into springing for central air so I can get rid of those hideous rusting window units.”

“It wouldn’t be all that expensive to install this plan,” Wyatt said. “Most of the plants I’ve drawn I grow right here in my nursery. The big cost would be in the gravel for the parking pad, the pavers, and the walkway. I get that all at wholesale cost.”

“And what about the installation?”

Wyatt grinned. “I know a guy. He works cheap. Or in your case, free.” He put his arm around her shoulders and drew Grace closer.

She returned her attention to the plan. “Whoa!” She placed her finger on an irregular shape on the plan. “Is this a pool? In the backyard? Are you kidding?”

“It’s just a little dip pool,” he said. “Nothing like you had at your last address. Nothing big enough to drown a convertible,” he added impishly.

Grace gave him the side eye, and then giggled despite herself. She took another sip of wine.

“The backyard is so big at Mandevilla, it would be a shame not to take advantage of it, eventually,” he said. “Everything on here could be done in phases. So, phase one is the front yard and trimming and defining the shrubbery on the sides of the house. Phase two would be getting the citrus grove in the backyard looking good. Paint that barn-slash-garage thing, plant some vines to grow on a trellis to try to minimize the scale of it. Phase three would be the dip pool. And the garage-barn is so big, you could section off part of it for a guest house. The side that faces the proposed dip pool, you’d put in French doors or maybe a cool, industrial-looking roll-up bay door to a space that becomes your pool house. At the same time, you’d probably want to put a pair of French doors in that bedroom that becomes the master, so you have access to your little private patio out to the pool courtyard.”

“You are really, really good at this,” Grace marveled, looking from the plan to him. “Everything you’ve drawn here, it just perfectly fits the scale and sensibility of that little Florida cottage. Nothing too grandiose, just right, so appropriate. I can actually picture all of it.”

Wyatt’s face shone with pleasure. “It’s cool, you know? Creating something out of nothing? I miss the design aspect of landscaping. The rest of the park”—he gestured around—“it’s pretty much a done deal. All I can do is try to keep the wheels on the bus.”

Grace leaned her head back against Wyatt’s arm and stared up at the deepening night sky. The rain drummed softly on the tin roof. “What if money were no object? What would you do here then?”

“If wishes were horses?” He snorted derisively. She nudged him with her elbow.

“Okay, well, I’d do more to emphasize the specimen plants my grandparents brought here from all over the world. I’d eventually phase out the bird show, but not Cookie, of course. She’s part of the family. I’d maybe have a big demonstration garden, showing all the fruits and vegetables that we grow well in this climate. I’d love to work with local chefs, have an outdoor kitchen here and do cooking demonstrations using locally harvested produce and seafood and meat. I’d make the park less about tourism and more of a community resource. And, maybe, I’d even enlarge the nursery, make some of the plants we’ve grown here available to the public.”

Grace sat up. “Those are wonderful ideas! Truly.”

Wyatt shrugged. “It’ll never happen. Not in my lifetime. But yeah, I’ve got my plans.”

She gave him a level look. “Do I fit into any of those plans? Or am I just another complication?”

“You? You’re not a complication. You’re … ah, hell, Grace.”

He turned and gathered her into his arms and kissed her softly.

“Mmm,” she said after a while. “I do like your plans.” Wyatt’s arms tightened around her. His tongue tickled hers, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and flattened herself to his chest. A moment later, his warm hands slipped under her T-shirt, and then under the white camisole she wore instead of a bra. He grazed her nipples with his thumbs and she inhaled sharply and twined her hands through his hair.

“Is this okay?” he whispered in her ear. “Should I stop?”

“Never,” she breathed.

His kisses grew more urgent as he pushed the fabric of her T-shirt upward. Grace let her hands slide slowly down his chest, to his waist; then, working them under his polo shirt, she flattened her palms on his bare chest, feeling the warmth, sliding her hands upward, brushing her fingertips across his nipples.

A moment later, by mutual, silent agreement, they were both shirtless. Wyatt pulled her onto his lap, kissing the nape of her neck, the hollow of her throat, cupping her breasts with both hands, teasing his tongue across her tightened nipples while she kneaded his shoulders, raking her nails across his bare back. Her breathing grew ragged as he kissed and caressed and, slowly, pushed her backward onto the picnic bench.

“Mmm,” she protested, between kisses. “This isn’t going to work, this bench is too skinny. We’ll both end up in the mud.”

He stopped what he was doing, then pulled her to her feet and, without warning, picked her up and plunked her atop the picnic table. She laughed but scooted back on her behind, and soon he was right there beside her, stretched out on top of the picnic table. He worked one thigh between hers, fumbling for the zipper of her shorts. She found his zipper easily, slid it down, and traced his erection with her thumb, while she pushed his shorts down. He was still groping with the button on the waistband of her shorts when she heard a soft buzzing and then a ringtone that sounded like “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” coming from the pocket of his shorts.

“Dammit!” he muttered.

She laughed. “Can’t it wait?”

He sat up abruptly, pulling at his shorts. “That’s Bo’s ringtone,” he said, grabbing the phone. “I gotta answer.”

41

“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Wyatt said softly, turning so that his back was to Grace. She rested her head on his bare shoulder.

The child whispered something incoherent.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, Bo.”

“I said, Mom called and she sounded really mad,” Bo said, his whisper hoarse.

“Why are you whispering?” Wyatt asked.

“I don’t want Granddad to hear,” Bo said. “He told me not to call you, but I can tell he’s all upset.”

Wyatt held the phone away from his face and swore softly.

“What did your mom want?”

“She was yelling at me because she said you didn’t tell her we had a big game today and she missed it.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “We gave your mom a schedule of all the games at the beginning of the season, son. I’m sorry she yelled at you, but I’ll call her later and we’ll get it straightened out.”

“Dad, Mom made me put Granddad on the phone when she got done talking to me. And he got super, super angry. He was yelling and saying bad words. Some of it didn’t even make any sense. Now he’s breathing kind of funny. Dad, can you come back? I’m kind of scared.”

“I’ll be right there,” Wyatt said firmly. “Don’t be scared. You did just the right thing to call me. We’re just over at the plant nursery. We’ll be back at the house in five minutes.”

Wyatt stood and pulled his shirt over his head. Grace dressed hurriedly, straightening her hair, and packed the wine bottle and glasses in the brown paper sack.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you while we ride back?” Wyatt asked. Grace climbed onto the seat of the golf cart, and a moment later they were rocketing down the path.

“No, that’s okay,” Bo said.

“Where is Granddad right now?” Wyatt asked. “Is he awake? What’s he doing?”

“He’s just staring at the television, talking to himself,” Bo said. “It’s okay now. He’s not dead or nothing.”

Wyatt laughed, despite himself. “That’s good news. I’m on the way.”

“Bye.”

Grace gripped Wyatt’s arm. “I heard part of that. What’s the problem? Is your father okay?”

“To quote my son, ‘he’s not dead or nothin,’” Wyatt said, his facial features taught. “Callie called to ream Bo out because she missed his game today. Then, after she’d finished making him feel like crap, she got on the phone and picked a fight with Dad. She knows just how to push his buttons. Apparently, he was yelling and ranting and raving at her, and of course Bo overheard all of it, and, naturally, it got him pretty worried. He says Dad is breathing funny, just staring at the television, talking to himself. Bo’s a smart kid. I think he senses that Dad is starting to slip a little, and he’s protective of his grandfather.”

“Thank God for that,” Grace said. “And thank God we weren’t far away.”

*   *   *

“I’ll just pack up my stuff and get out of your way,” Grace said, as the cart approached the double-wide.

“No! This is not how I wanted the evening to end,” Wyatt said. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll get Dad calmed down and pack Bo off to bed. It’ll be fine.”

“You need to spend time with them, not worry about me,” Grace said. “We can have other nights.”

“Really? When? We both work all the time, and the rest of the time, my life is like this,” he said, pulling the cart beneath the carport. “Just stay a few minutes, please? Just ’til I get these guys sorted out.”

“I don’t want to be in the way,” Grace protested.

“You’re not in the way. I promise,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Your being there will probably make Bo feel a little better. He likes you.”

“He just likes my dog,” Grace said, laughing.

“Whatever works.”

Bo met them at the door. He was dressed in his pajamas, and his freckled face looked worried. “Don’t tell Granddad I called, okay?”

Wyatt leaned down and hugged his son. “It’s a deal.”

He walked into the living room, where Nelson sat rigidly in his recliner, muttering incoherently. His face was pale except for two scarlet patches on his cheeks. The television volume was turned all the way up.

Wyatt touched his father’s shoulder. He found the remote control and turned the television down. “Dad? What’s going on?”

Nelson didn’t look up. “That woman got no right to talk to me like that. No respect. No morals. I told her that, too. Told her it looks bad for her son, her living in sin with that man. Did I cuss her out? Hell yeah, I cussed her out. Do it again, too, next time.”

Wyatt sat on the sofa. “I’m sorry Callie got you so upset. I’ll talk to her about that. But maybe it would be better if you just didn’t speak to her at all.”

“She called me!” Nelson shouted. “Didn’t even know she was the one on the phone until Bo said his mom wanted to talk to me. I told Bo to tell her I was asleep, but she could hear me, and she insisted Bo give the phone to me.”