Нора Робертс - Suzanna’s Surrender

She understood that emotional motivation could change lives. And that without it, nothing worthwhile could be accomplished.

He had passion. But could his passions run deeper than a physical need? Not for her, she assured herself, measuring the coffee carefully. She'd meant what she'd said about not wanting to become involved. She couldn't afford to love again.

She was afraid he was right about an affair. If she couldn't be strong enough to resist him, she hoped she could be strong enough to hold her heart and her body separate. It couldn't be wrong to need to be touched and wanted. Perhaps by giving herself to him, in a physical way, she could prove to herself that she wasn't a failure as a woman.

God, she wanted to feel like a woman again, to experience that rush of pleasure and release. She was nearly thirty, she thought, and the only man with whom she'd been intimate had found her wanting. How much longer could she go on wondering if he was right?

She jolted when hands came down on her shoulders.

Slowly, aware of how easily she paled, Holt turned her to face him. “Where were you?”

“Oh. Up to my ears weeding pachysandra.”

“That's a pretty good lie if you'd put more flare into it.” But he let it go. “I'm going to run down and talk with Lieutenant Koogar. Rain check the coffee.”

“All right, I'll drive you down.”

“I'm hitching a ride with Max and Trent.” Her brow lifted. “Men only, I take it”

“Sometimes it works better that way.” He rubbed a thumb over the line between her brows in a gentle gesture that surprised them both. Catching himself, he dropped his hand again. “You worry too much. I'll be in touch.” “Thank you. I won't forget what you're doing for us.”

“Forget it.” He hauled her against him and kissed her until she went limp. “I'd rather you remember that” He strode out, and she sank weakly into a chair.

She wouldn't have any choice but to remember it.

He wasn't playing good Samaritan, Holt assured himself. After getting a clearer handle on the situation, he was doing what he felt was best. Somebody had to keep an eye on her until Livingston was under wraps. The best way to keep an eye on her was to stick close.

Swinging into the graveled lot, he pulled up next to her pickup. He saw that she was outside the shop with customers, so amused himself by roaming around.

He'd driven by Island Gardens before but had never stopped in. There hadn't been any reason to. There were a lot of thriving blossoms crowded on wooden tables or sitting in ornamental pots. Though he couldn't tell one from the other, he could appreciate their appeal. Or maybe it was the fact that the air smelled like Suzanna.

It was obvious she knew what she was doing here, he reflected. There was a tidiness to the place, enhanced by a breezy informality that invited browsers to browse even as it tempted them to buy.

Colorful pictures were set up here and there, describing certain flowers, their planting instructions and maintenance. Along the side of the main building were stacks of fifty – and hundred – pound bags of planting medium and mulch.

He was looking over a tray of snapdragons when he heard a rustle in the bush behind him. He tensed automatically, and his fingers jerked once toward the weapon he no longer wore. Letting out a quiet breath, he cursed himself. He had to get over this reaction. He wasn't a cop anymore, and no one was likely to spring at his back with an eight – inch buck knife.

He turned his head slightly and spotted the young boy crouched behind a display of peonies. Alex grinned and popped up. “I got you!” He danced gleefully around the peonies. “I was a pygmy and I zapped you with my poison blow dart.”

“Lucky for me I'm immune to pygmy poison. If it'd been Ubangi poison, I would've been a goner. Where's your sister?”

“In the greenhouse. Mom gave us seeds and stuff, but I got bored. It's okay for me to come out here,” he said quickly, knowing how fast adults could make things tough for you. “As long as I don't go near the street or knock over anything.”

He wasn't about to give the kid a hard time. “Have you killed many customers today?”

“It's pretty slow. 'Cause it's Monday, Mom says. That's why we can come to work with her and Carolanne can have the day off.”

“You like coming here?”

Holt wasn't sure how it had happened, but he and the boy were walking among the flats of flowers, and Alex's hand was in his.

“Sure, it's neat. We get to plant things. Like, see those?” He pointed at an edging of multicolored flowers that sprang up beside the gravel. “Those are zinnias, and I planted them myself, so I get to water them and stuff. Sometimes we get to carry things to the car for people, and they give you quarters.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

“And Mom closes up at lunchtime and we walk down the street and get pizza and play the video games. We get to come almost every Monday. Except –” He broke off and kicked at the gravel.

“Except what?”

“Next week we'll have to be on vacation, and Mom won't come.”

Holt looked down at the boy's bent head and wondered what the hell to do. “I, ah, guess she's pretty busy here.”

“Carolanne or somebody could work, and she could come. But she won't.” “Don't you figure she'd go with you if she could?”

“I guess.” Alex kicked at the gravel again and, when Holt didn't scold, kicked a third time. “We have to go to somebody named Martha's yard, with my father and his new wife. Mom says it'll be fun, and we'll go to the beach and have ice cream.”

“Sounds pretty good.”

“I don't want to go. I don't see how come I have to. I want to go to Disney World with Mom.”

When the little voice broke, Holt let out a deep breath and crouched down. “It's tough having to do things you don't want to. I guess you'll have to look after Jenny while you're gone.”

Alex shrugged and sniffled. “I guess. She's scared to go. But she's only five.”

“She'll be okay with you. Tell you what, I'll look after your mom while you're gone.”

“Okay.” Feeling better, Alex wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Can I see on your leg where they shot you?”

“Sure.” Holt pointed to a scar about six inches above his kneecap on his left leg.

“Wow.” Since Holt didn't seem to mind, Alex ran a fingertip over it. “I guess since you were a policeman and all, you'll take good care of Mom.”

“Sure I will.”

Suzanna wasn't sure what she felt when she saw Holt and her son, dark heads bent close. But she knew something warm stirred when Holt lifted a hand and brushed it through Alex's hair.

“Well, what's all this?”

Both males looked over then back at each other to exchange a quick and private look before Holt rose. “Man talk,” he said, and gave Alex's hand a squeeze.

“Yeah.” Alex pushed out his chest. “Man talk.”

“I see. Well, I hate to interrupt, but if you want pizza, you'd better go wash your hands.”

“Can he come?” Alex asked.

“His name,” Suzanna said, “is Mr. Bradford.”

“His name is Holt.” Holt sent Alex a wink and got a grin in return. “Can he?”

“We'll see.”

“She says that a lot,” Alex confided, then raced' off to find his sister.

“I suppose I do.” Suzanna sighed then turned back to Holt. “What can I do for you?”

She was wearing her hair loose, with a little blue cap over it that made her look about sixteen. Holt suddenly felt as foolish and awkward as a boy asking for his first date.

“Do you still need part – time help?”

“Yes, without any luck.” She began to pinch off begonias. “All the high school and college kids are set for the summer.”

“I can give you about four hours a day.” “What?”

“Maybe five,” he continued as she stared at him. “I've got a couple of repair jobs, but I call my own hours.”

“You want to work for me?”

“As long as I only have to haul and plant the things. I ain't selling flowers.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I mean it. I won't sell them.”

“No, I mean about working for me at all. You've already started up your own business, and I can't afford to pay more than minimum wage.”

His eyes went very dark, very fast “I don't want your money.” Suzanna blew the hair out of her eyes. “Now, I am confused.”

“Look, I figured we could trade off. I'll do some of the heavy work for you, and you can fix up my yard some.”

Her smite bloomed slowly. “You'd like me to fix up your yard?”

Women always made things complicated, he thought and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I don't want you to go crazy or anything. A couple more bushes maybe. Now do you want to make a deal or don't you?”

Her smile turned to a laugh. “One of the Andersons' neighbors admired our team effort. I'm scheduled to start tomorrow.” She held out a hand. “Be here at six.”

He winced. “A.m.?”

“Exactly. Now, how about lunch?”

He put his hand in hers. “Fine. You're buying.”

Good God, the woman worked like an elephant. She worked like two elephants, Holt corrected as the sweat poured down his back. He had a pick or shovel in his hand so often, he might as well be on a chain gang.

It should've been cooler up here on the cliffs. But the lawn they were landscaping – attacking, he thought as he brought the pick down again was nothing but rock.

In the three days he'd worked with her, he'd given up trying to stop her from doing any of the heavy work. She only ignored him and did as she pleased. When he went home in the midarternoon, every muscle twinging, he wondered how in holy hell she kept it up.

He couldn't put in more than four or five hours and juggle his own jobs. But he knew she worked eight to ten every day. It wasn't difficult to see that she was throwing herself into her work to keep from thinking about the fact that the kids were leaving the next day.

He brought the pick down again, hit rock. The shock sang up his arms. At the low, steady swearing, Suzanna glanced up from her own work. “Why don't you take a break. I can finish that.” “Did you bring the dynamite?”

The smile touched her lips for only a moment “No, really. Go get a drink out of the cooler. We're nearly ready to plant.”

“Fine.” He hated to admit that the whole business was wearing him out. There were blisters on top of his blisters, his muscles felt as though he'd gone ten rounds with the champ – and lost. Wiping his face and neck dry, he walked over to the cooler they'd set in the shade of a beech tree. As he pulled out a ginger ale, he heard the pick ring against the rocky soil. It was no use telling her she was crazy, he thought as he guzzled down the cold liquid. But he couldn't help it.

“You're a lunatic, Suzanna. This is the kind of work they give to people with numbers across their chest.”

“What we have here,” she said in a thick Southern drawl, “is a failure to communicate.”

Her quote of the line from Cool Hand Luke made him grin, but only for an instant. “Stark, raving mad,” he continued, watching her swing the pick. “What the hell do you think's going to grow in that rock?”

“You'd be surprised.” She took a moment to wipe at the sweat that was dripping in her eyes. “See those lilies on the bank there?” She gave a little grunt as she dislodged a rock. “I planted them two years ago in September.”

He glanced at the profusion of tall, colorful flowers with grudging admiration. He had to admit that they were an improvement over the rough, rocky soil, but was it worth it?

“The Snyders gave me my first real job.” She hefted a rock and tossed it into the wheelbarrow. Stretching her back, she listened to the fat bees buzzing in the gaillardia. “A sympathy job, seeing as they were friends of the family and poor Suzanna needed a break.” Her breath whooshed out as she struck soil, and she blinked away the little red dots in front of her eyes. “Surprised them that I knew what I was doing, and I've been working here on and off ever since.”

“Great. Would you put that damn thing down a minute?” “Almost done.”

“You won't be done until you keel over. Who's going to see a few posies wilting all the way up here?”

“The Snyders will see them, their guests will see them.” She shook her head to clear a haze brought on by the heat. “The photographer from New England Gardens will see them.” Lord, the bees were loud, she thought as the buzzing filled her head. “And nothing's going to wilt. I'm putting in pinks and campanula and some coreopsis, some lavender for scent and monarda for the hummingbirds.” She pressed a hand to her head, ran it over her eyes. “In September we'll plant some bulbs. Dwarf irises and windflowers. Some tuberoses and...” She staggered under a hot wave of dizziness. Holt made the dash from shade to sun as the pick slid out of her hands. When he grabbed her she seemed to melt into his arms.