him.”
Gripping the counter edge, she tilted her
head and pictured the yard as she’d wanted it. With a lattice and
climbing roses of varying colors and personality. Thorns. She’d had
too much perfection, structure and predictability. She wanted
something a little wild. Hard to tame.
Maggie rolled her shoulders
back and called into the living room. “Grace, I’m going
outside.”
Determined to live life her way, she went to
the garage and grabbed a pair of hedge clippers. She hit the button
to raise the garage door and tapped her foot. Waiting. Those bushes
were coming out.
Now.
Opening the gate, she marched across the yard
and started whacking away at the closest bush. Each branch she
chopped off filled her with pleasure and satisfaction. Freedom and
independence she’d long forgotten soaked into her with renewed
dreams and opinions. She was more than a mom and homemaker.
“Mags, what are you
doing?”
She looked over her
shoulder. Harte stood just inside the iron gate. Craig leaned
against the truck behind him waiting to move the workout equipment
and more boxes in the garage. “If you can’t see the obvious, then
you can’t be a very good detective.”
“Looks like you’re cutting
the bushes.”
“You get a gold star for
observation skills.”
Craig smothered a laugh behind twitching
lips.
“Why now?” Harte glanced
briefly back at his partner before turning his attention back to
her. “What did they do to you?”
“Existed.” She hacked
another branch. And then three more. Harte silently went back to
help Craig unload the truck.
Did all men think bushes needed to be plain,
boring green? Did they all have a problem with a woman having a
mind of her own? With her wanting a little color in her yard? So
what if wisteria and rose bushes had to be trimmed back more often.
They were pretty. They smelled nice.
Using her foot to push a branch to the
ground, she leaned forward and put the cutters at the base.
Squeezing the handles together so hard every muscle in her arms
screamed their protest, she worked at cutting the damn thing
off.
Crack!
It broke with a snap. Her foot slipped off
the branch. She lost her balance and fell into the bushes.
The freshly cut limbs sliced at her arms. The
newest cut one jabbed into her knee, ripping her new slacks, and
scraping off a thick layer of skin.
“Shoot.”
She threw the cutters to the ground and
stormed into the house. Marching through the living room she headed
for her room to clean her knee and change.
“Maggie, is—”
“Not now, Grace.” Ignoring
her sister currently pacing the floor with Emma, she stepped into
the dimly lit hall. A movement to her right had her turning as a
tall, slender woman wearing sunglasses stepped out of the office at
the other end of the hall.
The woman stopped and
grinned. “Enjoy Detective Harte while you can.” With the cryptic
message, she headed for the front door.
Chills skittered along Maggie’s neck. She’d
heard that voice. Seen that woman. Following, she tried to figure
out where. And what she was doing in the house.
By the time Maggie reached
the end of the hall and turned the corner, the woman was outside
and half way across the lawn. Maggie looked toward Grace. “Who was
that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Jared
or one of the guys let her in while I was changing Emma.” Grace
cradled Emma in one arm and ran her finger along Emma’s gums. “Is
it too early for her to be teething?”
“Not really.” Unable to
worry about her daughter’s possible tooth at the moment, she turned
back to the open door. The woman was heading across the street a
few houses down.
Shadows of dread weighed Maggie down as she
stepped out on the porch. The woman got into a car and slowly
pulled away from the curb, slid her glasses up onto her head and
looked right at Maggie. Her cold stare was an invisible dagger to
the heart.
She'd felt the chill of that stare.
Son of a…
Shivers swarmed. Maggie. She pivoted and
Gripping the counter edge, she tilted her
head and pictured the yard as she’d wanted it. With a lattice and
climbing roses of varying colors and personality. Thorns. She’d had
too much perfection, structure and predictability. She wanted
something a little wild. Hard to tame.
Maggie rolled her shoulders
back and called into the living room. “Grace, I’m going
outside.”
Determined to live life her way, she went to
the garage and grabbed a pair of hedge clippers. She hit the button
to raise the garage door and tapped her foot. Waiting. Those bushes
were coming out.
Now.
Opening the gate, she marched across the yard
and started whacking away at the closest bush. Each branch she
chopped off filled her with pleasure and satisfaction. Freedom and
independence she’d long forgotten soaked into her with renewed
dreams and opinions. She was more than a mom and homemaker.
“Mags, what are you
doing?”
She looked over her
shoulder. Harte stood just inside the iron gate. Craig leaned
against the truck behind him waiting to move the workout equipment
and more boxes in the garage. “If you can’t see the obvious, then
you can’t be a very good detective.”
“Looks like you’re cutting
the bushes.”
“You get a gold star for
observation skills.”
Craig smothered a laugh behind twitching
lips.
“Why now?” Harte glanced
briefly back at his partner before turning his attention back to
her. “What did they do to you?”
“Existed.” She hacked
another branch. And then three more. Harte silently went back to
help Craig unload the truck.
Did all men think bushes needed to be plain,
boring green? Did they all have a problem with a woman having a
mind of her own? With her wanting a little color in her yard? So
what if wisteria and rose bushes had to be trimmed back more often.
They were pretty. They smelled nice.
Using her foot to push a branch to the
ground, she leaned forward and put the cutters at the base.
Squeezing the handles together so hard every muscle in her arms
screamed their protest, she worked at cutting the damn thing
off.
Crack!
It broke with a snap. Her foot slipped off
the branch. She lost her balance and fell into the bushes.
The freshly cut limbs sliced at her arms. The
newest cut one jabbed into her knee, ripping her new slacks, and
scraping off a thick layer of skin.
“Shoot.”
She threw the cutters to the ground and
stormed into the house. Marching through the living room she headed
for her room to clean her knee and change.
“Maggie, is—”
“Not now, Grace.” Ignoring
her sister currently pacing the floor with Emma, she stepped into
the dimly lit hall. A movement to her right had her turning as a
tall, slender woman wearing sunglasses stepped out of the office at
the other end of the hall.
The woman stopped and
grinned. “Enjoy Detective Harte while you can.” With the cryptic
message, she headed for the front door.
Chills skittered along Maggie’s neck. She’d
heard that voice. Seen that woman. Following, she tried to figure
out where. And what she was doing in the house.
By the time Maggie reached
the end of the hall and turned the corner, the woman was outside
and half way across the lawn. Maggie looked toward Grace. “Who was
that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Jared
or one of the guys let her in while I was changing Emma.” Grace
cradled Emma in one arm and ran her finger along Emma’s gums. “Is
it too early for her to be teething?”
“Not really.” Unable to
worry about her daughter’s possible tooth at the moment, she turned
back to the open door. The woman was heading across the street a
few houses down.
Shadows of dread weighed Maggie down as she
stepped out on the porch. The woman got into a car and slowly
pulled away from the curb, slid her glasses up onto her head and
looked right at Maggie. Her cold stare was an invisible dagger to
the heart.
She'd felt the chill of that stare.
Son of a…
Shivers swarmed. Maggie. She pivoted and
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