Justine Davis - One of These Nights

“I’ll arrange for someone to track him in the meantime,” Josh said.

“Thanks. Have you heard from Draven?” she asked, now that the head of her section had come to mind.

“This morning. He’s wrapping up in Managua and will be headed back the end of the week, with the package.”

Way to go, she thought. They’d all wondered if they would be called in on that kidnap situation. Should have known better, with Draven on it.

“How’s Billy?” Josh asked.

“Fine. I just got back from the school. I’m able to see him every day now, as long as our boy is in the lab. It’s working out well.”

She knew Josh had somebody on the inside watching—his longtime and rather spookily omniscient assistant, St. John, she suspected—ready to call or page her if Gamble left unexpectedly. That left her quite free during the frequently long work hours the professor put in, hours she put to good use visiting her brother and catching up on her sleep.

“I’d like to stop by and see him,” Josh said.

“He’d love that. You know you’re always Uncle Josh to him.”

She could almost see him smiling, and there was no denying the genuine pleasure in his tone when he answered. “He’s a special kid.”

“Yes,” Sam said quietly. Her little brother was a very, very special kid. And it took a man the caliber of Josh Redstone to realize that.

After she’d hung up she sat still for a moment, thinking once more how lucky she was. If Josh hadn’t pulled her out of her old job, who knows where the restless streak she’d been born with would have led her. Her parents, had they lived, would have been aghast at her work now, at the danger of it, the very thing that kept her exhilarated and buoyant.

But they would have been pleased that she’d taken care of Billy. Not that there had ever been any question. Her sweet-natured, always happy brother was considered handicapped by some, but to her he was the base of her world, the center that kept her sane.

And sometimes the single thing that kept her restless streak from becoming a reckless one.

Ian nearly drove through his garage door.

He wasn’t really accident-prone, just sometimes he got to thinking and lost track of what he was doing. Fortunately his reflexes were fast enough to keep him out of trouble most of the time, but there was a reason he always bought used cars.

Thinking had nothing to do with it this time, however. When he pulled into his driveway and saw Samantha in his garden, wearing only a bright-blue tank top and cutoff jeans that bared too much of those long legs for his equilibrium, he completely forgot what he was doing. That is, driving.

He stopped a fraction of an inch away from an expensive repair job on both garage door and already recently repaired car. Samantha looked up then and gave him a cheerful wave. She held a small pair of clippers, he saw then, and other gardening tools were in a small bucket on the ground beside her. She had on those dark, wraparound sunglasses, and a lime-green baseball-style cap, with her long, pale hair pulled through the back in a makeshift ponytail.

And the three-foot section of garden in front of her had been reclaimed. It wasn’t anything drastic, just…tidier. The profusion of color his parents had loved was still there, it was just that you could see it all now.

Slowly he got out of his car and walked toward her. It was still warm out, even though it was after five, and he could see that she’d been at this a while, as she’d worked up a sweat. She seemed utterly unconcerned about it, which he thought was nice. He also saw a large bottle of water beside a tube of sunscreen in the tool bucket. She was careful, he thought. And wise. With her fair skin she could truly suffer from too much sun without protection.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said as he stopped before her. “I wasn’t going to start this until Saturday, but I got off a bit early today. I only did a little, until you could see and approve.”

“I do. Approve, I mean,” he amended hastily. “It looks just like it used to, when my mother was here.”

“She planted the garden?”

He nodded. “Most of it. They’re both big on bright colors and the exotic, so she added that to what was already here.”

“She got both,” Samantha said with a grin. “What a great place. I presume the bird of paradise was her pet?”

“And the lilies, I think.”

“Then the passionflower vine must be hers, too.”

“Is that that one, with the odd, round flowers?” he asked, pointing to the vine that was now so heavy it was nearly collapsing the trellis that was supporting it.

“That’s it,” Sam said.

“Yes, that was one of hers, too. I guess it was the only way she could let out what was inside. She was trying to be a homebody, for my sake.”

“Trying?”

“It just wasn’t in her. Oh, she did it, until I graduated high school. Then I went off to college, and they…just went.”

“You don’t sound particularly bitter about it,” Samantha said.

“Bitter?” he asked, startled. “No. Not at all. It’s so against her nature I’m amazed she lasted as long as she did. But she did it for me. I don’t begrudge her now.” He smiled. “Miss her, yes, and my dad, too, but not begrudge her.”

She smiled at him. She pulled off her sunglasses, and he saw the smile was echoed in her eyes. “They’re lucky you understand.”

He shrugged. “I do, more than they do, I think. They’re exotic, sophisticated. They did the best they could, but they never quite understood how two peacocks ended up with a raven.”

She blinked. “A raven?”

“Clever, sometimes even deep, but hardly flashy.”

She looked as if his blunt assessment startled her. But then an odd expression came over her face. “I saw a raven once. In a tree. While he was there, he was just another shadow. But when he took wing, and flew into the sunlight, those black feathers flashed green and blue in a way that was more amazing than any peacock’s display, because it was subtle, hidden, and you had to pay attention or you’d miss it.”

At the near poetry of her statement, Ian found himself staring at her. He told himself not to take it personally, she’d only been comparing birds, not people. But still…

“And besides,” she added, “a raven is much more useful than most peacocks.”

“Useful?” His voice sounded almost like that raven’s squawk to his own ears.

“They find things,” she said. “And they are very, very smart.”

He wondered if there was a compliment for him in there, but decided that was reading far too much into a vague conversation. Besides, it didn’t matter. Compliments weren’t something he sought out or needed.

Although one from this woman might be rather pleasant, he admitted.

“You really don’t have to do this whole garden, you know,” he said before he could take that ridiculous train of thought any further. “I’m sure you have lots to do, unpacking and all.”

“I enjoy it,” she said. “And as I said, except for a few pots and planters, there’s not much for me to do over there.”

He suspected the view out her windows of his yard wasn’t the nicest, and that might have something to do with her eagerness, but he chose not to say anything.

“I guess I should have hired a gardener, but I never seemed to have the time to do even that.”

“You do put in some long hours, I noticed.”

Something about what he himself had said suddenly registered. “I…can I pay you for your time, at least?”

The minute the words were out he was afraid they would offend her. Damn, he was no good at even this, a friendly chat between neighbors.

But if she took offense, she hid it behind another smile. “You could find me something cold to drink,” she said.