The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(7)
“But—” Dad started, but Grandpa waved him off.
“Dean, I know you think college is the way to go, but I didn’t go to college and I built up a multimillion dollar company with a band saw and some elbow grease. I built this kitchen table, and a thousand more just like it. Let the kid do what he’s good at.” Grandpa chuckled. “Lord knows he needs an honest living. Those young people who do nothing but party and spend up their parents’ money their whole lives irritate the shit out of me.”
Kyle laughed, especially when his dad gave Grandpa a sour look. The three of them, around the kitchen table, looked like a past, present, future picture of one man. Dad had inherited Grandpa’s dark hair, blue eyes, and height—and Kyle had inherited his Dad’s. One now completely gray, one silver-streaked, and one as dark-haired as the crows cawing in the backyard. Despite that, they were pretty different people. Grandpa was an old-fashioned businessman who could sell you a handful of illegally picked bluebonnets. Dad was the finance whiz, investing the money after Grandpa sold the company, making them a fortune his grandkids couldn’t outspend.
Some days Kyle wasn’t sure where he fit in that picture.
His good mood soured a little. “I better get to work.”
“Home by seven? Rosanna left us a King Ranch casserole for dinner.”
He waved as he went out the garage door. Their housekeeper always made them food for the weekends, worrying that “her men” would eat Chinese takeout if she didn’t provide.
She was probably right.
Ever since Mom and Grandma died, the house had slowly unraveled into a bachelor pad, and Rosanna had her work cut out for her just trying to stem the tide. Kyle had only been three when they’d gotten in the car accident and he didn’t remember much about it, taking his life with Dad and Grandpa totally for granted.
Maybe that’s why he found it hard to talk to girls—he hadn’t been around any at home for a long time.
The pickup had a little trouble starting, but he got it rolling and drove to his first job. Even at 8:00 a.m., a strong, warm breeze blew in from the west, and it was humid enough to make his back sweat in the early morning sun. By the time he finished his second lawn—an acre sea of spring green that needed to be mowed down short to allow the new growth to take hold—he had dirt, dead grass, and flecks of pollen stuck all over his legs and arms. Great, not the best first impression for the Gladwell job.
After brushing himself off as best he could, he drove to their house, the Toyota rattling like a dying animal when he cut the ignition. Mrs. Gladwell was already on the porch. Tall, slim, with a long neck, she looked more like a retired dancer than the president of a charity. She waved at him, smiling, when he got out of the truck.
“This way,” she called, heading around the side of the house. “We’ll go on back.”
He followed her into their backyard, then grunted in sympathy. “You weren’t wrong.”
“I know.” Her voice had an exasperated edge. “The landscaper told us all this….vegetation would create an classic environment. Instead, we got—”
“A jungle. I hate when those companies overdo it. Less is more with a backyard sometimes,” Kyle said. “Okay, the first problem is your oak needs pruned, badly. The bald spots in the lawn are where the Bermuda isn’t getting enough sun. It’s a high-sun grass, and all this shade is killing it.”
They walked around the backyard, and he pointed out places where he’d take out half the ornamental bushes, prune others back, and where he’d need to put in some new sod. “Mrs. Gladwell, this is a pretty big job. I can get a good start this weekend, but it’s going to be kind of expensive.”
“That’s fine,” she said in a rush. “This luncheon…I have a former governor’s wife coming, along with a number of very wealthy donors. I’m willing to spend whatever it takes to fix this.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then. How about I get started on pulling out some of these bushes today and tomorrow, then Monday I can go to the nursery and pick up whatever else we need.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Kyle.” She gave his shoulder a quick pat. “If you need to come in and get a drink of water or use the facilities, feel free.”
He nodded, knowing full well he’d never track his dirt all over their house. There was a gas station a block away if he needed anything. “All I need is some extra trash bags.”
Once she dashed off, he looked around the backyard again, feeling equal parts excited and apprehensive. This would be the biggest job he’d ever done, and a governor’s wife would see it. It had to be perfect.
Nodding to himself, he pulled on his work gloves and went to grab a shovel and his hedge clippers.
Chapter Six
Faith
“One, two, three…one, two three,” Faith sang to her little charges. “Second position, backs straight. One, two, three.”
Hannah, the world’s cutest six-year-old, smiled and showed off the gap where her two front teeth should be. “Miss Faith? Can we do hip-hop now?”
Faith almost laughed at the innocent tone in Hannah’s voice, and barely kept it in. “Just a few more minutes of ballet first, okay? One, two, three. One, two, three.”
The little ones paid attention for another sixty seconds before wiggling like crazy, so Faith relented and put on “I Like to Move It.” Squeals of delight went around the studio and the first graders hurried into place to start their hip-hop routine. Through the observation window, Faith saw the parents whip out cameras to snap pictures of their little darlings. She wished they loved ballet as much as she did, but this was the fun part for all of them.