Chapter 3

	The sound of the children laughing and yelling penetrated his thoughts, and he
looked up, realizing the recess bell must have sounded.  He’d been so deep in thought
that he hadn’t even heard it.  The previously empty school yard was now brimming with
life.  The squeak of metal on metal of the swings that had been so lazily playing on the
breeze earlier, was now singing a lively rhythmic tune as children pumped faster and
faster to see who could swing the highest.  A little further away, a group of girls were
skipping rope, and nearby a hopscotch  game was in progress.  Further away a group of
older boys were shooting hoops, and a similar group of girls stood around watching
them, whispering amongst themselves.  Over by the fence, another group of boys
mingled, just ‘hanging out’.
	He felt a strange calm at the thought that nothing had really changed much in the
twenty or more years since he’d been the ages of these children.  School yard activities
were still pretty close to what they had been back then, when life was much simpler. 
The only difference that he could see, was the obvious improvement of the staff!
	His eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on the young teacher who strolled through
the playground. A child held each hand and several others ran circles around her
chattering constantly, before darting off to play and being replaced by others.  The faces
kept changing, but there always seemed to be the same number of children.
Understandably so!  She was definitely more pleasing on the eyes than old Mrs.
Crouthers, his own third grade teacher from so many years ago. He couldn’t imagine
that woman with a swarm of happy children milling around her. More often then not, the
whole school yard would have parted like the red sea at her approach.  He didn’t think
he remembered Mrs. C. ever having a smile on her face either. Not like this teacher,
who listened happily to the chatter of each child in turn, beaming down at them with a
genuine smile on her lips.
	Reese leaned against his truck and watched as the young woman and children
moved through the playground. Her long auburn hair fell smoothly and curled under just
at her shoulders.  She had tucked it behind her ears, and he could see the expression
on her face as she listened to the children. It was a very pretty face, he thought. Nothing
like Mrs. Crouthers.  She wore a soft, cap-sleeved sweater in a pale shade of blue, and
a long button-front skirt, that accentuated her slim waist. Her arms were slender and
slightly tanned, and her slim fingers curled just right in the hands of the children at her
sides, swinging slightly as they walked.   As he watched her he found himself wondering
what her legs looked like under that skirt.  
	Over the course of the next few minutes, she comforted a young girl with a small
scrape on her hand, gently rebuked a couple of boys who had been scuffling over a ball,
and intently listened to an animated young student who ran up to her with a butterfly in
hand.  Right there, in the yard, she knelt and offered an impromptu lesson on butterflies,
and how one must never touch their wings.  Then, she watched with almost as much
awe as the children, as the little girl lifted her hand to the wind and allowed the creature
to take flight.
	As they watched the butterfly flutter away, dipping up and down on it’s abstract
flight pattern; as he listened to the happy cheers of the children, and found himself
smiling along with her smile,  Reese momentarily forgot that he was staring at her.  That
was, until he realized that she had spotted him.  For a second, their eyes locked, and
neither of them seemed to be able to look away. Then Reese cleared his throat and
shuffled his feet, suddenly uncomfortable that he had been caught watching her.
	As if to validate his reason for being there at all, he straightened, glanced down
at the piece of paper that he again pulled out of his pocket, and headed purposefully
towards the fence.  She hesitated, but since his gaze was intent on her, she slowly
disengaged herself from the children who were still attached to her, and moved towards
him.
	“Can I help you?” She asked, cautiously glancing around at the children, most
likely to make sure they were all safe should he turn out to be a crazed kidnapper, he
thought.  Her voice was so soft and sweet he felt his heart do a flip.  He cleared his
throat and flashed her his killer smile, which, had he but known it, had a similar effect on
her as his voice had had on him.  He glanced back at the house across the street, but
that meant taking his eyes off her, so he quickly turned back to face her again.
	“You wouldn’t happen to know the people who live in that house across the street
would you?”  He asked, pointing to the sprawling bungalow behind his truck.  “I was
supposed to see the lady there about a job, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone
home.”
	Mikki looked at the larger than life man who was standing in front of her.  Thick
dark hair over a face well tanned, obviously one who spent a lot of time outdoors; dark
penetrating eyes that refused to let go of her; and that smile.... oh what a smile!  When
she’d seen him watching her while the children were releasing the butterfly, she had felt
a strange flutter inside her, and for a moment the sound of the cheering children had
seemed distant.  Even from across the street she could tell he was handsome, but now
that he stood a mere five feet away from her on the other side of the chain link fence,
her knees felt positively weak.
	She forced herself to look past him to where a truck was parked in front of the
house he was asking her about.  It was a shiny black truck, although slightly dusty at the
moment, with an double cab and protruding wheel wells over dual back wheels.  Across
the driver’s door in large white script, was the name Kincaide, with the words Landscape
Professionals in smaller block print underneath it.  The truck seemed to fit the man to a
T, and she guessed that rather than a member of the crew, this was more than likely
Kincaide himself.  She looked behind the truck, to the house, then allowed her gaze to
flow back to the man.  He stood patiently watching her, and she felt her knees tremble
slightly again.
	“I’m sorry, I don’t know them.” She said.  She took in his frown, and hastily went
on. “But they usually park in the driveway and I haven’t seen a car there for at least the
last three days.”
	“Three days?” he questioned, looking slightly confused.
	“At least.” She nodded. She knew it had been at least that long, because one of
the boys had accidentally shot a baseball over the school fence on Monday and it had
landed directly where the back window of the Lincoln that usually parked in that driveway
would normally have been.
	Reese sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair thoughtfully.  If what she was
saying was true, it most likely meant that the owners of the house were away, but it had
been only yesterday that Monica had given him the address, and had practically begged
him to drop by.  She had specifically said ten-thirty today, that Martha Bloomburg would
be expecting him.  He eyed the woman across the fence and frowned. It was becoming
clearer by the minute that someone was being less than truthful, and as he shoved the
paper back in his pocket, he was quite certain that that someone was Monica
Drummond!
	“Something wrong?”  There it was, that voice again, penetrating his thoughts and
drawing him back to reality.
	He shook his head. “No, nothing I can’t handle.” He said, but though he realized
that this conversation was effectively over, he was finding it strangely difficult to part
company with this woman.  She smiled, apologetically, and in an instant was bombarded
with children once again.
	“Miss Johnson! Miss Johnson! Johnny won’t give me back my skipping rope!”
pouted a little girl in the crowd, and instantly the rest of the group chimed in, all talking at
once.  She smiled at him and shrugged as she slowly began to allow herself to be
tugged away from the fence.
	“Duty calls.” She apologized. 
	“Thanks for your help.” He said, somewhat lamely, and started backing into the
street.  Realizing how stupid that must look, he suddenly squared his shoulders and
turned, striding purposefully across the road, opening the door to his truck, and hopping
into the cab in one swift motion.  Once inside, however, his gaze was drawn back to the
school yard where the angelic Miss Johnson was effectively, yet calmly, dealing with little
Johnny.  He had told himself, as he strode across the street to his truck, that he would
drive away as soon as he got into the truck, not sit there and watch her.  But when she
turned her head, from where she was crouched down beside a seven year old, and her
gaze met his directly across the playground, he realized he hadn’t even turned on the
ignition yet.  With a nod, and a slight wave, he started the truck and pulled away from the
curb.
	This was completely unlike him, he rebuked himself.  He’d seen beautiful women
lots of times in his life. He’d looked at them as he drove down the street, and he always
appreciated the female species when he was out in public. He’d even dated his fair
share of them, with and without Aunt Monica’s help, and taken a few of them to his bed.
Never had he felt so drawn in, so riveted, that he wasn’t able to look away. 
	It wasn’t until he reached the end of the street, and the sound of the school bell
signaling the end of recess penetrated his thoughts, that the whole thing fell suddenly
into place in his mind with a great thud.  Though he had intended to make a right turn
and head back across town to check in on Mrs. Baker, he cursed loudly under his breath
and cranked the wheel sharply to the left and circled around the block ‘til he found
himself in front of the school to where the clear white lettering was fastened to the red
brick wall.  
	Elmdale Primary School.
	Damn meddling woman!
	He cruised past the school at a respectable speed. Even though his blood was
beginning to boil, the last thing he needed was a ticket for speeding in a school zone.
Then he cranked a hard right at the next corner and headed straight across town.  Not to
Mrs. Baker’s, but directly to Monica’s house. 
	The woman in the letter from that damn newspaper ad was a school teacher. 
Not just any school teacher.  No, she was a school teacher at Elmdale Primary school,
and her name was Mikki Johnson!  He had just been well and truly suckered!  How
stupid could he have been to let Monica set him up like that. If he knew his aunt at all, he
would be willing to place a hefty bet that Martha Bloomburg was on an island in the
Bahamas somewhere, and wasn’t the slightest bit interested in having her yard re-done!

	Reese brought his truck to a screeching halt just inches behind Monica’s bright
yellow convertible, leaped out of the cab, and slammed the door behind him.  His long
stride made quick work of the distance between his truck and the house, and without
even knocking he threw the door wide and burst inside.
	“Monica Drummond!”  He hollered, as he strode purposefully through her large
entry hall, his booming voice echoing off the walls. He glanced up the curved staircase
on the right, then pushed the door on the left of the hall wide open.	“Aunt Monica, where
the hell are...”
	He stopped in mid-sentence, his large frame blocking almost the entire doorway,
and the dark blazing fire in his eyes a sharp contrast to the shocked expression on the
faces of the two elderly ladies seated in Monica’s sitting room.  He gave them a curt
glance, then moved his gaze to the woman sitting on a brocade Queen Anne chair with
it’s back to the door, shifting uncomfortably.
	“Aunt Monica, I need a word with you.” He said, controlling his anger through
gritted teeth, though the two ladies still looked at him as if he were the devil himself.
Monica turned slowly in her chair, a bright, beauty-queen smile on her face.  
	“Reese, darling...: she began, but he cut her off abruptly.
	“Now!” his voice was demanding and Monica knew better than to provoke him
further.  The two ladies shifted nervously on the sofa, leaning towards each other.
whispering, but they never took their eyes off of him.  Not that he noticed, for his own
gaze was burning right through his aunt’s nervous face.  She cleared her throat slightly,
excused herself from her guests, and walked towards him as calmly as she could
muster.
	“Reese, please!” she begged, in a hushed voice, looking back over her shoulder.
“The ladies of the bridge club...”
	Reese grabbed her by the arm and dragged her towards the door.  “Excuse us
for a moment, Ladies.” He said, as Monica struggled to keep up with him.  Behind them,
the two ladies quickly gathered their belongings and made a b-line for the door.  As
Reese steered Monica into the study ahead of him, they could just make out the sound
of the front door closing behind the retreating ladies.
	“Of all the underhanded, deceitful, despicable things you’ve done, Aunt Monica,
this one takes the cake!”  His eyes bore straight into her and if she had considered
pretending not to know what he was talking about, she quickly gave up on the idea at
the sound of his voice.
	“Reese, please -- calm down.”
	“I will not calm down.” He stated, his jaw clenched, eyes raging.  “In case you
aren’t aware of the fact, I have a business to run.  A business that I built from the ground
up, with my own bare hands.  A business that requires me to actually be there to do the
work, in order to collect payment from my clients so that I can pay my workers, not to
mention maintain my professional reputation.  I do NOT appreciate being sent on a wild
goose chase halfway across town, when I have customers to meet with.”
	Monica stood wordlessly in front of him as he stared down at her, his expression
daring her to speak.  After a long uncomfortable pause, she opened her mouth but his
words were out to silence her before she could even take a breath.
	“Give me the letter.”
	She took a deep breath, then clamped her mouth shut. Without a word, she
walked to the desk and rolled up the top, and picked up the folded mauve paper,
handing it to him with only the slightest of a tremble.
	“And the newspaper.” He said, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the newspaper
that still lay folded on the desk.  She picked it up and handed it to him as well as he
stared her down.
	“Is that everything?” His eyes darkened, daring her to hold anything back.  For a
few seconds she thought she could, then he saw her shoulders droop slightly and she
reached for a white envelope that lay on the desk blotter beside where she had picked
up the newspaper.  With as much composure as she could find, she held her arm out
straight and waited for him to take it.  His eyes narrowed further as he looked at her,
then slowly but purposefully took the envelope.  For the first time since he’d arrived, he
took his eyes off her and glances down, inspecting the unopened envelope.
	“It just arrived this morning.” She said flatly. “I haven’t opened it yet.”
	“How conscientious of you.” He said, sarcastically, the anger still flickering in his
eyes.  He tucked the letter and the envelope inside the newspaper , spun on his heels
and prepared to leave.  At the doorway of her study, he stopped and turned to look at
her. She hadn’t moved, her eyes still on his back.  After a slight hesitation, she opened
her mouth to speak. The movement simply spurred him into action, and he spun away
from her and strode down the hall and out the door without another look back.  Seconds
later, she heard the squeal of his tires as his truck barreled down the street.
	Reese had tossed the newspaper on the seat of the truck and backed out of the
driveway faster than he knew he should.  He knew that if he dug any ruts in her lawn, he
would be the one repairing them, no matter how angry he was with her right then, but the
only thing on his mind at that moment was to get some semblance of order back into his
day.
	He knew too, that he was too upset to check in with Mrs. Baker now. She would
have to accept his apologies next week, when he would be sure to show up in person
and give her the presidential treatment.  Instead, he swung his truck out onto the
highway and headed east.  With his hands gripped tightly on the wheel he made a quick
turn onto the next exit and circled around onto the bypass. He knew he had to show up
to calculate the job estimate for the station renovation, but right now he needed to blow
off some steam, and by taking the long way back across town he just might be calm
enough to meet with the developers when he got there.

	Over the course of the day, every time Reese got into his truck he saw the folded
newspaper sitting on the seat beside him and grunted. The third time , he swore under
his breath, grabbed his clipboard from the back seat, dumped it unceremoniously on top
of the paper, effectively hiding it from view, and spun his tires in the gravel as he took
off.
	After that, he actually managed to keep his mind on his work, at least for the
most part.  He even spent a few relaxed moments laughing with Malcolm Spencer, the
retired highschool janitor, who had hired him  to spray his lawn. Since Malcolm was his
last call of the day he allowed himself the luxury of sitting on the front steps with him as
the man recounted the antics of his neighbour’s dog who had discovered he didn’t like
the Tabasco sauce in the garden the pesky animal had become accustomed to digging
up.
	It was later than usual when Reese pulled his truck into the driveway in front of
his shop.  When it had become apparent that his landscaping business was growing
bigger than what he could fit in the back of his truck, Reese had set out looking for just
the right location to set up a shop big enough to house his equipment, do repairs when
needed, and hold supplies when he had to. What he had ended up with was a turn of
the century brick house with a carriage-house in the  back.  The arrangement was
perfect. He got both shop facilities and living quarters all in one deal, at a much better
price than if he’d had to keep two places. He had concentrated on fixing the shop first,
and now that it was finished and functional, complete with hand-painted sign over the
door reading Kincaide Landscaping, he’d been spending his time working on the house,
whenever he had a spare moment, which didn’t happen very often lately.  He picked up
the clipboard as he prepared to climb out of the truck and his eyes caught sight of the
newspaper underneath it.  With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed it and tucked it under
his arm and headed for the house.  Where his aunt thought he even had time to
entertain a woman, was beyond him, let alone give a relationship the attention needed to
make a marriage work, he thought.
	Once inside, he dropped the clipboard on the table beside the door and carried
the newspaper into the living-room where he tossed it on the couch on his way through
to the bedroom.  He was tired, and he was hungry, but he had a few extra layers of
garden soil he needed to take care of before anything else.
	After a hot shower, clean clothes, and a cold beer, he made his way back to the
living-room and sat down with a sigh beside the newspaper. When he had dropped it,
the envelope had slid out and now lay exposed on the couch beside him. He eyed it
defiantly as he took another sip of his beer, then set the bottle firmly on the floor and
picked up the envelope, wasting no time in ripping it open.
	Inside, there was another sheet of soft mauve note-paper, with the same
handwriting, in the same shade of ink. What wasn’t the same, however; what made his
heart skip a beat and his breath stick in his throat, was the smiling face that looked up at
him from the picture that had been wrapped inside the note-paper.  That same smile that
he had seen, on that same face, as it had watched a tiny butterfly flutter it’s way to
freedom.  The same face that he hadn’t been able to get out of his mind all day.

	Reese spent a lot of time with Mikki over the next three days. At least, he spent a
lot of time with her picture.  He’d gathered up the letters and newspaper before he’d
gone to bed that night, and stashed them out of sight, but he hadn’t been able to bring
himself to lock that face away so impersonally in a drawer.  Instead, he’d ended up
dropping it on the bedside table.  In the morning, he’d been greeted by her sunshine
smile, and as the days went on , she’d spent time on the kitchen table; the living room
coffee table; and the pile of boxes he used as a table in the upstairs bedroom he was
re-doing.  He’d even found himself talking to her, explaining what he was doing to the
walls in the bedroom, or describing a hard day at work.
	She didn’t seem to mind, for she never once stopped smiling.  Even when he’d
sat and stared at her, picture in one hand and beer bottle in the other after coming home
from work, she’d still continued to smile.  He’d tapped her absently against his hand, and
flipped her over to read, for the hundredth time, the soft handwriting slanted across the
back of the picture.
	“Love Mikki” it said, and he stared down at those words now.  Just a salutation,
he told himself, and quickly turned her back over and tossed her on the coffee table. 
	She just smiled.
	The picture was a head and shoulders shot, posed against a mottled blue
background, the kind he used to bring home from school so many years ago.  She wore
dark green, with a wide scooped neckline that accentuated her neck.  Her hair hung
smooth and straight along the sides of her face, and curled under slightly to rest on the
top of her shoulders, just as it had that day on the school playground.  As he looked at
her, he thought of butterflies, and wanted to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ears.
	Still, she smiled.
	He swore under his breath and set down his beer bottle, picked up the picture,
and leaned back against the back of the couch, running his hands through his hair as he
looked at her.  He had never seen eyes like these, he thought. They looked back at him
the purest shade of green.  they looked straight at him, and he just couldn’t look away.
	Damn fool! he said to himself, as he tossed the picture back on the table and
retrieved his beer.  It was only a picture.  He didn’t even know the woman, and if he
knew what was good for him, he’d just keep it that way.  Monica’s meddling always led to
trouble. Leave well enough alone, he warned himself.
	But as he set his beer back on the table, there she was, still looking at him with
those beautiful green eyes, still begging him to brush the hair from her face and tuck it
behind her ear, and still reminding him of butterflies.
	And still smiling.
	Reese swore out loud this time, and stood up, looking at his watch.  Six o’clock. 
He glanced at the beer bottle that sat on the table next to the picture. Barely half gone, if
that.  He strode into the hall and grabbed his keys off the table and headed out the door.
Seconds later he was back, swearing to himself and looking perplexed. He didn’t have a
clue where she lived!