Leaning against the counter, he shook his head, his shoulders slumped. Why had he set himself up this way? Hadn’t he told himself from the beginning that being with Carrie was a mistake? They were from two different worlds. She had tried—she had honestly tried—but the tug of the Steinwoods was too strong. They’d reeled her back. He’d hoped. . . His nose stung again. But, no, it was foolhardy to hope for a relationship with someone like Carrie.
“Oh, Lord, I just wish it didn’t hurt so much.”
At least he had his relationship with his Father God. The Bible study lessons came back to him—how God was always there, would never forsake him. An old-fashioned word, forsake, but Rocky liked it. It meant God was totally dependable—he didn’t have to worry that God would abandon him. God would never let the search for money or prestige get in the way of His relationship with His child Rocky. A feeling of comfort wrapped around Rocky’s aching heart.
He dropped to his knees in the kitchen and poured out his hurt to God. Then he prayed for Carrie, for her happiness. “Let her discover the key to happiness isn’t in gaining more money, God. Don’t let her turn out like her parents—she’s just too good for a life like that.” It helped to pray for her, and he remembered the biblical advice to pray for those who persecuted you. He’d always thought that odd—why pray for someone who wanted to harm you? Yet praying for Carrie brought a great sense of peace.
He got to his feet, remembering the picnic lunch he’d shared with her. That day she had nearly convinced him her money didn’t mean anything to her—that it shouldn’t come between them. She had listened so intently to his dreams, had told him God loved him the way he was and had encouraged him to pursue opening his landscaping business. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders stiff, as confusion struck. Why would she do all that if she was just going to turn around and undermine him? It didn’t make sense.
And standing there, staring off into space, didn’t make sense either. Carrie had made her choice. He’d have to accept it. Reaching for his phone, he made his plans for the evening. He’d order a pizza, watch some TV then fill out all that paperwork so he could get it in the mail. Just once the Steinwoods were going to come in second. Rocky would play their game of hardball, and he would win.
❧
Wednesday evening Carrie sat on a metal folding chair in the church basement and fumed. Rocky had done it again. The last time he’d left her sitting alone was in the pizza parlor, and she’d wondered what happened to him. This time she knew what happened—he was running scared. Again.
There’d been something in his eyes Monday when he’d stopped by the house. The old worry was back about how he could compete with the Steinwood money. How she wished he’d set that silliness aside and just accept her for who she was! She was willing to accept him, warts and all. Couldn’t he do the same for her?
She got very little out of the Bible study with thoughts of Rocky distracting her, and her college classes Thursday weren’t much better. On Thursday evening, when the realtor called to tell her she could stop by and sign paperwork for her new home on Friday, she hung up in excitement and immediately began to dial Rocky’s number. Then remembrance struck again, and she slammed down the phone in frustration. By Friday morning, when she still felt tense and annoyed, she knew she’d have to hash things out with him.
She got out of class a little after one and, instead of going to the realtor’s office, headed for Elmwood Towers. Walking toward the courtyard, she encountered Rocky’s white-haired friend, Eileen, who greeted her with a huge smile.
“Why, hello! I bet you’re here to see Rocky.”
Carrie forced her lips into a smile. “Yes, I am. Do you know where I might find him?”
Eileen nodded, her eyes crinkling. “Oh yes, I do. He’s placing some rocks in the flower garden we started a few weeks ago—he decided it needed some texture.” She winked. “And you might be just what he needs. He’s been a real grumble-bear this week.” Eileen pointed. “Just follow the foot path. You’ll see him.”
Carrie thanked Eileen and headed down the foot path she and Rocky had taken on that afternoon when she had boldly asked him to spend some time with her. She spotted him, in his ratty sleeveless T-shirt and worn denims, and the sight of his flexing biceps and tanned skin immediately made her stomach turn a flip-flop. The effect this man had on her senses. . . .
“Rocky.” She called his name when she was still several yards away.
He turned, a sizable rock in his hand, and his gaze narrowed. He waited until she stood in front of him before asking, “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”
“I get out early on Fridays. And speaking of class. . .where were you Wednesday night?”
He turned back to the garden, bending over to place the rock between a middle-sized bush and a cluster of something that must have bloomed at one time but now was flowerless. He took his time, shifting the rock just so, then straightened and brushed his gloved palms against each other to dispel dust.
“I was busy.”
She tipped her head, frowning. “Well, you might have let me know. I held a seat for you, and you didn’t show up.”
“I’m sorry.” But his tone didn’t sound sorry.
Carrie’s ire raised. “Listen, Rocky—after you stood me up at the Ironstone, you said you wouldn’t do that again. And then you did do it again. Is this going to be a habit?”
He jerked off his gloves, throwing them into the wheel-barrow. Then he stuck his fingertips into his pockets and looked at her. His brown eyes, normally warm and welcoming toward her, seemed cold and distant. She felt a chill.
He drawled, “I guess. . .habits. . .are hard for all of us to break.”
Her scowl deepened, and she put her hand on her hip. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” He turned back to the wheelbarrow, reaching for his gloves.
She grabbed his arm and tugged, forcing him to look at her. “Rocky, we’re beyond this. Don’t shut me out. I had some news I wanted to share with you Wednesday, and when you weren’t there it really disappointed me. The least you can do is tell me why you didn’t come.”
He looked into her eyes for a long moment, his face puckered up in—what? Frustration? Confusion? She wasn’t sure. Finally he gave a shrug and said, “Okay, I’ll tell you why I didn’t come. I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman who got information about starting a landscaping business. I couldn’t stop thinking that, even though you tried to hide it, it was you. You’re not a very good liar, Carrie.”
She felt a blush climbing her cheeks.
“See—you’re getting all pink. You lied to me Monday. Are you going to lie to me now and say it wasn’t you who picked up those applications?”
He had her trapped. She couldn’t look him in the face and tell an outright fabrication. She shook her head miserably. “No. It was me.”
“That’s what I thought.” He snatched up his gloves and jammed his hands in, adjusting the fingers, his lips set in a grim line. Then he lifted a rock, grunting with the effort of clearing the side of the wheelbarrow. He took two stumbling steps forward and thumped the rock down. Still leaning forward, hands on knees, he added in a tired voice, “And I just couldn’t sit there next to you, knowing what you’d done.”
Carrie felt her heart plummet. He’d known all along. There never was a surprise. Disappointment hit hard—she had so wanted to surprise him. “You mean you know what I was doing?”
He pushed himself upright and faced her, his expression hard. “Of course I do. It’s clear. Your stepfather builds things. All of those buildings are on unlandscaped ground. It only makes sense that having a landscaper in the family would be to his benefit.” He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing. “Of course it smarted to think you’d be the one to start it, since you knew how much I wanted to get my own business going; but from a business standpoint I—”
“Wait a minute.” Carrie took a step forward, one ear turned toward him
in an effort to hear more clearly. “You think I picked up that paperwork so I could start my own landscaping business—one that would be in direct competition with yours?”
He threw his arms outward. “What else was I to think? I’m not stupid, even if I don’t have a college degree. You’ve got everything it takes—knowledge in business administration, the skills to get whatever you need right off the computer, the money to hire workers and make it all happen.” He snorted. “Your whole life you’ve watched Mac Steinwood find ways to add to his bank account.”
Suddenly he seemed to deflate, shaking his head and looking toward the ground. “Look, Carrie—I understand. Sure, it hurt, but. . .I do understand. It’s the way you were raised. I don’t blame you.”
She stood, staring in disbelief, the ache so intense it nearly doubled her over. He thought she was working against him instead of for him. He thought her upbringing as Mac Steinwood’s stepdaughter would make her stoop low enough to pull the rug out from under the feet of someone she genuinely cared about. Tears clouded her vision, and she took a step backward. He was like everyone else, only seeing her money, not seeing her heart. She had thought Rocky was different, but he wasn’t. She choked back a sob.
His head came up, his gaze locking on hers. “Carrie, don’t cry. I told you it didn’t matter.”
“Oh, but it does.” Her voice quavered with the effort of maintaining control of her emotions. “It matters a great deal. And if that’s what you really think of me, then—” She shook her head, another sob nearly strangling her. Should she tell him why she picked up that paperwork? No—he wouldn’t believe her. And she couldn’t face more of his rejection.
“I–I’ve got to go. Good-bye, Rocky.” The last two words nearly broke her heart. She spun on her heel and clattered down the sidewalk, determined to escape. But how would she escape this pain in her heart?
❧
Rocky sat on the metal step in front of his trailer, a bottle of pop in his hand and a heavy weight in his heart. He’d made Carrie cry today. As upset and hurt as he’d been, he hadn’t wanted to do that. Seeing her distress had created a whole new hurt inside of him. Why should he care if he’d upset her after what she’d done? He knew why. Because he loved her.
He rubbed the sweaty bottle across his forehead, trying to cool his thoughts. Yep, he loved her all right. But what good did that do him? She’d come right out and admitted the truth—that she had picked up the paperwork for a landscaping business. But her parting comment—something about if that’s what he thought of her—kept plaguing him. If she were guilty of plotting against him, why would she assume he’d feel anything but bitterness? It didn’t make sense.
He released a breath, his cheeks puffed out, then looked across his acre of ground. In his mind he could still see the little green stems pushing their way through the soil, the seedlings stretching toward the sky. It was a good dream. One he wasn’t willing to relinquish. Eileen had told him God planted the talent in him, and he needed to let that talent bloom. How ugly would a rose bush be without the blooms? That’s how he felt now, having someone try to steal his dream away—like a prickly rose bush stem with no blossoms.
Carrie’s stricken face appeared again in his memory. He heard her words again—“If that’s what you think of me”—and he scowled. He wished he could set that memory aside. He didn’t want to think of her right now. It hurt too much.
Swallowing the last of the carbonated beverage, he gave the bottle a toss to the Dumpster at the edge of the yard. It smacked the rim and bounced out. Immediately he got to his feet, strode across the ground, snatched up the bottle, and dropped it in. As the bottle thudded in the bottom of the barrel, he couldn’t help chuckling. Who would have imagined it—Rocky Wilder, worrying about trash on the ground? God sure had worked a change in him.
So why couldn’t God work a change in Carrie, too?
The thought struck hard. His heart pounded. He’d broken his habits of apathy and intimidation. If God could help him set aside those lifelong traits, couldn’t He also help Carrie set aside her lifelong lessons of putting money first?
A Bible verse about it being harder for a wealthy man to enter the kingdom of heaven than it was for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle flitted through his mind. He raised his eyes to the sky, now tinged with pink, and asked aloud, “You said it was hard, God. But is it impossible?”
He didn’t receive an answer. He didn’t even feel any peace. With a sinking heart he turned toward the trailer door. His feet scuffed through the dirt as he crossed the yard. Maybe he’d better focus on something else. All this nervous energy should be put to good use, and he’d use it all right. He’d use it getting his landscaping business going. Now. His brother would be able to help. First thing tomorrow he’d see Philip, get his advice.
“And I won’t even think about Carrie,” he told himself firmly.
But his thoughts added disparagingly, Yeah, right.
Sixteen
“Okay, I think that’s a pretty comprehensive list.” Philip tapped his pencil against the yellow writing pad on the kitchen table.
Rocky glanced at the pad, his resolve faltering as he took in the lengthy list of things to do. Then he straightened his spine and said, “It’s a lot, but I’ll do it. I’ll leave Steinwood in the dust.”
Philip’s forehead creased into a scowl. “Rocky, I think it’s great that you want to open your own business. And you know Marin and I will do anything we can to help.”
Rocky met Philip’s gaze, his lips twisting into a wry grin. “I hear a ‘but’ coming on.”
Philip shrugged, grimacing. “But. . .I’m worried about the hostility I hear in your voice. You seem more interested in outdoing Steinwood than anything else. That doesn’t seem healthy to me.”
Rocky shifted his gaze to the kitchen window. The morning sun backlit the yellow gingham curtains, making them glow with cheeriness. The curtains reminded Rocky of daffodils nodding their heads on a spring morning. Everything reminded him of flowers—landscaping seemed to be in his blood. He wanted this business so badly he could taste it.
“Is it wrong to want to be successful?” he asked, his gaze still on the window.
“Of course not.” Philip’s firm tone brought Rocky’s gaze around. “But at the expense of someone else’s failure?”
Rocky gritted his teeth. “Look—you and I both know Steinwood won’t be a failure. He’ll get business—his own. But I’m determined to get everyone else’s, whatever that might take.” He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, his throat constricting. “He has this coming. He and Carrie cooked up this scheme to start their own business just so I wouldn’t stand a chance. Steinwood hates me—I stole from him. He doesn’t want me to be successful. So he used a weapon I couldn’t fight against—Carrie—to bring me to my knees. Well, it isn’t going to work. I’m going to be successful, and they’re going to have to swallow their pride and acknowledge that they lost.”
Philip shook his head. “Listen to yourself, Rocky. Now you’re even turning on Carrie.”
Rocky felt pressure build in his chest. He clenched his fists. “I don’t have a choice! She turned on me first!”
“Are you sure?”
Philip’s calm question stirred Rocky’s anger. “Of course I’m sure. She admitted it.”
“She admitted picking up paperwork for a landscaping business. She didn’t admit to trying to put you out of business.”
Rocky snorted in disgust. “They’re one and the same.”
“Are they? How can you be sure?”
Rocky pushed his chair backward, lurching to his feet and stomping across the linoleum floor to lean against the kitchen counter and peer out the window. Philip’s questions had brought a niggle of doubt to Rocky’s mind. He didn’t want to believe ill of Carrie—he really wanted to believe she hadn’t intended him harm. But he didn’t know how to balance her confession of guilt against what he felt in his heart.
“I’m jus
t a sucker for a pretty face.” His quiet admission was tinged with self-deprecation.
Philip rose and stood beside him, resting his hand on Rocky’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you what to do—never could—you were always so stubborn.”
Rocky managed a slight smile at those words.
“But I’d like to give you a word of advice.”
Rocky turned his head to look at his brother.
“If you care about this girl as much as I think you do, don’t let it go like this. The bitterness will eat you alive. Talk it out. Work it out.”
“I don’t think we can,” Rocky said, shaking his head. “We’re so different.”
“I thought the same thing about Marin and me,” Philip pointed out. “We had a huge stumbling block to overcome—a seemingly insurmountable issue that had to be forgiven. I didn’t think it was possible either, but look at us now. With God all things are possible. Don’t underestimate Him, Rocky.”
Rocky considered Philip’s words. Was it possible for him to forgive Carrie for this act of sabotage? Would they be able to bridge the differences in their upbringings and find a common ground? It seemed overwhelming. He blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t know. . . .”
“You don’t have to know,” Philip said, giving Rocky a firm clap on the shoulder. “You just have to trust. But I hope you’ll make the effort, because if you don’t, you’ll always wonder what could have been. And that’s a regret I can’t imagine you’d want to carry for the rest of your life.”
❧
“Put it right over there against the north wall.”
Carrie directed the movers in the placement of her couch. The plastic covering crinkled as the two men pushed the overstuffed couch into place. She smiled her thanks, but before she could voice the words a ringing intruded. Her cell phone, which was in her purse. But where was her purse?
She dashed around the room, peeking behind boxes and stubbing her toe before she located the leather bag squashed between two boxes on the kitchen counter. Standing on one foot, she flipped the phone open and panted, “Hello?”
That Wilder Boy Page 13
