Feuding Hearts Read Online Free Page A

Harry shackled to my bed, my willing and agile prisoner of love.
    Of course, the idea of my paying for a fence just about gave Mr. Garret the vapors. God forbid I bear the brunt of paying for the materials and labor.
    No, he would cover half the cost and Nana could pay the other half. If only she would settle her feathers, they’d get everything sorted.
    I was taking a breath to try another attempt at reasoning with him—I’m a hopeless optimist—when I heard the creak of floorboards.
    Harry came around the corner, a tray of drinks in hand.
    He’d showered and shaved. If he’d looked delicious when he was working, all cleaned up the man whet my appetite for a hunk feast. He wore dark-washed jeans and his storm-grey shirt darkened the color of his eyes. His damp hair clung with a lover’s devotion to his forehead and neck.
    “Ice tea and a cease-fire, anyone?”
    I smiled. My constricted lungs relaxed and I took a relieved breath. “Yes, to both, thank you.” I helped him set the tray on the glass table, and let my senses absorb the clean scent of his soap, the smooth texture of his freshly-shaven face.
    With a grin, he slid into the spot opposite me.
    My heart jerked at his close proximity and I found myself oh-so-not-so-subtly shifting closer to the warmth of his body.
    “Now, what’s this I heard about flowers being ripped up?” Harry asked.
    Mr. Garret’s face blanched, and then turned a robust shade of red. “None of your business.”
    Harry stretched his long legs in front of him.
    The rough denim of his jeans brushed my leg and I repressed the urge to squeal with delight. I added sugar to my ice-tea, my attention focused on the closeness of his hand, the way his fingers slid across his clothing as he reached for a glass. The grey cotton of his shirt stretched across his chest, and I lost count of how many spoonfuls of sugar I’d added to my drink.
    “Grandpa, you told me Mrs. Baxter wanted those flowers removed because she was putting in roses.” He looked at me and offered a faint smile. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who took your flowers. They’re in my trunk—I meant to transplant them in my greenhouse, but I’ll be happy to replant them in your garden.”
    I nodded, too gleeful at the idea of him shirtless and on my property to do anything else.
    Mr. Garret turned. He shifted and made the leather creak. “Harry runs one of the most successful landscaping businesses in Florida. He’ll do you a right-bang up job.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “He’s great with his tools.”
    I sipped at my drink, grimacing at the too-sweet liquid.
    “He works long and hard—he sure knows how to go deep, really get to the good spots.”
    Heat crawled along my skin, and I took a breath. Was it my over-sexed imagination or was everything sounding like a double entendre?
    “Grandpa.”
    Harry’s exasperated tone broke my fevered train of thought.
    “Grandpa.”
    The warning was in his tone.
    “You’re changing the subject. We were talking about you and Angel’s grandmother.”
    “Aw—I just did what she told me. She’s always doing this to me!” He waved his teaspoon like a saber. “First, it’s ‘do this, Mr. Garret.’ Then, when I do it, she changes her mind and I’m in trouble. It’s her fault. She says she’s thrilled to have a man help around the house—”
    That sounded like Nana. I nodded.
    “Then, when I do something, she wanted it done another way.”
    I grinned and felt a renewed kinship with the elderly gent. Definitely Nana. She once kept me for three hours to hang one picture. By the end of the afternoon, my arms felt like melted rubber, and the dang photo ended up in the exact same place where it started.
    Harry met my gaze and hid a smile. “Perhaps, you should stop helping her, then.”
    “Yes, he’s right—”
    Mr. Garret’s shoulders squared. “I’ll not. It’s un-gentlemanly.”
    “But I think Harry has a point—” I said. Here was my bargaining chip. “Her instructions