A Promise to Cherish by Lavyrle Spencer Page A

as she sprayed them, heading down toward where his shirt scarcely crinkled as it disappeared into the narrow waist of his jeans. His buns were so flat that they scarcely curved beneath the denim. Again she remembered that he was a runner. It seemed a long, long way down to his wide-spread boots.
    He craned to look at her over his shoulder. “Hurry up. This stuff stinks.”
    As she stood up, she couldn’t resist teasing. “Don’t be such a baby, Brown. I don’t think it smells so bad.” And as if to prove the point, she gave him a shot inside the back of his collar, then pulled the can farther back and emitted a cloud at the back of his head. He doubled forward and let out an immense sneeze.
    She burst out laughing as he moved out of range and whirled.
    “Damn it all, if it isn’t one thing it’s another.”
    She puckered her face and feigned an apology. “Oh, I’m so-o-o sorry.”
    A wicked grin lifted his mouth as he returned wryly, “Yes, I can see just how sorry you are.”
    He took a menacing step toward her, and she backed away. “Now, Brown, it was an accident!” she warned, holding out a hand to fend him off. But he advanced a step farther.
    “So will this be.” He wrenched the can from her hand and shook it, a gleam of menace in his eye.
    “Brown, I’m warning you!”
    “You started it, now stand and take your medicine.”
    There was nothing she could do but turn her back on him, squeeze her eyes shut, and wait. He took his sweet time about it, while she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Finally she felt the spray at the back of her neck. Then it moved downward and stopped at her hips. “Put your arms up,” he ordered. She gritted her teeth, did as ordered, but immediately realized her mistake, for when her arms went up, so did the shirt. A long moment passed in silence, and she felt herself beginning to blush. Then the hiss of the spray finished its trip down her backside, and he nudged her with the can, ordering, “Turn around.” She spun about, chancing a quick peek at the top of his hair as he hunkered down before her, but quickly shutting her eyes as the cloud of spray moved upward. It stopped again, at her hips, and she suffered an agonizing moment, wondering what he was doing before a direct shot hit her in her bare navel.
    She yelped and jumped backward. “Damn you, Brown!”
    He chuckled devilishly. “I couldn’t resist.”
    She glared at him as he knelt on one knee, his eyes nearly on a level with the ribbed waistband that she now hugged protectively in place. She was fighting a losing battle of trying to forget that Sam Brown was a man—and he wasn’t helping one bit! The only resource she could draw upon was feigned indignation. She yanked the can from his hand, then stalked to the truck and flung it through the open window.
    “We’ve got work to do, Brown. Enough of this fooling around!” And, thankfully, he followed her lead and got back down to business.
    They set off through knee-high grass laden with dew and embroidered with spider webs to which droplets of moisture clung. They moved slowly, the only sounds those of their footsteps swishing through the grass, which occasionally squeaked as it brushed wetly against Lee’s rubber boots. They stopped and stood shoulder to shoulder, each holding one side of the wide blueprints as they studied them.
    There were a hundred considerations to be made when deciding whether or not to bid a job such as this one. The first and most obvious was the amount of dirt to be moved, where to, and with what. As they walked, they scanned the ups and downs, considering, discussing, doing mental calculations. They left the fairly level edge of the cornfield and came to a section of uneven roughland—pasture for the most part—with gullies and swales, many filled with muddy potholes after last night’s rains. The dampness of the soil was a second important consideration, so Sam and Lee often knelt, side by side, lifting handfuls of soil, noting