A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [63]
“Love to,” replied Lindsay, “if we ever get Internet service.”
“Amazing,” said Cici, admiring a delicately etched fern. “Absolutely amazing. I guess this only goes to prove that not all art is on a canvas.”
Lindsay’s eyes softened thoughtfully as she absorbed this. “No,” she said, “I guess it’s not. Thanks, Cici.”
“The only problem is,” Bridget said, “now all the other bedrooms look shabby. I guess we’d better start plastering over wallpaper in the other rooms, huh?”
Lindsay laughed. “Thanks, but I believe I’ll pass on that if you don’t mind. If I never see another putty knife or a glazing sponge it’ll be too soon. Besides,” she added casually—almost too casually—“I think it’s about time I got started on the art studio, don’t you?”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” Bridget said. “I was beginning to think you’d given up on that plan.”
“And after we went to all the trouble to move you to the country so you could have a dairy barn for a studio,” added Cici with a grin. “Do you need help?”
“I’ll let you know,” Lindsay said. “Right now I just thought I would clean it out so I could store my supplies in there. Later we’ll talk about putting up some shelves, but it won’t need much more than that.”
“I think you can heat it with electric baseboard heaters,” Cici said. “The walls are so thick they should serve as natural insulation, and . . . what’s that?”
They all heard it at once: the grinding sound of a lawn tractor roaring to life, and very close. They got to the window in time to see their own lawn mower puttering around the corner—with a complete stranger riding it.
By the time they raced down the front steps a straight, careful path had been cut in the tall grass from the back shed to the poplar tree. The dog was crouched outside his customary haunt under the porch, barking wildly and pawing the ground. Riding astride the mower was a young man with greasy brown hair that fell to his neck, an equally greasy and stained white T-shirt, and frayed jeans. He didn’t look up when they came out; he just kept going in a slow, straight line, working the clutch when the mower threatened to bog down in the wet grass.
Cici looked at Lindsay. Lindsay looked at Bridget. Bridget said, raising her voice to be heard above both the sound of wild barking and roaring engine, “Do you think he’s trying to steal it?”
Cici said, “If he is, he’s sure got a lot of confidence.”
Lindsay shouted, “Should we tell him about the yellow jackets?”
“Let’s find out who he is, first,” suggested Cici.
As the mower downshifted to skirt the poplar tree, the three women walked boldly out in front of it—after first dancing quickly away from the sheepdog in attack mode—waving their arms to get the operator’s attention. When he looked at them, Cici made a slashing motion across her throat, indicating he should cut the engine.
When the mower stopped, so did the dog, who tucked his tail and slunk back under the porch. They found themselves staring at a skinny, unsmiling boy with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip in a manner oddly reminiscent of James Dean. Wisps of smoke drifted around his ears.
Cici spoke up. “I’m Cici Burke,” she said. “This is Lindsay Wright and this is Bridget Tyndale. We own that lawn mower. And this lawn.”
He looked from one to the other of them unhurriedly, and with absolutely no sign of friendliness in his expression. He pinched the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, drew and exhaled, and said, after a measured time, “Name’s Noah. Heard you needed somebody to do yard work.”
“Oh!” Lindsay exclaimed. Relief replaced the consternation on her face with such swiftness that she practically beamed. “Oh, yes, you’re right, we do. That’s great! We’re so glad—”
Cici elbowed her in the ribs. “Where are you from, Noah?” she asked pleasantly.
He drew on the cigarette, eyes narrowed. “Here.”
Bridget murmured, “What did you think Cici? That he was an out of town commuter?”
Cici tried again. “Who told you about us?”
His gaze was somewhere between insolent and disinterested. “You want me to mow your lawn or not?”
Lindsay returned