But today, when Trent had presented her with the flowers, she’d realized how much progress she had made. A man had given her flowers without considering whether or not she was pretty. The daisies weren’t a tribute to her beauty, but to the woman she was on the inside.

She didn’t want to return to the superficial world, where she was considered a commodity solely because God had given her a certain face and body.

“Do you realize what you’re passing up, Rana?”

“Please don’t try to talk me out of my decision, Morey. My mind’s made up. I’m not saying I’ll never go back. Just not right now.”

His sigh conveyed his disappointment, but all he said was, “That’s it, then?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

They chatted about other things. She inquired about her mother’s health. Morey described her mother’s personality in crude terms, but assured Rana that Susan was in good health.

“She’ll raise billy hell when I tell her you’re turning this offer down. And since you’re not here, she’ll take it out on

“I know, and I’m sorry you’ll bear the brunt of it.”

“Goes with the territory.”

“Are you terribly disappointed, Morey?”

“Disappointed, yes. I think you’re a little crazy, but I still love you.”

“And I love you too. I’m sorry to be such a burden.”

“Life’s full of them, Rana. Full of them.”

They said their good-byes. Rana wished she felt more comfortable with her decision. Instead, her conversation with Morey left her feeling vaguely sad and homesick for him.

Then she spotted the bouquet of daisies. They were like a ray of light that penetrated her despondency and coaxed back her golden mood. It stayed with her until she finally dropped off to sleep.

She slept late. When she opened her eyes and glanced out the window, she could tell the sun was well up. Her clock verified the lateness of the hour. As soon as her feet hit the floor, she noticed the slip of paper lying just inside her door.

I knocked twice, but didn’t hear a sound. Yes, I listen at your door often. Guess you‘re sleeping late. I approve. See you later.

The note was left unsigned, but the barely legible scrawl, as well as the humor, was dearly familiar.

She dressed and went downstairs. The house was deserted. She ventured into the backyard and decided to tour Ruby’s greenhouse. The elderly lady had been bragging about the results of her efforts there.

It was hot and humid inside the glass building, but Rana enjoyed the smell of freshly turned soil. Not a breath stirred. Condensation collected in droplets on the panes of glass surrounding her. It was silent. The sound of her footsteps was absorbed by the spongy earthen floor. She walked between the long tables, with their neat rows of potted plants. She studied them, delighting in every exotic bloom, each delicate leaf, with its unique tracery of veins.

“Sloth is a sin.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and spun around.

“I did it again, didn’t I? I snuck up and startled you? Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Trent heaved a bag of peat moss off his shoulder and wiped his hands on the seat of his cutoffs. His T-shirt was damp with perspiration.

Rana smiled at him. “I know you didn’t mean to. It’s just so quiet in here. Good morning, by the way. Where’s Ruby?”

“I just made her go in and lie down. We went to the nursery to pick up this peat moss. It’s so hot and muggy, she got a little dizzy. I told her I’d finish her project.”

“Which is?”

“To put those bedding plants into those pots,” he said, pointing them out to her.

“Pretty begonias,” Rana remarked as she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. “I’ll help.”

“Don’t feel that you have to.”

“I want to.”

As a child she’d never been allowed to play in the dirt. She had never been allowed to do anything that spoiled her perfection. Every hair had to be in place. She wasn’t allowed to ride a bicycle or roller-skate because she might scrape her knee. Scabs or scars were to be avoided at all costs. As a teenager, she had rebelled occasionally, but when her little acts of defiance were discovered, her mother’s wrath made the adventures hardly worthwhile.

Nor had she had many friends to play with when she was growing up. She had never been free to run with the other children in the neighborhood. During adolescence, female friends were rare, because other girls saw her extraordinary looks as a threat. What potential friend with any brains wanted to be compared to Rana?

Boys, on the other hand, had held her in awe, and she had very few dates during high school. Rana Ramsey was the most gorgeous creature most of the boys in her school had ever seen. She was too intimidating a proving ground on which to test newfound manhood.

Now Rana seized this chance to play in the dirt. “What do I do first?”

“First you take off some clothes,” Trent said.

“What!”

“You don’t think that’s a good idea?”

“No.”

“Don’t be shy. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll take off some of mine too.” He laughed at her withering glance. “Ana, you’ll swelter in all those clothes. It’s like a sauna in here.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.”

“I’m afraid you’ll melt and all that will be left is a pile of clothes nobody else will want and I’ll be stuck with.”

She glared at him, but it was all in fun. “Don’t worry about me and my clothes and the heat, okay?”

He shook his head in bafflement, wondering if she had some hideous skin disease she didn’t want anybody to know about. She had jogged with him each morning wearing a sweat suit that covered her from neck to ankles. “Okay, but if you faint from heat prostration, remember I warned you.”

He showed her how to fill each container from a bag of potting soil and what proportion of peat moss to mix with it. Soon she was wielding the trowel as though she’d done it all her life. Occasionally she blotted her dripping forehead with her sleeve, but she didn’t even notice the muggy heat, she was having so much fun.

“Do you mind?” Trent asked her after a while. He was holding the hem of his T-shirt.

“Uh, no.”

He peeled it over his head and tossed it down. “I think I’m the one who’s melting.”

Rana, gazing at his bare torso, was experiencing her own melting sensation, but it was internal. Her thighs felt as though they were liquefying. “You certainly look fit enough to play football,” she said as casually as her tight throat would permit. Muscles rippled beneath his supple brown skin with each movement of his arms and shoulders.

“I hope I am.”

She noticed his worried frown and the hesitancy in his voice. “Do you have doubts?”

He laughed, but it wasn’t a mirthful sound. “I’ve lived with that kind of doubt every season I’ve played professionally, and even before then when a championship was at stake.”

“But you’ve had a spectacular career.” When he looked at her inquiringly, she added, “Ruby’s filled me in on it since you came here. Was that just her pride talking? Aren’t you considered one of the best?”

Ordinarily he would have accepted such compliments as his due. But with Rana, he felt compelled to be honest. “I’ve had some good seasons, but last year was a disaster.”

“Why, Trent?”

“I’m getting old.”

She laid the trowel aside and gave him all her concentration. “Old? You’re not even thirty-five.”

“Which in professional football is well past middle age.” Self-conscious about speaking aloud his innermost fears, he fiddled with a watering can. It was a relief, however, to have someone listen so carefully. For months he had needed to confide in someone. He couldn’t have stopped the flow of words if he had wanted to.

“Last season my age began to catch up with me, though I’d been fighting it for several years before that. My elbow had to be operated on three years ago. Once I got that back in shape, my shoulder started to give out. Every time I threw a pass, it hurt like hell. I was hitting the receivers fewer times each game. Since we’re basically a passing team, our offense was shot to hell. There was no one else to blame. The buck stops at the quarterback. In this case, me.”