Chapter Ten

As if.

Lori rolled her eyes a third time, pulled another weed, and wiped her arm across her forehead. She hoped her little revelation had given John second thoughts. She was not the woman for him, and now she had let him know it. She refused to be pushed into going to church.

His voice floated over to her, low and rich. “I have to admit, I thought you’d know more about plants than you seem to.”

John’s change of subject surprised her. She figured he was going to push, and then she could get ticked off and ask him to leave, and then she could be left alone. Like she’d wanted all along, right? But his light tone invited a response in kind. “I thought I’d be writing flower articles. Flowers I’ve actually grown. Vegetables I’ve seen on my dinner plate, but never in their natural habitat.”

“How on earth did you get Charles to let you write his beloved column? He’s like the most finicky guy ever.”

“I think he was kind of desperate,” she admitted.

“I doubt that.”

“And I misunderstood what exactly he needed.” She sighed and pointed to one of the plants. “Okay, let me prove I’m not a gardening expert. I don’t even know what this plant is. Do you?”

“That, my fair lady, is zucchini.” He laughed heartily. “Now that I know you can’t identify plants, I can hardly wait to read your column.”

“That’s zucchini in the wild, huh? There sure seem to be a lot of them on the plant.”

“The zucchini on this plant is nearly ripe, which means the
others will soon be ready. I count eight plants, so you’re gonna have to harvest more zucchini than a family of ten can use.”

Overwhelmed, she stared at the section he was pointing at, shaking her head. “There’s no way I can harvest all those, no matter what I told Charles.”

John lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Maybe you could just stop watering them and let the survival of the fittest weed them out.” He grinned. “As it were.”

Shocked, she said, “I can’t deliberately kill a plant.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll come over and help you harvest the zucchini. Then we can doorbell ditch some to the neighbors.” He laughed. “Yup, your articles are gonna be doozies.”

She pulled a weed and tossed it, whapping him in the chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m such a bad shot.”

He raised an eyebrow menacingly and took a step toward her.

“Now, none of that. Get back to weeding.” Even though she was trying for tough, she couldn’t manage it with her laughter.

He advanced on her. “I think I need to teach you something about plants, Miss Column Lady.”

He grabbed her arm, and she widened her eyes. Wait. She wasn’t supposed to be flirting with this man. Again. At this rate, he’d be kissing her again and she couldn’t have that. Could she? Even having that thought meant she was in trouble. She held up her hands. “Uncle. Really. I give.”

He held her arm for a moment longer, as if trying to decide her fate. Finally, he smiled slowly. “What’s the password?”

“Oh, no, not the password.”

He nodded. “Come on.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Tickle me, please.”

And he did. And she laughed. Finally, he released her, and they both were laughing.

He said, “Okay, I’ll let you go. For now.”

Awareness of him tingled up her spine. John had a quick wit and a sharp mind. He was gung ho, helpful, confident, and intelligent. And he did interesting things to her heart rate. That was a dangerous combination.

“Nah.” He shook his head and took another step forward. “I think I’ll get you now, after all.”

At the teasing threat in his eyes, she took off running. She’d outraced Greg often enough, but before she’d reached the patio, John caught her around the waist and swung her around. They tumbled lightly to the ground and laid on the grass in the shade from the hedge, his arm holding her firmly against his side.

“Uncle!” She laughed. “Let me go!”

“Not good enough.” Still holding her, he leaned over, plucked a small rose from the bush by the edge of the patio, and held it above her head. “Now . . . tell me something about yourself I don’t already know. Or I’ll have to feed you this delicious weed.”

“That’s not a weed. Even I know that.”

“I was wondering. Now, quit stalling, pretty lady.”

“Um, okay . . . I need a good zucchini recipe?”

He chuckled and, with her side pressed so close to his, she could feel the rumble of it. “Nice try. My mother has a great recipe you can have. But I want something better than that.”

She pulled back so she could breathe normally, but he still held her. “Okay. Okay.” Her heart thumped in her chest. “I’ve been thinking of giving up writing altogether.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really. I’ve never told anyone that before. Except my mom.”

“Wow.” Slowly, he released her. “Why?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ve lost my touch. Or maybe I never had it.” Self-conscious after her revelation, she touched his forearm. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me something about yourself. Something you’re afraid of.”

He paused for a long moment. “Fair enough.” He paused again and then shook his head. “I’m afraid to ride the white roller coaster at Lagoon.”

“Really?” Surprised, she studied him. “But you fight fires and do all sorts of other scary stuff.”

“I know. I can’t explain my fear. I went on the beast as a child, I was terrified, and I haven’t been able to go on it since.”

“But you hang glide and wrestle alligators with Travis, right?”

“We made up the alligator part. But I have gone swimming with sharks.”

Looking up at his face, she shook her head in amazement. “Does anything else scare you?”

He smiled warmly and she could feel herself blush.

“You know, I did have some scary moments in Sweden—”

“You were in Sweden?” she asked. “When?”

“On my mission. Thirteen years ago. Now are you going to be quiet and let me finish my story?”

She did the locking-the-mouth-shut motion. Normally, she didn’t like to talk about missions and temples and other Mormon stuff, but, for some reason, she didn’t mind as much with John. As long as he didn’t seriously expect to get her back to church.

“Now where was I?”

“Sweden.”

“Right. When I was in Sweden, we had an apartment with a bathroom you could just hose down when you wanted to clean it.”

“No way. You’re making that one up.”

“Cross my heart.” He made the motion. “And my first day out, when I was the greenest of all greenies, my senior companion knocked on a door answered by a woman. Guess what she was wearing?”

Lori shrugged. “A snow suit?”

“A birthday suit. My companion immediately averted his eyes and said if she’d like to put on some clothes, we had a message for her. I, on the other hand, just stood there in shock with my mouth hanging down to my knees.”

Lori laughed at his expression. “Did she? Get dressed, I mean?”

“She did. And it turned out the woman, Helga, was later baptized. It was the best experience of my life. Well, second best. The best—” John’s voice cracked with emotion and the air around him seemed to crackle with some kind of power that touched Lori’s heart. “The best was blessing a very sick little four-year-old girl who got better.”

Lori couldn’t move. She could hardly breathe. She hadn’t felt the Spirit this strongly in years. She’d deliberately avoided it, and yet here it had caught her by surprise in the garden.

“Teaching Helga—and all the others—was when I truly gained my testimony of the Church. God’s Church. Jesus’ Church. Our church.”

Caught up in the overwhelming emotion, Lori didn’t dare speak. She blinked back tears. She was not going to cry.

“It wasn’t until I was on my mission that I took Moroni’s challenge seriously. I read the Book of Mormon three times before I prayed to see if it was true. So I always challenge everyone to read the Book of Mormon, and then pray about it.”

He paused, and the only sound was a bee buzzing past. A dog barked down the street. A bird called out in the trees next door. Still Lori couldn’t find words. She wouldn’t have dared use them even if she could for fear her own voice would crack with unshed tears.

He breathed in deeply. “Okay, I’ll be quiet now. I guess I got carried away.”

He’d gotten carried away, all right. Like her father, who used to tell her to read the Book of Mormon, and look what he’d done. He’d had no qualms about lying—and much worse.

To give John credit, he did seem sincere, which was the only reason she wasn’t ordering him off the property.

But this clinched it. She was definitely not getting involved with him. Oh, sure, if he wanted to help her weed, she’d accept the help. But no more dates. No more kisses. And definitely no reading of the Book of Mormon either. For her, that book was closed forever.

“So,” he said, “are you going to say anything?”

She blinked past the Spirit, smiled, stood, pulled another weed, tossed it on her pile, and said, “You’re falling behind, mission man.”

~

“You always beat your brother at darts? That’s great.” John opened her back door and let her step in ahead of him—the same action would have sent many a Manhattan feminist into fits, but she found it charming in John. “Did you bring your board?”

Lori shook her head. “I haven’t been too lucky at darts lately. That’s what landed me here in Utah.”

“That sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”

As he followed her, she told him the details. By the time they entered Charles’s kitchen, he was laughing.

The cool air inside felt fantastic. They washed and dried their hands. Lori filled two glasses with ice, poured more lemonade, and they each took a long swig, and sighed happily.

“Thanks.” He took another sip. “This tastes really good.”

“Old family recipe,” she teased.

He eyed the Crystal Light container still sitting on the counter and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

“How do you know my mother’s maiden name wasn’t Crystal?”

“Go toward the Light, huh?” He chuckled, and it seemed so natural to Lori to have him in her kitchen, joking with her.

Lori took a deep drink of lemonade, enjoying the iced liquid sliding down her throat and the cool air in the kitchen. “Thanks for helping with the weeds.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sat down and motioned to the chair opposite her. “Have a seat.”

“Actually, I’d prefer to stand and relax my back. Bending over for two hours is not my natural position.”

“You’re telling me. My back and shoulders are killing me.”

He set down his glass on the table and came behind her chair. “Let me rub them for you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” she began as he grasped the tops of her shoulders and began to knead the muscles. It felt really good, and she sighed deeply. “That’s wonderful. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Just relax. Your muscles are very tight.” His fingers moved up to her neck and she tipped her head forward. “My sister-in-law Opal, Kirk’s wife, trained as a massage therapist and she forced all us guys to learn a couple of easy techniques.”

“Bless her heart.”

His fingers felt marvelous, but the warmth from his hands—and from his body, so close behind her—was making her whole body tingle with awareness. He was standing far too close and making her want things she shouldn’t want. After another few moments, the feeling overwhelmed her. She shifted out from under his hands. “Thanks, that felt great.”

As she stood, he picked up his glass to take another sip.

She grabbed her near-empty glass and changed the subject. “Would you like more?”

“Thanks.” He looked amused, and she was aware of him watching her as she refilled the glasses from the pitcher in the fridge. Her face flamed hot.

He took the offered glass from her, and the warmth of his fingers as they brushed hers zinged through her.

“Tell me more about yourself,” she said, and immediately regretted her words as too forward, too foolish, too intimate.

“Do you want to know something else I’ve never told anyone?”

“Sure.”

John leaned a hip against the counter, crossed his arms, and smiled slowly. “Okay. I’ve never told anyone that I’ve always wanted six.”

“Six?” she said dumbly. As opposed to sex, she supposed, which was what her last boyfriend had wanted, and which he’d found with a theater bimbo. A thought flashed through her mind of Nicholas, the man she’d left behind in New York—correction: the man who’d left her behind—and she realized there was no hurt there. Her ego was bruised, but her heart was not.

John was already a much better friend than Nicholas ever had been. And she planned to keep it that way. When she became romantically involved with men, things never went the way she wanted them to.

“Six.” His smile deepened and his eyes warmed. “Children.”

Stunned, she forced a smile. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

Under her words, sadness coiled its way through her, a feeling so strong she was amazed by its power. She thought she’d worked her way past this, but obviously there was more yet to go through. The pain could still catch her by surprise.

“How about you?” he asked. “How many children would you like?”

She blinked once, swallowed, and forced out the words, glad her voice could still sound normal. “I’ve always wanted children. I’ve just never really thought about how many.”

That was a lie. Her gaze slid away. It didn’t matter how many children she wanted. She braced herself against the coil of sadness still working through her like a tendril of smoke, gray and wispy and hurtful.

John’s revelation just reinforced what she’d known all along. She and John were not meant to be any kind of a couple. In fact, it was almost pathetic to consider. He wanted kids—six of them!—while she . . . Well, she couldn’t have even one.

And that fact hadn’t bothered her for a long time. Not until she’d begun spending time around John Wayne Walker.

It was good she’d be leaving soon.

“Okay. Your turn,” he said.

“I had a ruptured appendix when I was fourteen.”

“Ouch.”

“It led to an ugly infection and I was in the hospital for several days while I healed.” She wasn’t about to reveal any more of the story to him than that. Some things were better left unspoken. Forever.

THE GARDEN GURU

Dear Ms. Scott: Let me be one of the first to welcome you to The Garden Guru. I’m somewhat of an expert myself and for several years I have been compiling a book on the subject of controversial vegetables. My personal favorite is the Brussels sprout. How do you weigh in on the subject? And what is your favorite way to cook them? (Stanley)

Dear Stanley: Being a writer, I believe books can change the world, so good luck with yours. On the upside, Brussels sprouts provide vitamins A and C, folic acid, and fiber. But despite that, in a 2002 survey, Britain awarded them the “most hated” status (as have most children, regardless of their heritage). If you can avoid overcooking them (which releases sulphur compounds), it is claimed the vegetable has a delicate, nutty flavor. You might be interested to know that the official “speed eating” record is forty-four sprouts in one minute. And that is an extremely frightening thought.

As for me, my favorite method of preparing Brussels sprouts for cooking is to cut off the base, discard the entire thing, and order out a gourmet vegetarian pizza. . . .