Sharon Swan - Home-Grown Husband

Now came the hard part. Jordan frowned down at the hole he’d created, wondering if he should stop or keep on digging. Who knew?

“That needs to be a little larger,” his companion pointed out, glancing over at his effort.

“Right.” He dug a bit deeper and wider, then aimed for a casual tone. “That should do it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Looks good. I think some snapdragons would go well there.”

She returned to her own digging then, clearly expecting him to get on with it. Great. Jordan turned his head and studied the bunched flowers in a variety of shapes and colors lined up behind him. What the hell did a snapdragon look like? He recognized the roses. Everything else was a mystery.

“I like lots of yellow,” she added. “It makes things bright and cheerful.”

Yellow. That might be a clue. There were two varieties of mostly yellow flowers—tall, thin ones, and shorter, rounder ones. Figuring he had a fifty-fifty chance, he went with the shorter version.

“No, not the marigolds,” she told him when he set his choice in front of him. “Snapdragons.”

“Right.”

He replaced his gamble with the taller yellow version and decided luck was with him this time when she offered no objection. While she reached behind her for another plant, he carefully removed his from its plastic container and placed it in the hole. He held it with one hand and cautiously spread dirt over the roots.

Then he let it go and watched it fall over, toppling like a felled tree in the forest.

Swallowing a curse, he slid a look at his companion out of the corner of his eye and saw a thoughtful frown form as he straightened the plant.

“You haven’t done much gardening, have you?”

“No.” Which was, he told himself, the complete truth.

Her frown deepened. “How much have you done?”

He resisted the urge to sigh. The jig was up, he knew, because he wouldn’t outright lie to her. “None—until now,” he admitted, turning to look straight at her.

The frown remained. “And you offered to help me anyway. Why?”

“My dog did the damage, so it’s only fair that I help.” Again it was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but his conscience wouldn’t bother him about it.

Gradually her frown faded as her lips curved, slowly and wryly. “Then I guess it’s time for a lesson…Jordan,” she said, using his name for the first time.

He released a quiet breath and offered silent thanks that she was taking it well. He’d seen her fuming, and was in no hurry to repeat the experience. The curve of his mouth matched hers. “I’d say you’re right…Tess.”

“Okay.” She set aside the container of tiny blue flowers she held and bent over the plant he still supported. “The trick is to pack the dirt gently but firmly around the roots.” She demonstrated with gloved hands, close enough now to allow him a long whiff of a crisp, fresh fragrance he was sure came from her and not the flowers. Done with her project seconds later, and too soon, as far as everything male inside him was concerned, she leaned away again and sat back on her haunches.

“You can let it go now.”

He did, and the plant stood straight and tall.

“It’s not difficult once you get the hang of it,” she said. “My eight-year-old daughter is already a pro.”

That news brought him up short. “Your daughter? I haven’t seen a child around.” Then again, he hadn’t seen this woman either, until he’d stormed over the fence.

“Ali’s spending the summer with my parents. They live in San Diego.”

And where’s Ali’s father? He didn’t voice the question, yet something in his expression must have made it plain. At least he figured that was the case when she said, “My husband died a few years ago.” Her own expression sobered with the words.

“I’m sorry.” The reply came automatically, but he meant it, nonetheless.

“Roger was killed in a car crash.” She hesitated, as if she could have gone on to say more, then silently picked up the spray of flowers she’d put aside and began to plant them. By the time she finished, her smile, or a ghost of one, was back. “We went through some tough times, Ali and I, but we’re doing fine now. We have a good life, and I have a job I love.”

“What kind of job?”

Her smile widened as she started to dig another hole. “This kind, actually. I work for Zieglers Landscaping Service. If things go as planned, I’ll own the business before the year is out. Hank and Violet Ziegler, the current owners, are getting ready to retire and take things easier, and they’ve offered to sell it to me. The day it becomes Cameron Landscaping, I’ll be celebrating—big time.” She reached around and retrieved the plant he’d put back earlier.

Marigolds. Jordan remembered the name even as he considered what Tess Cameron had just told him. Although she’d lost her husband, this woman was clearly looking forward to the future. She couldn’t be more than thirty—probably less—yet she had her life mapped out, at least career-wise. She knew exactly where she wanted to go and fully expected to find satisfaction in the path she’d chosen.

He couldn’t help but envy her.

“I take it you know all about growing things,” he said in a bid to keep the conversation going.

She shook her head. “Not everything, not nearly, but I’ve learned my share during the years I’ve spent working on lawns all over the city.”

Leaning forward, he ignored a lone bee that buzzed by and scooped out another trowel’s worth of dirt. “So why don’t you tell me more?”

She did, and he in turn did his best to keep up with the flow of information. Flowers not only came in all shapes, colors and sizes, there were apparently different types, as well. Annuals. Perennials. Biennials.

And he’d be willing to bet none of them smelled as good as the woman beside him, he thought at one point. Still, he found himself interested, even though he knew that just yesterday, if anyone had told him he’d not only be listening to a lecture on gardening, but on his knees planting roses at the same time, he’d have called them flat-out crazy.

Time passed swiftly, and before it seemed possible they were finished. Jordan was bending over to retrieve a shovel they’d used when his instructor said, “I’ve been talking about my livelihood long enough. What do you do for a living?”

Not anything he wanted to discuss. Although he realized he should have expected it, the question had him stilling completely for an instant as he debated how to answer.

Standing beside him, Tess’s gaze sharpened as she caught that sudden total lack of movement before Jordan slowly straightened. Her question had been natural enough, she told herself, but it seemed to have made an impact, however well concealed. Another second passed before she got a reply.

“I don’t do much of anything these days,” he told her in the same casual tone he’d used for much of the afternoon. “Exploring my options, I guess you could say.”

And what did you do up till now? She couldn’t help wondering, thinking that whatever it was, it had surely not been a run-of-the-mill job. Sharing several companionable hours doing something as simply satisfying as flower tending hadn’t changed her mind about Jordan Trask. No one would ever judge him to be ordinary…including her.

She waited a moment for him to say more. He said nothing, so she turned and started for the garage with an armload of small garden tools. He followed, carrying a shovel in one hand and a fat sack of mulch with the other. Once inside, he glanced around him. “Where do you want the sack?”

“Against the wall, on the other side of the truck.” She watched as he walked in near silence around her white pickup, asking herself if anyone could move that quietly on solid concrete unless they’d been trained in the art. For a moment, her attention was so fixed on him that she didn’t even notice the short metal rake slipping from the pile she held, not until it hit the hard floor with a clatter.