Kathy Altman - The Other Soldier

“Wouldn’t think of it.” She shot him a look but his expression remained neutral. He followed her inside. “Seed propagation?”

“We save money by collecting seeds from existing plants to grow new ones. Actually, we only use seed propagation for the pansies. For the petunias and geraniums we do what’s called vegetative propagation, which is basically taking cuttings to grow new plants.”

“Kind of like cloning.”

“Exactly like that.”

She walked him up the aisle, breathing in the scent of the geranium leaves. He noticed it, too.

“I smell apples.”

“It’s the foliage. You’ll also notice nutmeg and lemon.” Usually the scents calmed her. This morning she was fighting a headache.

He stopped to finger one of the thin black tubes inserted into the soil in each flower pot. “These deliver water?”

“It’s called drip irrigation. We use recycled water and also rainwater. I’m only using it indoors, though. Sun exposure reduces the life cycle of the rubber.” She pointed at the plants hanging over their heads. “We use it for the hanging baskets, too. We have the assemblies on a timer so it’s all automatic. Hut Three has a different system. For the seedlings we use overhead misters.” An orange glow radiating through the plastic walls of the hut alerted her to the sunrise. Soon she’d have to get back to the house and arrange some breakfast for Nat.

And let out Chance, who was no doubt draped across the foot of Nat’s bed despite orders that he sleep in the laundry room.

“Ready to move on?”

She didn’t bother walking him through Hut Two. He stood at the entrance and stared at the expanse of flowers—on the benches, in midair and even on the floor. Those awaited delivery, Parker told him. His gaze lingered, she noticed, on the section of black pansies. They’d always fascinated her, too. But his question had nothing to do with flowers.

“You’ve already watered this morning?” He was eyeing the floor.

“We keep the concrete damp on purpose. Cuts back on spider mites and powdery mildew.” And in that instant, an idea was born. She bit back a smile and led the way to Hut Three.

“So the buildings aren’t heated?”

“What? Oh. No. When we’re ready to expand we’ll consider it. It’ll take some money to install the convection tubes but obviously it’ll let us grow year-round.”

“What do you do during the winter?”

“Produce seedling plant and rooted plugs for other greenhouses.” She gave a half shrug. “That’s the plan, anyway. We didn’t get many buyers this past winter. We’ll do better this year.”

There wasn’t much to see in the last hut. She walked him around the property and showed him the potting shed/office/coffee mess, the garage and the compost bin. They walked past a grove of lilacs and the heady scent, combined with the cheerful songs of the robins hunting worms in the dew-damp grass around them, cheered her.

Silence. She turned to find him watching her. “You love this place,” he said.

“I do. So you can see why…” She trailed off.

“Why you’d put up with having me around?” He nodded once. “So, what can I do to help?”

“Follow me.”

After leading him to the storage end of Hut Three she selected a bucket, a soft-bristled scrub brush and a container of bleach. She pushed them at him and said, “Garden hose is just outside.”

He accepted the items as though they were a pile of dirty diapers. “What are these for?”

“Remember that mildew I mentioned?” She waved a hand at the nearest wall. “Don’t scrub too hard or you’ll tear the plastic.”

* * *

REID STRAIGHTENED, AND winced as the stiffness in his back reminded him he’d been hunched over for hours. He peeled back a borrowed latex glove and glanced at his watch. Okay, maybe not hours. Still, ninety minutes was a long time to be bent over a bucket of bleach.

His wince graduated to a grimace. Normally he wasn’t much of a complainer. This morning he had two good reasons. One, he never did get a decent cup of coffee. And two, he’d spent way too much time last night worrying when he should have been sleeping.

Worrying about whether he’d be able to make a difference. And if Parker would break her promise to Briggs. Seemed she planned to keep it after all. But for how long?

The breeze was back, and it carried the scent of spring through the greenhouse. He drew in an approving breath. All in all he’d rather smell flowers than a platoon of sweaty men any day. Not to mention bleach. He peeled off the gloves, pushed his hands into the small of his back and stretched. Time to see if he could get away with making his own pot of coffee.

A clearing of a throat. A young, female-type throat.

Aw, hell. Reid squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lowered his hands to his sides. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with her so soon. Even as he opened his eyes and turned, he told himself he should just ignore her. Show her he was someone she didn’t want to be around.

Green eyes watched him warily. At least he assumed they were both green. One was nearly swollen shut. Damn. All that black and blue had to smart.

After a few awkward seconds he managed to find his voice. “Something I can do for you?”

She shook her head. Silence. He sighed, and gestured with his chin. “What’s with the eye?”

She shrugged. Still not a word. Reid knew he’d lost his charm a long time ago but this was ridiculous. Had she come just to stare? He was tempted to turn around but something in her one-eyed gaze stopped him.

“Name’s Reid. I’m helping out.”

“Why?”

Aha. Not his favorite word in the world, but at least it was a word. “I’m on leave for a month. Needed something to do.”

Her mouth twisted and she eyed the plastic he’d scrubbed.

“You haven’t gotten very far. You spend that much time on every section and as soon as you’re done you’ll have to start all over again.”

Okay, why had he wanted her to speak to him? He gave a lazy shrug, and he could tell by the breathy, indignant noise she made that she didn’t appreciate his response.

“Do you even know what a chrysanthemum looks like?”

He tried not to laugh. She sounded like a teenager. “All right, kid, I admit it. I know squat about plants.” Except what Noble Johnson had tried to teach him. And he didn’t remember much of that, since the more beer the big man drank, the more Latin he spouted. “But that’s what Google’s for.”

“Whatever. You got a girlfriend?”

Now why was that question a kick to his gut? “No.” Then before he could stop himself he added, “Not anymore.” Damn, soldier. Shut up.

“What happened to her?”

“We just…didn’t get along anymore.” Not that he blamed her. There was a time he could barely get along with himself.

“’Cause you’re grumpy?”

Takes grumpy to know grumpy, kid. “Maybe.”

She fiddled with the bracelets on her wrist. “My mom said you came to help ’cause my dad died.”

He didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say.

“And you didn’t even know him.” She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her bright pink jeans. “I could tell you about him, if you want. Whenever he came home from being deployed he always had to have my mom’s banana muffins. And her meat loaf. He’d ask her to make tons of it and we’d have it with mashed potatoes and peas. I never ate the peas. If she tried to make me I’d feed ’em to Chance. Anyways she’d make him meat loaf sandwiches with ketchup and cheese for when he went fishing. Sometimes she’d put hard-boiled eggs inside to surprise him. Daddy didn’t like to fish with worms, he used these squiggly, feathery, funny-looking things called flies and—”