Home-Grown Husband. Sharon Swan
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could tell Jordan Trask to just get lost—even in a nice way, if she wanted to be polite.
She could also accept his money and decline the assistance—again diplomatically, if she cared to.
Or she could go with the final choice and take advantage of an unexpected opportunity to get to know her new neighbor.
Sure, he was drop-dead attractive. Probably no woman who could see past her nose would disagree with that judgment. But something less appetizing could still lurk under that mouthwatering exterior. And she might never find out for certain, unless…
Tess squared her shoulders. “I’m Tess Cameron. And I’ll take you up on that offer.”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “The one to reimburse you, or the one to help.”
“Both.”
MAYBE HE SHOULD HAVE ADMITTED that he didn’t know squat about gardening. Then again, Jordan thought as he carefully scooped rich black dirt with a small metal trowel, Tess Cameron might very well have told him thanks, but no thanks when it came to helping. For some reason, he’d been determined not to let that happen, not if there was any chance he could spend more time with her.
Something about the woman now crouched at his side drew him. What exactly, he was still trying to figure out. Whatever it was, physical attraction played a major part. He was dead certain of that.
They were all but hip to hip, and he was fully aware of the scant space between them, right down to the barest inch. If he moved, just a little, he could touch her. And he had no business touching her, he knew. Or thinking what he was thinking.
He’d be far better off keeping his mind on what he was doing—or at least attempting to do.
Thankfully, he hadn’t been useless up to this point. No one could deny he’d done a thorough job of hauling the trampled mess out of Tess Cameron’s flower bed and dumping it in the trash while she retrieved a fresh batch of plants. That part had been easy. Even easier was reimbursing her—and noting the absence of any rings, wedding or otherwise, as she took his money with one hand and offered a receipt with the other.
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