- Charles Dobson
P.S. Don’t forget to feed Fluffy; her food is under the sink. And please be sure to harvest my zucchini.
Zucchini? Lori hated zucchini. What did he expect her to do with it after she harvested it? Certainly not eat it. And there was absolutely no way she was going to can anything. Even her mother wasn’t that domestic. What other requests was Charles going to spring on her?
She opened the fridge to put away her few groceries. On the bare shelves sat two hamburger patties in plastic wrap, resting on a plate alongside a whole tomato, a couple of slices of wrapped cheese, an avocado, a container of coleslaw, and condiments.
When she saw another note taped to the ketchup bottle, she smiled. Was she going to find notes all over the house?
Dear Ms. Scott,
If you’re hungry when you arrive, feel free to use my grill out on the patio. These burgers have already been seasoned. There are buns in the bread box on the counter. Please make yourself at home.
- Charles Dobson
The last thing she’d expected was to be amused by the older man who was renting her his house, but she was. He lived in a museum of early Relief Society craft relics, had a cat and zucchini—both of which she avoided at all costs—a flower garden, and Ben the car/truck, but he was quite thoughtful.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it really was fate that had brought her here. And if that was the case, then why not enjoy herself?
She wandered down the hall. There were two bedrooms and one bath. Washing her hands in the bathroom, she reached for a towel. She’d never seen a towel so thick. Something like this would have mildewed in the humidity back home. She fingered it, enjoying the plush luxury.
One bedroom had been set up as a neat and tidy office, while the other housed an old-fashioned but quite elegantly curved oak bedroom set. She laid down on top of the quilt and sighed at how comfortable the bed was. She wanted to take a quick nap, but relaxation would have to wait until after she ate; her stomach was starting to growl.
She climbed off and set her suitcase on the double-sized bed, opened it, shucked off her skirt and blouse, kicked off her high heels, and pulled on black shorts, a black T-shirt, and black Manolo sandals with black satin flowers on the toes.
As soon as she opened the French door off the dining room, the outside heat hit her again. At least the patio was covered and had an overhead fan. She turned it on and enjoyed the light breeze it created.
Charles’s yard didn’t seem very big, and there was no garden or zucchini anywhere that she could see, just a large hedge not too far away. A shiny gas barbecue grill took up almost one whole end of the patio.
“Lori,” a woman’s voice called out, and she turned. Agatha waved over the adjoining fence. “I’ve got Fluffy.”
Lori walked over, and Agatha handed a fat white cat with the fluffiest fur Lori had ever seen over the fence. Fluffy, indeed.
“Thanks. I think.” Lori took the cat, amazed at how much it weighed, and set it gently on the ground. “What does she eat?”
“Just regular cat food. A lot of it. And a bird or two.” Agatha smiled. “Don’t worry about keeping track of her. She’ll just come back over later to visit with my cats. I always leave cat food and water out for my babies. Though Charlie denies it vehemently, she’s always over here anyway, even when he’s home.”
As if to prove Agatha’s point, Fluffy ambled over to a storage bench, leapt onto a low branch of an outstretched pine tree limb, and shot right back over the fence.
“Thanks,” Lori said, grateful. She found herself liking the older woman, almost against her will. “That’ll be one worry off my mind, especially since I have to take care of both his garden and his column while he’s gone. I wasn’t planning on the cat. Or the zucchini.”
“Oh, yes, taking care of Charlie’s garden is enough worry for any one mind.” Agatha nodded sympathetically, then smiled brightly. “See you later, sweetie. I’m going to my Web site design class.”
Web site design? Surprised, Lori watched the older woman walk gracefully back to her house.
With the cat safely in Agatha’s yard, Lori figured it was time to relax and eat. She turned toward the backyard. And gasped.
The hedge had hidden the garden from view. It was huge! And it wasn’t filled with flowers either, though they bloomed profusely around the edges of a giant square. No, the garden was filled with vegetables.
Charles’s question “Do you garden?” flitted back through her mind. Lori had no idea what scale of garden he’d planted. And he expected her to take care of this? He should have held out for a Master Gardener.
As she walked toward the huge garden plot, stunned, she recognized a peach tree and an apple tree. She loved apples. But what was she supposed to do with the rest of it?
Totally overwhelmed, she suddenly wanted to move somewhere else, and forget Charles Dobson’s house and his column—and especially his garden—altogether.
Unfortunately, she had given Charles her word. About his column, his house, his cat, and his monstrosity on wheels.
Even more unfortunately, she never went back on her word. But, holy cow, she wanted to turn tail and run.
She took one last long look at the humongous garden and shook her head in dismay. She’d have to learn to make it work, that’s all. She could do it. She would make a success of this venture.
And to keep herself from getting depressed, she needed to eat. First burgers, then the chocolate she’d bought.
She turned back toward the house, and her stomach growled again. Time to grill a burger. She lifted the top of the spotless grill, picked up the fancy long red lighter lying across the little bars, turned a knob, and lit the grill.
Immediately, flames shot out from underneath the grill and engulfed the entire thing.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she cried, stumbling back.
She was going to burn Charles’s house down, and she hadn’t even been here thirty minutes. If it spread to the detached garage, he’d lose Ben, too. But that would be a mercy.
Keeping her eyes on the flames, which seemed to be growing larger, she fumbled her cell phone out of her pocket and touched just three keys: 911.
THE GARDEN GURU
Dear Dr. Dobson: I remember my grandfather planting peas every spring, but they were the normal green variety. I was in a garden today that had a stunning purple-podded pea. What can you tell me about it? (Mark)
Dear Mark: You have discovered a rare beauty: the Capucijner’s Purple Pod, also know as the Dutch Grey. These are an old variety, developed in the 1500s by the Capuchin monks of Europe. Almost every super-
market in Holland carries them, though they’re a rare find here. When they’re young, you can use the green peas inside as snow peas, or dry them for soup peas. The plant itself is very decorative and the dark purple pea pods amidst the purple and white flowers are indeed a gorgeous mix. You’ll have to search for this one, but it’s well worth the effort.
In other news, I am glad to announce that, after some effort on my part, I have located my capable substitute. I’ll introduce her in the next column. I know she will continue the standard of excellence I have always striven for . . .
Chapter Four
“I suppose you both have dates tomorrow night, after our shift is over?” asked Roy, who sat on John’s right in the fire truck. Roy was filling in for Larry, who was ill.
“From your smug tone, I suppose you think married life is so much better than being single, right?” responded John’s buddy Travis, who sat on his left, behind the wheel. Travis’s tone of voice left no doubt as to what he thought about marriage. John doubted there was a woman alive who could catch Travis—for longer than a month, that is. He allowed himself to be caught all the time for a few weeks, but then he’d move on, leaving the woman brokenhearted.
Sandwiched between them, John poked both his brother and his friend in the ribs. “Quiet, you two. I’m too tired to listen to you.”
They’d had a busy day, and John was looking forward to relaxing at the station tonight. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything except eating a good meal, watching a movie with the other guys, and getting a good night’s sleep.
Maybe after he and Dawn got married . . . A chill shot up his spine. And not in a good way. What was that about? He was ready to get married, wasn’t he?
Travis glanced over at him, grinned, then moved his gaze back to the road. As the engineer of their shift, Travis drove the engine on all calls, including the one they were just returning from, where they’d rescued an eighty-five-year-old man who’d managed to climb into his peach tree to help his five-year-old great-granddaughter down, but couldn’t handle the climb down himself.
“And from your smug tone,” Roy said, “I have no doubt you think being single is preferable to the married life.”
“Well, isn’t it?” Travis asked, without looking over again.
“You wish.” Roy laughed. “You still didn’t answer my question. Do you both have hot dates lined up for tomorrow night?”
“What does it matter?” John asked, not wanting to think about dates. He still hadn’t recovered from taking Dawn over to his parents’ home for dinner on Sunday.
“Oh, it matters.” Travis drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. “And the answer is yes. Of course I’ve got a hot date.”
Roy chuckled. “What I’ve got is better.”
“I dated five women last month,” said Travis, his fingers quiet and still. “What could be better than that?”
“So you’ve got quantity. Big deal. I’ve got quality.”
“You’re just jealous, Roy-Boy.” Travis grinned. “You’ve gotta be wishing you could date a lot of women instead of going home to your—”
“Watch it!” said Roy.
Travis laughed ruefully. “My argument just went downhill. You go home to your gorgeous, loving wife every night.”
“And that’s why I’m not jealous.” Roy folded his arms and leaned back.
John chuckled. Travis liked to date a lot of women, but he obviously could still see the advantages of marriage, even if he didn’t think the advantages outweighed his preferred life as a confirmed bachelor.
John adjusted the air conditioner vent so it blew on his chest and not in his face. With the hundred-degree July weather they’d been having, he was glad to be sitting inside.
The radio crackled. “Brush fire seven miles north of Exit 362. Three, are you close?”
John and his men were from Station Four. A member of Station Three responded immediately: “Roger that. We’ll head over and take it. Three, over.”
John glanced at his brother. “Still, you’ve gotta admit there are perks to the single life.” Perks John was becoming painfully and acutely aware of every time he considered giving up his own freedom for the advantages of a wife and children.
“You’re right.” Roy shrugged. “You get to risk life and limb without worrying about how it affects others.”
“That’s just our job.” Travis turned the corner, heading the engine back toward Station Four. “Yours, too, remember? You’re married, but you were just as high up in that peach tree as I was helping that old guy, so what’s your point?”
“I meant your extreme sports.” Roy motioned with his hand. “You risk life and limb on your job . . . and then you go out and do it all over again in your spare time.”
“That reminds me, Travis,” John said, knowing it would bother Roy. “You wanna go hang gliding next week?”
“You bet.” Travis glanced over at Roy, a smile playing on his lips. “Maybe we could line up some alligator wrestling afterward.”
“Very funny,” Roy said while the other two laughed. “When you’ve got someone depending on you, you have to give up that kind of stuff.”
“Which is why you’re jealous,” said Travis. “You’d love to be hang gliding with us. The wind blowing past. The thrill of flying. Admit it, Roy. You’d like to still be doing that.”
“Oh, I’ll admit I miss the thrill of flying. But I wouldn’t take it up again if it meant losing Becky meeting me at the door when I come home—and making love with someone who wants to be with me forever.”
“I hate having arguments with you,” Travis groused. “You fight dirty.”
The dispatcher’s voice filled the cab of the fire truck again. “We have a gas barbecue grill fire at . . .” Static distorted part of the message. “. . . Four, can you take it?”
John picked up the receiver. “Four here, Dispatch. Repeat the address. You cut out.”
“Five-twenty-one Hill Street.”
“Copy. We’re just around the corner. We’re on it. Four, over.” John grinned at his partners. “Gear up, gentlemen. We’ve got another job to do.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” said Travis as he turned left. A few streets further down, he turned right onto Hill.
Roy glanced in the mirror. “Mike’s right behind us in the Rescue.”
Whether it was called an ambulance when driven by an EMT or a Rescue when manned by paramedics, the vehicle Mike Patterson and Quinn Jackson drove always responded with the fire trucks.
The address tickled at John’s memory. Finally he said, “That’s Dobson’s house.” Charles was a friend of his father’s, and John had been to his house for barbecues before.
The adrenaline started pumping through John’s veins. A gas grill fire could go out on its own in minutes, and usually did. But sometimes, though not very often, they could explode.
Two minutes later, both vehicles screeched to a stop at the curb in front of the house. He hoped Charles was all right.
“Good response time, as always,” Travis said. “Two minutes. Oh, yeah, we’re good.”
Three to five minutes was the department’s goal, which they were able to hit most of the time.
The firefighters flung open the doors of the fire truck and clambered down, John on the passenger side behind Roy. John grabbed his gear and turned . . . and stopped dead in his tracks.
The most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen was walking down the driveway to meet them.
He stood, stunned. She was dressed in black Capri shorts and a black T-shirt, with peach-painted toenails peeking out from sandals with little black flowers and tiny straps encircling her delicate ankles. Her blonde hair was cut short and stylish and shimmered like honeyed sunshine.
Someone shoved him. “Come on, John.”
Roy’s voice and the shove snapped him out of whatever had caught him.
When the woman got within feet of them, he could see she had beautiful green eyes with yellow flecks. Now when had he noticed details like that? Her fantastic figure, yes. Of course. He was a guy. But eye color? He shook his head slightly, trying to clear away his foolishness.
The woman was distraught. “I swear to you, I lit the grill and instead of the fire coming up where it’s supposed to, it flashed out underneath.” She had a brisk New York accent and was obviously embarrassed as she related the details. “I thought the entire house was going to burn down. If I’d realized the fire would go out on its own, I wouldn’t have called. I’m really sorry.”
Travis put out his hand. “Travis Eckles, ma’am. At your service,” he purred in his smooth California surfer-dude voice, his blond hair and tan skin matching the image he liked to project. “Show us the grill and we’ll be glad to check it out for you.”
John narrowed his eyes. Trust Travis to jump on any opportunity to meet a beautiful woman.
John followed the pair through the gate and into the backyard where a large hedge lined a portion of the space. He’d been to Charles Dobson’s ho
use before and knew the yard was well-tended. What he didn’t know was why this woman was here. Charles was more of a confirmed bachelor than Travis was, so she wasn’t a daughter. A niece, perhaps?
On the patio sat the still-smoking-but-no-longer-flaming grill. It was a brand-new model, now blackened by flames. Oh, Charles wouldn’t be pleased at that.
Roy grinned. “Come on, Travis. Let’s check it out.”
Travis shook his head, without turning from the woman. “You take it, Roy.” He spoke to the woman in a calming manner. “It’s probably just a spider.”
Mike and Quinn joined Roy at the grill.
“A spider started the fire?” She looked skeptical. “You’re joking, right?”
Travis grinned. “No joke. There’s a heat-loving spider that thrives in the gas. It nests right in the pipes and occasionally that results in a fire like yours.”
She looked at John, as if for verification. He nodded stupidly and she smiled and looked back at Travis. Why couldn’t he speak? Why couldn’t he move?
John had heard women describe Travis’s grin as irresistible. He hoped this woman didn’t fall for the guy, who was a great extreme sport buddy but went through women like a forest fire burns through old-growth trees.
“Well, I guess I just learned something,” she said, and her face seemed to relax. Again, John was struck by how beautiful she was.
Speak, idiot! John forced himself to get a few words out, though they certainly weren’t noteworthy. “If it’s a spider nest, we’ll clean it out so you won’t have to worry about lighting up your grill the next time.”
They didn’t have to do anything of the sort, but he’d do anything for this woman he’d just met. How crazy was that?
The beauty shook her head and caught his gaze in earnest. “It isn’t mine. I just arrived today from New York. I’m renting the place from Charles Dobson. He’s a columnist. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini Page 4
