Her smile softened and expanded, all at the same time. “All right, John. I’m ready for this talk, too.”
That took him aback. How could she know already? And why was she so happy about it? Had Travis told her? No, Travis wouldn’t have done something like that. So how did she know? Or did she?
The pause expanded.
Dawn waited expectantly. When he still couldn’t find his voice, she said, “John, it’s okay. Maybe I can start. You know I like your family, and I think they like me. We’ve only been dating exclusively for a couple of weeks, but we’ve been together for months. I like children, and I know that’s important to your family. I think we could be good together.”
Call him thick, but the truth of what she was saying finally jackhammered its way through his dense skull. Dawn expects me to propose to her. Tonight. Right here. Right now.
When he’d said he had something important to talk about, she’d apparently assumed he was taking their relationship to the ultimate level. But only because I’d led her to believe that. He repressed the groan that filled his chest.
This was worse than he’d ever imagined. He had to speak before she could say anything else she’d later regret. “Dawn, it’s—”
She laughed, and the light, happy sound ripped at his heart. “I haven’t ever told you my feelings, but I care for you deeply. I love you.”
If he didn’t say the words right now, she would probably propose to him, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to tell her no. Trying to let her down gently wasn’t working, since he couldn’t even get the words out.
Dawn tilted her head. “You love me, too, don’t you, John?”
His heart heavy with guilt, he blurted out the words. “Dawn, I care for you. I do. But I’ve been having second thoughts. I think we’re moving too fast. I think we should both start dating other people again.”
She stared at him, obviously surprised. “John . . . I . . .”
“I’m sorry, Dawn. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He’d rather walk on hot coals than hurt her.
“But I don’t understand. I thought you were going to ask me
to . . .” Her voice faded as if she already regretted her earlier words.
John closed his eyes, but when he opened them again, her hurt eyes were still there, staring at him, softly accusing him. He’d led her on and the weight of that truth ate at him. “I know. I did think about it. But I can’t. Not now.”
“But why not? It was only a few days ago, at your parents’ house, that I thought you were considering it. What happened to change things?”
“I . . .” How could he say this? How could he just break her heart? But he couldn’t lie. “I’ve met . . . someone else. And I just want to make sure of my feelings before we proceed. Or not.”
She looked stricken and tears sparkled in her eyes. She blinked. “I don’t understand. I thought . . .” Her voice faded again.
“I’m sorry.” Guilt and helplessness flooded him. What was he supposed to do now? “I am so sorry.”
Dawn shook her head, confused disbelief on her face. “Can we talk about it? Do I have any chance at all?”
“I don’t know what will come of dating her, but I’ve got to find out. I’m sorry. My intentions with you were honorable.”
She sniffled again. “But not honorable enough to marry me.”
That wasn’t entirely fair. Was he supposed to marry her because they’d dated? Because some people thought they should?
Part of him wanted to comfort her, but that would only fuel the fire of her hope, and he’d already done too much of that. An eternal decision like marriage was too important to not listen to his heart and his mind—and the Spirit—and that meant he couldn’t put a ring on Dawn’s finger. Not when he’d found a woman who attracted him like a moth to a flame.
Dawn took his hand again. “John, please. I love you.”
As gently as he could, John patted her hand. “Dawn, I’m sorry. If I could make this easier, I would. I’m sorry for hurting you, but we have to be sure. I have to be sure.”
She sighed. “I thought—”
“I know.” As he stood, her hand slipped from his. “I’m sorry I led you on, but I thought . . . things were different than they were.” He paused for a moment, not wanting to say anything else because any more words would only hurt her more. He had to get out of there, for both their sakes. “Good-bye, Dawn. I have to go now.”
She started to cry, and he turned while he still could. He did care for her or he wouldn’t have dated her, but he wasn’t sure he loved her. He knew he didn’t love Lori, but he thought the powerful attraction he’d felt might prove to be something special. But even if all Lori did was show him that he needed to wait for sparks and excitement, not to settle for tepid when he could have fire-hot, it would be worth it. Surely Dawn would realize that, too, after she’d had time to think things through.
“Wait. John, who is this . . . someone else?”
He stopped and turned only partway around, not looking at her eyes. “No one you know.”
“Look at me, John.” Her voice was soft, but strong.
He looked up and caught her fierce gaze.
She hugged her arms around her waist. “When did you meet her?”
“Yesterday.”
“That’s when you called and wanted to talk.” Light glistened in her eyes. “You just met her and you already know you want to break up with me?” Her voice shivered with her hurt.
“Not really break up. I just think we should date other people, too. I’m sorry.” The words couldn’t fix things, no matter how many times he said them or how much he meant them.
As he opened the front door and let himself out, he could hear her crying. He shut the door and strode out to his truck, wishing he could know for sure that he’d just done the right thing.
And then he felt it. The Spirit was whispering to him that he had. He didn’t understand any of this, but it felt right.
He certainly hoped so, because he’d just hurt a woman who truly loved him, for a slim chance at a possibility with a woman he’d just met and knew absolutely nothing about.
Chapter Six
Lori snapped her cell phone shut. It was Friday afternoon and she had already made some progress on her new job. She’d spoken with the newspaper’s slow-talking secretary and set up an appointment for next Thursday morning with the big man himself, Russell Neal. Now she wanted to do some quick, comparative research so she’d sound knowledgeable.
For the next three months, she planned on becoming a fantastic flower gardening columnist. She wanted to impress both Mr. Neal and Charles Dobson, along with the readers of the Brigham City Daily. She was actually looking forward to doing some writing that didn’t require staging or actors or producers. Just her and the blank page and some nice flower essays.
Going into Charles’s overly neat and organized bedroom-turned-office, she opened the filing cabinet drawer where his note had said he kept his newspaper clippings. She was a quick researcher and should be able to pick up the information she needed by reading the column and surfing the Internet. How hard could learning about flowers be, anyway?
She found the folders quickly. Bulging with clippings, they were labeled by dates; he must have been writing this column forever. She quickly found the most recent one.
In addition to the filing cabinet, the office had a computer desk with all the related necessities, including a fancy printer/fax/copier. The desk was flanked by two tall bookshelves filled with books. She wasn’t surprised to see all but one shelf filled with gardening books and biographies, all hardcovers, but what she did not expect was the shelf of paperback romance novels. Mr. Charles Dobson got more and more interesting all the time. Under the window was a sofa bed with doilies on the arms and over the back, which was a nice and cozy touch, if
a bit old-fashioned.
Settling herself on the couch and enjoying the cool of the old house with its very up-to-date central air unit, Lori began to read.
Dear Dr. Dobson: My tomatoes have black spots on the bottoms. What can I do to get my plants to grow tomatoes that are red all the way through like they’re supposed to be?
Tomatoes? Not flowers? There must be some mistake. Or perhaps Charles had substituted for a fellow columnist that particular day.
She set the column aside, and read the next one in the folder.
Dear Dr. Dobson: I can’t figure out how to make my strawberry plants bear fruit. It’s been three years and there’s nary a strawberry to be found. Is there some trick to getting fruit?
Strawberries?
She scanned through the other clippings in the folder.
Squash. Green peppers. Peaches. Pumpkins. More tomatoes.
With growing dismay, she realized what her new job really entailed.
Charles Dobson didn’t write a flower column; he wrote a vegetable gardening column, answering questions from knowledgeable gardener readers who were going to eat Lori for lunch and spit her out.
She knew absolutely nothing about the subject. Oh, sure, she’d eaten her share of vegetables, but she’d never planted or harvested one. Ever. Mother Earth she was not.
What had she gotten herself into? If she hadn’t already agreed to write the column, she would bail out now. She was in way over her head, which was starting to ache.
She fumbled out her cell phone, flipped it open, and dialed. When her mother answered, she said, in what came out as a mournful wail, “Mom? I need help.”
“Is someone in the house with you?” her mother asked, sounding concerned and obviously misinterpreting her plea for help. “Hang up and call 911. Hurry!”
“I already called 911. It just complicated matters.”
“Then get out of the house while you wait for the police.”
“No, I called 911 because of the fire. There’s no one in the house with me.”
“Fire? You had a fire?” Her mother did some wailing of her own. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea for you to move there all by yourself. You need to come back home where you’ll be safe.”
“Mom! Stop! I’m okay. Really.” Having her mother so upset actually helped calm Lori. “The fire was in the barbecue grill and some very nice and good-looking firefighters came over, but it had already gone out. It was caused by a spider nest in the tubing.”
That silenced her mother for a moment. “A spider nest?”
“That’s what I said.” Lori laughed at both of their overreactions. “Now I know where I get my freaking-out gene from.”
Her mother sounded calmer when she spoke again. “So if there’s no one in the house, and your grill’s not on fire, why were you so upset when you called?”
Oh, yeah, the vegetables. For one brief moment, Lori had forgotten her dilemma. “The columnist I’m replacing doesn’t write nice little essays about flower gardening. He writes about vegetables. His readers ask questions and I’m supposed to answer them, and I’m going to flop again, miserably.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, honey. What can I do to help?”
“Just help me figure out what I’m going to do.”
“Well, you can find the answer to almost every question on the Internet nowadays. And it might be too soon for you to know any of your neighbors yet,” her mother said, “but maybe some of them garden. You could ask them some questions.”
Lori hadn’t known how uptight she had been until she felt herself relax. “Mom, you’re a genius! I’ll talk to Agatha next door. I bet she knows about vegetables.”
“Glad I could help,” her mother said. “So, have you unpacked all your suitcases and boxes yet?”
“Just my suitcases so far.”
“I’d open the red box soon if I were you. It has something important in it. It’s in the duffle bag you took with you.”
Her mother must have gotten her a going-away gift and Lori hadn’t even brought it in from the monstrosity-on-wheels yet. The car/truck. Cruck? Trar? “I guess I’d better go open it then. Thanks, Mom.”
“Love you, Lori. And, honey, lock all your locks.”
Yeah, all two of them.
~
Intending to retrieve the box from the car hidden in the detached garage, Lori pulled open the front door—and found a man standing there, his arm outstretched toward her. She jumped, her heart racing, before realizing it was the other firefighter, the blond model guy—Travis—reaching for the doorbell. “You startled me,” she said.
“Sorry. Great timing, huh?” When he grinned, a dimple appeared on his left cheek, but not his right. With his lanky good looks, he could definitely make a bundle modeling clothes for trendy magazines and department stores. “Are you just leaving?”
She opened the screen door and the heat of the day blasted her. “No. Just going out to the car to bring something in, but I can do that later.”
“Can we visit for a while?”
Pushing back her impatience, she said, “Sure.”
She glanced at the two wrought-iron chairs sitting next to a matching wrought-iron round table that held a cluster of flowerpots, sheltered in the shade of the covered porch, then nodded her head toward the inside of the house. “Come on in. It’s too hot to sit out here. It’s gotta be over ninety today.”
“Ninety-five.” He stepped inside, casually handing her a single red rose as he entered.
“Thanks.” Surprised, she raised it to her nose, enjoying its delicate scent. “Mmmm. Smells good.”
“‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”
“Shakespeare,” she blurted out, surprised even more. So the model could quote the Bard. But then that was a pretty popular line. It didn’t mean he’d actually ever read the plays.
“Romeo and Juliet.” He grinned again. “Business major with a journalism minor, neither of which I use in my current profession.”
Who knew? Good looks, roses, and a literary background, too. “Let’s go see if Charles has a vase.”
Travis followed her into the kitchen where she rummaged through cabinets until she found a clear glass vase. Rinsing out the dust, she filled the vase with water, trimmed the rose stem, and quickly stood the flower inside.
Travis paced the room, stopping in front of the bulletin board. “This Dobson dude must really like to cook.”
“I guess so,” she said as she centered the vase on the table. “The rose really is beautiful. Thanks again.”
He turned away from the board. “A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady.”
“Thanks,” she said, repressing a smile. Oh, yeah. Travis was definitely a player. Which made her extra wary. “Would you like a glass of water or a soda or something?”
“Water would be great. Thanks.”
He had a lot of nervous energy—enough that it was agitating her, too. She grabbed a bottle from the fridge and handed it to him.
He twisted off the top and took a swig. “I was wondering if you’d like to see the Kennecott copper mine while you’re here. It’s a little drive, but it’s worth it. It’s one of only two man-made objects that can be seen in space—I think the other one is the Great Wall of China—and it’s really quite impressive. Actually, I guess there are three if you count that huge man-made island in Dubai.” He grinned. “I told you I’d find another sight to show you.”
“That’s very kind of you, Travis.” She motioned toward the kitchen table. The reference to China made her wonder what Charles was doing right now, and if he was having as difficult a time adjusting to the foreign culture as she was.
“Kind, obedient, thrifty, yada, yada, yada.” Travis took a seat. “I was a Boy Scout, too.”
“So you’re one of those guys who help little old ladies across the street?”
“My specialty.” He smiled and the dimple appeared again. The lopsided effect was very cute—a fact she suspected he knew and used to his advantage. “Along with helping young ladies enjoy their visit to our fair state. Well, my adopted state—I’m originally from sunny California. So is next weekend okay?”
“To be totally honest, Travis, it sounds great, but you know I’m going with John on Saturday. Plus I’ve got to get some work done right away, and I’m a little nervous about what it will entail. Maybe after I see what my writing workload is going to be on this new job. Can I take a rain check?”
She wondered about a man who seemed willing to move in on his friend’s date. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be available for any rain checks.
He shrugged, seeming to take her semi-rejection in stride as he took another swig of water. “That’s fine, as long as you don’t mind me checking back with you later.”
As long as you don’t mind me putting you off when you do, she thought. He was cute, but there was something about him that she didn’t quite trust. Maybe he reminded her too much of Nicholas; flattering words came too easily to them both. “Sounds like we have a deal.”
“You said you have some stuff in the car? The Boy Scout in me wonders if I can carry it in for you.”
“That would be great.” She found the car keys, led Travis outside to the detached garage, and pushed the garage door opener.
As Ben was revealed, Travis chuckled. “Your vehicle?”
She grimaced. “I would never have paid money for a ’65 Monstrosity.”
“Yes, an El Camino is definitely that.” He chuckled again.
“I have to drive it once a week.”
“I recommend after dark.”
She laughed, and pointed to the black duffle bag in the truck portion. He hefted it and she held open the front door for him, directing him to the kitchen table.
“Thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to wrestling it in by myself.” She pulled up the duffle bag flap. “My mother said she sent me a gift.”
How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini Page 6
