How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini

by Heather Horrocks

  “That’s it?” She shook her head in overwhelmed disbelief. “When my family gathers, we need only three chairs—one for me, my brother, Greg, and my mom.”

  “You make your dad sit on the ground?”

  “He divorced my mom about thirteen years ago.” She wasn’t about to reveal the soap opera and betrayal that hid behind those relatively simple words.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It was probably for the best.”

  John looked at her and frowned slightly. “Still, it’s always sad when any marriage breaks up, especially when there are kids.”

  “It was hard,” she admitted and then, determined to change the subject, said, “My gosh, it’s hot. Do you think it’s over a hundred today?”

  “We could go rushing through the air again. You didn’t seem to notice the triple-digit heat while we were on the swing.”

  “You’re right.” Lori laughed again and slipped her hand from John’s, becoming a little too aware of the contact between herself and the man who was still practically a stranger. She didn’t want to meet his family and friends holding his hand. “I was far too worried about dying on that free fall to worry about the heat.”

  “I was beside you.” He shrugged. “I’d have kept you safe.”

  She stopped and turned until she faced him. She studied him

  for a long moment. Tall, broad, and well-muscled. The strong-but-not-so-silent type with freckles. The guy with a job practically requiring a cape and a big “S” on his chest. He saved people all day long.

  “Yeah, I bet you would have,” she said softly.

  Was that a blush on his freckled cheeks? Before she succumbed to the “aw, cute” feeling hovering close by, Lori said, at top New York speed, “Come on, take me to the pavilion. Quickly. After four hours of riding rides, I am starving to death right before your eyes.” She lifted the back of her hand to her forehead for effect, just as her smart-aleck brother Greg had shown her.

  “Nah, you look just fine to me.” John took her hand from her forehead and intertwined his fingers with hers. Again.

  Wait a minute. How had that happened? He was persistent, she had to give him that. But she wasn’t sure she was okay with holding hands with John Wayne Walker.

  Oh, sure, he was cute. Attractive. Attentive. Available. And his obvious interest was flattering. Being around him made her happy and uncomfortable all at the same time.

  Other Utahans may move and talk slowly, but this guy was moving way too fast.

  Such confusing emotions. He wasn’t anything like Nicholas, but he was still a man and, therefore, a potential emotional land mine.

  So what was she? A New Yorker or a mouse?

  She wasn’t going to get involved with him, especially since he did have the fatal flaw of being Mormon—she could see the line of his garments through his shirt. What difference did it make if she indulged in a little innocent hand-holding? So what if her bruised ego needed an emotional bandage and holding John’s hand seemed to provide that? So what if she’d just met him? Holding hands

  certainly didn’t mean they had any kind of a relationship; surely John realized that as much as she did.

  If he wanted to hold hands as friends—she did consider him a new friend, didn’t she?—then who was she to object? As long as he didn’t try anything more, which she would put a stop to immediately, she would just go along with the hand-holding, especially since it felt so warm and comforting.

  Having decided that, Lori smiled and held his hand as he led her toward the pavilion and his humongous family.

  ~

  “There’s Mom,” John said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  “This is your family?” Even though he’d warned her, Lori’s eyes still widened at the sight of all the people.

  “Yup. With a few friends mixed in.” John laughed. “And just to warn you, I’ve brought other lady friends to events, and the family always makes a big deal out of it. You think they’d be used to the idea by now.”

  Lori was used to a family being a manageable size. This was an unruly crowd: four couples and lots of children of all ages, some seated at the pavilion tables, others lounging on blankets or pulling cans of soda from coolers, all talking and eating and visiting at once. A noisy, overwhelming family.

  John took his hand from Lori’s and placed it on the small of her back. With his other hand, he pointed to an attractive and petite middle-aged woman rearranging buckets of chicken and coleslaw on a central table. “Lori, this is my mother, Irene Walker. Mom, meet my new friend, Lori Scott.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Lori.” With a warm smile, Irene put out a small hand and shook Lori’s. “I’m glad you could join us.”

  “Let me introduce Lori to everyone before they eat, Mom.”

  He turned to Lori. “This is always the interesting part. Our father made sure of that. First I have to explain that my father, William Walker, was nicknamed ‘Wild Bill’ on the job as a firefighter, so here is my father, ‘Wild Bill’ Walker. You can call him Bill for short. Dad, Lori Scott.”

  John’s father was a husky man with a moustache that matched his name. He had a hint of freckles scattered across his face and arms, and his hair had faded from what must have been the same sandy color as John’s to a light gray with glints of red in the sun. He enveloped Lori’s hand with both of his and smiled broadly. “It’s good to meet you. Welcome.”

  “Thanks for having me.”

  Three men who had to be John’s brothers stood. They all looked to be the same height—well over six feet, give or take an inch. All with sandy hair and freckles, all younger clones of their father, minus the moustache.

  John laughed. “Okay, here goes. These are my brothers, all named by my father.”

  “The deal was I got to name all the girls.” John’s mother smiled. “Only we didn’t have any girls.”

  “And you’re about to find out what kind of movies my father watches. My oldest brother, Clint Eastwood Walker, and his wife Julie. My brother, Kirk Douglas Walker, and his wife Opal. And my youngest brother, Roy Rogers Walker, and his wife Becky. I won’t even try to introduce all their children to you.”

  She laughed. “All famous cowboys. How wonderful.”

  One of the brothers—she didn’t have them straight yet—said, “Well, at least the actors who played them.”

  Despite herself, Lori was charmed by the men and by their wives.

  John’s mother patted her arm. “Just don’t let John get out of line. When he was little, if there was a commotion, it was either John and Clint, or John and Kirk, or John and Roy.”

  “Mom, I think she got the point.”

  Lori smiled at him. She could feel these people watching and assessing, and that made her nervous. Surely John had brought many dates home before. After all, he had to be in his late twenties or early thirties. So why were they watching her so intently? John realized they weren’t dating, didn’t he? Of course he did. He’d called it a date, but this wasn’t a date. This was a family circus.

  She waved to Travis as he joined the group. When he saw her, he grinned and walked up to her, taking her hand and kissing it like a medieval knight. Beside her, John said, “Hey! Watch it!”

  Travis let go of Lori’s hand and turned to John. “Are we on for more hang gliding?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just wondering if you were concerned about your safety yet.” He grinned at John and turned back to Lori. “John and I hang out and do dangerous things together.”

  “Like alligator wrestling,” said Roy.

  “Really?” Lori looked to John for confirmation.

  John rolled his eyes. “No. Don’t listen to either my crazy brother or my even crazier former friend here.”

  Travis leaned in closer to her. “In my
hometown of Ventura, California, we do wrestle alligators occasionally.”

  John put his hand on Lori’s arm. “Let’s get out of here before we need hip-high boots.”

  The next half hour passed in a pleasant whirl of conversation, laughter, and fried chicken, John always at her side as he laughed and joked with those around him.

  She liked him. And his family. They were a warm, caring sort of crowd.

  Becky asked her, “How does it feel to date a firefighter?”

  Her husband, Roy, said, “As if you don’t know.”

  John leaned toward Lori, teasing, “You light my fire.”

  Lori joked back, “Well, you put mine out.”

  The others laughed.

  “You want some ice for that burn, John?” said Roy.

  Travis saluted. “You’d think a firefighter would know how to handle a burn.”

  John scowled at his friend. “Get lost, surfer boy.”

  Lori was amazed at the way men talked with their best friends. Men and women were definitely different regardless of whether they lived in New York or Brigham City.

  When Lori had finished eating, John took her paper plate and tossed it in the trash. “Would you like a pop?”

  Pop? Oh, he meant soda. “Sure. Thanks. A . . .” The only person drinking a caffeinated soda was Travis, who held a Pepsi in

  his hand. Wasn’t that a no-no? The Utah equivalent of beer, or something? Shouldn’t he be drinking it from a brown paper bag? “A root beer, please.”

  John handed her an A&W. Without opening it, she held the chilled can against her warm forehead. “Ah.”

  Suddenly a young boy of about five rushed up and flung himself at John. “Uncle John!”

  “Lori, this is my good buddy, Evan.” While still sitting, John lifted the boy and tossed him in the air in a single smooth move. “Okay, Evan, what’s today’s password?”

  “Oh, no, Uncle John. Not the password!”

  “Oh, yes.” John wrapped his arms around the boy, who was struggling—though wearing a big grin—to get free. “Tell me the password and you can go free.”

  “Ah, heck,” said the little boy.

  “Nope. That was yesterday’s password.”

  “Okay.” The little boy sighed deeply in exaggerated resignation. “Tickle me, please.”

  “I’d love to.” John tickled a laughing, squirming Evan.

  The sight touched Lori. A big, strong man like John playing with a small child. The way her father used to play with her before . . .

  Lori shook her head. Oh, she was so not going there.

  A couple joined them, the woman holding a baby. They were apparently Evan’s parents as they both looked lovingly down on the little boy.

  “Lori, these are Evan’s parents and my good friends, Quinn and Tricia Jackson, and their new baby girl, Emma. This is my friend, Lori Scott.”

  Though the couple smiled warmly, Lori didn’t miss the quick look that flashed between them.

  Tricia hugged her and said, “I am very glad to meet you.”

  Evan said, “Let me go, Uncle John. I said the password.”

  John set him down and reached out his arms for the baby. “And how is my girl today?”

  “How old is she?” Lori asked.

  Tricia smiled at her baby and said proudly, “Three weeks.”

  Lori blinked. The woman must have a personal trainer to have a flat stomach again only three weeks after her second child. She couldn’t be larger than a size two—four tops.

  “Go get some food,” John said. “I’ll take care of Emma.”

  Lori watched John, amazed at how gentle and tender he was with the infant. He cradled her tiny body in his strong arms, and the sight touched something deep inside of Lori. He’d make some lucky woman a wonderful husband and father for her children. And, for an instant, Lori felt a pang of regret.

  John held out his thumb in front of Emma and she grasped it with her tiny fingers. He murmured baby words to her. Finally, with a smile, he turned to Lori, and said, “Sorry, I’m being selfish, holding the baby when I know you women like to do that.”

  Before Lori could shift so as not to take the baby without being obvious, John placed Emma gently in her arms. Lori fought rising panic. What was he doing?

  He looked down on her with a happy smile and said, his voice soft, “Now that’s a pretty picture.”

  She forced a smile for John, her body tense as she held the child. Luckily, John’s mother called out to him and he turned his gaze away so he didn’t seem to notice.

  Emma cooed and reached her tiny hand up toward Lori’s face. The baby was soft in Lori’s stiff arms, but she couldn’t relax to enjoy the moment. She couldn’t even try to relax because she had to steel herself against the emotion holding a baby brought—and it wasn’t enjoyment.

  Tears burned Lori’s eyes and she blinked. Hard.

  She would not cry here.

  Not now.

  Not in front of these virtual strangers.

  She steeled her heart and turned her gaze back to the child, but she couldn’t do it without pain.

  It had been years since she’d held a baby, and the last time she’d sworn that she never would again. She’d realized long ago that it wasn’t worth the momentary pleasure of holding someone else’s child to put herself through the torture of wanting something she herself could never have.

  Lori looked up at John, who had turned around and was looking at her with a dangerously soft expression in his eye.

  Someone like John Wayne Walker, however, would definitely want children of his own. So it was a good thing she’d only be here a few months. She’d be leaving the state long before either of them had a chance to get involved.

  In fact, just to make sure, she wouldn’t accept any more dates with John while she was here. She would enjoy the rest of their time at Lagoon, but that was it. From now on, she’d concentrate on her job writing about vegetables. She certainly had enough to learn about zucchini to keep her busy.

  “Lovely child,” Lori managed to say as she handed Emma back to her mother.

  THE GARDEN GURU

  Dear Dr. Dobson: I recently watched Disney’s Cinderella with my granddaughter and I must admit I fell in love with Prince Charming all over again. While I was watching the fairy godmother do her Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo magic, I started wondering if the pumpkin she turned into a coach was based on a real vegetable. Do you know? (Cheryl)

  Dear Cheryl: Yours is indeed an unusual request. The answer is yes. In 1883, the Burpee Seed Company introduced its Rouge Vif D’Etampes pumpkin, which had been popular in France since the early 1800s. Cinderella’s fairy godmother could not have chosen a better vegetable to turn into a coach as it is one of the more ornamental pumpkins. Plant one and you will harvest great fall decorations.

  And now, dear readers, though my temporary substitute will have already been busy writing, you won’t see her columns published until next week. So let me introduce an accomplished gardener and writer, Ms. Lori Scott, who will answer your questions while I am in China. I shall return an older and wiser man . . .

  Chapter Eight

  “So, what do you do for downtime from your dangerous job?”

  “Usually Travis and I find other dangerous things to do.”

  “Yeah. He seems like a dangerous-things kinda guy.”

  An unfamiliar shock of jealousy jolted John. Did she like

  dangerous-things kinda guys?

  “But you, now.” She shook her head and pondered seriously. “You don’t seem like a diehard adrenaline junkie. No, you seem more like your brothers.”

  “Is that an insult?” he teased. “Because I don’t have to go out with a pretty lady to get insulted. I can get that at work, at home, and at family get-toge
thers.”

  “It’s not an insult. You just seem more like the settling-down kinda guy. Someone who knows what he wants and goes for it.”

  She blushed and took a few small steps forward in line. His eyes settled on her legs.

  Finally, it was their turn to climb on the ride. John made sure both he and Lori were strapped in securely; then the ride started and the laughter and screaming followed. He was glad it was her doing the screaming and him doing the laughing or he’d have been really embarrassed.

  As the ride ended, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling. “That was great. Let’s go on another one.”

  Amused, he said, “I take it you like rides.”

  “I can’t get enough of them. I used to go on all the monster rides with my brother, Greg.”

  Becky and Roy were waiting for them under a tree. Becky fanned herself with an empty paper French fry container, looking uncomfortably warm.

  The four of them walked back from the edges of the park, until Becky saw a snow cone stand. “I want one of those, please.”

  “Another one?” Roy complained. “You’ve had three already.”

  “So I’m craving cherry snow cones. Go buy me one. Now.” Her words would have had more weight if she hadn’t been teasing, but Roy ordered another one, nonetheless.

  “Would you like another one, too?” John asked Lori.

  “No, thanks.” She shook her head, lightly touching Becky’s sleeve. “I’m only eating for one.”

  Becky laughed. “Cravings are an incredible force in the universe.”

  “You can say that again.” Roy handed over the snow cone.

  “Thanks, honey,” Becky said and leaned up to kiss Roy’s cheek. Roy had to bend way down so Becky wouldn’t spill her new treat.

  “Hey, let’s go on that!” Lori pointed.

  John repressed a groan. Captivated by Lori, he’d forgotten to keep track of where they were—smack dab in the center of the park alongside the white beast.

  She was pointing at the one ride in Lagoon that John hadn’t gone on since he was a kid. The one thing in the entire park—maybe in the entire world—he had an unreasonable fear of.