Love Takes Root: A contemporary romance novella

by Natasha Brown

  “Sure,” he answered and moved closer.

  Kara leaned in close to brace the pole steady as he worked. A floral scent washed over him, causing his heart to race. It had become a smell that made him happy. His bicep tightened as he dragged the blade of his knife along the score mark. He was thankful it had plenty of sharp teeth, because the bamboo wasn’t easy to cut. The three-inch-wide stalk took him more than five minutes to cut.

  When he was done, he carried the twenty-foot-long leafy tip away and then got to work on the next stalk. The process was repeated once more, then he paused while she unearthed its protected base. Her face remained intent on the task until she gently lifted up the series of roots that held three stalks together.

  “Would you bring me one of the banana leaves?” she asked.

  He returned to the horse and took the stack of leaves from its back. Kara accepted the long, wide frond and wrapped the rhizome with it, as if it were a baby getting swaddled for the first time. When it was secure, she rubbed the back of her gloved hand against her forehead. A smear of dirt appeared over her eyebrow. Miles laughed.

  “What?” Her eyes widened.

  Miles rubbed his hand off on his shorts before leaning over to brush away the dirt. She closed her lids and when she reopened them, their eyes met. His fingers lingered only momentarily.

  He thought her rosy cheeks deepened to a darker shade of pink, but he wasn’t certain. Her lips pinched together. Then she asked, “Um, when we get back, do you think you could find me a few limes?”

  The question confused him. “Craving a mojito?”

  Kara rested her hand against her hip and answered, “It’s for the roots. It’s a natural fungicide—I want these guys staying healthy if we’re going to all this trouble. Plus, the ends should stay moist—do you think we could find some plastic bags?”

  Her loose cotton T-shirt hung low against her chest, revealing the lace of her bra. Stop staring at her chest, eyes or anything else. She is here to do her job. But she wasn’t really. This was beyond what she’d come here to do.

  “Hello?”

  “Sure can,” he answered. “How many more of these are we going to get?”

  She glanced down and adjusted her shirt. “As many as we can carry back. This one should fit in my bag. We can get one more in yours, and we might be able to layer three or four more in the blanket. I can carry them back on my lap. It’s not a lot, but new beginnings can often start from very little.”

  The light in the grove changed as the cloud cover darkened. Their work was slow and tiring, but they finally collected seven series of rhizomes in clumps of two or three stalks. Both of their backpacks had green poles poking out the top, and the remaining samples were folded in the blanket.

  “Thanks for helping. I know it’s dirty work for not much reward, but it means a lot to me,” she said over her shoulder.

  Miles wiped his hands off on his pants. “I’m used to dirty work.”

  Their tools were tucked away and within minutes, they’d carefully climbed onto the horse’s back, ready to return to the Santos home. Kara tried to keep herself steady when she teetered holding the blanket of bamboo samples.

  A numbness came over her when she thought about the villagers in the town hall deciding the fate of her program in El Punto. All she wanted was to get back so she could keep herself busy preparing the bamboo to travel. She was only three days away from leaving, and she hadn’t accomplished what she’d set out to do.

  When they got back to Enmanuel’s home, Kara breathed a sigh of relief. She held the blanket of samples against her chest as she slid off the back of the horse. Miles went to give the animal water, and she walked to his car. There, she laid out the blanket and pulled off her backpack. After a few minutes, the sound of his footsteps drew near.

  “Alita’s probably in the kitchen starting dinner—you wanted limes and plastic bags, right?”

  Kara didn’t turn to face him, but continued examining the plants. “Yes, that would be great—and a bowl of water too.”

  He walked off to the house. Time slipped by and he returned, holding a couple of limes in one hand with some wrinkled bags and a bowl in the other.

  “Do you still have your knife on you?” she asked, squinting up at him.

  He slipped off his backpack and pulled out his knife. He set the limes, plastic bags, bowl, knife and backpack of bamboo on the ground beside her. She opened the banana leaves that protected the rhizomes. One by one, Kara cut the limes in half and squeezed the juice into the bowl. The acid burned tiny scratches that covered her hands.

  When she was done, she lifted the bowl over the bamboo’s root systems and poured it carefully over all of them. She made sure to cover every wiry root and thick rhizome. It was the best thing she had to protect against fungus. When she was done, she wrapped each bundle in its banana leaves again, then folded the blanket over that so they would stay moist and protected.

  “Would you help me move them into the car? Then I’ll cover the tops with the bags.”

  Miles glanced at the SUV and said, “I’ve already dirtied it up—a little more can’t hurt.”

  They each took an end of the blanket and lifted the trough of bamboo. Miles opened the back door and leaned inside with his end of the blanket.

  “Let’s just lay it along the floor of the backseat so they can stay upright,” Kara said.

  She placed her end on the floor, making sure the stalks were resting gently against the seat. Miles had finished laying his inside and stood back up, bumping into her. She moved out of his way, feeling her cheeks blush.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled and backed away from the car.

  Over the next few minutes, she spent her time bagging the tops of the stalks. It would do for now, but she’d have to pour some water or mud into the tops soon to make sure they stayed moist. Kara closed the door and rubbed her dirty hands together. It’d been too long since she’d had a proper shower, but somehow she didn’t care. Having dirt under her nails made her happy, and she felt at home.

  Kara cleared her throat. “I know I didn’t really ask, but can we stop at Quebrada de Aqua the day after tomorrow on our way out?”

  She felt his eyes on her when he responded. “Hasn’t that been the plan all along?”

  They stood in silence for a minute. The sounds from nearby chickens clucking and cattle moving through the valley filled her ears. Her body was tired and hungry from the long day’s events, but she was satisfied with what she’d accomplished.

  Miles asked, “Want to walk and check in at the town hall to see if you’ve got any signatures?”

  Kara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was time to find out if all of her work would pay off in this rural village in Central America. She was ready for the answer.

  Chapter 8.

  From the pained expression on her face, Miles could sense a problem. Her cheek twitched as she stood staring at the clipboard.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She tilted the list against her chest and sighed. “Looks like Mr. Rodriguez doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “He didn’t sign,” he said it more as a statement than a question.

  While he stood wordlessly beside her, Enmanuel pulled Miles aside and explained, “I would like to try Kara’s solution, but none of us can talk any sense into Hector. He will not listen—his mind is made up. No one gets along with him, not even his family or animals. Please tell her we’re so sorry.”

  The villagers filtered out of the town hall, leaving them alone. Miles turned to Kara and wanted to offer support, but didn’t know what to do or say. After telling her things would work out, it was obvious he’d been wrong.

  With the papers clutched tightly to her chest, she walked outside with her luggage. He followed her to the street. A few groups of villagers stayed in town to talk and socialize, while the rest had gone home to eat their dinners. He waved to one of Enmanuel’s neighbors as he ran to catch up to Kara.

  While the
y walked in silence along the road, Miles noticed dried dirt smeared on her neck and arms. She had to want a shower, a way to clean up. Most people didn’t like staying dirty long. They were passing the well. He knew there was a chance it wouldn’t have a strong flow, but she deserved to clean off after the day she’d had.

  “Before dinner, did you want to wash off a little?” He pointed up the trail to the water spigot and pump. “There’s a chance it’s dry, but you could try. I’ll wait for you here.”

  Kara stopped. “Sure.”

  She handed him her clipboard of paperwork and left her suitcase beside him to wander up the trail. He watched her approach the spigot and give it a test pump to see whether water came out. He tried not to be obvious about observing her, but he was drawn in, watching the way her hands fumbled with taking her hair out of its ponytail and how careful she was to use every drop that fell from the tap.

  When she joined him at the road, her hair was dripping wet and hung in waves around her shoulders. She may not have looked happy, but she was clean. “Will you carry the papers so I don’t get them wet?”

  “Of course,” he answered.

  They walked in the dark at a slow pace. He tried to get a read on her face, although it was too murky to see with the cloud cover. Being emotionally sensitive wasn’t his strength. She had to be upset, since she wasn’t talking.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get Hector’s signature—he’s an old stubborn goat.”

  It took him a moment to realize she’d stopped walking. He turned to look at her.

  “That would’ve been nice to know ahead of time,” she said through pursed lips.

  Miles was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “At no point was I led to believe it would be near impossible to get this project underway. You knew the space requirements—that I’d need his land. It was no surprise to you that Hector was this way, so why did I even bother coming here if he wasn’t going to change?”

  “I didn’t think he’d be this big of a problem—I thought he’d see the benefit.” Miles’s stomach twisted in knots being in the line of fire. Annoyed and defensive, he fought the urge to yell. “Sometimes things just don’t work out—it’s not my fault!”

  The voices and light cast from the Santos house poured onto the road. The smell of Alita’s cooking hit his nose, and for the first time ever, it made him sick. It had been a long day without lunch, but he’d lost his appetite.

  “I don’t even know if I have a job to go back to,” Kara said, all choked up. “Jim may not give me another chance at this—this was my shot.”

  She hurried ahead of him to the house and disappeared inside. Kara’s broken dreams stuck in his mind while his sloth-like pace took him to the Santos home. As if his karma was punishing him, a raindrop slapped against his forehead. More followed after, leaving him soaked before he reached the front door.

  Without dinner, he lay in his sleeping bag all night, listening to the pounding drum of rain against the ground and roof. He couldn’t let Kara walk away from Honduras without trying his hardest to get her project off the ground. He wanted her dreams to come true. It was his top priority.

  Kara woke, her eyes puffy and swollen from crying. She was surprised to discover she’d actually fallen asleep, because the sounds in the night had kept her staring wide-eyed out the exposed, open window at the storm. Her sleeping bag was wet with water that had blown in. Although the air was warm, she was chilled from the moisture against her skin.

  She climbed out of bed to get changed, hoping a new set of clothes would help. Her backpack sat on the damp floor, and she was disappointed to find the water had absorbed into its contents. On the top layer, she found a dirty pair of shorts and a T-shirt that were still mostly dry. She pulled a damp slicker out from the bottom. They would have to do.

  Somber gray morning light came in through the window. The rain wasn’t coming down as forcefully as it had in the middle of the night. It had reduced to a gentle drizzle. Voices called from outside, and the sound of chickens squawking filled the air.

  Kara peered into the open room outside her door, expecting to see Miles, but only found his sleeping bag unzipped on the ground. She was relieved. She didn’t know what to say to him after falling apart last night. Maybe he hadn’t thought Hector would be a serious problem. It wasn’t his job to sell the idea to the villagers, it was hers, and she’d failed at doing that. An apology wasn’t enough.

  She pulled on her slicker and stepped outside. The hood was secured over her head, but it couldn’t stop the rain from stinging her eyes. She squinted into the murky morning. Muddy rivulets swirled down the road and past her shoes. Kara looked to her right and didn’t see Alita or the Santos women working in the kitchen, although she heard people calling out nearby.

  Through the drizzle of rain, she found Elías and Enmanuel’s son near the open shelter for the horses. A sinking feeling turned her stomach. Something wasn’t right. She stared through the sleet at the hillside, thinking about the amount of rain that had fallen overnight. When the ground was already so saturated with water, this couldn’t be good.

  Elías waved at her and shouted a greeting, but Kara didn’t hear it. She yelled, “Dónde Miles?”

  In response he pointed along the valley. “En la casa del señor Rodriguez.”

  She looked in the direction of Hector’s property, thinking of the hillside that had looked so precarious, when a deep sound met her ears. Kara had never heard the sound before, but she instinctively knew it was trouble. The men turned their heads behind them in the direction the noise had originated and began to shout. Elías ran up to Kara and pointed toward town. “Deslizamientos de tierra, salir de aquí.”

  From all of the slides she’d labeled with the Spanish words for landslide, she understood perfectly. Kara turned and ran. Unconcerned about her own safety, she knew what she had to do. She flung open the driver’s-side door to Miles’s SUV and jumped in. Above the visor she found the keys, which she fumbled into the ignition. When the car roared to life, she threw it in reverse, backed out of the drive and pointed herself down the road toward Hector’s place.

  Kara paused a moment to observe the hillside for movement. When nothing caught her eye, she put the car in drive and sped along the muddy road. She tried to remember how far down Hector lived and whether she could reach him from the mucky lane. While she sped through potholes and fishtailed through slippery patches, she split her focus between the trail and the dangerous hillside to her right. The wipers thumped loudly as they swung back and forth, clearing the mud that splatted onto the windshield.

  Her heart raced, and she could barely swallow. She just wanted to find Miles, to make sure he was safe. That was all that mattered.

  When a small home came into view, she pushed her horn multiple times to get anyone’s attention. A figure appeared through the fog. She called out, “Deslizamientos de tierra!”

  The person waved and ran off before she continued along the road. She repeated this along the way as she came across ranchers and their homes.

  After an agonizingly long ten minutes, she recognized the pale house through the mist. The rain had all but stopped, although she knew they weren’t out of danger. Bright red shone through the haze and as she got closer, she realized it was a man in a bright shirt. He wore a yellow straw cowboy hat and dark denim jeans. Hector turned around and stepped aside when she approached, revealing another man beside him. Miles.

  Kara let out a shaky sigh that nearly turned into a hysterical laugh. She rolled down her window. “It’s not safe here—landslides. We need to leave, get away from the hills and go to town.”

  Miles spun around to face the slope. “Was that what I heard in the distance?”

  “I’ve warned the ranchers along the valley, but we need to go. Tell Mr. Rodriguez to get in.”

  She watched him speak to Hector, who shook his head and pointed to his fields. Miles argued with the old man, the tendons in his neck straining while he spoke. The
n he threw his hands up and told Kara, “He won’t leave his cattle.”

  “But it’s not safe to stay here—” A deep rumble interrupted her. She imagined an all-powerful force moving across the earth—nature’s bulldozer. “Get in!”

  Miles opened the back door, moved the bamboo over to the other side of the car and shoved Hector inside. He then ran around to the passenger side and jumped in. As soon as he was in the SUV, Kara turned onto the open grasslands to their left and sped away. Miles pivoted in place to stare out the back window.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered, “not yet. Get farther out.”

  She was taking them out across the range when both men began hollering. “Over there,” Miles pointed outside.

  Kara slowed to a stop and rolled down the passenger window so she could get a better look. A safe distance away, they watched a brown mass of mud, rocks and scrub move down the groove carved into the hillside. The very piece of unsteady earth she’d spotted days before. It moved fluidly, like a snake over water, avoiding collisions with buildings, funneling onto the flatland below.

  Stressed heifers called from nearby. Groups of cattle jogged across the pasture, joining them where it was safe. In the backseat, Hector spoke rapidly to Miles, who turned to Kara and said, “His breeding bull likes wandering into that valley.”

  She nodded and turned the car around to take them closer to the destruction. The freight train sounds were all but silent. Except for the calls from frightened cattle, the air was eerily quiet and still. Kara drove slow, wary of any movement on the hills. From the look of it, the mudslide could have been worse. It was localized to the mouth of the valley, avoiding any contact with buildings, but that didn’t ensure loss of property.

  “Mira!” Hector pointed ahead of them. “Allí!”