Hope's Garden

by Lyn Cote

  Cat nodded. “Certainly.”

  “Can I ask you another question I’ve been wondering about since I moved to Iowa?” Samantha asked diffidently.

  Gage could hardly wait to hear this one.

  Her eyes cocked toward Gage, Cat tilted her head. “Yes?”

  “What are pork bellies?”

  Cat looked startled. “You mean like on the commodity reports on the radio?”

  Samantha bobbed her head.

  “Pork bellies can become bacon.” Cat’s voice showed her uncertainty over this unusual question. She looked to Gage.

  He shrugged.

  The young woman looked a bit sick. “Pork bellies are bacon? Yuck. I wish I hadn’t asked.” She held up her hand. “Don’t tell me what part becomes sausage.”

  Grinning, Gage offered his hand to Dex. He’d spare Sam the description of stuffing ground pork and spices into hog intestines. Evidently Sam knew little about food before it reached her table.

  An unpleasant thought struck him. Did Cat classify him with the Crenshaws as just another yuppie? Did she think he was just as ignorant about Eden? This sobered him, but he brought the appointment to a businesslike end. “We have new garden software. I’ll send you a printout of our proposal within the week.” He noticed that Cat’s face fell.

  In spite of Sam’s questions, the meeting had gone well. What could possibly be bothering Cat now?

  Later that Sunday afternoon Cat walked warily into Chuck and Laurette’s cheery, yellow-and-white kitchen. Her realization this morning in church that she’d been at fault in her attitudes toward Hetty, the Crenshaws and especially Farrell still had her unsettled. The appointment with the Crenshaws had gone better than she’d thought. Sam’s questions would have irritated her if God hadn’t prepared her earlier by reminding her that the new people in town, no matter how different, were still her neighbors.

  But one more challenge hung over her. After Farrell’s parting mention about a printout, she realized she couldn’t put it off any longer. He’d made up his mind that she was going to use the computer. She’d have to tell him the truth that she wasn’t smart enough to use a computer. The very thought of revealing this made her queasy, just like she had always felt before tests at school.

  She pushed the disquieting sensation away. Right now she needed to get Laurette’s house cleaned up. Laurette had always been neat as a pin, and Cat wanted to ease her cousin’s fretting over what wasn’t getting done. But she knew Laurette would insist she not do the cleaning, so she’d plotted with Chuck to drive Laurette to the riverside park for the afternoon. Alone, the house felt empty. Farrell must have gone with them to the park.

  The mess in the kitchen didn’t look as bad as Cat had anticipated. Someone, Chuck or Farrell, had been washing dishes and sweeping, but the stove and counters needed tidying. Enjoying the peace of the empty house, Cat began scrubbing the counter, then tackled the top of the stove. The fragrance of the lemon-scented cleaning gel filled the small kitchen. Then she heard the front door open and the sound of familiar uneven footsteps—Farrell.

  For the third time that day, Cat braced herself to face him. Her anxiety over the computer threat struggled with the attraction to him she’d begun to dread. Today at the Crenshaws, she’d been so aware of him. She hoped the Crenshaws hadn’t noticed that. She’d worked hard to appear professional. Conflicting emotions churned through her like a river high with melted snow and spring rain.

  “Hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Farrell stood in front of her.

  Farrell—handsome, insistent, but elusive. In the two weeks they’d worked together, he’d asked her no questions. He’d offered no personal information. That’s the way she wanted their relationship, wasn’t it? The specter of his black laptop computer wafted through her mind.

  Cat swallowed to moisten her dry mouth. “Chuck took Laurette for a ride. I’m trying to get things spruced up before she gets back and tries to stop me.”

  “But I told Chuck I insisted on hiring someone to clean until Laurette is feeling better. It’s the least I can do since they’re letting me stay here.”

  Though she wasn’t looking at him, his presence worked on her like an invisible sci-fi “tractor beam” trying to catch her attention. It troubled her. “Hiring someone’s easier said than done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There aren’t too many people who clean houses for pay in town, and the few there were have been snatched up by the new executive wives. How’s Laurette today?” She paused and looked at him. Day by day, she’d prayed every time Laurette and her baby came to mind. And they’d come to mind often.

  “She seemed the same.”

  Cat nodded, then wiped every surface she’d cleaned with a fresh cloth.

  Farrell stepped closer to her.

  His formidable presence intimidated her. She looked away, suddenly bashful at having this man, still a puzzle to her, so close.

  He put his hands on his hips. “All right. What can I do?”

  “You don’t—”

  “I’ll help you. I’m staying here. I would have moved out, but Chuck insisted I stay—”

  “It’s good you’ve stayed to support them.” Cat glanced tentatively at him.

  He stared at her.

  She returned his look without hesitation, drawing strength as she always did from speaking the truth. “Having you around has helped Chuck. I’m glad you’re here in the house to encourage him. Evidently God knew Chuck would need a friend right now.” Flustered by his nearness, she walked away to wipe the crumbs off the dinette table.

  Farrell cleared his throat. “I said I’d help. What do you want me to do?”

  For the first time, his persistence pleased her and pushed back the worry over the computer. Taunting him with a playful grin, she propped one hand on her hip. “Know how to vacuum?”

  He grinned back at her. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he drawled. “So, where’s the vacuum?”

  “Coat closet opposite the front door.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “How do you know this house so well?”

  “This is where Laurette grew up. I was here after school practically every day.”

  “All right.” He saluted. “I’m off to vacuum.”

  As she finished the kitchen, she heard the welcome sound of the vacuum, first in the living room, then up the hall to the stairs. Glad to be free of his unnerving presence, she took out Laurette’s bright-yellow feather duster and worked her way through the small living room and up the stairs.

  Awareness of Farrell skittered through her as she stepped around him while he maneuvered the noisy vacuum into the master bedroom. Being alone in the house with Farrell affected her differently than working with him at the nursery. They were alone, no Hetty, no customers swarming in and out.

  Here there was too little space for such a forceful man. He made her feel…softly feminine. Why was that? She shook her head and went on with her work.

  The vacuum fell silent, and she heard movement coming out of the bedrooms. She turned. “If you’re done in there, I’ll just dust the bedrooms—”

  “I’ll dust,” he offered.

  The intimacy of sharing such homey tasks touched her. She turned sassy to cover her confused reaction. “Know how?” She offered him the feather duster.

  He took it, then twirled it between his fingers. “Child’s play.” He “feathered” her nose with it.

  The playful touch sensitized her to him even more.

  When she looked into his eyes, she glimpsed more than playfulness. Farrell was studying her to discover…what?

  Cat’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t speak.

  Still grinning, he “dusted” the underside of her chin.

  She looked away as a small sneeze escaped her.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thank you.” What was going on between Farrell and her? At work, he saved his charm for the customers. At work, he treated her with a studied coolness she couldn’t fight or p
enetrate. She turned to the staircase. “I’m going to the kitchen to weed out any moldy leftovers from the fridge.”

  He soon rejoined her downstairs and stood nearby washing his hands at the sink. She paused, watching the soap lather over his long, sun-browned fingers. More than a week of gardening had taken its toll on his hands. With broken nails and dirt embedded around his cuticles, his hands now looked more like working man’s hands, like her dad’s hands. She sank into a chair in the dinette and wondered if his hands were calloused like hers. For no apparent reason, she imagined how they would feel against the nape of her neck. She shivered.

  He turned off the tap and dried his hands, all the while looking at her. Why did he seem to study her so? Finally, he broke the silence. “So now, Cat, is the house clean enough?”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  He sat down across from her.

  Again, she noticed the gold chain around his neck. He wore it every day. Obviously it was a memento, not jewelry. Daringly she reached out and lifted the cross with her index finger. “This is special to you,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “It was a bequest from my father.”

  “My dad passed away young, too.”

  “My father’s still alive.”

  Startled by his words, she lifted her gaze to his face.

  “There are men who are biological fathers, then there are fathers of the heart. This is from my father of the heart.”

  She struggled to understand his words and their significance. “Who are you talking about?”

  He cleared his throat like he was having trouble speaking, too. “His name was Manny. He was my first boss. He taught me everything I know about gardening.” He quickly changed topics, “I liked the way you handled the Crenshaws today.”

  “Just doing business.”

  “I know you weren’t too enthused about residential landscaping at first.”

  “You were right. We have to serve all our customers, according to their needs.”

  Her candid admission appeared to please him. “I can hardly wait to get you using the design software. I know you’ll get a real kick out of it.”

  A kick in the stomach. That’s what it felt like now. The moment had come. They were alone and if she didn’t tell him now, it would only lead to worse embarrassment later on.

  She took a deep breath. “Farrell, I don’t think that’s going to work out for me.”

  “It’s a great program,” he countered. “Just give it a chance, and if you don’t like it, we can always purchase another.”

  Her cheeks burned with distress. “I’ve never…” she said slowly, “I’ve never even touched a computer. I can’t do it.”

  Chapter Five

  “Really?” Farrell gave her a quizzical look.

  Cat sensed his surprise. What would he think of her?

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He grinned at her. “Let’s go down and see how you like it.”

  He was being kind, but Cat’s spirits drooped lower. “Farrell, I’m only good at growing things. I was never good at school.”

  He ignored her protests and hustled her down the wooden steps to Laurette’s cellar. Trying to stop him was like trying to stop a cold front from moving in. Useless. Gage Farrell, you make me crazy! Why can’t you ever just take no for an answer?

  She saw that Farrell had taken over half the unfinished basement as a bedroom-office. “I thought you were staying in the attic.”

  “The ceiling was too low. Kept bumping my head.” He led her to a desk set up against the white-painted coarse concrete wall. “Staying down here gives Laurette and Chuck more privacy, and I should be cool all summer.”

  She nodded, but the black laptop on the desk absorbed all her attention. It still reminded her of a big black beetle. She still wanted to squash it.

  Farrell patted the back of the gray office chair invitingly. “Sit down. Before you know it, you’ll be designing a garden.”

  Disregarding his bright tone, Cat still hung back, her panic level rising. “I already know how to design a garden with paper and a pencil. What’s wrong with that?”

  Her partner halted, then gazed at her searchingly as though trying to read her thoughts.

  Frustration burned in her stomach. She lowered her eyes to evade his. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Stubborn just like her father. Turning away, she wished she were anywhere but here.

  Then her sense of humor kicked in. Anywhere, Cat? The Sahara Desert in July? She sighed. All right. With a noisy groan, she flopped down on the chair and glared at him. “You remind me of my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Taylor.”

  “One of your favorites, no doubt.” Still watchful, he gave her a teasing grin.

  Cat’s mouth was dry and her palms were moist. “No. She insisted I learn long division.”

  “And you did, didn’t you?” Farrell’s light tone reassured her somehow.

  This isn’t brain surgery. If I can’t learn it, what can he do, fire me? She took a deep breath. “Yes, Mrs. Taylor taught me long division.”

  “If you learned long division, a computer will be child’s play.”

  Cat glanced up and found her head just an inch below his square chin. His closeness nearly overwhelmed her. She fought to keep her mind clear. These intense flashes of attraction to her partner were becoming a frequent nuisance and right now a major distraction. Get hold of yourself. Concentrate, Cat, she told herself.

  She rose slightly. “Maybe Laurette could show me tomorrow.”

  With his firm hands on her shoulders, he pressed her back down. The touch of his hands warmed her. “No time like the present.” He sat down on a stool next to her and tapped a key on the computer. The screen flared to life with a burst of trumpet music. “Now.” He picked up her hand.

  A shiver worked its way up her arm. She steeled herself against the enticing sensation.

  “Put your hand on the mouse. That’s what you need to get started.” He guided her hand to it.

  Under her hand, a smooth, rounded lump of plastic; over her hand, Farrell’s strong and, yes, calloused fingers. It was hard to tell which unnerved her more.

  “Now, relax. There’s nothing to this.”

  Right. I believe that. Yeah, who are you kidding, Cat?

  “Look at the screen. See the arrow there? That’s the cursor.” His rich voice went on calm and sure, “Move the mouse. See how the arrow, called the cursor, moves as you move the mouse?” Farrell swirled her hand and the arrow, cosmically connected to the plastic mouse, rotated in the same way.

  Her stomach swirled in the same motion. She willed herself to concentrate on the screen, not Gage’s hand over hers.

  “See, it’s easy. You’re going to laugh at yourself for worrying. Now let’s open programs. That’s right. Move the mouse to it. Great. Now click the left side of the mouse. That’s it.”

  The screen brightened again with the same photo of the lush green flower garden that Cat had seen before. Its allure hadn’t diminished, either. I want to learn this. This admission surprised and strengthened her. The clean scent of Gage’s soap permeated the inches between them.

  “This software is really user friendly. You may want something more advanced.”

  “No.” Cat licked her dry lips. Don’t rush me! “Now what do I do?”

  “Move the cursor up to File. Click the left button.” He led her through setting up the file and drawing the dimensions of a patio garden for the Crenshaws. His nearness, his confidence in her, wound around her like a warm cocoon. When she slipped and made a mistake, he didn’t get short with her. His patience encouraged her. She found herself smiling as she began to gain mastery in controlling the slippery movements of the cursor. He actually believes I can do this.

  When he withdrew his hand, she turned to look at him and found his nose only centimeters from hers. All the breath leaked out of her as though someone had pushed her from behind. Her nose bumped his. Her breath caught in her
throat.

  “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?” a muffled voice called from upstairs in the kitchen. “Yoo-hoo! Cat, I saw your truck in the drive!”

  “I’m down here,” Cat jumped up and managed to bump into Farrell’s chin, nearly lose her footing and almost land in his lap. After this near miss, she ran for the steps.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened. Mrs. Hansen, a member of Cat and Laurette’s church, looked down at them. “Where are Chuck and Laurette? I thought she was still off her feet. Is this Chuck’s friend?”

  Farrell followed Cat upstairs. Flustered at being caught alone with her partner, she made the introductions. Plump and rosy, Mrs. Hansen stepped aside and let her pretty thirteen-year-old daughter, Morgan, walk to the stove and set down the casserole dish. Delicious aromas of oregano and basil wafted from it.

  “More food?” Farrell asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.

  Cat smiled, feeling pride in her church family’s faithfulness.

  “Hi, Cat!” Morgan said brightly, her eyes focused on Farrell.

  “Morgan, thanks for helping your mom,” Cat said with a wry grin.

  “Oh, yeah.” Chestnut-haired Morgan dragged her attention back to Cat. “Say, Laurette says you’re coming to our youth group’s first meeting, a video and popcorn party here in two weeks.”

  Thanks for asking me first, Laurette! No, Cat hadn’t heard this from her cousin yet, but Laurette always did things this way. And Cat understood Morgan’s eagerness for the youth group. Summer could be deadly boring in the small town. Morgan had grown up just down the block from Laurette and had often followed Cat around like a little sister. As an only child, Cat had delighted in Morgan’s affection.

  “Yeah, Laurette said you and Aunt Bet will have to help out ’cause she can’t move around much.”

  “I guess I’ll be here, then.” Cat grinned ruefully.

  “Great!” Morgan’s curiosity had drifted back to Farrell again.

  Cat shook her head. Evidently Farrell’s charm affected females of all ages. If only Morgan knew what an aggravating man he could be. Suddenly the memory of his hand over hers as they sat at the computer disrupted this line of thought. She swung away from him.