How to Stuff a Wild Zucchini

by Heather Horrocks

  “It felt fabulous.” For a couple of days.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but there is a huge film industry in Utah. And, if you’d like, I have a contact for Sundance Film Festival tickets, which is in January. It’s a must-see.”

  “I probably won’t be here by then.”

  “It’d be worth a special trip back.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Neal.”

  “Rusty, please.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Rusty.”

  “I almost forgot. You can write about any vegetable in July, but August is traditionally zucchini month.”

  “Zucchini? For all four weeks?”

  “Yes. Sad to say but our readers love zucchini. My wife alone must have over a hundred recipes for the awful stuff. Don’t tell Charles I said that, though, because I’ll deny it. The official position of the Brigham City Daily is that zucchini is great.”

  “August. Zucchini. Right.” She wrote a note on her pad that may have appeared to Rusty to be about zucchini and articles but was, in truth, a series of question marks interspersed with the letter Z. After all, what did Lori know about zucchini? Zip, zilch, zippo—that’s what. But that didn’t matter because she was faking her way through this whole thing anyway. She smiled widely. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Good.” Rusty nodded with her, though she was pretty sure he wasn’t thinking what she was thinking, which was that she hoped those gardening books in Charles’s house and his old clippings of August articles would give her a clue as to what she could possibly say about zucchini that hadn’t already been said. What did one say about zucchini, anyway? “Green” and “yucky” covered it for her. She wondered what Charles’s readers would say to that. She might be in real trouble here.

  “We have a competitor writing a gardening column for the Logan paper. Logan’s not too far from here. It’s about twice the size of Brigham City. Anyway, Mark Williamson owns Anderson’s Seed and Garden and he’s very popular.”

  Oh, great. She not only had to live up to Charles Dobson’s standards, but also had a popular columnist as competition.

  “I’m sure you’ll have no problem matching him.”

  Lori forced a smile. Sure. No problem at all.

  “It’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Scott.” Rusty stood and held out his hand. “I’m looking forward to reading your stuff.”

  “Lori. Please.” After standing, shaking his hand, and gathering up her portfolio, she walked back through the newspaper offices, feeling like the rookie Daily Planet reporter—what was his name? Jimmy somebody—who’d been assigned to track down the Man of Steel for an interview. Or like she’d just received a Mission Impossible message.

  As she pushed open the door and was hit with the blast of July heat from the street, she thought back to the fateful dart toss that had started all this.

  She was going to call Greg and ask him about his new alleged girlfriend. And, while she was at it, she was going to chew him out for getting her into this whole mess.

  ~

  Walking from the newspaper agency toward the cherry-red

  monstrosity, Lori speed-dialed Greg’s number. She’d placed her portfolio on the passenger seat and climbed into the driver’s seat before he answered.

  “Hi, sis. How are you doing in the big, bad city?”

  She could hear the smirk in his voice, which added to her irritation. “I have you to blame for being here.”

  She started the El Camino to get the air conditioner running and sat in the parking lot as she talked, slipping on her dark glasses so no one would recognize her in this vehicle.

  “It’s not my fault. I was joking. You took it and ran with it.” He chuckled. “All the way to Brigham City, Utah.”

  “Zucchini Capital, U.S.A.” She sighed. “Why didn’t you stop me? You know how irrational I can be.”

  “That’s part of your charm.” He sounded amused.

  “Speaking of charm, what’s this dating news Mom told me?”

  “Ah. Sweet Kelly.” He sighed romantically, but she couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious. “Sister Sorensen’s niece. She is a beautiful sight. I’m thinking I may even propose to her.”

  “Ha. Liar. I don’t believe you.”

  “Well, I may. Some day. Not this month. Perhaps not even this year.”

  “Are you dating exclusively?”

  “Kelly is the only woman I’m dating.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “You make it sound so horrid. I happen to like her.”

  “What happened to never getting married and not risking doing to a family what Dad did to ours?”

  “Lori, you gotta get past that. I can’t live in that place anymore. It’s time to move on. I don’t say it as much as Mom does, but you’ve got to quit hanging on to your anger and hurt. You gotta let it go.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Thirteen years later is not ‘just like that.’ We were kids. Dad is sorry for the pain he caused us. He’d tell you himself if you’d just talk to him.”

  “Okay, time to move on to another topic.”

  “Hey, you brought up Dad, not me.”

  “Whoops, there’s a lot of static on the line. Gotta go.”

  “Ah, Lori, come on—”

  “’Bye, Greg. Talk with you later.” She slammed the cell phone into the pocket of her purse and drew a deep breath, waiting until she’d calmed down before driving home.

  ~

  When Lori pulled into the subdivision twenty minutes later, she was almost looking forward to the daunting task of weeding at least a little of Charles’s garden—it should burn off the rest of her anger—before fixing an easy lunch and relaxing all afternoon.

  But as she pulled into the driveway, she was amazed to find a man watering her front lawn.

  John Wayne Walker.

  Her heart fluttered a little, almost as if she was glad he was there. But she wasn’t. She refused to be.

  It had been five days since she’d seen him, and he looked good. He wore jeans and a light blue, short-sleeved, button-up shirt that brought out the color of his blue, blue eyes. His hair was just a bit mussed up. He looked delicious, but she couldn’t afford to have him around, not after their kiss. How was she going to get rid of him without seeming rude? Or did that matter? She was from New York, after all. She could handle this guy.

  She climbed out of the car, drew in a breath of mid-day heat, and frowned in irritation. “Do firefighters ever actually go to work?”

  “I work forty-eight hours on and get ninety-six off.” He moved the end of the hose toward her, as if to splash her with the cascading water, but stopped short of actually getting her wet. He shrugged and grinned mischievously. “I came to offer my services as a tour guide. Would you like to catch some local sights this afternoon?”

  She ignored the question. “Why are you watering my lawn?”

  “Because it needs it.” He swept the water back to the lawn. “For a gardening expert, you don’t have much of a green thumb.”

  “You’re only getting away with saying that because you have a hose in your hand.”

  He adjusted the sprayer to a mist and pointed it toward the flowers along the walk. “So . . . what about that guided tour?”

  “Fuhgetaboutit,” she said in a thicker-than-usual New York accent. She sighed deeply. She didn’t want to be rude, but how else was she going to get rid of him? And suddenly the answer came to her. She’d just mention the awful task ahead of her and surely he’d find some excuse to leave. “I’ve got to weed Charles’s garden. For hours.”

  “Doesn’t sound like nearly as much fun.” He laughed. “But I’ll help you anyway.”

  “Are you kidding? Have you seen Cha
rles’s garden?”

  “I have, one morning when a beautiful lady lit a barbeque grill on fire.”

  Surprised, she studied him. She didn’t think he’d even seen anything but her the day of the fire because he hadn’t seemed able to take his eyes off her. She’d been flattered then and she was flattered again remembering it, but she fought that feeling. John was apparently more observant than she’d realized.

  “Plus Charles is a family friend. I’ve been here before.” He set the hose down to let it water the big pine tree in front. “Should we head back to the garden now?”

  “Wait.”

  He looked at her expectantly. Raised an eyebrow. Waited.

  Finally, she relaxed. Why was she fighting? She could use his help. Who knew, maybe he’d even prevent her from pulling up any vegetables by mistake. She sighed. “You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Probably.” He grinned.

  “I’ve got to change. I’ll meet you in back.” Shaking her head, she headed toward the front door. Maybe she couldn’t get rid of him, but she was definitely not going to kiss him again. She’d enjoyed that far too much for comfort.

  Chasing a woman was new to John—and he very much liked it.

  Grinning, he tossed another weed on his pile. It’d been Lori’s idea to have two separate piles, and his had grown to nearly double the size of hers, not that it mattered. All that mattered was that he got to spend time with her, another chance to get to know her better.

  He glanced over at Lori, who seemed to look gorgeous no matter what she wore. She’d slipped into her regulation black shorts, this time with funky hot pink sandals and a matching T-shirt that wasn’t overly tight, but still revealed her slender curves.

  Her uncharacteristic frown only made him more determined than ever to cheer her up.

  A light breeze fluttered the leaves of the three quaking aspens set at the back of Charles’s yard. The sun still had plenty of time in the sky, and the air still shimmered with heat, but not nearly as much as earlier.

  “I think I’m ahead now,” Lori said.

  John glanced pointedly at the two piles of weeds. “Um, no.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Are you sure you haven’t been stealing some of my weeds?”

  He chuckled. “I’m just a better weeder. Admit it.”

  “Well, there’s a news flash for you. Yes, I admit it. You are a better weeder. You’re probably a better gardener, too.”

  “I doubt that. You’re the garden columnist. An expert in the field—as it were.” With a grin, he stood up and stretched out his back muscles, then took a sip of the delicious lemonade she’d served. She followed suit, leaning back, her hands on the small of her back. He moved his gaze away to someplace safer. “So I have to wonder why you’re really here. You’re obviously not a garden columnist by trade. What really brought you to Brigham City? Are you a spy or something equally exotic?”

  “A spy? Hardly. I’m a writer, I live in a fashionable penthouse, and I never, ever garden. Except for flowers in pots.” She sighed deeply. “You want to know the truth?”

  He looked into her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  She held his gaze for only a moment before looking away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Okay. My Broadway play flopped. My lousy rotten boyfriend found another woman. And I needed some space to think things over.”

  He frowned. “Boyfriend?”

  “Not anymore. He never should have been—ever. I should have spotted the weasel signs much earlier.”

  He relaxed a little. “It’s an easy enough mistake to make.”

  She looked at him earnestly. “Do your parents have a good relationship?”

  Uncertain where this was leading, he answered, “Yes. Sure.”

  “You say it like it’s a given.”

  He shrugged. “They were married in the temple.”

  “So were mine.” Her tone was bitter. “And my dad still left my mom and my brother and me thirteen years ago, even though he was sealed to all of us.”

  Encouraged by her sharing and wanting to be careful of her obviously hurt feelings, he said quietly, “I’m really sorry, Lori. That must have been tough. It’s gotta affect everything.”

  “Yeah. Like the Church.”

  “The Church?”

  “I was raised and baptized Mormon.”

  He smiled gently. “I suspected as much. You do wear a CTR ring, after all.”

  “But since my dad left, I feel Mormonism is too phony.”

  “Hey,” he said, trying to keep things light, “I’m Mormon.”

  “I know.” She didn’t sound antagonistic, but she wasn’t smiling either.

  He leaned back against the fence. “Do you think I’m a fake?”

  She stared at him, her arms still crossed. “I keep looking for signs of it, but I haven’t found any yet.”

  He didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “You’re looking for phoniness in me?”

  “Don’t take it personally. I do it with everyone. Especially guys.” She shrugged. “Especially Mormon guys.”

  Grateful for his own happy childhood, he decided not to take her comment personally. “I’m really sorry your family had such a rough time of it.”

  “Don’t be. I’m okay.” And with that, she went back to pulling weeds. “I think you ought to know that I usually avoid Mormon guys.”

  “And how do you do that?”

  Tugging at a small weed, she tipped her face up at him and smiled brightly. “I don’t go to church.”

  A twinge of disappointment flickered through him. “Ever?”

  “Ever.” She returned her focus to the weeds.

  Wow. John turned so she couldn’t read his expression while he figured this one out. He reached for another weed.

  He was phenomenally attracted to a woman who wasn’t even active in the Church? How could she possibly be the woman for him? And if not, why had he gotten such a strong impression that she was?

  For some reason, Lori had been brought into his life. Maybe he’d misread the impression. Did she need to be reactivated? Was he supposed to help her? Maybe, but John thought there was something more going on. The impression he’d gotten had been pretty specific.

  Though discouraged, he wasn’t about to back off now; Travis or someone else might move in. Travis, who wasn’t Mormon and so wouldn’t scare her like John did.

  He might not be able to talk her into changing her mind, but he could certainly issue a personal invitation to attend church with him this Sunday at eleven. That would give him plenty of time to convince her and plenty of time for her to get ready.

  John wanted to see where this relationship could go, but he was going to have to be very careful. He planned on a temple marriage.

  He waited until the next time she stood, and then spoke casually. “Hey, what if you come to church with me next Sunday? That way you can see that most of the people in my ward aren’t phony. In fact, most of them are very sincere.”

  Stretching her back, she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  She was being sarcastic, true. But he smiled anyway. He was going to take her words at face value and she’d said yes! “All right. I’ll be here at ten-thirty.”

  He caught another eye roll before she leaned forward.

  He’d obviously have to do some more convincing on Sunday, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For today, he’d lighten up and have fun with her, so she’d actually want to spend more time with him.

  Chapter Ten

  As if.

  Lori rolled her eyes a third time, pulled another weed, and wiped her arm across her forehead. She hoped her little revelation had given John second thoughts. She was not the woman for him, and now she had let him know it. She refused to be pushed into g
oing to church.

  His voice floated over to her, low and rich. “I have to admit, I thought you’d know more about plants than you seem to.”

  John’s change of subject surprised her. She figured he was going to push, and then she could get ticked off and ask him to leave, and then she could be left alone. Like she’d wanted all along, right? But his light tone invited a response in kind. “I thought I’d be writing flower articles. Flowers I’ve actually grown. Vegetables I’ve seen on my dinner plate, but never in their natural habitat.”

  “How on earth did you get Charles to let you write his beloved column? He’s like the most finicky guy ever.”

  “I think he was kind of desperate,” she admitted.

  “I doubt that.”

  “And I misunderstood what exactly he needed.” She sighed and pointed to one of the plants. “Okay, let me prove I’m not a gardening expert. I don’t even know what this plant is. Do you?”

  “That, my fair lady, is zucchini.” He laughed heartily. “Now that I know you can’t identify plants, I can hardly wait to read your column.”

  “That’s zucchini in the wild, huh? There sure seem to be a lot of them on the plant.”

  “The zucchini on this plant is nearly ripe, which means the

  others will soon be ready. I count eight plants, so you’re gonna have to harvest more zucchini than a family of ten can use.”

  Overwhelmed, she stared at the section he was pointing at, shaking her head. “There’s no way I can harvest all those, no matter what I told Charles.”

  John lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Maybe you could just stop watering them and let the survival of the fittest weed them out.” He grinned. “As it were.”

  Shocked, she said, “I can’t deliberately kill a plant.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll come over and help you harvest the zucchini. Then we can doorbell ditch some to the neighbors.” He laughed. “Yup, your articles are gonna be doozies.”