Home-Grown Husband. Sharon Swan

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      So what if he was tall, dark, and not quite classically handsome, but close enough?

      So what if that crooked smile rattled her pulse and the hazel eyes above it seemed to bore right into hers?

      So what? She was supposed to be livid.

      “I’d say your survival could well hinge on getting that animal out of here,” she told him, clipping the words.

      “I’ll do my best,” he hastened to assure her, his voice deep and low, rough around the edges, but not at all unpleasant to the ear. “I hope your cat’s okay.”

      Tess let out a breath. “It’s your dog that will probably be in trouble when Roxy gets tired of fooling around.”

      As if to prove that statement, a gray streak of fur came zipping around the house with a brown-and-white blur in hot pursuit. All at once, the cat spun around in midair, hissing, and swatted the hound flat on the nose with some well-placed claws. Then, to the tune of canine yelps, the victor leaped back on the fence rail and calmly stretched out, acting as if nothing unusual in the least had happened.

      “Guess I don’t have to worry about Roxy,” the man muttered as the dog, head bent, trotted over to stand beside him. “Had enough?” he asked, looking down, and got a soft whine in reply.

      Once again those hazel eyes met hers. This time, Tess was ready for the jolt and managed to view him coolly. He’d never know, she thought with satisfaction, that her pulse was still none too steady. In fact, at the moment she was sure he looked a lot more uncomfortable than she did.

      “I suppose I should introduce myself before I take the culprit away. I’m Jordan Trask. I rented the place next door and moved in a few days ago.”

      “I knew someone had moved in,” she offered in return. But I never anticipated anyone like you.

      “I really am sorry about the flowers,” he added, sounding as if he meant just that.

      Tess tossed a rueful glance over her shoulder. There was little chance to save anything, she knew. The damage was too complete. “I’ll have to replant,” she thought out loud.

      “I’ll gladly pay for whatever you need to get the job done. And I’d be willing to help, if you’ll let me.”

      Tess slowly swung her head back around and took a moment to consider her options. Three quickly came to mind.

      She could tell Jordan Trask to just get lost—even in a nice way, if she wanted to be polite.

      She could also accept his money and decline the assistance—again diplomatically, if she cared to.

      Or she could go with the final choice and take advantage of an unexpected opportunity to get to know her new neighbor.

      Sure, he was drop-dead attractive. Probably no woman who could see past her nose would disagree with that judgment. But something less appetizing could still lurk under that mouthwatering exterior. And she might never find out for certain, unless…

      Tess squared her shoulders. “I’m Tess Cameron. And I’ll take you up on that offer.”

      He raised a dark eyebrow. “The one to reimburse you, or the one to help.”

      “Both.”

      MAYBE HE SHOULD HAVE ADMITTED that he didn’t know squat about gardening. Then again, Jordan thought as he carefully scooped rich black dirt with a small metal trowel, Tess Cameron might very well have told him thanks, but no thanks when it came to helping. For some reason, he’d been determined not to let that happen, not if there was any chance he could spend more time with her.

      Something about the woman now crouched at his side drew him. What exactly, he was still trying to figure out. Whatever it was, physical attraction played a major part. He was dead certain of that.

      They were all but hip to hip, and he was fully aware of the scant space between them, right down to the barest inch. If he moved, just a little, he could touch her. And he had no business touching her, he knew. Or thinking what he was thinking.

      He’d be far better off keeping his mind on what he was doing—or at least attempting to do.

      Thankfully, he hadn’t been useless up to this point. No one could deny he’d done a thorough job of hauling the trampled mess out of Tess Cameron’s flower bed and dumping it in the trash while she retrieved a fresh batch of plants. That part had been easy. Even easier was reimbursing her—and noting the absence of any rings, wedding or otherwise, as she took his money with one hand and offered a receipt with the other.

      Now came the hard part. Jordan frowned down at the hole he’d created, wondering if he should stop or keep on digging. Who knew?

      “That needs to be a little larger,” his companion pointed out, glancing over at his effort.

      “Right.” He dug a bit deeper and wider, then aimed for a casual tone. “That should do it, wouldn’t you say?”

      “Looks good. I think some snapdragons would go well there.”

      She returned to her own digging then, clearly expecting him to get on with it. Great. Jordan turned his head and studied the bunched flowers in a variety of shapes and colors lined up behind him. What the hell did a snapdragon look like? He recognized the roses. Everything else was a mystery.

      “I like lots of yellow,” she added. “It makes things bright and cheerful.”

      Yellow. That might be a clue. There were two varieties of mostly yellow flowers—tall, thin ones, and shorter, rounder ones. Figuring he had a fifty-fifty chance, he went with the shorter version.

      “No, not the marigolds,” she told him when he set his choice in front of him. “Snapdragons.”

      “Right.”

      He replaced his gamble with the taller yellow version and decided luck was with him this time when she offered no objection. While she reached behind her for another plant, he carefully removed his from its plastic container and placed it in the hole. He held it with one hand and cautiously spread dirt over the roots.

      Then he let it go and watched it fall over, toppling like a felled tree in the forest.

      Swallowing a curse, he slid a look at his companion out of the corner of his eye and saw a thoughtful frown form as he straightened the plant.

      “You haven’t done much gardening, have you?”

      “No.” Which was, he told himself, the complete truth.

      Her frown deepened. “How much have you done?”

      He resisted the urge to sigh. The jig was up, he knew, because he wouldn’t outright lie to her. “None—until now,” he admitted, turning to look straight at her.

      The frown remained. “And you offered to help me anyway. Why?”

      “My dog did the damage, so it’s only fair that I help.” Again it was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but his conscience wouldn’t bother him about it.

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