Safe in Noah's Arms

“Good.” He hated to ask, didn’t want Monica anywhere near this task, but had no choice. He needed her two good arms. “We have to leave the farm, to help some locals.”

“What kind of help?”

“Feeding their families. I need you to come with me.”

“You mean as part of my sentence?”

Heaven forbid she should give of herself unless someone forced her to. “Yeah, as part of your community service. I have to pack and deliver food, but I can’t do it with this bum arm.”

“Okay, show me what to do.”

“Let’s fill this first.” He pulled from behind him an ancient child’s wagon.

“That looks old.”

“I guess it is,” he answered with a shrug. All he cared about was that the thing was useful. “I found it in the shed.”

She grasped his arm. “That’s a Radio Flyer.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a vintage children’s wagon. I love vintage.”

She did? He would have never guessed she’d like old stuff. “Never mind that. We need to harvest some of the spring vegetables today.”

“There are vegetables ready this early? Which ones?”

“Spring onions. Garlic scapes. Asparagus. Broccoli rabe. A little watercress.”

“I lo-o-ove asparagus. I could eat it year-round.”

The way she said lo-o-ove made him crazy, horny. Angry at his knee-jerk response, he reined himself in. He wasn’t a randy teenager, for God’s sake.

“It’s amazing in risotto. There’s this recipe I use—”

“You cook?”

She reacted to his surprise with a snooty lift of her chin. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’ve just never thought of you as being, I don’t know, domestic?”

Judging by the defiance in her expression, he’d offended her. “Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies.”

Noah just managed to bite his tongue before blurting cook for me. He liked food, but couldn’t bring himself to spend enough time in the kitchen to make really great, tasty stuff. Healthy, yes. Gourmet? No.

“It brings me joy,” she continued. “So to whom are you taking these veggies?”

He stared at her. To whom? Who used that kind of grammar anymore?

“Will they know what to do with garlic scapes?” she asked.

“Do you?”

“Yes. In fact, may I buy some from you? There aren’t any in the shops yet.”

“I can’t sell them. I’m a nonprofit.”

“Hmmm.” She set a finger, with its pink nail, against her chin. “How can we get around that? I’d really like some for dinner tonight. Can I make a donation to a charity in your name or something?”

“Yeah. We can work out something like that. You can make a donation to the food bank in Denver.”

She smiled and his world became a brighter, ever-expanding thing. “Great! I’ll take some asparagus, too. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Will the people you’re taking these to know how to use scapes? They’re kind of a new trend. Most people just use straight garlic.”

He shrugged. “You can ask when we get there.”

She smiled...slyly, he thought. “You’re going to let me come inside when you deliver the groceries? You’re not going to make me sit in the truck?”

He’d wanted to do just that, but he couldn’t carry in the produce on his own. How had she known?

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I invite you in?”

“Because you don’t want to harm your holier-than-thou reputation by being seen with an airhead like me?”

She’d skewered him, her assessment so dead-on it left him speechless.

She waved a hand. “Never mind. Let’s move on. What should I pick?”

He pointed to one row. “Let’s start with the green onions. You pull up about half of this row. I’ll go cut down a row of asparagus.”

When the wagon was full, Noah led the way to the barn. “These are the boxes I fill.” He pointed to a bunch of plastic crates stacked neatly against one wall.

She started to fill one, but he stopped her. “Let’s take them to the truck. If you fill them first, you won’t be able to lift them.”

“Oh, Noah, give me a break. I can lift a crate full of these veggies. Potatoes, turnips, maybe not. Green onions and garlic scapes? Can do.”

Together, they filled the crates, fitting vegetables in for minimum bruising. When they were done, Monica bent at the knees, put her arms around the first one and stood. Noah watched as she carried it to the back of the truck, impressed despite his misgivings.

“How are you so strong?”

“I work out four times a week. I never let anything get in the way. Workouts have been my lifesaver.”

He followed her back to the barn. “Lifesaver?”

“After Billy died, I needed something to do to work through the grief.” She mentioned her grief matter-of-factly, without self-pity. Cool.

Funny, he’d never really considered how much she would grieve for Billy. He’d thought she’d go out shopping and that would be that. Man, he could be an idiot sometimes.

“When things got really bad...” She paused to pick up a full crate.