AIN'T LOVE GRAND?

Chapter One

     The screen door banged behind me as I stepped out onto my porch that humid June morning.  Holding a cup of lemon grass tea, I inhaled the rising daybreak scents of honeysuckle and humus in rural Oklahoma.  Orion, my big old yellow cat, wound his chubby body around my legs demanding his daily greeting.  He flipped over on his back, exposing his fluffy striped belly to be scratched.  Named for a hunting god, Orion lived up to his name, often laying slain rodents or birds at my feet.

     "Good morning, Mr. O," I said, burrowing my fingers into his silky fur.  "Much as I'd love to spend the day playing with you, I've got to get down to the garden before the sun withers all the herbs to brown twigs."

     After a quick stretch, I finished off the tea, slipped into ratty tennis shoes, and plunked a tattered gardening hat on my head.  Now that I was approaching the big three-o birthday, I fought the first signs of crows feet.  A very stylish University of Oklahoma (OU) T-shirt and matching shorts completed my ensemble.

     Feeling an urgency to get to my plants, I grabbed a basket, hopped down the steps of my old Victorian home, and headed across the front yard.  Huge elms offered welcome shade as I strode toward my neighbor's adjacent property where I maintained my medicinal herb garden.  Coming over the rise, I heard an engine roar that completely drowned out the morning calls of the blue jays and mockingbirds.  A pair of cardinals lit out as scampering squirrels shook the top of the cottonwood trees.

     I looked down the hill, past the creek.  Where yesterday there had been a lush, green meadow, the land was now stripped clear, exposing the bright red clay below.  A monster machine pushed the life away and laid waste to my precious herb garden.

     I took off full tilt toward the metal contraption.  It had already destroyed about half the plot.  Noise and dust choked my senses as I ran into the path of the machine.

     "Stop!  Stop!  What are you doing?  Stop!"  The guy working the controls could neither see nor hear me as I was almost swept into his debris.  Suddenly, I flew head over heels, tumbling through the dirt, weeds, and mangled herbs, the air knocked out of me as I hit the hard ground.  Rolling out of harm's way, my body tangled with another person–a very large male person.

     As we came to a stop, I was lying in the man's arms, coughing as I cleared my befuddled brain.

     "Are you all right?" he asked.  His face was a bit blurry, what with my eyes watering from the red dust.

     "I think so," I sputtered and sat up.

     He looked at me with concern and irritation.  "Are you out of your mind?  You could have been killed getting in the way like that.  What were you doing?  Who are you?"

     The evil machine jerked to a stop.  The man sitting in the dirt beside me was covered in dust and I deduced he must have tackled me to escape the Jaws of Death or whatever the machine was called.

     "Played a little football in high school, did you?" I asked.

     Concern left his face altogether with my cheeky reply.  He stood up, dusted himself off, and offered me a hand.

     "You didn't answer my question.  Who are you?" he repeated.

     I steadied my wobbly legs and studied him.  I'd seen a few pictures of him in the newspaper, but they hadn't done him justice.  He possessed a certain innate power that made me back away.  In the photo headlines he'd always worn a suit, usually with the Oklahoma wind flapping his tie as he exited a county courthouse.  Blurry photos hadn't revealed the firm granite chin or the flinty steel blue eyes.  The mighty Jason Brooks, defender of high profile criminals, loomed before me in the flesh.  Actually, he wore jeans and a western shirt, but his hair was too well cut to be anything but a weekend cowboy.

     "I'm your neighbor, Mr. Brooks, Perse, uh, Persephone Jones.  I live on the other side of the creek."

     I walked toward what was left of my garden.

     The operator of the mechanical beast hopped out of his seat and asked, "Mr. Brooks, do you want me to finish?"

     I turned quickly.  "No!  Please, I had no idea you'd be developing out here.  I've been watching the house go up closer to the highway.  I was going to talk to you about the garden."

     Bending down, I began harvesting, stuffing leaves and seeds in the makeshift cradle of my shirt.  My eyes swept the scarred landscape for my basket.

     I glanced at the two perplexed men.  "I know this isn't my land, but no one has ever minded my garden.  There are some things here that take years to mature.  I've got herbs growing that you can't find anywhere else on this continent.  People have sent me the seeds and...."

     Brooks had heard enough of my rambling.  "So, you know that you are trespassing?  Is that right?"

     "Well, I guess, technically, yes.  But I've been cultivating this garden for years.  It's very important that–"

     "Look, Ms. Jones," Brooks abruptly cut in, "this is now my land and will soon be a landing strip for my plane.  I'll give you exactly ten minutes to finish pulling up your weeds and then Andrews here is going to get his job done.  I've got an appointment.  You'll have to plant your garden on your own property."  He thrust his cowboy hat on and walked with a slight limp toward the Expedition parked in the field.

     His attitude ticked me off.  "Gee, it was swell meeting you, Mr. Brooks.  I'll be sure to bring you over a plate of chocolate chip cookies when you move in."

     He stopped and slowly pivoted, pinning me with his best hard-ass lawyer stare.  I turned my nose up in the air and marched back to my mauled garden.

***

     I put the obliging Mr. Andrews to work and took more than the allotted ten minutes to harvest my remaining herbs.  I returned home laden with all the plants my basket, arms, and shirt could hold.

     Inside my greenhouse, I set about saving the survivors, grumbling to myself.  Why was a high society lawyer moving into Peeler, anyway?  He didn't fit in with the common folks.  Would he swap stories with the old geezers at the local greasy spoon?  I think not.  Arrogant, steely-eyed, handsome son of a…

     I dumped soil into pots, pressed precious roots into place, and hoped for the best.  Once the plants were tended, I headed into the house for a much needed shower.  My naked body revealed scrapes and bruises from my morning adventures.  Did Mr. Brooks have a few sore spots, too?

     By nine o'clock I was rumbling down the country road in my beloved, rusty 1982 Ford pick-up, Lizzie.  Two hundred thousand miles and still going strong.  A whiff of freshly cut hay drifted into the open widow.  Fields gave way to a small grocery and one pump gas station.  Soon historic brick buildings came into view.  Seeing downtown Peeler's trendy revival of antique shops, odd museums, community theatres, and restaurants always filled me with quiet pride.  So much more character than the nearby urban sprawl of Oklahoma City.

     Coming back to my hometown to run the family health food store had been a good move.  Familiar faces and loving arms had been a balm through the phases of grief.  Reflecting on sad twists of fate gave me a moment of wistful longing, but I shook it off.  I had moved on, filled my days with purpose.  Life was pleasant, even if it lacked passion.

     I parked Lizzie in front, where everyone could prominently see the sign on her tail gate–"Mt. Olympus Natural Healing Center, Persephone Jones, Herbalist."  Being named for the Goddess of the Seasons had destined me to follow nature's way.

     A bell tinkled as I breezed in the door.  "Morning, Mavis!" I said and strolled toward the back to put my things down.  The scents and sights of the shop engulfed my senses and instilled quiet contentment.  Here in this dot of the universe I served the community with my talents and knowledge.  Essential oils diffused the air with pungent healing power.  Strains of dulcimer music calmed the nerves.  Rows of supplements and literature filled half the floor space while a juice bar and comfortable couches invited visitors to stay a while.  A blue door welcomed weary customers to relax in the massage room.

     "Mornin', darlin'."  Mavis waved at me over a rack of literature.  Her beautiful, black skin glowed.  She moved into the aisle, placing her hands on ample three-children hips.  Somewhere along the way, I'd become another one her chicks.

     She gave me the once-over.  "You look like a tourist advertisement today.  Mmm, what I'd give for that long pretty hair."

     Funny, I always thought being able to fashion gorgeous corn rows or beaded braids would be great fun.  My untamed auburn hair defied clippies and assorted hair jewelry.  But it went along with the gauzy granny dresses I wore to appeal to the tourist trade.  But truth be known, I dressed for comfort, not style.

     Mavis took a closer inspection.  "Why, girl, what happened to your face?  Did Orion get too playful?"

     "I rolled around in the dirt this morning with my new neighbor, Jason Brooks."

     Her eyes widened.  She nodded and smiled.  "Oh, yeah, this is going to be good.  I'll pour the raspberry tea and then you are gonna tell Mavis all about it."

     She found my escapade with Mr. Brooks down right hilarious and soon filled the shop with the sound of her raucous laughter.  By the time I finished my tale, I'd gotten past anger to the sense of the ridiculous and laughed along.

     "If I had any hopes of appearing smart and sophisticated for my hot-shot new neighbor, I completely blew it.  He thinks I'm a flake.  Of course, I think he's an uptight, stuffed shirt, even if he was disguised in cowboy clothes."

     Mavis' eyes gleamed.  "I'll bet he looked mighty fine in those clothes."

     I sighed.  Sighed for things out of reach and beyond my ken–like high society lawyers.  "That he did, Mavis.  That he did."

***

     It was a Saturday two months later in August when a lively gray-haired lady and her over-made-up preteen granddaughter came into the shop.

     "Let's just see if they have anything for these stiff hands."  The lady looked up at me with sparkling, china blue eyes.  Her skin feathered in fine parchment lines.  A twinkling expression and fluffy coif of white hair revealed an impish spirit.

     "Good morning," I said.  "Would you like a cup of herbal tea?"

     "Oh, that would be delightful!  How about you, Valerie?"

     The granddaughter, Valerie, made a face and rolled her eyes.  "Maybe later.  What is that weird smell?"

     "It's essential oils.  I just finished a massage.  That oregano oil is a little stout."  I handed the lady her tea.  "I'll have to diffuse some peppermint and clove to overcome it."

     Valerie wrinkled her nose.  "Smells like weeds."

     I opened up a vial.  "Here, take a whiff of this.  It's much better."

     The girl leaned toward the counter.  She was probably about twelve, wearing hair chopped into one of those bobs that spiked out at the neck supported by lots of hair goo.  She had on full foundation, powder, four coats of mascara and sparkly eye shadow.  Her clothes hugged her budding little body and I'm sure she'd have been thrilled if I'd asked her if she was a junior in high school.  She gingerly sniffed the bottle.

     "Better?" I asked.

     "Yeah, but it's not exactly 'Heavenly' from Victoria's Secret."

     "No, but did you know essential oils have been used for centuries to heal the sick, bless babies, and make perfume?  You've heard that the Magi brought the baby Jesus frankincense and myrrh?"

     "Yeah."  She eyed me suspiciously.

     "Did you ever stop to think what they were?"  She shrugged, but I had captured her interest.  I pulled two more vials.  "This is frankincense and this is myrrh.  Two of the most precious essential oils used throughout history.  The oils are like the blood of the plants, full of powerful healing properties."

     She sniffed them.  "This is what they brought Jesus?  Awesome."

     I turned my attention to the woman.  She watched us with amusement.

     "Is there something I can help you with?" I asked.

     She smiled at me.  "Yes, my dear.  I wake up with the stiffest hands.  And I was just wondering if you've got something that might help."

     "We've got various formulas to relieve arthritis."  I guided her over to that section of the store and we discussed several alternatives.  The granddaughter browsed around and let her adolescent guard down just a bit.

     As I rang the woman up, the front door burst open, and a male voice boomed, "There you are!  I've been in every antique shop on the block."

     It was my new neighbor, Mr. Brooks.  Today he wore suit pants and a dress shirt, sans a tie that he'd probably tossed due to the sweltering August heat.  He looked at the females with his strong chin jutted out and those razor sharp eyes filled with irritation.  The store seemed suddenly smaller with him inside.

     Valerie spoke up.  "Well, if you weren't on that cell phone all the time, you'd have heard Grandma say we were going to the health food store."

     The presumed Mrs. Brooks finished writing her check.  "I did tell you, dear, and you even nodded your head, but you weren't really paying attention."

     Mr. Brooks was paying attention now.  To me.  He got sort of squinty-eyed and tipped his chin back, trying to place me.

     With an exaggerated Okie accent I said, "Howdy, neighbor.  Ya'll probably don't recognize me without twigs in my hair."

     He snapped his fingers and approached the counter.  "The weed lady."  Looking around, he took in the surroundings.  "So, this is what that garden was about.  I thought maybe you were part of the witch covens I've heard about around here."

     I pursed my lips momentarily in irritation at the word "witch" and he caught it.  Lawyers are like that.  His eyes flickered in amusement.

     Mrs. Brooks heard the exchange.  "We're neighbors?  How wonderful!  You'll have to come over and visit.  Jason hasn't constructed the most welcoming place in the world, what with the gates and security system and all.  Not a soul has braved coming by.  I told him he should have gone all the way and put in a moat and a drawbridge."

     "I think the spiked iron gate and stone wall do the trick," I said.

     Lots of folks in Peeler don't even lock their doors.  Mr. Brooks' fortress showed a definite lack of trust in his fellow man–or woman.

     He leaned across the counter on his forearm, invading my personal space.  Powerful male energy ruffled my usually peaceful aura.

     "I've been waiting for my chocolate chip cookies," he said, with a low resonance that fluttered my stomach.

     "Oh, I forgot."  Liar.  Brooks transmitted some unspoken challenge.  I glanced around.  "Here's a box of carob cookies with high fiber.  Much better for you."

     He caught the box and tossed it back and forth between his large hands.  "I'll bet they taste like cardboard."

     I raised my eyebrows.  "They are an acquired taste."

     He handed back the box.  "I think I'll hold out for the real thing."

     Were we still talking about cookies?

     Mrs. Brooks put her hand on his arm.  "Miss Jones has me all fixed up.  I really hope this helps, my dear.  I'll send all my friends to you if I improve.  Why, Jason could probably use your help."

     Brooks straightened up.  "Mother..."

     Valerie piped in.  "Yeah, he's always popping those antacids like Life Savers."

     I couldn't resist.  "Maybe we could start him on a colon cleanse.  That's the first step to good health."

     Brooks looked at his watch.  He knew when he was outnumbered.  "I've got a conference call in half an hour.  Let's go."

     Valerie moaned, "Oh, Dad, I wanted to check out that new boutique!"

     Brooks glowered.  "Yeah, you need more clothes all right.  Your room looks like your closet exploded."  Val rolled her eyes.  "Outside.  Now."  He headed toward the door.

     "You'll have to forgive him, my dear," Mrs. Brooks whispered as if telling a terrible secret.  "He's a lawyer."

     He yanked the door open impatiently and held it as they scurried out.  Looking back over his shoulder he pierced me with his steel-gray eyes.  "I'm looking forward to trying out your cookies, Miss Jones."

     Gulp.