Laurel didn’t look like the tourists I usually picked up on Saturday nights at the hotel bars downtown. I normally liked a girl with a bit more meat on her bones, a little cushion for pushin’, if you will.

Laurel had dark shadows in the hollows of her cheeks and desperation in her brown eyes. Her straight blonde hair draped over her slight shoulders, her skinny jeans clung to her hip bones.

But just like the first time I saw her last week, there was something about her I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Something that sparked a deep curiosity in me. And the way she seemed to get so nervous around me just stoked the flame.

“We should unload the truck,” Dylan said, cutting through the silence.

I was about to express my agreement, when my eye caught a bit of movement in the distance, just beyond the beat up muscle car parked in the driveway in front of my truck.

“Boomer! Come here!” I shouted at my German shepherd as he tried to sneak up on a cat perched on the fence post.

The cat snapped its head toward the sound of my voice, then scurried off toward the back of the property. Boomer chased after it, letting out a deep, growling bark.

“Boomer, come!” I shouted again.

He finally turned around and galloped toward us, maneuvering through the space between my truck and the old Mustang I’d been working on all summer. I motioned with my hand for him to heel and he walked around me, coming to a sitting position at my right side.

I scratched his head as he gazed up at me, his long, pink tongue lolling to the side in a goofy grin. “Good boy. Good heel.”

“Wow,” Laurel remarked. “He looks like he’s pretty well trained.”

“He used to be a bomb-sniffing dog,” Dylan said proudly, and I tried not to roll my eyes at his eagerness to share the details of my life with my new neighbor, who was still very much a stranger. A sexy stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

Laurel’s eyes widened. “Really?” She turned to me with a plea in her eyes. “Can I pet him?”

Before I could respond, Dylan replied for me, again. “You can’t pet him. He’s a service dog.”

I wanted to tell him to stop ruining Boomer’s attempts to impress Laurel, but I bit my tongue. Didn’t want to scare her off.

Laurel looked taken aback. “Oh, is he still a bomb dog?”

I sighed. “Dylan is just giving Boomer more credit than he deserves. He’s not a bomb-sniffer anymore. He’s just a big ol’ goof now.”

Dylan opened his mouth to contradict me, but I shot him a severe look that quieted him real quick. “You want me to back the truck in to make it easier to unload?” he asked instead.

I nodded and stepped back as Dylan got in the truck. “Break,” I said to Boomer and he sprung to his feet, tail wagging as he began sniffing the grass behind me. “You gonna unload that truck all by yourself?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. What is it Make Fun of the Skinny Girl Day?”

Her response troubled me, as if people making fun of her weight was a common occurrence. “I apologize. I meant no offense. Just speculating as to why a pretty girl like you would want such a physical job.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to bulk up,” she replied, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a phrase she’d learned from her husband.

Nonetheless, it was obvious she did not want to talk about her weight.

I laughed at her bulking up joke. “Point taken. I’ll let it go.”

“Thanks.”

Dylan and I unloaded the large bags of soil and fertilizer, while Laurel unloaded the small stuff, like a few flats of potted herbs, a few rolls of galvanized netting, and some packs of claws to secure the netting in the ground, for keeping critters away from my precious fruits and vegetables. Maybe I should offer some of this stuff to Laurel, for her mom’s garden.

I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge to myself that one of the things that intrigued me the most about Laurel was that she was Beth’s daughter. Beth taught me damn near everything I knew about gardening. I moved out here to Portland two and a half years ago without a clue in the world what I was going to do with my life. All I knew was that I wanted to disappear.

Beth took it upon herself to teach me this stuff, even when I insisted I didn’t need help. She thrust her knowledge and humor — and friendship — into my life at a time when I needed it most. To say I was utterly shocked and saddened by her death would be an understatement.

But here was her daughter, obviously trying to make right some kind of wrong she thinks she’s inflicted on her mother’s garden. It reminded me of one of the many times Beth spoke about Laurel.

She said something like, “Laurel is everything good I’ve ever done, wrapped up in a beautiful package and tied with a fancy ribbon. She has so much to give to this world, but she doesn’t do anything anymore except spend her husband’s money and take care of her boy. I love that boy with all my heart and soul, maybe even more than I love Laurel. But I wish Laurel would remember who she was before she became a wife and mother.”

Instinct told me it wasn’t my place to share these words with Laurel. Beth would have done so if she wanted her daughter to know how she felt. Hell, maybe she did say all that stuff to Laurel.

But something told me that Laurel and her husband — the dude who stared me down with his icy eyes — were probably separated because of the same things Beth had been worried about. Maybe they were on their way toward a head on collision long before their boy was killed.

Either way, I was not about to let Laurel embark on her garden mission without a bit of her mother’s gospel. I was certain she’d been through enough lately. She didn’t need to take on such a Herculean task alone.

As Dylan closed up the back of the truck, Laurel smiled as she sidled up next to me.

“I’m not that old,” she said, as if I was supposed to know why she was saying this.

“I didn’t think you were,” I replied, watching Boomer attempt to eat a bee.

“You called me ma’am.”

I chuckled at her interpretation of my politeness. “I call every nice lady I meet ma’am.”

“Nice lady?” she repeated my words with disdain. “Now I feel like a little old lady you helped across the street.”

“No, you’re just the little old lady I helped get a job.”

This made her laugh and, boy, what a laugh it was. For someone as skinny as a twig, her laughter was rich and raspy, and sexy as all hell. But almost as soon as it began, it was over.

She almost looked guilty as she stared straight ahead. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t laugh so hard at my misadventures in employment.” She crossed her arms over her chest, then she seemed to second-guess this move and settled on clasping her hands behind her back. “I should get going. I just wanted to thank you for helping me get the job at Sunny’s. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you will,” I said, grinning as she narrowed her eyes at me.

As they drove away, I began setting aside some of the stuff they’d just delivered. I had a feeling if I asked her whether or not she wanted it, she would politely refuse. I would just leave some of it on her back porch. And when she inevitably came to my house to thank me or insist I take it back, I would offer to help her with her project.

I prayed I wasn’t stepping into the middle of a bitter separation. I’d seen her husband driving away from the house last week, but I didn’t have a good view of the porch from where I was standing. I didn’t know if she’d invited him inside or if they kissed goodbye.

I should probably ask Laurel to clarify her marital situation, but it was none of my business. I’d just have to tread lightly, until I felt comfortable enough to broach the subject. In the meantime, I hoped I didn’t get Laurel or myself into any trouble.