annual community garden planting was something her parents orchestrated as part of the sustainable-society project they started when she’d been born. It had turned into a community of like-minded individuals who operated a co-op of sorts. They all shared in the work and then when harvest time came, they enjoyed the bounty equally. “Of course,” she answered, swallowing a sigh. Sometimes she felt she lived two lives. One life was for Piper Sunday, reporter, meat-eater, and quite possibly a closet conservative; the other life was for Piper Morning Dew Sunday, vegetarian, environmentalist, love child who was raised on a commune with slightly odd parents. She used to slide quite easily between both lives but lately, she found more in common with reporter Piper than environmentalist Piper and she didn’t know how to reconcile that fact. The idea of spending a full day with her former “community” didn’t thrill her. She’d come to appreciate the uses of deodorant and razors, two things the women in particular eschewed because it wasn’t “natural.”
In answer to her mother’s question, she took another bite and then pushed away her plate. “I’m stuffed. I had a big breakfast at the office this morning,” she explained, planning to fudge the actual contents of her breakfast, which had consisted of doughnuts and coffee. “I had one of those veggie burritos and it just filled me up. I might not even eat dinner.”
Coral nodded in understanding. “Sometimes I cut one in half to share with your father. Would you like me to put some of this casserole in a container for you to take home?”
“No, that’s okay,” she said, offering a different suggestion. “Why don’t you share it with Tia and Rhonda?”
“That’s an excellent suggestion, sweetheart,” Coral said with a reflective nod. “I should’ve thought of it myself.”
Tia and Rhonda were life partners on the farm who had just adopted a baby together and were struggling with the sleeplessness that came as an accessory with the new kid.
Piper prepared to put her exit strategy in motion when her dad piped in, asking about her love life. “Any prospects?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.
“Jasper, stop pestering her,” Coral admonished, but Piper could tell she was just as curious. “I’m sure if Piper had something to tell us, she would.” She looked to Piper for assurance. “Right?”
“Of course. Nothing to report. I’m too focused on my work to worry about dating.”
“You know, Farley was asking about you the other day while we were harvesting the seedlings at the greenhouse. He’s a great young man. He makes a mean tofu parmigiana.”
Blech. The thought turned her stomach more than the idea of dating Farley did.
“A man with shared values who can also cook—you don’t find that too often,” Coral added, as if sharing a trade secret of some kind.
“Not according to eHarmony.com,” Piper quipped, earning a confused look on her parents’ part. No television, no computer. All her best jokes lately had been falling on fallow ground. “Never mind. I was kidding. Forget it. Anyway, gotta go.” She rose and pressed a kiss to both their cheeks. “Thanks for the grub. It was great.”
“See you on Sunday, lil Miss Sunday,” her father said with a wink.
“Can’t wait,” Piper said with a private sigh.
CHAPTER THREE
PIPER SAT IMPATIENTLY OUTSIDE the classroom of Mrs. Hamby’s second-grade class, still chafing a bit at her assignment. She wasn’t the education reporter but here she was, stationed outside, getting ready to cover a small piece on the Bring Your Parent To School Day.
“Damn you, Charlie, for getting the flu,” she mumbled, adjusting the strap holding the camera on her shoulder. However, if there was ever a person she wouldn’t mind knowing was doubled over, going and blowing from both ends, Charlie was the top candidate. As enjoyable as the thought may be, she couldn’t make her future on pieces like this. She doubted Diane Sawyer ever did time covering student-of-the-month assemblies. She had a degree in journalism, for crying out loud, and yet, she’d been sent to chase after second-graders and their parents. She’d really need to talk to her editor about assignments that were a waste of her talent. They had an intern for occasions like this. She had research to do and a council member to shake up.
She’d received a delicious tip that Councilman Donnelly had been caught with another woman. Big whoop—what politician didn’t dip his wick in other pots when the occasion presented itself?—except, Donnelly was an outspoken proponent of old-fashioned values. It was enough to make her giggle with anticipation. The look on his florid face when she casually mentioned the woman’s name was going to be priceless.
That is, if she managed to wrap up this silly assignment quick enough to catch Donnelly at his favorite restaurant around lunch. “Ah, crap.”
She heard the expletive muttered behind her and she turned to find Owen Garrett striding toward her, his expression as sour as if he’d been sucking on a lemon for the past half hour.
“What are you doing here?” The question popped from her mouth before she could stop it. But she was legitimately curious. Piper knew Owen wasn’t married, nor did he have kids, so it begged the question—why was he strolling through the elementary campus?
“Serving some kind of penance, apparently,” he answered.
She ignored that. “I know you don’t have kids and you were an only child, so that precludes nephews and nieces. So why are you here?”
“So the yellow journalist has done her homework.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? Does it bother you to be called something you’re not? I know the feeling, but in this case, I have to disagree. If I were to look up ‘yellow journalist’ in the dictionary, I wouldn’t be surprised if they used your picture under the definition.”
“I’m not a yellow journalist, nor have I ever been one. For your information, I’ve never sensationalized anything just to attract readers. My stories are just naturally interesting,” Piper retorted, refusing to let his digs get under her skin. “You still haven’t answered the question. I’m not surprised, though. You’re the king of avoiding any question that doesn’t suit your purpose to answer.”
His mouth clamped shut and she stifled the tickling urge to grin in victory. He was too easy to nettle. And she realized she very much liked to nettle him.
Oh, that didn’t bode well for her bigger plan. She straightened with a shrug. “Whatever. I don’t care why you’re here. I’m here for an assignment, not to trade insults with you.”
“That’s a shame. I was just getting started.”
She turned away from him, mentally kicking herself for not remaining on track. She had to be careful around him. He managed to get under her skin in a fairly short period of time.
“I heard you grew up on a commune,” he said conversationally to her back. When she refrained from offering a rejoinder, he added, “With a bunch of nudists.”
Heat crawled into her cheeks. It wasn’t that she was ashamed—the naked body was a beautiful thing—but the way he said it made it sound insulting. And most people found the fact that she’d grown
