Rules of Lying (Jane Dough Series) by Stephie Smith Page A

creamy white—but at least the weeds blended into the walls. On the minus side, nobody driving by would waste much time looking at the house when there was a wild tropical jungle around it to gaze upon instead. Or maybe that was another plus.
    The plethora of plants was only part of the problem with my property though. The ground in the third lot was too low, and rain collected among the weeds. An army of mosquitoes swarmed there and now, in the middle of summer, it stank something fierce, no doubt from the thickening plant growth that turned the area into a swamp. Scrub brush surrounded the water. It would be a nightmare to clean up.
    And then there were the structures—two pergolas, three walking bridges, a gazebo, and several roofed benches had rotted beyond use. In some cases, the only things holding the structures together were the thick vines that covered them.
    Still, I loved every inch of my property because I could see the possibilities—if I ignored the swamp. The swamp I could have done without.
    I wondered if Hank saw the possibilities or if he only saw the mess. I got my answer when he pulled his gaze away from the scenery to fix it on me, his eyes dark with emotion.
    “That’s a beautiful magnolia tree,” he said, nodding in the direction of the healthy tree that boasted flowers the size of my hand. “And that pine grove running along the back of your property is peaceful looking. You got a lot of great trees and shrubs here. I like your property, so tell me. Tell me your hopes and dreams for this place. I’ll listen.”
    He was more than willing to listen. The problem was, I hadn’t much to say. Even after all that big talk about hopes and dreams, and not counting the bullshit I’d told applicant number two, I really had no idea what to do. I’d spent my time learning about home repairs and restoration so I could turn the inside into a home. I knew nothing about landscaping and nature. Sure, I knew I wanted trellises with flowers and I knew I wanted to do good things for wildlife, but my ideas were disappointingly vague.
    But a magical thing happened. Just having someone to really talk to about it, someone who listened and asked questions and offered suggestions, helped me figure it out. I didn’t even care that I’d forgotten to put on boots and a hat, that as we wended our way from one end of the property to the other, swamp muck oozed over my flip-flops, my hair fell half out of its ponytail, and Florida beggarweed seized the opportunity to deposit hundreds of sticky brown pods on my tank top and shorts.
    I didn’t care.
    During the thirty minutes I spent with Hank, I realized I wanted to naturescape rather than landscape, picking the right features for the right areas, keeping most of it natural for wildlife. As long as it was done properly, the homeowners’ association couldn’t complain. The hard part would be clearing out what I didn’t want to keep. It would be a backbreaking, dirty, and dangerous job. And that was if the wildlife left me alone.
    “You know,” Hank said as we circled back around to the front of my house, “I could help you out until you find your prospective husband. I’ve been reading up on Florida naturescaping; maybe I can put some of my reading to practical use. Besides, I’m gettin’ out of shape, so this’d be good for me.”
    I wasn’t fooled for a minute. There was nothing wrong with his shape and had there been, he didn’t need to slave away in ninety-eight degree heat to fix it. I smiled into his warm brown eyes, wondering what I’d done to be blessed with Hank coming into my life.
    “You don’t need to worry that I’ll say no,” I told him. “What kind of neighbor would I be if I kept you from staying in shape?”
    He barked out a laugh, settled his hat on his head, and said, “Later.”

Chapter 6
    I had only been inside long enough to wash my hands when the doorbell rang. I took inventory of my appearance, grimacing at the sight of my grimy