Erinn thought about reminding Fernando that her parents were college professors, not winemakers. But she felt the point would be moot. She of course had opinions—she had opinions about everything—but she reminded herself that, as a documentarian, she had to be impartial.
“So,” Wesley said, “who are you planning to sue?”
“Production assistants are to be seen and not heard,” Erinn said hotly.
“I agree with Professor Johnson about paving Main Street,” Fernando said. “But if he doesn’t come around, I might withdraw my support.”
“That’s just silly,” Erinn said.
“Actually, it’s a solid business tactic,” Wesley said.
Erinn glowered at him.
“We really need to be going,” Erinn said, standing up. “But we’ll certainly keep all of this in mind.”
“That sounds like you’re blowing me off,” Fernando said with a little pout.
“I’m just taking in all the facts,” Erinn said. At Fernando’s hurt look, she added, “But keep the faith, Fernando! You know what they say. ‘Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection, we can catch excellence.’”
Once outside, Wesley said, “Vince Lombardi. I’m impressed.”
“Pardon me?” Erinn asked.
“That quote about perfection. Lombardi said that. Didn’t expect you to be quoting football coaches.”
Erinn was pleased with herself. She always knew a good quote when she heard one.
“OK, boss, whom do we interview next?” Wesley asked.
“I thought I might pop in on Powderkeg.”
“Sounds good. He probably has some great stories.”
“That’s the general idea,” Erinn said, trying to tamp down her annoyance at Wesley’s exuberance. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Something else to do?”
Wesley looked up and down Main Street. “No,” he said.
“Lawyers always seem to have work on which to catch up,” Erinn suggested. “I can handle this, if you’re pressed for time.”
“What?” Wesley said with a grin. “And give up show biz?”
Erinn took a deep breath and stalked toward Powderkeg’s shop. Wesley did not seem the type to be enamored of a shot at show business. This man has to have an agenda, but what is it? she wondered.
She walked into Powderkeg’s shop. Wesley followed her carrying the sticks. Erinn was surprised to find Maggie sweeping furiously, tears in her eyes. Maggie’s face instantly became a mask when she recognized Erinn, the woman who had managed to snag her sister’s guest room.
“May I help you?” Maggie asked.
“I’d like to see Mr. Primb,” Erinn said.
“Come on, now,” boomed a voice from the back of the shop. “We’re all in this together now. Call me Powderkeg.”
Powderkeg walked into the shop, carrying a saddle. He tossed it effortlessly on the counter.
“Hey, Wesley,” Powderkeg said, eyeing the tripod. “So, I guess Cleo was telling the truth—you are making a documentary.”
“Always trying to help when I can,” Wesley said.
“Too bad you weren’t the family attorney when Cutthroat was deciding I wasn’t good enough for his little girl,” Powderkeg said. “Maybe I wouldn’t be divorced now.”
Wesley shrugged. “Wasn’t Mr. Pennyfeather’s fault. He was just taking orders.”
“Water under the bridge,” Powderkeg said. “Cleo and I have been ships passing in the night more than once. Hell, we’ve been ships sinking in the night more than once.”
Erinn heard a noise coming from the back of the shop, but Wesley and Powderkeg were caught up in their conversation and didn’t notice. But Maggie did. She put down her broom and headed to the back of the shop. Erinn tried to keep one ear on the discussion between Wesley and Powderkeg and one ear toward the back room.
A loud grunt came from the back room. This time the men heard it too, and the three of them ran into the back of the shop, past Powderkeg’s little living quarters and out the back door.
“I caught her red-handed!” Maggie said.
She was sitting on Old Bertha, who was sprawled out on the ground, clutching scraps of leather and heavy canvas in both fists.
“Get this nut-job off me!” Old Bertha bawled.
“Nut-job?” Maggie said. “I’m not the one stealing worthless scraps.”
“When I get up, I’m gonna tan your hide,” Old Bertha said.
“If you get up, you mean,” Maggie said. “Besides, you probably don’t know the first thing about tanning hides.”
“Like you do?” Old Bertha said. “Now that you’ve worked with Powderkeg for five minutes you’re some kind of expert?”
Powderkeg jumped off the back porch and took Maggie by the arm. He pulled her off Old Bertha. “That’s enough,” he said.
He reached down and offered a hand to Old Bertha.
“Get me up so I can teach this kid some manners,” Old Bertha said.
“Calm down, Bertha,” Powderkeg said, withdrawing his hand. “I’m not going to help you up until you promise you won’t cause any trouble.”
“Don’t you threaten me!” Old Bertha said.
“Your call,” Powderkeg said.
Old Bertha tried to get herself up, but appeared as helpless as a turtle rolling around on its back.
“Fine,” Old Bertha said. “I’ll be quiet. Get me up.”
Powderkeg heaved Old Bertha to her feet. Her white hair had come loose from its bun and floated around her head like a crown of demented cotton balls. She pushed her hair back into a facsimile of its former glory.
“You should fire her,” Old Bertha said, peering at Maggie, who stood behind Powderkeg.
“You should give me a raise,” Maggie said. “I saved you from being robbed by this crazy woman.”
“Don’t start now,” Powderkeg said, turning Maggie around by the shoulders. “Go back in the store.”
Maggie shot Old Bertha another look and then trounced into the store.
“I’m not crazy, you know,” Old Bertha said to the assemblage of Powderkeg, Wesley, and Erinn.
“Of course not,” Powderkeg said. “But, um, do you mind telling me why you were . . .”
“Collecting scraps?” Wesley offered.
“Well, they’re your scraps, so I guess I owe you an explanation,” Old Bertha said. “I’m going to make a quilt.”
“Out of leather and canvas?” Powderkeg asked.
“Yeah,” Old Bertha challenged. “You got a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” Powderkeg said, hands raised as if in surrender. “You’re welcome to all the scraps you can carry.”
“I don’t have to carry them,” Old Bertha said. “Polly’s sewing machine won’t sew this tough material. I gotta use your heavy-duty machine.”
“You know that machine isn’t a toy, Bertha.”
“Do I look like a child? I know it’s not a toy. All I need is for you to teach me how to use it.”
Powderkeg sighed. “OK, if it will keep your mind off . . . If you want to make a leather and canvas quilt on my machine, I’ll be happy to help.”
“That’s better,” Old Bertha said.
“You’re welcome,” Powderkeg said.
“And you better find a place for your girl Maggie at the shop,” Old Bertha said. “She’s no longer welcome at the inn.”
“Awwww,” Powderkeg said. “That’s just not fair, Bertha!”
“Don’t talk to me about fair,” she said. “Nothing in life is fair.”
She handed Powderkeg her stack of scraps, turned on her heels, and walked away.
“Don’t get rid of those,” Old Bertha commanded from the doorway. “I’m going to start working on them in the morning.”
“You need to remind me,” Erinn said to Wesley. “I have got to keep my camera with me at all times in Fat Chance.”
Chapter 17
After dropping off her knitwear at Tops, Hats and Tails, Dymphna stopped at
the Boozehound and poked her head inside.
“I’m making vegetables and rice, if you and Thud want to come up for lunch,” she said.
Thud was at the door immediately. Dymphna knew the dog responded positively to the word “rice” and hoped Professor Johnson did, too. Professor Johnson joined the bloodhound and Dymphna, carefully locking the door behind him. Nobody but Professor Johnson locked his or her shop. He said that the historic artifacts were too valuable not to keep under lock and key. Dymphna thought the more practical items at Polly’s shop, the grocery store, the café, or Powderkeg’s leather and carpentry store might be of more interest to potential thieves, but Professor Johnson was not to be swayed. Most of the time, Dymphna found his dedication to his artifacts charming. On the trip back to Fat Chance from Los Angeles, she had to remind herself every now and then about his endearing traits, instead of finding them annoying. She was so different from Professor Johnson. Sometimes the thought scared her.
“How are the rabbits doing?” he asked as they trudged up the hill.
“Fantastic, as far as I can tell,” Dymphna said. “You and Powderkeg did a great job making them a home.”
“I want the rabbits to be happy here,” Professor Johnson said.
“I know,” she said.
Dymphna took his hand. She knew he meant, “I want you to be happy here.”
“Erinn interviewed me for her documentary,” Professor Johnson said.
“That must have been fun.”
“Not really. I already lived through my childhood once. And my aunt made me go over it again and again in therapy after my parents died. I’d be just as happy never to look back on the past again.”
Maybe we aren’t so different after all.
Dymphna watched Thud bound ahead of them. When Thud first came to live on the farm, he’d experimented with different methods of opening the gate himself. He’d finally settled on sticking his nose between the gate and the post and rocking the gate back and forth. Usually on the third try, the gate would swing open and Thud would leap forward before the gate snapped shut again. In triumph, he’d race into the yard, scattering the chickens. She realized that, after three years, Fat Chance still felt new to her but had been Thud’s home for almost half his life. She wondered if he even remembered being a Los Feliz dog.
“Do you like Erinn?” Dymphna asked after watching Thud’s successful mission.
“She is not what I expected from a TV person,” he said. “She’s very smart.”
“Well, she mostly does History Network shows,” Dymphna said, trying not to sound defensive. “I know she’s had to compromise a few times in her career, but don’t we all?”
“No,” Professor Johnson said, stopping and looking at her. “Isn’t that why you and I are here in Fat Chance? Because we won’t compromise?”
Dymphna thought about it. It was true that she stayed dedicated to her craft, even when times got tough and cash got short. Her only compromise now was making jams from her fruit trees instead of focusing entirely on yarns and knitwear. She had never made much money, but Professor Johnson had not only turned his back on the family fortune but also left a safe, tenured, well-paying university job. He’d actually taken much more of a gamble than she. She realized that all the inhabitants of Fat Chance stubbornly clung to their independence, refusing to give up and pack it in. Was there a chance in hell that they would ever come to terms on the road, or the wine? Before she’d left for Los Angeles, she and Titan had started working on a plan for the whole town to unite, a project of a less contentious nature than grape production or road construction, which would get everyone working together again. Of course, that was before Fancy and Pappy disappeared. But maybe those disappearances made the plan even more pertinent. She decided that after lunch she’d go visit Titan. Maybe it was time to revisit their scheme.
“Erinn said she isn’t sure where this story will take her,” Professor Johnson said. “I don’t think I could work that way. No structure!”
“Well, it’s like life,” Dymphna said. “You don’t know where life will take you. If Fat Chance has taught us anything, it’s that life has no structure.”
“That doesn’t mean I like it. But Erinn seems to know what she’s doing. She’s an interesting woman.”
Dymphna knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Do you think she’s more interesting than . . . my sister?”
They walked in silence for a few moments. Professor Johnson opened the gate, which creaked open in welcome. He finally broke the silence.
“Your sister is interesting in a different way,” he said.
Dymphna resisted asking for more. She knew that the problem lay with her own relationship with Maggie, not whether her boyfriend found her sister interesting or not.
Professor Johnson and Thud looked in on the farm animals while Dymphna prepared lunch. She was struck by the gender-defined roles they lived by on the farm. The thought of Professor Johnson doing the heavy lifting while she scooped rice and sweet peppers onto plates made her feel guilty. Her face flushed when it occurred to her that when she left for Los Angeles, Professor Johnson had to do the lifting and the scooping.
And it isn’t even his farm!
Dymphna had never met a man she could rely on the way she could rely on Professor Johnson. He could be infuriating and single-minded, but, if she was honest with herself, he did more than just the heavy lifting on the farm. He did the heavy lifting in town. Looking out the tiny window above the sink, Dymphna saw the fledgling grapevines marching across the hills. Even though it was a town effort, Professor Johnson kept everything—and everyone—on track. Even when it made him unpopular.
And as far as Maggie went, Dymphna resolved to put her petty jealousy aside. She was going to be a better girlfriend. She would let the little things go.
Professor Johnson and Thud stood in the kitchen door just as she was carrying the plates to the table.
“I’ll wash up and be right back,” he said.
Despite her good intentions, Dymphna felt a twinge of irritation. Professor Johnson was never one to say something along the lines of “That smells wonderful” or “You look beautiful, glistening with perspiration over a hot stove.” She stared at him. He stared back at her, wearing the look of confusion she had come to know so well. She loved that look.
He tried so hard. He tried harder than she did. She put the plates down and walked over to him.
“The rice can wait,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him down the hallway.
Professor Johnson looked back toward the kitchen.
“Thud is eating our lunch,” he said.
“He’s welcome to it,” Dymphna said, pulling him into the bedroom.
Chapter 18
“You don’t really need to stay during the interview,” Erinn said Yto Wesley.
“Sure I do,” Wesley said. “Besides, where else am I going to go?”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“All right,” Erinn said. “But you have to be quiet.”
“I’ll be an absolute mouse,” Wesley said.
Erinn doubted Wesley’s ability to be a mouse on any level, but she needed to be interviewing Powderkeg, not arguing about where Wesley was going to spend his afternoon. She could see Powderkeg, sitting in the chair, eyes scanning the room, getting restless. This was not a peaceful man. She took her seat opposite him and put her earbuds in. She could hear a scratching sound. Erinn cupped her hands over her ears. Sometimes the earbuds gave her a false sense of the ambiance of the room, but the scratching sound continued.
“No sweeping,” she heard Wesley say.
She looked up to see Maggie, broom in hand, the other hand over her mouth as if caught doing something wrong. She mouthed the words “I’m sorry” to Wesley. Erinn brushed off the indignity that if there was apologizing to be done it should be to her, not Wesley. She shifted her attention to Wesley. Was this her mouse, talking within five minutes of bei
ng told to be quiet? She glared at him.
“Maggie was sweeping,” Wesley said to Erinn by way of his defense for speaking.
“I could hear that,” Erinn said. Did Wesley think this was her first rodeo? OK, she didn’t actually know what the scratching sound was, but she’d have gotten there. “Let’s everyone settle down. We need the room to be very quiet.”
The door to the shop swung open and a cowboy filled the doorframe.
“Herman!” Powderkeg said, getting up from his chair. “I’ve got your saddle right here.”
The big man smiled and entered the store. He was followed by a smaller man, whom Erinn recognized as Polly’s new flame, Poet. She also noticed Maggie’s entire demeanor change, now that there were younger men in the place. Did Maggie actually unbutton one of the tiny pearl buttons on her sweater?
“You can go back to sweeping,” Erinn said to Maggie. “Looks like we’ll be awhile.”
But Maggie had put down her broom. She had her eye on bigger things.
“I can ring them up,” Maggie said to Powderkeg.
“Nah,” Powderkeg said. “I want to go over the saddle.”
“It’s a beauty,” Herman said, running his hand over the leather and admiring the workmanship.
“I included a replacement horn wrap and some latigos,” Powderkeg said.
“Sounds good,” Herman said, studying the saddle. “Those do tend to go first.”
“Yup,” Poet said.
The saddle, like everything else Powderkeg made, was a work of art. Texas wildflowers were carved deeply into the leather. The seat and cantle were also cut and shaped, but with a geometric design that complimented the rest of the carvings.
“Powderkeg took a lot of care with this saddle,” Maggie said.
“I can see that,” Herman said, looking down at the diminutive Maggie. “Aren’t you the lady with the goats up at the farm?”
“No.” Maggie’s flirtation dwindled down a notch. “That’s my sister, Dymphna. My name is Maggie.”
“Well, you could have fooled me,” Herman said.
“Yup,” Poet said.
“You’re Poet, right?” Maggie asked the younger man.
“Yep,” Poet said.
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