by Erin Wright
His shoulders slumped a little and she instantly felt stupendously, terribly guilty. “I’m not saying it can’t be done!” she rushed to say. “It totally could. I’m just—”
“No, you’re right. Trying to rest-st-store a place like this in the evenings and weekends – it would take forever, all so I could have a huge building with lots of upkeep and wast-st-sted space.” He sent her a grimace of a smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
That did not help. She felt the guilt pressing down on her, smothering her. “I’m sorry,” she offered weakly. “It really is a neat building – I love the patterns in the brick over those doors.” She nodded down towards one end of the building, where a bricklayer had obviously spent a lot of time creating intricate patterns in what would have otherwise been a very utilitarian wall.
“Those bricks are some of my favorite parts of this building,” he said, his face brightening a little. “I asked my uncle one time about that – if my great-grandfather had planned that or if the bricklayer just-t-t did it on his own recognizance, and my uncle asked me, ‘What pattern in the bricks?’” Troy shook his head with a small laugh. “My uncle is not exactly a romantic kind of guy. He simply doesn’t think about things like that. But this building means a lot to him, because of the family hist-sto-story, you know?”
“Have you talked to your uncle about taking the building over and doing something with it?” she asked. Maybe his uncle would have an idea that she and Troy were missing.
“No, I wanted to have a full plan in place before I went to him. He’d want to know what I was gonna do and how, and…” He shrugged. “It was simply an idea I’ve been kicking around. It’s too busy at the mill to take this on and the running of the mill, too. My aunt is st-st-starting to get antsy – she really wants him to retire so they can move down south. Become snowbirds. She’s sick of the snow and the cold. They’ve worked hard all their lives – I don’t blame her for wanting to begin taking it easy now. Oh, speaking of, my aunt is becoming unbearable. Either I bring you home to meet her, or she disowns me.”
Penny laughed out loud at that, even as her heart sank beneath the guilt of deflating Troy’s dream. “My mom is getting worse by the day. She wants you to come over tomorrow and watch the baseball game with her.”
They began heading out of the dusty mill, its echoing cavernous space giving way to bright sunshine and late summer heat.
“Baseball?” Troy asked, surprised, as he locked the padlock back up again. “I don’t know a lot about baseball, truly.”
“Baseball is easy. Remember one rule of thumb: The team from Los Angeles is always the best team. If you were going to pick one, that would be the one to cheer for.” She stared straight into his eyes, trying to convey the important info without breaking her word to her mom.
“Los Angeles…” he murmured as he helped her into the truck. When he got around to his side and brought the engine to life, he guessed, “That’s the Dodgers, right?”
She sent him a huge smile. “Just remember, I didn’t say the name. I would never, ever tell you which team to cheer for.”
“Of course not,” he said mock-seriously. “Are there any cities I need to hate?”
“Any one but L.A. to be safe, but New York is definitely the worst. You might as well declare yourself a puppy killer.”
Troy barked out a laugh of surprise. “Okay, got it. Your mom takes this seriously.”
“You have no idea…So, tomorrow afternoon, my mom’s place? Then she can stop making jokes about you being the victim of a car bomb.”
“Car…” He trailed off, horrified. “She does know I live in Sawyer, right? Not Baghdad?”
“I’ve tried informing her of this fact, and her response to that is that she hasn’t seen you with her own two eyes, and thus can’t know for sure.”
“But she’s seen the pics on Facebook!” he protested. “She sent me a friend request-t-t two months ago.”
“My mom is…uhhh…colorful. Different. You’ll see. You’ll love her, even as you want to wrap your hands around her neck and squeeze. It’s a particular talent of my mom’s.”
“All right, tomorrow afternoon. Root for the Dodgers; curse at the Yankees. Got it. But, my aunt is getting just-st-st as bad. She hasn’t mentioned any car bombings to me, but since she isn’t on Facebook, she’s only seen the pics on my phone. She says she wants to fatten you up with some pie and coffee. Do you have time right now?”
She realized with a start that they’d just been sitting in front of the old mill, his truck idling, as they chatted. Yeah, this was a totally different Troy than she’d first met, for sure.
“Absolutely!” She looked down at her ripped jean shorts and sparkly shoes. “Ummm…I didn’t exactly get dressed up, per your instructions.”
“I’m sad to note that there are clothes on your lower half,” he said solemnly, and then winked.
She laughed. “That would make a great first impression on your aunt and uncle,” she said dryly. “Here’s my half-naked girlfriend. Ain’t she grand?!”
He was already driving the streets of Sawyer, apparently heading towards his aunt and uncle’s house. “They’ll love you no matter what you’re wearing,” he promised, getting back to the topic at hand. “Truly, they’re just-st-st gonna be thrilled that I’m bringing a girl home.”
She nodded and smiled her best carefree smile, even as a little bit of panic wormed its way into her. She was meeting his family; he was meeting hers…this was what serious relationships did. Not friends-with-benefits relationships did.
“I applied for another job last night,” she blurted out. He knew this wasn’t a forever kind of arrangement – she’d been clear from the get-go – but still…she felt she had to remind him. It was only fair. “Down in California. The pay isn’t great, but they do a lot of promotions from within, so I’d be able to move up quick if I worked hard.”
“You’ll move up the ranks quickly then,” he predicted. “You’re a damn hard worker.” He pulled to a stop in front of a low-slung ranch house. “Ready?” he asked.
She sent him a bright smile, a little brighter than the last one she’d sent him, only because this time she didn’t have the guilt hanging over her that he’d somehow forgotten their deal. He was a grown-up. He knew the rules. If he chose to ignore reality and then be heartbroken when she moved, it wasn’t on her conscience.
“Ready,” she said, and together, they walked towards the Horvath house.
Chapter 19
Troy
“Weellllcccoommeeee to the Sawyer Stampede!” Kurtis Workman’s voice boomed out into the arena, and the crowd let out whoops and cheers in response. He was the local go-to guy for all events that required an emcee, and was well liked because he brought a big-time feel to their small-town events. Troy cheered and clapped along with everyone else, and grinned down at Penny at the excitement in the air.
The big event for them was something most other attendees wouldn’t think twice about: The showing off of each of the prizes, including the saddle he’d made. He’d originally asked the rodeo committee not to mention his name while displaying the saddle to the crowd, but Penny had pointed out the obvious flaw in that plan – then no one would know he’d made it.
“You can’t make new contacts for work if no one knows you do this stuff,” she’d pointed out.
But it was beginning already – he was tensing up with dread for the moment when the crowd packed into the grandstands would all turn to look at him.
Looks can’t kill. It’ll be fine.
“Up for grabs this year,” Kurtis’ voice boomed, “we’ve got a huge array of prizes for the lucky son of a gun – and daughter of a gun, I suppose,” everyone laughed, “who wins their event. We’ve got everything from gift certificates for Betty’s Diner, to a delivery of premium horse hay in two-string bales, to a year of free stabling of your horse out at the Goldforks Riding Center. I do believe there’s even some cash prizes to be found on this here list.�
� More laughter and cheers as the crowd began to relax and really get into the swing of things. “But this year…this year we have a special treat. In years’ past, we’ve given away a hand-tooled saddle – gorgeous as could be. We’ve been bringing it up from Nevada and although the gentleman down there who’s been making it for us is a real good guy, well…he just ain’t local. This year, we discovered a local leatherman – leathermaker? I’m not sure what to call him – but anyway, he’s from right here in Sawyer and boy howdy does he do some fantastic work.”
Penny gripped his arm in excitement, grinning up at him. He felt his stomach flip-flop even as he kept a straight face. No reason to show how nervous he was.
“Hey Mike, bring this year’s saddle out, will ya?”
Mike, the local mechanic and one of the men who helped put the rodeo on each year, came walking out, leading a dainty all-black horse, the light tan of the saddle a stark contrast to the mare’s coat.
“Now, this mare is actually one of Dawson Blackhorse’s out at his breeding ranch – she ain’t part of the prize package, although I suspect that if you give Dawson an offer he can’t refuse, you might be able to take her home anyway. No, that gorgeous saddle on her back is what you oughta be admiring.” Mike turned and walked lengthwise across the arena a few steps, the hitch in his get-along a little more pronounced in the deep dirt and sawdust of the arena. Many, many moons ago, Mike had been a bull rider himself and had his hip stomped to pieces by an angry bull. Now, he participated in the rodeos as an organizer – a slightly less dangerous profession.
But turning lengthwise meant that the side of the mare – and thus the saddle – was now facing directly towards the stands, and in response, gasps and murmurs of appreciation swept through the crowd at the sight. Troy sought Penny’s hand and gripped it in his own, not daring to look at her or look around but just stared forward into the arena like any other spectator would. No reason to bring attention to himself one second sooner than he had to.
“I do believe,” Kurtis continued, “and I think y’all would agree, that this is the best-lookin’ saddle we’ve ever commissioned for the Sawyer Stampede. Suitable for a lady or a gentleman, every bit of this was done by hand by our very own Troy Horvath. Troy, stand up and wave.”
The gasps of the crowd at the sight of the saddle only grew louder when they heard his name. Even as he pushed himself to his feet to wave and acknowledge the whooping and hollering of the crowd, he could hear the whispered conversation behind him. “Troy? Troy Horvath? I had no idea! I thought he just worked out at the mill.”
“He’s also a firefighter, just like his uncle,” someone else replied. “But there ain’t no one in the Horvath family who does leatherworking.”
“There is now!” They both laughed.
Troy sunk back down onto the wooden bench, trying not to see how off-balance he felt at being on the receiving end of so much attention. “You’re going to get a lot of work from this,” Penny whispered to him, her smile so brilliant, it rivaled the bright August sun. “Just you watch. You impressed a lot of people just now.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand again. She was right. It was worth the 90 seconds of pure terror to launch this career off the ground.
But…it’s not a career. Only a hobby.
Reality was intruding, like an unwanted and intoxicated great-uncle at the Thanksgiving table.
Aunt and Uncle Horvath are counting on me to take over the mill. I’ve seen how hard Uncle Horvath works year-round, but especially during harvest time. If I’m the new owner, that’ll be me. No more taking time off to attend the Sawyer Stampede on a Friday afternoon. The mill will always have to come first, if I’m gonna make it succeed.
He felt a bit of the excitement in his chest begin to deflate, much like a balloon the day after a kid’s birthday party. He was still a little excited – the idea of being able to do this professionally on the weekends hadn’t lost its appeal – but he wanted more than that.
He couldn’t hurt his aunt and uncle by refusing the mill; he also couldn’t run the mill and a full-time leatherworking business at the same time.
There are too many couldn’ts in this.
After a few rounds of women’s barrel racing, Penny began making pointed hints about how they should go find some yummy fair food to eat, so they made their way from the stands and over to the merchant area. Person after person came up and congratulated him on a job well done, and more than a few told him that he shouldn’t be “hiding his light under a bushel.”
He wasn’t sure how to react to the effusive praise, but Penny didn’t miss a beat. She dryly told Mr. Maddow, who’d been a customer of the Horvath Mill for a good six decades or so, that “Troy hasn’t been hiding his light under a bushel – he’s been hiding it under a saddle!” Mr. Maddow let out a rusty laugh and slapped his knee.
“You’ve got a live one here, Troy!” he chortled before doffing his hat and tottering off.
Troy shook his head in amazement. Penny had this enviable ability to always know what she should say in any given situation. It was hard not to be a little jealous at that talent. It was surely not ever gonna be a claim to fame for him.
“C’mon,” she said, tugging on his arm again and pulling him out of his reverie, “I can smell the elephant ears from over here. If I’m going to get fat on carbs, elephant ears are the way to go.”
Troy tried not to snort – too loudly, anyway. Penny looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine, but only if the fashion magazine was geared towards chic country gals. She had her hair in short braids and was wearing a sparkling cowboy hat, jean shorts, bright red cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt tied just above her tiny waist. She looked delicious enough to eat and Troy had half a mind to drag her underneath the stands and show her the popular make-out spot for high schoolers – you were never too old to neck underneath the bleachers – when he caught a whiff of Mexican food. He turned and spotted Carmelita manning a booth selling homemade tamales.
Luckily, a popular event was going on at the moment – calf roping, men’s division – so the line wasn’t forever long. He tugged Penny to a stop. “What are your thoughts on tamales?” he asked.
“Never had one. Why?” she asked.
He gaped at her, and then without another word, headed for Carmelita’s booth with Penny in tow. There were some travesties that simply had to be remedied.
They made it up to the front of the line, where Jennifer spotted him first. It was just her and Carma working the booth; Stetson must have been watching Flint. “Troy!” Jennifer said, a huge smile lighting up her face. “I saw that saddle you made – I had no idea!”
Carmelita looked up and a wide smile creased her face, too. “Troy,” she said happily. “All this time, and you never told me how talented you are. You should make many more saddles. You have a gift from God.” She crossed her ample chest. “Not everyone can do what you do. Are you going to open up a saddle store now?”
“I’m…looking at it,” he said evasively.
“Well, my Declan, he has horses, so if you open up a saddle shop, I will let him know. Now, who is this?” She turned to Penny with an expectant look on her face.
“Carmelita, this is Penny. Penny, this is Carmelita and this is Jennifer.” He felt a sweat break out across his face. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he had no idea what Carmelita’s last name was. She’d always just been Carmelita, or Karma, if one of the Miller boys was feeling snarky that day. Hopefully no one noticed that he’d skipped the last name’s part of the introduction.
“So good to meet you, Penny,” Jenn said effusively, giving Penny a one-armed hug across the table. “I’d heard that someone had snagged Troy’s heart, but no one told me how gorgeous you are. It’s so lovely to put a face to the name.”
They began to chat about babies and small towns and how different Sawyer was from the outside world as Troy gulped, turning back to Carmelita with a forced smile plastered on his face. What did Penny th
ink about being the woman who’d “snagged” his heart? Those were awfully permanent-sounding words. Would she go running for the hills?
I better give her a nutritious lunch to help her on her way.
“Four tamales, please,” he said to Carmelita. As she efficiently wrapped them up for him and handled the cash, he asked her, “So, does this mean that you’re gonna open up a Mexican place in town after all? Did he talk you into it?”
He hoped she could infer who “he” was, because there was roughly a 0% chance or so that he could say “Stetson” without getting stuck on the name for a good five minutes.
See, it could’ve been so much worse. What if Mom had named me Stetson instead of Troy?
He felt a bolt of panic shoot down his spine at the mere thought.
She laughed heartily. “No, no. My Stetson…he is a dreamer. I am too old to run a restaurant every day. But I can make many tamales and bring them to the fair, and feed people here.” She shrugged. “It gives me something to do, so it is a nice compromise. But no restaurant for me.” She handed the brown paper bag over with a big smile. “Enjoy.”
“We will,” Troy promised, and grabbed Penny’s hand. “Ready?”
“We’ll have to chat more!” Jenn said and gave Penny another quick hug. “I’m on Main Street – my partner and I run Miller & Nash Accounting. You should stop by and we can go get some coffee and muffins from the Muffin Man Bakery. Gage makes you forget the words ‘low-carb diet’ were ever introduced into the English language.”
They both laughed and it took everything in Troy to keep from openly rolling his eyes. Penny was tall but skinny; Jennifer was short but skinny. If there were ever two women who didn’t need to go on a diet, it was these two.
They began wandering up the dirt path that meandered between the stalls, heading for the large open area reserved for eating. On the way, they passed more merchant booths, and he noticed that several were run by local businesses that had recently been started. Before he knew it, Penny was chatting up Iris Miller and snapping pictures for the newspaper of the handmade canes that Iris carved. Ivy, Iris’ younger sister, was there at the booth too, and Troy recognized a few of the paintings from the wine and arts festival in Franklin. Looking at Iris and Ivy, both with thick dark red hair, bright blue eyes, and gorgeous smiles…they could’ve been twins, although he knew Ivy was the younger of the two by a couple of years.
