Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  “It was loose anyway.” Cat handed the heel of the bread to Mercy and dug in her purse. She pulled out a notebook and a pen. “Three lists. One for things we know we can do, one for things we think we can learn or need to call Grandpa so he can walk us through it, and one we’ll have to hire out for.”

  They spent the next hour making lists. Then they finished cleaning the front room so they’d have one room they could sit in, and then they washed up to go to the picnic. Mercy pulled her hair up in a messy bun, figuring she wasn’t out to impress anyone. In fact, impressing someone was the last thing on her to-do list. She purposely didn’t change out of her bobos and into her cute shoes, and barely dusted off her shirt before climbing into Cat’s car.

  Chapter 4

  Chet was running late for the family picnic. He should have been there to help set up tables, but after repairing the fence, he rode into the far canyon to check the cattle. There were several reports of wolves in the area. If needed, he could bring the herd closer to the homestead.

  Aiden disappeared with his mom, and so Chet was left to ride out by himself. He didn’t mind too much—not when he had his iPod tucked into his back pocket. His family thought he was always listening to music. If they knew he listened to audiobooks, they’d never stop teasing him.

  Tugging on a fence post to make sure it was sturdy, Chet grunted. It would hold. Barbed wire wouldn’t keep the wolves out, but it would keep the cattle in. He walked the line, checking for hair in the barbs that would indicate a wolf had skimmed under the line, but he didn’t see any.

  Satisfied his steers were safe, Chet climbed into his pickup and headed home.

  Even though he’d bought his parents’ house and they were off on their hippie tour of the U.S., the family still wanted to hold the picnic in his yard. It was fine with him. His three sisters and two sisters-in-law did a great job cleaning up, and they always sent the guys over to make sure the yard was ready. All he had to do was show up. With a glance at the clock on the dash, he realized he was doing a poor job of that.

  If he skipped the shower, he’d be able to grab some of Whitney’s fried chicken before it got cold. Pulling into the large circular driveway, Chet laughed as his nieces ran out to greet him.

  “Uncle Chet!” The youngest, Harley, threw herself into his arms as he slid out.

  “Whoa there. I almost dropped you.”

  She giggled. “You never drop me.” She patted his cheek. “You’re all prickly.”

  He widened his eyes. “Oh, no. You know what that means.”

  Harley squealed and wiggled out of his arms. “Tickle monster!”

  The other girls screamed and ran away as Chet roared and chased after them. He caught Harley and threw her over his shoulder. Her sister, Shelby, squealed when his fingers brushed her back. The group careened around the corner of the house, laughing so hard that their little legs could barely hold them up.

  Giving one giant roar, Chet plowed into the backyard, Harley laughing, her legs waving. He was met by the stunned faces of his family. He shrugged at their dumbfounded looks and flipped Harley into his arms where he tickled her.

  “Uncle! Uncle!” she gasped.

  Chet wilted to his knees as if her words had broken a spell. “You said the magic word and tamed the tickle monster. What a brave princess.” He set her on her feet and she trotted off.

  His family was still giving him funny looks, and Whitney signaled for him to tune it down.

  Chet rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like they’d never seen him chase the kids before. It happened at every family get-together.

  Aiden hurried over. “Dude, Boston’s here.”

  Chet glared as he got back to his feet. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Aiden held up his phone. “Maybe if there was a cell tower nearby, I could send you a text.”

  Chet ignored his jibe and made for the house. So much for skipping the shower.

  Whitney snagged his arm before he could make it inside. “Come say hello to your guests.”

  The last thing Chet wanted to do was try and talk to Boston when he was covered in dirt and sweat. “They aren’t my guests. I didn’t invite them.” He slowed his steps.

  Whitney yanked on his arm. “I invited them and it’s your house, so they are your guests.”

  “Thanks for inviting people to my house, Whit.” Chet brushed his hands against his jeans sending up a cloud of dust. Great, he’d have to meet the most put-together woman he’d ever seen looking like Pig-Pen from the old Charlie Brown cartoons his dad used to hang on the fridge. Chet squared his hat on his head, figuring he’d blown any chance he had of impressing Boston and so he might as well get this over with so he could eat.

  “Come on.”

  Mercedes and Cat had been swallowed into the Bauer family picnic as easily as Jonah had been swallowed by the whale. Although she had to wonder if it was all that easy for the whale. It’s not like whales swallowed people on a daily basis.

  Cat stood near the buffet table, asking the women how they made each dish and whether they had any secrets to pass on. They loved her immediately.

  Mercedes hung back a bit, content to watch Aiden and his cousins toss a football and give each other a hard time about girls. Whitney had told her that the group started with the six siblings, three boys and three girls, and had multiplied from there. This was the original family home. Though it wasn’t small, Mercedes wondered how they fit six children in there and kept them from killing each other.

  They all seemed to get along now. David, Whitney’s husband, was the oldest. His dark hair had more pepper than salt, and his dark skin wrinkled here and there. He had a quick grin and a firm handshake.

  After Chet’s extremely loud entrance, which Mercy found completely adorable, David called everyone together and offered a blessing on the food.

  Mercy bowed her head, grateful to have come to a place where her belief in the Lord was echoed by her new friends. When they said “Amen,” there was a mad dash for the end of the table where the paper plates and napkins were set up. A line soon formed.

  “Hey!” David hollered. “Guests first.”

  A couple women ushered Cat to the front of the line. Aiden motioned for Mercedes to go in front of him.

  “No, go ahead. You’re fine.” Mercedes wanted a few more minutes to observe. She’d been to her friends’ houses for dinner and attended a large parties; but never had she been surrounded by such a large family. She loved their energy. It stirred a yearning deep in her gut that she’d never felt before.

  Mercy decided to sit in a chair and wait her turn. She found a foldout near a large-bloom yellow rosebush. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who was attracted to the flowers. Several fat bees hung around. There weren’t enough to fill the air with their buzzing, just a few she could hear now and again. She was just about to sit down when Whitney dragged Chet over. Resisting the urge to make sure her bun was still in place, Mercy smiled. Even covered in dirt, Chet looked good. His ball cap was pulled low to shade his eyes, and it didn’t hide their arresting blue color. If anything, the shadow made them stand out more, and Mercy had a hard time not sinking into her chair. What was wrong with her? The first good-looking guy she sees in Snow Valley and she goes weak in the knees. Mentally shaking some sense into herself, Mercy planted her feet.

  Chet looked at her and then looked quickly away. Was he upset she’d come? It was his house; maybe he didn’t like surprises. Well, she was here now, and she wasn’t going to turn into a chowderhead because of his looks. She put on her brightest smile as Whitney properly introduced them.

  “Chet, this is Mercedes O’Shay. Mercedes, this is Chet.”

  “Mercedes?” Chet repeated.

  She sighed. Here it comes—the old line about my name and a stupid car. “Yes.”

  “Like Mercedes Mondego in The Count of Monte Cristo?”

  Mercedes perked up, not sure if she’d heard him right. “Yes.” She gave him an appraising look. “You … You’re t
he only guy who’s ever gotten that. Do you…I mean, have you read The Count of Monte Cristo?”

  Whitney laughed. “Oh, hon, Chet buys books like a girl buys hair products.”

  Mercedes looked at the freshly mowed grass. Having an English teacher for a father, Mercedes had been raised on a steady diet of classic and contemporary fiction. She was about to ask Chet what types of books he read, when Whitney raised her hand and called toward the children at the buffet table, “Honey, don’t use that much dressing!” She let go of Chet’s arm and sprinted away. “Excuse me,” she said over her shoulder.

  Chet stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded toward the buffet table. “Sawyer has a history.”

  Whitney pulled a bottle away from a younger version of herself.

  “When he was four, he drank an entire bottle of ranch dressing.”

  “Yuck.” Mercedes pressed her hand to her stomach. “When I was two, I ate a stick of butter.”

  Chet grinned. “The inside of a pumpkin pie.”

  “That’s not so bad—it’s the best part.”

  “Before it was cooked,” he said with a triumphant grin. “Licked it up like runny ice cream.”

  “Ugh!” Mercedes stuck her tongue out.

  They chuckled.

  “So, no one gets your name?” Chet asked.

  Her shoulders fell. “They all think I’m named after the car.”

  “The car was named after Daimler’s favorite niece, so even if you were, technically you’d be named after a girl who captured her uncle’s heart.”

  Mercedes’s insides went all gooey. She tipped her head, studying him. This was exactly the type of line that had her dropping her defenses around men. Okay, not that good of a line. No one had ever known that little factoid. She glared just over Chet’s shoulder, working to keep the flutters in her tummy in check.

  Chet took a step back. “My family’s always teasing me about knowing useless facts. Usually I censor them better. That one snuck past me.”

  Mercedes felt bad. She should censor herself, not him. “I liked it. What else have you got?”

  Chet scratched under his chin. “Did you know the same guy who led the attack on the Alamo invented chewing gum?”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “What else?”

  Chet blinked. “Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise.”

  “And?”

  “Ketchup was sold in the 1830s as medicine.”

  “No sir!”

  “And grapes explode when you put them in the microwave.”

  She lifted her hand. “That one would be worth testing.”

  “Did it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I had to clean the microwave.”

  Laughing, Mercedes asked, “Where were you when I had to go to all those stuffy dinner parties with my parents?”

  Chet motioned for her to sit and scooted another chair closer.

  Mercedes found herself relaxing a smidge because of Chet’s easy way. He moved with the grace of a man who used his body, knew what it was capable of, and was comfortable in his skin. She also liked that he wasn’t ashamed to be seen in work clothes. Most of the guys she’d dated would have run into the house and not come out until they were all decked out. She could handle talking to him.

  Just. Talking.

  They were going to be neighbors, after all.

  “I was probably hauling hay or moving irrigation pipes.” He gave her an easy smile.

  Mercedes’s gaze dropped to his lips for a split second. Darn it all if he didn’t have perfectly kissable lips. Suddenly the world was buzzing. Mercedes wondered if it was some crazy reaction to Chet. She leaned away, hoping to get a little space, when a deep pain erupted just behind her ear.

  “Ow!” Mercedes jerked and swatted at her ear. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Chet.

  “I don’t know.” Tears sprang to her eyes. There was a small but effective fire building at her jaw. She gingerly touched behind her ear and a bee flew out before dropping by Chet’s boot.

  “Ow. I can’t believe how much that hurt.” She looked away. Her eyes prickled with the initial pain. What a baby, crying over a little bee sting. Only, it didn’t feel little. After a second, the moisture cleared up.

  Chet picked up the dead bee and examined it. “The stinger’s gone.”

  She gingerly brushed her fingers over the spot. “It feels like it’s still in there.”

  Chet reached out and stopped her hand. There was a zing. Though just as rattling as the one the bee gave her, this one felt quite different. “If it’s stuck, rubbing it will only make it worse.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Will you look?” She turned to the side so he could examine the sting.

  Chet’s brushed away a strand of hair that had slipped out of her bun, sending shivers down Mercedes’s arms. She glanced up, but couldn’t see Cat. It would be so much safer to have Cat this close. Chet leaned in, and she fought the urge to melt in his general direction. Get a grip girl, he’s only checking the damage.

  “It’s still there. Come on inside; I’ve got a first aid kit.”

  Inside the house? Alone? Mercedes swallowed and probed behind her ear. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed Chet’s help. They stood, and she let him put a couple steps between them so she could think.

  “Have you ever been stung before?” he asked as they circled the family to reach the back door.

  “Not that I can remember.”

  “Do you know if you’re allergic?”

  “I don’t think I am. I can still breathe and everything.”

  “That’s good.” Chet opened the back door and ushered Mercedes inside. “Sit here and I’ll be right back.” He pulled out a barstool and made sure she was comfortable before disappearing down the hall.

  Mercedes looked around. The cabinets were older and the countertop looked beat, but the sink was new and everything was tidy. She swiveled around to face the living room area. The wall directly opposite her was one huge bookshelf with space for a flat screen in the middle. Books lined up. They weren’t arranged by height or stacked or decoration. They were crammed in there. Mercedes loved it.

  Directly under the TV was a built-in entertainment system. It looked like maplewood, but she couldn’t be sure unless she got up close and inspected the grain. The piece was well-made. She wondered if Chet built it ... or maybe his dad did.

  Mercedes let out a sigh. The pain just under her skin was getting worse, and she was exhausted. They’d been on the road since four that morning and hadn’t stopped since. She lay her head on the counter, stinger side up, to rest for a moment. It was oddly comfortable with the cool countertop against her cheek. She started going over her mental to-do list and felt even more tired.

  “Mercedes!” Chet yelped.

  She popped up, blinking. “What?”

  Chet pressed his hand to his chest. “You scared me; I thought you’d passed out or something.”

  “Sorry, I think the drive is catching up to me. It’s been a long couple days and there’s so much to do.”

  Chet set the med-kit on the counter and opened it up. The tweezers were right on top. “Let me get that stinger out.” He hooked his finger under Mercedes’s chin and tipped her head to the side.

  Her stomach tightened and she gripped her chair.

  Chet cleared his throat. “It’s swelling. I’m going to have to dig in a little to grab as far down on the stinger as possible.”

  “Why? Will it hurt?”

  “It might hurt for a second. The further down I can grab it, the less poison will be released.” He probed around for the best approach.

  “Poison?” She shook her hands. “I’m not usually squeamish about things like this.” She pointed to a scar on the back of her hand. “I guess it comes with being a nurse’s daughter. At seven I watched them stitch me up and didn’t even blink.” She looked ar
ound and her head moved away from the tweezers. “I need to think of something else.”

  He hooked her chin. “Hold still.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Hang on for just as second and I’ve have this out.”

  She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You talk.”

  “What?”

  “Talk about something, anything. Have you ever been stung?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been stung. I think every kid in Snow Valley gets stung at least once.” He turned her chin back to the side and ran his finger around the swelling.

  Mercedes shivered under his gentle touch. Stay focused. Guys were off limits for a while. “Who pulled the stinger out for you?”

  Chet moved the tweezers in place. “My mom. She had this routine when any of us got hurt. She’d clean us up, put a Band-Aid on, and kiss the Band-Aid.”

  For a flash, Mercedes wondered what it would be like to kiss Chet. It was a rookie move for a girl who had sworn off men a little over a week ago. She was caught up in how his three-day stubble would feel under her palm when he ripped her out of her daydream by pressing the cold metal against her skin.

  “Okay, here I go.”

  Thankful to be back on safe ground, she sucked in. It was over fast, even faster than it took for the bee to sting her in the first place. The pain lessened, but it didn’t go away.

  “There.” He threw the stinger into the barrel next to the counter and used an alcohol pad to wipe off the tiny wound.

  Mercedes turned her head and they were close, real close.

  Chet brushed his fingers up her arm, and she shivered again. Her eyes dropped to his very kissable lips as he searched her face with those incredible blue eyes. “No trouble breathing or tightening in your chest?”

  How was she supposed to answer that? There was a tightening in her chest, but it had more to do with the way he looked at her than it did with the dumb bee sting. Why was she such a sucker for a handsome face? She didn’t have to be that way. From this moment on she was going to be strong. No more thumping hearts or swooning.

  Chet tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.