Mom’s car pulled in the driveway and Domino zigzagged beside Zach on the way back to the house, his tongue lolling happily from the side of his mouth. Zach was going to miss that dog.
“Hey, Mom.” He gave her a quick hug. “I’ll just wash up.”
When he returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, she had loaded plates of pasta on the table. Smelled awesome.
“So how was your day?” Mom asked after she’d said grace. “Did you get the pasture done?”
“Not entirely. Jo had some question about the fertilizer not being organic and harming the spring water.” That wasn’t the only question Jo brought to mind. Wow.
His mother frowned. “That’s strange. Everyone around here uses it. I thought it was so good of Gary to loan you his rig, being as we’ve never been able to justify getting our own for the small amount of acreage.”
“I’ll read up on it some more before I keep going.” Zach twisted his fork into the pasta. “I came into the house to look it up online, actually, and discovered I had an email from East Spokane Vet Clinic inviting me for an interview.”
She glanced up. “Oh, that’s great! They don’t care that you don’t have a recommendation from Hammond?”
“The receptionist never asked, and I didn’t draw her attention to it.” Zach took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, Mom. My interview is tomorrow morning, bright and early, so I’m leaving right after dinner tonight and staying in at the apartment. I stacked extra hay for you by the sheep feeder.”
“So soon?” Her eyes clouded. “When does the position start?”
Zach met her gaze. “Monday.”
“Oh.” She looked down, jabbing her fork into the food. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this so quickly, but I know it’s what you want. I’ll try to be happy for you.”
Zach’s heart constricted. “I’ll come home every weekend until Dad’s ready to take the farm back on. The sheep will be out on pasture in the next week or two which will make things easier for you.”
She took a deep breath. “I’d thought…I’d hoped you’d want to stay, after all. Mom said she thought you might be getting sweet on Jo.”
“Like Grandma even knows which decade she’s in.” He’d never guessed his grandmother had that much insight left intact, but Jo wasn’t a conflict his mother needed to know about. The farther he could get away from that girl, the better off he’d be. No reminders of his infatuation, his…his lapse, would be best. Jo wanted nothing to do with him, after all, though her lips had told a different story. Ah, that kiss…
“Zachary?”
Deep, steadying breath. “Nope. She’s just as enviro-crazy as I thought at first.” He forced a grin. “Definitely not a match made in heaven.”
Mom studied his face, and Zach kept it carefully blank until she looked away. “What about Doc Taubin? Haven’t you made some kind of deal with him?”
Drat, that’s what he’d shoved to the back of his mind in his eagerness to get out of Galena Landing. “Last we talked, he didn’t have a date for surgery yet. If I get this position, I’ll just let him know he’ll need to find someone else to fill in. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”
She pushed her pasta away, half eaten. “Zachary, the timing on this doesn’t seem all that good.”
Funny. After that confrontation with Jo, it seemed perfect to him.
Mom pulled his gaze and held it for a long moment. “Nonetheless, I’m really proud of you. You’ve worked extremely hard, gotten topnotch grades, even got the president’s award. I know this is what you’ve dreamt of. I have only one request.”
Zach raised his eyebrows. “And that is?”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Your dad and I have tried to be an example. Tried to teach you to pray about decisions as they come up. I’m sure you want God’s best for your life. All I ask is that you spend some time on your knees with God, asking for confirmation of His will for you.”
His turn to poke at his plate. “God and I—we’re not talking so much these days.”
“I know, son. He’s right there, though, wanting that communication open again. Give Him a chance?”
He met her gaze. “I’ll try.”
Chapter 11
Jo lay in bed the next morning, listening to rain pound on the old trailer’s metal roof, hoping it would hold up to the storm’s barrage and not leak. She snuggled under the cozy duvet. Obviously no need to get up and get cracking. Soggy mornings didn’t crack. They squished, and squishing wasn’t good for planting gardens.
“Sure you don’t want to go to Kalispell with Claire and me?” Sierra stuck her head around Jo’s door, which had been left ajar. She obviously wasn’t fooled by Jo’s pretend-sleep. “It’s not like you can plant the corn in this muck.”
Jo sighed and rolled over. Spending the day with Sierra after their spat yesterday did not sound like the most fun, even though Sierra had apologized. “Tempting, but no.” She sat up and stuffed her feet into tiger-face slippers.
“But we might find a source for herbs.”
“I hope you do.” In some ways she’d enjoy it, but they’d had rather a lot of togetherness since they moved in. An entire day alone on the farm sounded like bliss. Maybe she’d be able to get some distance from her aggravation with her best friend and her confusion about Zach.
“Bu—”
Something crashed in the kitchen. “That does it! I can’t take it anymore,” Claire yelled.
Sierra turned and ran down the hallway. “What happened?” Then she screeched.
Jo stuck her arms in the sleeves of her fluffy pink bathrobe and wrapped the tie around her waist. “Claire? Sierra?” She hurried down the corridor and into the kitchen.
A brazen mouse scampered across the window ledge behind the sink and disappeared behind the ceramic canisters at the back of the counter. Jo caught her breath.
Sierra’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the back of a wooden chair, her eyes fixed on the spot.
Claire stood in the middle of the room, arms akimbo. “There were three of them! I just disinfected the counters so I could make breakfast and now I have to do it again.” A shudder ran down her lean body. “That’s it. Time for some action.”
Sierra shot a questioning glance at Jo before refocusing on the countertop.
First things first. “Is the trap full again?”
“I emptied it yesterday. Four more.” Claire took a deep breath. “If the steel wool is working, I’m afraid to think what it would be like otherwise.” A mouse shot across the floor and disappeared behind the garbage can.
Claire kicked the corner of the live trap with her toe. Something scuffled.
Pretty serious when they’d caught so many that Sierra didn’t shriek for every single one anymore. Jo didn’t even want to add up the number. Her brain veered away from the knowledge.
“Wh-what kind of action are you thinking of?” asked Sierra. “I thought you said we’d tried everything.”
“Everything humane.” Claire pitched an oven mitt at the step-on garbage can, but the mouse didn’t reappear.
Oh no. Jo could see where this was going next.
Sierra backed up a couple steps, dragging the chair with her. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve tried snap traps. And the live trap. And steel wool around the pipes. They’re still getting in somewhere.” Claire retrieved her oven mitt.
Jo held up a hand. “I’m allergic to cats. Really. Hives and everything.”
“I don’t want a cat anyway.” Claire tossed the mitt into the laundry hamper. “I’d still have to scrub counters all the time because you can never be sure the cat hasn’t walked on them.”
It would have been silent except for the little scratching noise from behind the garbage can.
Sierra cleared her throat. “Are there any other options?”
Claire’s gaze met Jo’s. “Just poison.”
“Oh, we couldn’t do that!” Sierra looked from one to the other. “Could we?
I mean, that goes against everything we believe in.”
“Mice go against everything we believe in,” Claire said shortly.
They couldn’t get into the new house soon enough, and the foundation wasn’t even due to be poured until next week. Months and months of the trailer remained. Months and months of mice.
“I don’t like the idea.” Jo chewed her lip. “I really don’t.”
“I’m open to a better one. If you’ve got something up your sleeve, this would be a good time to mention it.” Claire jerked open the cutlery drawer.
“I think—if that’s what it takes.” Sierra loosened her grip slightly. “I mean, if we don’t have other choices.”
Jo looked at Claire helplessly. She loathed giving in on something like this, their first major crossroads, but… “What would people think? I mean, we’ve made such a big deal about doing everything so eco-friendly.”
The mouse scrambled across the floor and Claire lobbed a table knife at it. “We don’t have to phone the newspaper and tell them.” She missed, but only by an inch or two. The rodent scurried to safety behind the trap.
Yeah, but what if someone found out anyway? Jo hated to admit defeat. Sheer willpower ought to be enough. Um, and a little prayer. She’d prayed about the mice, too. At least as often as she’d cleaned out the trap. Maybe not often enough?
“Action, Jo. That’s what we need.” Claire grabbed another utensil from the drawer and readied it for the next mouse she saw.
Looked like every piece of cutlery they owned would bounce along the floor before long. Jo’s turn to do dishes, too.
Sierra pushed the chair back into place. “So you want to buy poison? Is that what you’re asking?”
Jo laughed. “It will never stay a secret in this town, I can promise you that. The guy who sold me the live trap already knew all about us.” Or thought he did.
“I’m all over that.” Claire shifted closer to the garbage can, fork at the ready. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I’m prepared. I got a few packages last time I was in Wynnton.”
A sinking feeling settled in Jo’s gut. But what else could they do? Claire was right. It wasn’t healthy to keep living the way they were, and there seemed no end to the creatures. “What do the directions say?”
“Open the package and put it in a dry place where mice will find it.”
The rodent made a run for it, and the fork clattered off the wall mere fractions of an inch away. The mouse disappeared. To have a heart attack, Jo hoped. Or to tell all his buddies how perilous it was in the kitchen.
“But…poison.” Sierra stared at the corner the gray creature had ripped around. “We don’t really want it in the kitchen, do we? Even though that’s where they seem to hang out.”
Claire retrieved the cutlery and dropped them into the sink. Soapy suds puffed up, releasing bleach vapor. “No, you’re right. Not in the kitchen.”
“Under the trailer?” Jo suggested. “I was going to go back under there with another box of steel wool today. Maybe I haven’t packed it around the pipes and wires tightly enough.”
Claire regarded her thoughtfully. “That’s a good spot. Here, I’ll just wipe off the counters again so we can make breakfast. I’ll set the package on the landing outside before we leave. Sure you don’t want to come along?”
Jo shook her head. “No thanks. But have a good time.”
**
Zach strode across the hospital parking lot toward the physical therapy unit, still high on a great interview. Albert Warren was the nicest guy imaginable, the clinic immaculate and up to date. Corinne, thankfully, turned out to be a middle-aged mother of teenagers, so there was no danger of a repeat episode. What an awesome opportunity.
His cell phone jangled. Could they possibly have decided to hire him this quickly? But he didn’t recognize the number on the display. “Zachary Nemesek here.”
“Ah, Zach, my boy.”
Zach’s stomach fell. Doc Taubin. How was he going to tell the old guy? He made an effort to put some brightness in his voice, though his mood suddenly matched the weather. Somber. Dripping. “Hi there. How’s it going?” Please say they can’t schedule the surgery any time soon.
“I just heard back from my GP. Somebody had to cancel so they were able to move my hip replacement up to next week Monday. May seventeenth. Isn’t that great news?”
Couldn’t get much worse. “Wow, that’s fast.” Zach ducked under the overhang by the main entrance to get out of the drizzle.
“He knows I’ve been waiting a long time. Thanks so much for giving me this chance, Zach. Can you come in this afternoon and I’ll start showing you around?”
Zach’s brain raced. “Um, sorry. I’m in Coeur d’Alene. On my way up to see Dad right now, actually.” Should he tell Doc Taubin about the possible job? Call Albert Warren back and ask for a delay? What?
“Well, tomorrow’s soon enough. Greet your dad for me.”
“Will do.” Zach swiped the cell off and stared out at the gray rain glancing off the gray pavement in front of the gray building across the street. He’d screwed up, plain and simple. He never should have agreed to fill in for Doc Taubin, but it wasn’t right to leave him in the lurch now. Maybe he should text some of his buddies and see if anyone wanted a stint as a farm vet. He mentally scanned his class yearbook. Nah. City kids, every one.
On the other hand, the position at East Spokane was absolutely perfect. What he’d always wanted. This would be the perfect time to seek guidance if he thought God was listening. Apparently He wasn’t.
“The doctors suspect I contracted Guillain-Barré Syndrome from contaminated water at the feedlot.”
Zach stretched his legs alongside his dad’s bed. “I thought it wasn’t traceable.”
His dad shrugged. “They’re not certain, but there’s plenty to suggest a link with cattle farms. Most people can fight this bug, but apparently I’m one of a tiny percentage who get an auto-immune reaction.”
“It’s pretty strong stuff, I guess. How’s PT going?”
Dad grimaced. “I feel like a baby learning to walk, only I’m not as resilient as they are. I’ve got a session in half an hour. Want to come watch your old man flounder?”
As if. It was hard enough seeing his strong father bedridden. “No, sorry. Have to get back to the farm. The field work calls.”
“Your mother says you’re going to fill in for Wally’s hip surgery. That’s wonderful news, son.”
“About that.” Zach leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve got a little problem.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. See, I left a résumé at East Spokane Vet Clinic back before all this happened. They called me for an interview.”
His dad frowned but said nothing.
Zach pushed ahead. “I just came from there. The head vet is a great guy and the clinic looks really well run. I’m almost certain he’s going to offer me the job. Remember I got the president’s award? Well, Doc Warren got it back in his day, too.”
Dad sank back against his pillows, but his eyes searched Zach’s face. “I see.”
Hope lightened Zach’s heart at the understanding expression. “I’m not sure how to tell Doc Taubin. If I get the job, that is.”
“You do have a dilemma.”
Zach nodded. God might not be talking, but Dad was. He leaned forward.
“What do you think you should do, son?”
Not questions. Answers. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”
His dad shook his head. “You’re twenty-seven years old, Zachary. You’ve been on your own for years. This is a decision you need to weigh carefully and prayerfully, not something I, or anyone else, can make for you.”
“But…” Zach scanned his dad’s face then looked down at the floor. Watched the toe of his shoe trace a pattern on the tiles. He took a deep breath. “I’ve made some really dumb choices the last while. I don’t trust myself.”
“You don’t need to, son. You know that. Dep
end on God. He’s reliable.”
He should have known that would be Dad’s answer. Not much help. Didn’t Dad know how much this job meant to him?
“It’s your decision.”
He tried avoiding eye contact, but something in the soft, sad words snagged Zach’s eyes and wouldn’t let go. For a man who couldn’t walk, Dad was very strong. Compassion flooded his father’s eyes. Understanding. But also an unflinching knowledge of what was right.
Zach dragged his gaze away, focusing on his shoe scuffing the floor. He’d once held firm to what he knew was right, but it had become wearisome during his college years. Easier to run with the crowd, though he’d maintained a reputation for staying aloof and not participating.
He hadn’t given in to Yvette. He wasn’t such a horrible person.
What kind of recommendation was that? Not a horrible person. Was that how he wanted to be known? He took a long, shuddering breath. No. Dad was right. To respect himself, he had to do better. He had to be a good person. An honest man. A trustworthy man.
Was he willing to go all the way and become a God-centered man?
**
Jo couldn’t get the passion of Zach’s kiss out of her mind. Every instant not filled with something else—like spreading the mouse poison—had become a replay of the moment they’d shared. Over and over she sought a different way for it to end. For her not to have slapped him. For him not to have needed it. Sure, he said he hadn’t kissed her to shut her up, but what else could it have been?
Stop it.
Nothing good could come of dwelling in that moment. She wasn’t a teen to drool over the cute guy who’d finally noticed her. She was mature, a woman.
And what a man he was.
Yes, but a man who did not walk with God, who did not value rural life, or the works of God’s hands.
Jo stared up at Zach’s tree house through the mist. How had her feet carried her right to this golden willow? Had his dad helped his son build the fort? Had Gabe Rubachuk played here, too? She envisioned two young boys clambering around in the tree, swinging off the rope, pretending they were…what? Pirates? Cowboys?
A Farm Fresh Romance Series 1-3 (A Farm Fresh Romance Box Set) Page 10
