by Pamela Tracy
“Without hesitation. You saw my family. Not a chance do I want to live three states away next time Eva has a baby.”
“What if the person you loved lived three states away? I mean, would Eva follow Jesse if he asked her to?”
“You need to ask Jesse about his family. You’d need a crowbar to get him to move.”
“And that’s probably a good analogy for you, a crowbar to get you to move even if you fall in love with someone who couldn’t live in Apache Creek.”
“There’s a difference between couldn’t and wouldn’t,” Emily said. “It would depend a lot on who is giving up what and why.”
* * *
Donovan wanted to think he could live in Apache Creek forever. What he couldn’t share with Emily, though he wanted to, was that thinking about staying here for just five years felt restricting.
Yet he was absolutely willing to do it for her. He’d just like the reassurance that if an opportunity of a lifetime arose for him, she’d be willing to compromise.
But she owed him nothing and maybe didn’t have a clue how much he liked her.
“You know,” he said, “this past week has been pretty amazing.”
“Amazing,” she agreed.
“I’m just wondering if, maybe, you’d like to go out on a date, a real date. Dinner and a movie. This Friday?”
She opened her bag of cookies, divided them evenly between them and said, “I think I’d like that.”
He took a cookie, bit into it and said, “Chocolate chip, my favorite.”
“I didn’t know that. In fact, there’s a lot about you I don’t know. It’s really not fair. You know everything about me.”
He wasn’t ready to tell her about the debt he owed to Olivia’s father. Though, if he and Emily did go out a few more times, he’d need to tell her. Tucker’s offer sounded good, but Donovan couldn’t chance not paying Nolan Tate off.
“What do you want to know?” He hoped she’d ask something easy.
“Tell me more about your parents. I know you grew up on a dairy farm and never go back. Did you have any brothers or sisters? Why did you leave?”
“I left because I felt stifled. Except for school and an occasional night in town, my world began and ended on the farm. My mom and dad loved me, but there was just the three of us. They’d both been only children, too. My mom was in her early forties when I was born, so I had no grandparents or cousins or siblings.”
She smiled. “Just wait until you meet my family in the Kykotsmovi Village. I’ve known them forever but there are so many, I sometimes say the wrong name.”
“Your family is like a whole different world to me.”
“Tell me about your dad,” she suggested.
He thought back to all the years he’d worked alongside his dad to keep the farm going. He remembered early mornings when he’d bring the cows into the holding area and guide them to the right stall. Next, he helped with prepping the udder before putting the milkers on. His dad had often reminisced about when he did the milking by hand. The only thing Donovan remembered was attaching the metal pipes to the teats, over and over, one cow to the next, in an assembly line.
“My dad listened to classical music while we milked the cows.”
“That’s a start,” Emily encouraged.
Olivia had once asked about his family, but within minutes he’d lost her.
“At the peak of my father’s career, we had almost a thousand Holsteins, and we employed five. The most important time of day is morning milking, followed by afternoon milking.”
To Donovan’s surprise, Emily listened intently, interrupting only twice to question him. She liked that he called the cows “girls” and scolded him for appreciating school only because it meant he didn’t have to help with the cleanup after morning milking.
“How many Holsteins does your dad have now?”
“I think—” it pained him to admit he wasn’t sure “—that he’s down to about forty-two.”
Now, Donovan sent money to his parents so they could pay someone to work the farm. The first check he’d sent six years ago came back inside a folded piece of notebook paper with the words, scrawled by his father’s hand, “The farm has been in the family for almost seventy years and was meant for you to work it.” His mother, however, had sent a note thanking him for thinking of them, telling him how the tomato plants were doing and sharing a few stories about one of the new calves.
Four years ago, Donovan’s dad, Raymond Russell, stopped returning the checks and cashed them. Plus, his handwritten scrawls turned to “Call your mother once in a while.”
Two years ago, engaged to Olivia, Donovan had been sending quite a bit. Now, not so much. His debt to Nolan Tate interfered.
“What does the farm look like?”
That he could answer without feeling like a heel. He loved the home he’d grown up in. “My family’s only the second owner of a 1906 structure with a double winged-gable roof and original hardwood floors. It has personality. Some of my favorite moments growing up involved working alongside my dad doing restoration. Only, he called it repairs.”
And with that the good memories tumbled forward. “I was itching to ride the hay wagon with your dad this past Saturday. I used to love to ride ours during baling.” Emily didn’t seem too impressed with that one, but her eyes lit up when he talked about sledding.
“Problem was,” he ended, “I did all those things alone. When I went off to college, I think my biggest dream was to never be alone again.”
“But you travel from place to place alone and live in a small camper alone.”
“Yes, but until recently, it didn’t feel lonely.”
* * *
Looking around the cabin the next morning, Donovan came to the conclusion that he was already moved in. Clothes were strewed across chairs. Tucker’s blueprints were on the kitchen table. All his electronics, phone and iPad were plugged in. Change, gum wrappers, keys and a few paper clips were on the nightstand.
Today he needed to work on Tinytown. He had quite a few ideas, already expanding from the quick outline he’d shared with Jacob more than a week ago.
If—and it was a really big if—he decided to work for Randall Tucker, he needed to figure in time to work on Tinytown, or Timmy and Emily might never forgive him.
Sitting at the table, he turned Tucker’s blueprints over. He’d not be using them. If the man did hire him, Donovan had his own ideas about what a community here should look like. Quickly, he arranged Tinytown, thinking about what would make Timmy happy and what extras would be affordable and unique. Before Donovan knew it, he was in danger of missing breakfast. He rolled the blueprint up, tucked it under his arm and took a slow, meandering walk to the dining room.
So much potential.
He filled his plate before he sat down. Emily waved at him from across the room, where she was giving advice to a couple he’d not seen before. They must have arrived yesterday. Then, she came over and handed him a big glass of milk before he even ordered it.
“I head off to work after I finish serving breakfast. I’ll be back about four thirty. Tonight’s church. Why don’t you come with me?”
A million reasons why he shouldn’t went through his head. Followed by a single thought of why he should.
Emily invited him.
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s a better answer than last time I asked.”
Timmy came in, sat down next to him and nodded at the blueprints. “Can I see?”
Emily brought over a glass of milk for Timmy and said, “Get breakfast first. When you’re done, Grandpa says he needs some help down at the barn.”
Timmy sighed. “I wish Dad would come home. Grandpa keeps putting me to work. I never get to play video games except at night when I’m in Karl�
��s room.”
“Karl getting out today?” Donovan asked.
Emily collected his now-empty plate. “Garrett’s going to get him this afternoon.”
“When will Eva come home?”
“Tomorrow. Jesse’s bringing her, and Grandpa’s been ordered to stay home.”
Timmy fetched a plate of eggs, sausage and ketchup. “Good man.” Together Timmy and Donovan high-fived.
While Timmy ate, Donovan spread out the blueprint and discussed his ideas. “When we sat with your grandpa, we decided not just houses.”
“I remember.”
“So, this morning while I walked from my cabin to here, I detoured and looked at the area where we might build this.”
“Not by the schoolhouse where we do crafts,” Timmy advised.
“Why not?”
“Because then when it’s time to do crafts,” Timmy said in a loud whisper, “whoever the teacher is can just call us. We need to be farther away.”
“I was thinking next to the pool.”
Timmy frowned. “That would be better than the tennis court. I wouldn’t want to get hit by any balls.”
“Anyone use the tennis court?” Donovan thought it looked fairly run-down.
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“If we put it by the pool, parents can watch their children.” Quickly Donovan showed were he’d put the fire station, store and hospital.
“The hospital should have two beds,” Timmy advised. “One for sick people and one for mommies who are having babies.”
Donovan wasn’t about to touch that topic. “And, we’ll put the movie theater here, but we’ll make it a drive-in. I think you can talk your grandpa into finding a bunch of old pedal cars. We’ll restore them, and then you can sit in them and watch movies at night.”
“Awesome.”
“Houses will be here and there.” He pointed to the spots.
Before Donovan could react, Timmy removed a red crayon from his pocket and added a house to the left of the movie theater.
“Good.”
Emily came back, scooted Timmy out the door, and then before Donovan had a chance to make small talk, she’d cleaned the last table and headed back to the main house.
He’d never been inside. Didn’t know what their living space looked like. All he knew was Elise was getting ready to marry Cooper and move a few miles down the road. Eva’s house was close by, still on Lost Dutchman Ranch property, and only Jacob and Emily still really called the place home.
Home.
Donovan rolled the blueprint up and headed for the door. He had something to do, something he should have done long ago.
It was time to strengthen the bond that was home. He’d ignored the pull of his family’s love, intent on proving himself. Now he realized that proving himself was empty if his parents weren’t part of the plan.
His mom picked up on the second ring. Her first words, after hearing his voice, were “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Mom. I just wanted to call.”
Silence.
He tried to imagine Emily calling Jacob and having nothing to talk about. Wouldn’t happen. For one thing, they texted each other about six times a day—twenty right now, but that had to do with the new baby.
“I just thought I’d catch you up on my life and find out what you’re doing. I miss you.”
Silence again, only this time he heard her sniffling and realized she was crying, silently.
“Son.” His dad took the phone. “What’s wrong?”
Great, his parents both thought that the only reason he’d be calling them out of the blue was if something was wrong.
“Dad, I’ve met a girl.”
To Donovan’s amazement, his dad stayed on the line while his mother got on the other line. At the end, after Donovan had shared everything from the petitions, to the skeleton, to the fact that he was now renting a cabin from the family, and even Emily’s invitation to church tonight, his dad said, “Maybe this one you could bring home to meet us?”
“I have to win her first,” Donovan said. “Right now we’re just friends.”
But he didn’t want to be, and he didn’t want to wait until their date on Friday night to wow her.
Chapter Fifteen
The museum had had ten visitors this morning. All at once. They’d oohed and aahed and walked around. One was a movie buff, and Emily had taken him to see what she had left from the Majestic.
Funny, she didn’t see the Majestic as history, not like the Native American artifacts that her family had donated, but it was part of the personal history for many visitors.
“I stayed there in 1963,” the man shared. “I remember meeting a movie star in the dining room. I was so thrilled. I remember telling him he was my favorite.”
“Who was it?”
“Wish I remembered.” After they exited the barn, the man left a hundred-dollar bill in the donation box.
At noon, the last visitor cleared out. Emily checked her emails and fetched the lunch Cook had packed for her. Another perk of living at home.
She’d just taken her first bite when the door opened. She brushed away crumbs that might not be there and hurried to the front desk. Donovan entered the room.
“I,” he announced, “just had the best idea.”
Without waiting for her response, he looked around the front foyer and then went behind the counter and into her office. She followed, protesting, “It’s a mess in here.”
She’d not met a curator who kept a neat office. She had boxes waiting to be filled, inventory waiting to be restocked, as well as a dozen huge books turned to various pages all with vital information about the artifacts in her museum.
He carefully scooted some of the boxes on her worktable aside and laid down a blueprint. It wasn’t like any blueprint she’d seen.
“I worked on this all morning. It was in my mind, and then because Cook asked me to watch the dining room while he took a break—”
“Where’s Elise?” Emily interrupted.
“She went into Phoenix to visit Eva.”
“Oh, she’s getting to see Naomi more than me.” Emily checked her watch. She had six hours to go before she could head for the hospital.
Donovan continued, “I wound up watching Timmy, too. I guess your dad’s on the internet ordering a few things that the baby might need.”
Time to pull dad’s credit card.
“So, now that I know the Hubrecht clan better, I revised my plans a bit.”
He spread the blueprint out, using a giant book to hold one end and an old hammer for the other. He’d added a whole section to the Tinytown she remembered from his first attempt. He won points, too, because some of the drawings were done by Timmy’s hand.
“You’re getting more excited,” she mentioned. She’d seen him this way before, talking about Karl having an underground home and then, too, when he described the tree houses he’d designed.
“I thought I was done,” Donovan said, “when I designed the drive-in movie theater complete with cars, but then... I mentioned this to your father, but wanted to run it by you. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he had misgivings.”
“What about?” She started getting excited, too.
“Instead of just making this small-town America, why don’t we also do a Native American section, the Hopi section, in honor of your family?”
“You’d do that?” she queried. “For me?”
* * *
She looked up, her eyes big, and Donovan realized he’d do just about anything she asked, just to keep those eyes so focused. Yup, he was in trouble.
Take the job. Stay.
“That’s an awesome idea,” she said, oblivious to his thoughts, “but it doesn’t belong at
the Lost Dutchman Ranch.”
“Where does it belong?”
“Here, at my museum. And if you were going to do it, it would take money and time. But, just think of what you could create. The Hopis lived in pueblos made of dried clay and stone. You ever work with that?” While she spoke, she thought about the cost. Then, she thought about the museum in Albuquerque.
He managed not to roll his eyes. He’d built a home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, year before last. Now, if ever there was a city that demanded authenticity, it was Santa Fe.
Her eyes crinkled. He might not have rolled his eyes, but she already—apparently—knew him well enough to know he wanted to.
“Don’t think you’re so smart,” she warned. “It’s not just a single structure. My ancestors occupied what you might consider an apartment building with multiple living areas so that whole families lived together.”
“Not tepees?” This was more than he’d expected, and he fervently wished he’d researched what he was offering before he offered it. Now, he wouldn’t be able to step away from the sight of those big eyes looking at him while her voice complimented him on his awesome idea.
“We don’t have to build to scale,” he cautioned.
She wrinkled her nose. “For the ranch, maybe I have another idea. And I know we don’t have to build to scale.” She hesitated. “Maybe instead of a Hopi section, maybe you could build a hotel.”
“What?”
“You could build me a child-size replica of the Majestic.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, and it would be just the type of cross advertising that could save the museum. Along with the dinosaurs.”
Okay, she was expecting too much. “I don’t do dinosaurs.”
She laughed, standing next to him, leaning in to him, so close he could smell her perfume. It was too much. He touched her shoulder, and she stopped talking about some museum in New Mexico that had a traveling dinosaur museum and looked at him.
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.
“I can’t wait until Friday night,” he said.
“Me, either. We’ll have a good time.”
“No,” he said, “I mean, I can’t wait until Friday night.”
