“Like I said. My pleasure. Now, I have to wrap this in blankets and let it cool, but the big part’s done. I’ll check it later.”
“Where…? Who taught you how to weld?”
“Would you believe I learned how in college? I had to for an art class I was taking. It was…I don’t know. I did it that semester, and I was hooked.” She busied herself with wrapping the blankets around the part. “I thought my mom would stroke out when I told her I’d changed my major to art. She and Dad had sent me to college so I could get a degree in accounting and come back to join the family real estate business. Mom told me if all I wanted to do was learn how to weld, she could have sent me to a technical school and not wasted the money.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s my mom. She worries, that’s all. It’s not a normal week if she doesn’t e-mail me at least three jobs she’s found for me on some career site.”
“But you could make good money welding. So why do they worry?”
Penelope chuckled, then closed the flap on the last blanket and turned to clear her workspace before answering. “I guess they can’t bear to see their only daughter in the rough-and-tumble world of construction. They’ve been in real estate so long they have a taste of what that’s like. And really, welding just to weld doesn’t turn me on.”
“What does—” Brandon cleared his throat “—turn you on?”
“Seeing something bigger than me—both in physical size and metaphoric meaning—come to life and know that I had something to do with it. Seeing an idea of mine that was once on paper become real. Don’t you feel the same way about farming?” She stared at him.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you go out there at the butt crack of dawn, presumably after a full night’s work of being a deputy, and you molly-coddle that dirt. And then you plant seeds and you wait and wait for something to come up. But when it’s harvest time, don’t you feel proud of the work you’ve put in? That you had a hand in making it a reality?”
“Hmm. You put it that way…” Brandon raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. “Yeah. I do. I feel damned lucky, though, because sometimes I feel as though I’ve succeeded in spite of everything.”
“Oh, I know about that!” Penelope tossed him a push broom. “Here, sweep up that slag over there, will you?”
He started pushing the debris into a pile.
Penelope thought about her mother’s repeated pleas for her to sell out and come home, about her dad’s continuous refrain that she’d never be able to pay the house off. “The worst part is that sometimes…” She closed the box of welding rods and shut the storage cabinet doors. “Sometimes I think they’re happy when I fail, you know? Sometimes I believe they don’t want me to make it.”
Brandon didn’t reply at first. She looked over to see if he’d heard her and realized he was pushing his broom over an already clean part of the floor.
“Crazy, huh?” She laughed. “I tend to get morose when I get three no-thank-yous in one day. But it will happen.”
“You mean three no-thank-yous on your project? In one day?”
“Part of the deal. You grow a thick skin. And sculpting is even worse than other media. But I know—I believe, anyway—if I can just get that first big break, I can make a living off it. I won’t be rich. But I’ll be doing what I want to do, and I don’t need much more than that to make me happy.”
“If you can’t make a go of it welding for art, you’ve got a future in construction somewhere,” Brandon told her. “You won’t starve, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you. I wasn’t exaggerating about you saving me a week. And I’ve been a real…you haven’t, uh, caught me at my best today. So I guess I should be doubly grateful that you helped me out. Are you sure I can’t pay you?”
“For what?” She took off her welding apron and reached to put it on its hook. Everything had its place—a place she’d picked out, that she’d decided on—and that pleased her.
“Shuman sure would have soaked me. I could pay you what I would have paid him.”
For a moment, Penelope was tempted. But then she swept her eyes around her studio and the new home Brandon had made for her equipment. She shook her head. “The welding rods cost maybe two bucks. And my time, that’s on the house. But if you really want to pay me back, pass the word to your farming buddies that I’m hanging out my shingle as a welder.”
“Well, if you’re sure—”
Just then, Penelope heard a noise outside the barn.
“Penny-girl! You here?”
BRANDON’S GUT TWISTED at the sound of Murphy’s voice. For a moment, he froze, trying to deal with the sour taste in his mouth.
For her part, Penelope looked…Well, not happy, that was for sure.
“Let me,” she said, and gestured with an awkward hand toward the open door.
“By all means,” Brandon replied, not caring that his tone was acid.
But as she moved for the door, Murphy barreled in. “Penny-girl, looked for you in the house and waited there for the longest, but you—”
“Grandpa Murphy, please don’t—it bothers me that you just walk right in my house when I’m not there.”
Murphy wasn’t paying the slightest attention to Penelope. His gaze had locked on Brandon.
“What’s he doing here?” Murphy snapped.
“Hey, it’s a free country.” Brandon forced himself to lean back against the wall of the barn. “And this isn’t your land anymore. Not to say it ever was. So I don’t need your permission to come here.”
“She’s my granddaughter, you son of—”
“Grandpa! Brandon!” Penelope inserted herself between the two of them. “Grandpa, I’m doing some welding for Brandon. Brandon, please remember that you’re speaking to my grandfather. If you wouldn’t speak to me that way, then don’t to my grandfather.”
“You’d better get your money from him up front,” Murphy warned her. “That Wilkes bunch has a reputation for being deadbeats. Just ask the county.”
Brandon leaped forward and would have punched Murphy if Penelope hadn’t been standing between them. “We pay our bills. We just don’t think it’s right when we’re told to pay them a second time. And at least my family doesn’t have a reputation for being crooks and would-be murderers.”
“Whoa! Brandon!” Penelope put a hand to his chest and pushed him back.
Murphy made a move to shove her aside. “I’m no murderer!”
“Grandpa!” Penelope stumbled from her grandfather’s push, and Brandon reached out to steady her.
“Take your hands off my granddaughter!”
Penelope looked down at Brandon’s hand on her arm. He took in her wide eyes, her heaving breath. “Brandon, Brandon, you’d better leave if you’re going to make such wild accusations.”
Brandon dropped his hand in disgust. “Wild accusations? About a man who left Ryan MacIntosh’s grandfather to die of a heart attack in a field? What? He didn’t tell you about that?”
For a moment, Brandon thought he’d reached her. She put her fingers to her mouth and turned to Murphy.
“Tell her, Murphy! Tell her what happened that day!”
“You don’t know anything! You’ll believe that farmhand’s cock-and-bull story? You want to, don’t you? You want to believe that about me because it’s a hell of a lot easier to hate me.” Murphy put his hands on Penelope’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Penny-girl, honey, he’s filling your head with nonsense. He’s trying to confuse you! Of course I didn’t leave MacIntosh to die. I wasn’t even there. Why would I do something like that? How could you even think that?”
When Penelope turned back to Brandon, her eyes were dark with anger. “Leave. Now.”
“Penelope, you have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Brandon. Tell me, who would you believe? Me? Or your uncle Jake?” A cold smile touched her lips. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. So don’t tell me I
have to believe anything you say about Grandpa.”
For a moment, Brandon wanted to press his argument. Having Penelope not believe him ripped something inside him.
But then an icy-hot fury filled him. “Fine. You want it that way? That’s fine by me.”
With that, he stalked past Murphy and left without so much as a backward glance.
PENELOPE SANK onto a stool at one of her workbenches and dropped her face into her hands.
“Well, that’s good riddance to bad rubbish,” Grandpa Murphy pronounced. “I told you not to let him hang around. What’s he been telling you about me, anyway?”
“Nothing, Grandpa. Nothing. What did you need?”
“I can’t come by and see you just because I want to?”
She looked up at the hurt in his voice. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Good thing I did come by. Tells you what kind of sheriff’s department we have here, them letting the likes of him carry a badge.” Grandpa yanked out a stool across from Penelope. “You mark my words, Penny-girl, he’s not any sort you need to have. You need something, you come to me. I’ve still got a few friends in this town. No thanks, I might add, to Brandon Wilkes.”
Her heart rate began to settle, leaving a pounding headache in its wake. “What was he talking about? About you leaving someone to die?”
Grandpa Murphy spit in disgust.
Penelope stood and crossed the room to him. “Why would anyone say something like that? Where did he get the idea that you would do something like that?”
“How the hell should I know? He hates me. He’s hated me from the day I bought his uncle’s land. I try to help out a man. I’m there with ready cash and give him enough to get out of a bind—of his own making, mind you—and what thanks do I get? A promise from Brandon Wilkes that I’d live to regret it. And I sure have. It’s because of Ryan MacIntosh and him that the government thinks I was involved in trying to defraud my crop insurance. There’s no telling what they’ve said to the FBI, and now the feds are breathing down my neck, threatening to put me behind bars. If I had it to do over again…”
“You couldn’t know, Grandpa. How could you know?”
“You’re right. But buying this land, trying to help that ingrate Jake Wilkes, was the worst mistake I ever made.”
Penelope patted him on the arm. “Not the worst. It brought me here, didn’t it?”
He winked. “Got that right, sugar. And we’ll make lemonade out of this old lemon yet.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“PRENTICE…Prentice, you can’t…” Brandon swapped his PB&J for his cell phone and leaned back against the poplar. A breeze ruffled his hair, welcome after the morning he’d had.
I should never have given him that toy badge.
“You said I was a real, live deputy, Brandon! I’s just helping out, is all. They was shoplifting. They was going to take that steak, and you know how expensive steak is.”
Brandon hadn’t had steak in so long that the mention of it made his mouth water. The PB&J he was eating turned to cardboard in his mouth. A steak, with all the trimmings, and Penelope smiling across from him…
He’d steered clear of her since the altercation with Murphy. It hadn’t been that difficult, actually. Penelope had left the repaired part on her back step, complete with an invoice with a balance of zero.
Since then, the only time he’d seen her was from a distance, spying on him.
Although he wasn’t sure if she’d seen that he’d started taking down, post by post, the fence Murphy had put up. Well, correct that, Murphy’s workers. Murphy wouldn’t know hard work if it bit him on the butt.
“Well, Prentice, you’re a deputy in training. And even a shoplifter could have been dangerous. I know you saw them, but next time tell the manager before you go tackling a customer in the frozen food aisle. Okay? Promise?”
Prentice grumbled but finally conceded that he would follow Brandon’s advice.
“Just until I get trained. But when I get a gun, Brandon, I’ll be ready, won’t I?”
God forbid. “You concentrate on getting in shape. How about I help you set up an obstacle course this weekend?” He really didn’t need to be babysitting Prentice.
Was this God’s way of telling Brandon he shouldn’t be tearing down somebody else’s fence? He didn’t need to be indulging in revenge. He needed to get his uncle’s winter wheat in the ground and then turn his attention to those strawberry plants he’d ordered.
He stared at the hateful fence, and inspiration struck. “Hey, I’ve got a better idea, one that will get you in shape and give you spending money. How would you like to help me finish tearing down a fence and plant some strawberries this weekend?”
Should he involve Prentice in this? Should he be taking the fence down at all?
Adverse possession. It’s the only way you’ll ever get this land back.
He squelched his conscience by reminding himself of Penelope’s ice-cool reaction to the idea that her precious Grandpa Murphy could ever have harmed anyone. She’d never bend on this. No, the fence was coming down.
Brandon would pay Prentice a fair wage, and it would keep him out of trouble. Prentice was a natural at destroying things, so the fence should be right up his alley. With Prentice’s help, that fence would be down in half the time it would take by himself.
That means Penelope might not notice it gone in time to do anything.
He forestalled Prentice’s solemn oaths that he would work harder than a Transformer superhero robot. “Hey, no problem, Prentice, but I’ve gotta go. I have this day off and then the weekend, and I’ve got to make the most of it.”
With Prentice’s goodbyes echoing in his ears, he flipped shut the cell phone, crumpled up the plastic sandwich bag and tucked it in the cab of his truck.
He’d nearly reached the end of the branch separating the two parcels of land, where the copse of woods ended and the open field began. Part of the reason he’d made such progress tearing down the fence was that Murphy’s workers had done a sorry job of putting it up to begin with. Half the posts it should have had, and half the wire fasteners.
Sean Courtland, the FBI agent, gave him confidence that as long as Brandon had permission, even verbal permission, to use the land, his claim of adverse possession wouldn’t hold up in court.
He yanked on the metal fence post, feeling it struggle against the hold of the ground. But then it gave way and he tossed it onto the growing pile. These and the fence wire Brandon would return to Penelope. He wasn’t a thief.
Just a trespasser.
Brandon paused for a rest, trying to sort out his emotions. All Penelope had to do was sell him the land back—at a loss to her, sure—and promise none of the money would go to Murphy. Brandon could live with that. That would settle things up.
Or would it? It’s not enough, is it? You want her to admit what a bastard Murphy is.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he reached for it to see it was the sheriff’s department. Swearing, he answered it.
“Hey, got a call from that girl out by your Uncle Jake’s. She’s not happy,” Wade told him.
“What now?”
“Something about you conspiring to drive her crazy?”
“I haven’t talked to her in two days, no, make that three.”
“She’s on the phone now, and she wants to talk to you, pronto. Something about porcine trespass. What is porcine trespass anyway?”
Trespass. So it is the fence. Brandon’s heart sank. “Can you patch her through?”
“It would be my privilege, buddy, just to get this problem off my plate and onto yours.”
A few crackles and missed cues later, Wade said, “Ma’am? You can go ahead now.”
“Penelope?” Brandon prompted when he didn’t hear anything. “Penelope, are you—”
“I’m nose to nose with a hog,” she said.
“What?”
“A big white hog with a black stripe around its neck. Ring any bells?
It’s in my yard. And I think it wants to come in the house.”
“SHOO.” Penelope closed her cell phone and slid it into her pocket. “Shoo.” She waved a stick at the hog, which didn’t seem disconcerted in the least by it.
The hog advanced a step or two, and Penelope retreated. Was there such a thing as stampeding swine? No point in taking chances. She eased up her back steps.
Leave it to Brandon to tell her to keep an eye on the thing. He had no compunction whatsoever about expecting her to tackle jobs she had no clue how to do.
Like pig-sit.
“Don’t even think about it,” she told the hog as it nosed toward her. “Brandon said he was coming. Any minute now, he’ll pull up and you’ll be heading back to your pen.”
Her cell phone buzzed, which seemed to interest the hog, and it closed the gap between them by one more delicate step. Penelope was running out of porch steps, and fast.
“Brandon?” she said into the phone, not bothering to check the caller ID. “You’d better come get this hog, and I mean now.”
“Hog? My sister is tending swine? Talk about the prodigal son—uh, daughter.”
“Trent.” A heaviness that had nothing to do with her present predicament settled over her. Other people had normal relationships with their brothers, but she had never escaped the weight of comparison her parents dumped on her. Maybe if she’d once come up on the winning side of that competition her parents forced her into with her older brother.
“So you’re really keeping pigs company down there in Alabama?”
“Georgia. It’s Georgia.”
“I knew that. Listen, I have news.”
“Uh-huh?” She kept a vigilant eye on the hog as it snuffled in her petunias. Well, that was five bucks wasted, she thought, as the pig nibbled at the purple blossoms.
“I’m getting married.”
“What?”
“Yep. Jill and I are tying the knot.”
Jill: tall, willowy, very blond. Come to think of it, a carbon copy of all the women Trent dated.
Not on Her Own Page 10
