by Ellen Parker
Deliberately increasing the distance between them, she walked into the kitchen. “We have three windows, a new furnace, and bathroom renovations on the list. Somewhat in that order.”
He nodded and followed at a distance. “Electric?”
“Updated in the late sixties. Probably due for another.”
“It’s hard on a house to be vacant.”
She leaned her buttocks against the counter, braced her hands on the worn laminate, and nodded. The couple admiring narrow board hardwood floors upstairs should be moving in. Unless Sam chickened out. Or they decided they’d be better off living in town. He currently shared a small, modern house on Back Street with his younger brother.
“It deserves a family. Or at least a couple. Plus”—she gestured toward tools and construction debris stashed in the dining room—“we can’t rent it in this condition.”
“Will the three of you hold a lottery for it?”
“Not exactly.” She petted Bailiff. Touching his dog calmed her urge to embrace his master. The first cousin to marry would be given the option to live here. No matter how you looked at it, the house stayed within the family. And dropped off her radar unless an entire string of miracles happened. She still had three years and five months of limbo. Then a few months to tidy up the paperwork before she could confidently tell a suitor she was unencumbered. Anita would have children and Carla a husband by then. “We have it worked out. Follow me, I’ll give you the rest of the downstairs tour.”
* * *
“I’ll have to come back in full daylight to get a better idea of how your outbuildings relate to each other.” Jackson adjusted his pace to stay even with Beth on the return to the new house. The mid-October night was chilly. They’d have a hard frost by morning.
“Are you ever home in daylight these days?” Beth tucked her thumbs into her back pockets.
“This weekend will close out the orchard’s first season. That will give me weekends. Unless Linc comes up with more projects.” He smiled, aware that every day this week, and last, he’d stayed at the office two or more hours after the last client walked out the door. Fridays were the exception. Last week, with the trip to the Twin Cities planned, he’d practically followed the last client out the door. Tonight, he’d stayed only half an hour, tidying up his calendar for Monday. “Next Saturday, after the Harvest Festival parade, do you have an escort?”
“Is that an offer to buy me a bar-b-que chicken dinner?”
“You could look at it that way. I’d prefer to think of it as mingling with my new neighbors with a good friend at my side.” Friend. The word coated his tongue with a sour taste. Three full weeks after the dog show, and she still wouldn’t allow him enough touch for a decent, or indecent, kiss. He paused at the bottom step. “My four-footed companion doesn’t have much experience inside houses. Do you want to risk it?”
“If he misbehaves, we can exile him to the kennel. The boarder pens are empty.”
“Hear that, pal? Mind your manners.”
Bailiff tugged on the leash to follow Anita, Sam, and Steve into the warm, food-scented house.
“That’s my supper you smell. You gobbled yours before we left home, remember?” Jackson said.
Beth held the door and spoke for his dog in a high, mocking tone. “I want another. Kibble was more than five seconds ago. And your meal smells delicious. Lasagna could be my new favorite flavor.”
“Cute. Closer to true than I’d like to admit.”
Conversation stayed general while Beth and Anita put the finishing touches on their supper. Jackson found himself seated between Steve and Beth.
He turned to the younger man and asked, “Which birthday are we celebrating?”
“Eighteen.” Steve scowled at Sam. “Finally get rid of the word ‘guardian’ on everything.”
“I’m still your brother. And Mother will attack from her grave if you don’t graduate high school.”
“Yeah. I got it. Get the diploma.” Steve set two slices of garlic bread on his plate. “But unlike you, Mom would be cool with my going into the Navy the next week.”
“I still think you should do college first. It’s not too late to sign up for ROTC to ease the money crunch,” Sam replied.
Steve glared at his brother. “It’s more than the money. I’d think you’d be glad to get me out of sight. It’s not like I’ve been quiet and docile to live with.”
Jackson listened to the brothers and figured they’d had this exchange so often it was embedded on their lips. Steve wanted to test his wings in the Navy. Sam wanted him to use a different set of talents. Jackson was suddenly grateful to have living parents and not face the situation of having his older sister in charge of his upbringing. No telling where he or Linc would have landed in a situation like Sam and Steve’s.
“I have a request to make. On behalf of the volunteer fire department.” Anita passed the large bowl of salad to her right.
Jackson paused his fork at the edge of his lasagna. “Are you still recruiting?”
“I’m always recruiting.” She smiled at him. “But I was going to say we’re washing the trucks next Friday. We’d really appreciate you not having any fires between then and the Saturday parade.”
“Got it. Be on our best behavior around flame.”
Beth picked up her water glass. “That’s good advice always. Are you willing to tell us what the orchard has planned for your festival entry?”
“Not exactly. Let’s simply say I’ll be wearing an appropriate costume.”
“Hmm. Jackson as an apple. You’ll need a little padding, I think.”
He grinned at her. While she had shared the plans for the 4-H club entry, he’d remained quiet about the plan Linc had come up with for Hilltop Orchard.
After a dessert of pumpkin pie, Jackson leaned back in his chair and uttered a contented sigh. “That was delicious. Every bite.”
“That’s the idea.” Anita collected the final dishes. “We feed you. Lull your senses. Get you to do our bidding.”
Jackson smiled and slid his gaze to Sam. From the banter between the couple over supper, he suspected no food was needed for Sam to follow Anita. A moment later, he sneaked a glance at Beth.
She appeared at ease as she rinsed plates and set them in the dishwasher. His senses around her were the opposite of lulled; they were on full alert. What was her story? The entire one. Including the gap between settling into college and moving to Crystal Springs. It had to be two, maybe close to three, years which she avoided as if they were radioactive.
Chapter Twenty
Sliding several checks and a deposit slip across the counter, Beth greeted the bank teller. “Running any cash specials today?”
“Sorry. That’s only the sixth Friday of the month. This is the fourth.”
“Is that similar to February 31st, the day I promise to have taxes done?”
“Same calendar.” She smiled. “Will I see you at the Zimmer’s tonight?”
“Absolutely. I’m bringing fifty feet of skirting and a staple gun.” Beth made a mental note to add an extra package of staples to the supplies going to the float finishing work party.
“Sounds good. My contribution will be two kids and a bag of letters they’ve been cutting out. Oh, and Jason will be showing off his camera.”
“Excellent. We’ll put him to work as the club historian tonight.” Beth collected her receipt and counted cash back with the teller.
“There you go. Jason will like the historian idea.”
Whoop. The ambulance siren sounded an attention-getting burp as it entered the street and passed the bank.
I wonder… Beth stepped to the front window in time to see the ambulance lights turn in at the lot shared by the bookstore next door and the hardware store beyond.
“One of their shorter runs,” the bank manager said as he hurried out of his office and stepped out the front door.
Beth opened her mouth to comment and closed it without a sound. Never mind that the ambulance
was garaged at the fire station, the building north of the bank. She switched her attention to the sheriff’s department patrol car passing with lights flashing and turning into the same lot as the ambulance.
Determined to obtain a better line of sight without interfering, Beth left the bank, crossed to the tavern, and paused near the end of the bar. “Afternoon, Jack. Quite the entertainment outside.”
“It’s a relief to see it’s not either of the Andersons.” The tavern owner spoke of the elderly, semi-retired couple living above the hardware store.
“Agreed.”
She watched as one of the ambulance crew exited the bookstore’s rear entrance. After disappearing into the vehicle for a moment, he returned with a case of equipment and went back inside. Beth ran a quick mental inventory of the building’s occupants. The store owner, Daryl’s niece, would have been downstairs. She crossed her fingers the patient wasn’t the pleasant young lady. Perhaps an elderly customer had collapsed?
She gave a fleeting thought to the rear upstairs apartment. It was unlikely the woman would be home in the middle of day since she worked full-time at the care center. The front apartment? Beth thought for a moment. Sylvia George, the talkative web designer she’d met at the beauty shop, lived there. From their few brief encounters around town, the petite blonde appeared healthy enough. Looks can be deceiving.
A second patrol car pulled in, and the uniformed officer quickly entered the back of the building.
“Excitement, Crystal Springs version.” Cal, the barber from the shop across the street, entered. “Got my order ready?”
“Still hot if you hurry.” Jack picked up a boxed order from under a heating lamp in the kitchen pass-through.
“I’ll see you gentlemen later.” Beth abandoned viewing the events outside and headed for the tavern office.
“One of us got a promotion,” Cal joked to Jack as she stepped out of sight.
“Temporary, I’m sure.”
Beth smiled as she opened the office. The men debating their status as gentlemen were older than her father. And they both had the sort of wit which endeared them to their patrons.
Three hours later, Beth sighed with relief as she locked the updated ledgers and prepared checks in the desk drawer. One glance at her watch, and she organized her internal task list for the rest of the day. She settled the tote on her shoulder as she locked the office door. The dining room sounded busy, and the fish and beer smell sent her stomach into a rumble. She walked toward the bar to give her verbal report to Jack.
“Heard it was the young woman living upstairs,” an older man told his tablemates.
“Took her direct to Eau Claire. Didn’t bother stopping at the smaller hospital on the way from here to there.”
“Overdose?”
“Her brother found her.” The lone woman at the table put authority in her words.
“Really? I saw him at the café today. Picking up a couple of those box lunches.”
Beth tuned out the busy gossips and signaled Jack to pour her draft root beer. Leaning forward, she managed a semi-private word. “Books are good. Checks to sign in the usual place.”
“Thanks.” He scooped ice into two glasses and added soda. “You ready for the street dance tomorrow night?”
“My mind’s more on the parade. I managed to open my mouth at the wrong time and ended up co-chair for the 4-H float.” She turned away, having taken enough of the bartender’s precious time, and sipped her drink.
The four retirees at a nearby table continued to chat about the events of the early afternoon. One gave the impression he had been in the hardware store during the ambulance visit. The others participated in typical small-town grapevine behavior.
Beth stayed quiet, turning her thoughts to dog chores. She needed to take a close look at Dancer and contact the other kennel. If she read the signs right, the peak breeding days would be Monday and Tuesday.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jackson adjusted the burlap bag over his shoulder and scanned the crowd. The high school athletic field swarmed with activity. One half of the grassy area was devoted to parking, and the portion nearest the building hosted the attractions. The last of the parade units, a horse-drawn float from one of the rural churches, pulled to a halt a dozen yards from the fire truck. Like a magnet drawing steel brads, children and adults approached the team of black draft horses and their driver.
Nope. Jackson turned away from the horses and looked down the row of colorful flags inviting participants to the carnival games. A light breeze stirred the spicy, smoky scent of cooking chicken. His stomach rumbled. He walked past the fire truck, waving to some of the local volunteers as they demonstrated equipment for groups of kids and the adults who traveled in their wake. Then he crossed to the other side of the grassy aisle to avoid the team. Horses made him nervous. And these were larger than most.
Listening to the hum of the crowd, with the occasional punctuation of a shout or laugh, he walked into the parking area, scanning for his favorite auburn-haired lady. Lifting a hand to greet a few locals he knew, he turned between two rows of cars and suddenly veered left toward a girl in the distinctive green-and-white 4-H shirt.
Woof.
“No bark, Tango.”
“Hi,” Jackson directed his words to the girl while presenting his hand to the dog. “Have you seen Beth Cosgrove?”
“She—”
“Right here.” Beth stepped out from the other side of the tan SUV. “Hello, Johnny Appleseed.”
“Drat. You guessed my character.” He exaggerated mock surprise. His attention quickly went to her face, then figure, admiring the way she shaped a bright green sweatshirt and jeans.
“It’s the hat,” the girl interjected. “Not many people wear a dented saucepan.”
He snapped back into his present surroundings and reached into his sack. “Did you get a magnet?” He handed an apple-shaped red magnet with the Hilltop Orchard’s information to the girl and extended another to Beth. “Saved one for you.”
She accepted it with a smile.
Jackson grinned back, uncertain if her happy face was meant for him or the girl-and-shepherd pair. “Your entry looked good before we stepped off. Is it parked at the far end?”
“My brother’s driving it home. Dad’s fussy about getting the wagon off the road before sunset,” the girl spoke quickly, then glanced toward Beth as if apologizing.
Jackson glanced between them and realized they’d skipped introductions. “Ahhh. Do you remember me? From the dog trials?”
“The judge. Mr.… Mr.…”
“Dray. And you’re the foster trainer for this fine gray shepherd.”
“My name’s Amber. We’re waiting for Mother to bring the take-out meals.”
Beth cleared her throat. “Tango has good manners, but is not to be trusted too close to cooking chicken.”
“Want to know something?” He idly scratched the dog behind the ears. “It’s best not to trust me around bar-b-que either. Especially when served with a side of slaw. Or applesauce.”
“You’re in the right place.”
“Willing to join me, Beth? I’ll ditch the costume and even add an offer of ice cream for dessert.”
“Bad timing.”
“How so?” The only snag he could see in his plan was the length of the line. But he might be able to turn that to his advantage.
“Chores.”
Glancing at the worn overalls and unlaced boots of his costume, he flipped her excuse into an opportunity. “I’ll help. Then we can return for dinner, dancing, and whatever else happens after dark in Crystal Springs.”
“That would be drinking.” Beth’s face turned bright between the freckles.
And… A shepherd nudging his hand, reminded him of their audience. “You’ll get to boss me. I’ll even give you a ride. I’m parked in the next row, a few cars down.”
She stood still, teeth pressed against her bottom lip, and looked beyond him. He turned to see what was so fascinat
ing but noticed only strangers to him, all walking between the different attractions.
A moment later, Mrs. Zimmer arrived with four carry-out dinners. During the necessary introductions and minutes of small talk, Jackson checked Beth’s expression for hints to her eventual response.
Patience rewarded.
A short time later, Jackson parked at Big Cat Farm. He went around and opened the passenger door for Beth while staying aware of the single shepherd pacing on the lawn. “Only one greeter today?”
“That’s the way it happens around here. Lottie’s with her puppies. Dancer’s in isolation.”
He tipped his head to emphasize his next word. “Ill?”
“Signs of going into season.” She slipped past him to the basement door. “You may as well come inside while I change into farm clothes. It won’t take long.”
Questions piled up behind his lips. “If it’s okay with Greta”—he pulled boot laces out of his pocket—“I’ll wait out here.”
A few minutes later, Jackson winced as a hen pecked at his hand. Touchy creatures. They don’t realize I’m in training for this job. He added another egg to the basket.
“Don’t forget to check the back corner,” Beth instructed as she added fresh water to one of the several dispensers.
He eyed the corner she indicated. After a cleansing breath for courage, he squatted and duck-walked under the roosting area. Decent light. The only thing he hated more than crawling into small spaces was crawling into dark ones. Way in the back he found it, a depression scratched out in the corn cob litter and guarded by a sharp-eyed hen.
“Nice bird. I come in peace.” To steal. “Won’t take but a moment.”
Squaaaaak. The hen flapped her wings, leaping up and over Jackson’s hand holding the basket.
