by LoRee Peery
“You look mighty fantastic riding in my truck.”
She slid him the widest smile since she’d come back in his life again. “Your compliments make me feel fine.”
“Do you still have oyster stew at your mom’s on Christmas Eve?”
“Yes we do. Tradition, you know. I’ve tried to make it for myself, but Mom’s is so much better. You made such a face at your first taste. Remember how we teased you?”
“I do. Then Ken told me not to chew, just swallow. I haven’t had a bowl since. Turkey and ham on Christmas Day are still my favorites.”
From the radio speakers, Elvis blared a song about blue suede shoes.
Sloan made a goofy face and pointed at her feet.
They laughed and rocked the cab.
“Where in the world did you pick up that station?” Dahlia danced to the rhythm with her shoulders and tapped her boots, her knees rising and falling and jigging within the seat belt restraint.
Sloan clasped her hand within his at the end of the song. He created circles wherever his thumb could roam.
Her finger jerked.
Finally, a reaction.
“Does your dad still drive a truck out to the coast?” she asked.
“He did when they lived near me, but no more long-distance now. They were in Lincoln when we first came back to the state, but they live in Waverly now. Dad works between Lincoln and Omaha and gets home early to be with Mom in the afternoons.”
“And what does she do? Still teach?”
“Retired. Substitutes a little, since she has trouble with her back.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. Mom used to blow me away with her strength, but she inherited some genetic back issues. She’s still a godly influence, though, talks about the Lord wherever she goes.”
“Like mother, like son.”
“You once talked about the Lord like it came second nature. That’s how I remember you. Church activities came first in your life.”
She responded by turning her head away.
“What happened to change that? You used to put Jesus before me, before any friends. Are you really so hard-hearted?”
She pulled her hand from his, folded both in her lap.
“That’s a closet full of questions. Guess I grew up. After we went our separate ways, my plans changed.” She stared out the side window. “It’s too complicated to go into now. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to start. The Blue Dahlia has been front and center in my life for quite a while now.”
“I’m sorry if you placed hope in me that I wasn’t able to fulfill. Without the track scholarship I wouldn’t have been able to go to college.”
Dahlia hid her thoughts. I should have realized the forever you promised after college was just happy talk. “You can’t take that on your shoulders, Sloan. It was my unrealistic childish dreams. I could have tried harder to make friends with the girls at school, but I remained an outsider. Doesn’t matter now. Look how far I’ve come. Life really hasn’t hurt either of us.”
“But those other kids weren’t that important to you. You were so in love with Jesus. I didn’t know Him and was even a little jealous of your time. I didn’t have a clue how to compete with God. And you had no idea my struggle with being in love with you. But you loved Him first.”
“You’re right. Jesus first. Then Grandma and you and the rest of my family.” She squirmed and looked at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Tell me what matters to you. You can see my dilemma. If you’d been in love with another guy, I would have known what to do.”
“What would you have done?”
“Punched his lights out.” But he said it with a teasing grin that made her laugh.
“How ironic. And now the tables are turned. You love Jesus. I don’t know if I can find my way back to Jesus.”
“You’re a mature, successful business woman. Of course, you should be able to make things right. Ask God to help. Dust off your Bible.”
He shot her a look that he hoped didn’t reveal his disappointment in her unwillingness to trust him.
She had once spilled on him as though she was writing in a diary. Girls had been jealous before they started dating. Boys were in awe of him for getting her to look at him twice.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, realized his action, and turned to a radio station that played nothing but Christmas music.
“I’ve never seen that before,” Dahlia said, twisting around to stare over her shoulder.
“Never seen what?”
“A pair of red-tailed hawks on the same branch. Only one is facing the ditch and the other is searching the field.”
“That is one for the books. They usually hunt solo. Has to be an analogy in there somewhere.”
“I’ll come up with one and tell you later.”
Birds of prey facing opposite directions flew from his vision. Soon there wasn’t a tree in sight, only cornstalks and rough rows of earth waiting for spring. His tapping fingers formed a fist he dropped against his thigh.
“I know growing corn is your family’s livelihood, but I can’t help but think the producers will regret wiping out so many trees. What if a drought strikes?”
“I know. Dad took out the fences so he could plant almost to the road. I gave him such a bad time about being greedy.”
Water towers on the distant horizon still marked a couple small towns. He rubbed two fingers over the back of his head. “Have to admit, nothing looks recognizable to me.”
“I hear you. The roads home were once so familiar I could have navigated them in my sleep. But the landmarks have changed. Tree lines are few and far between. And there are more sporadic groups of acreages.” Dahlia’s shoulders drooped and she sighed.
He suspected she didn’t allow herself to let loose much.
She alternated her gaze between the windshield and the passenger windows.
All he saw was more corn stubble and field dirt.
“How many acres do your dad and brother farm now?”
“I think around a couple thousand, five times what Dad used to farm by himself. But Ken has put the operation into the twenty-first century.”
“I suppose with the increased demand for grain world-wide, cattle are left to be raised in the huge feedlots.”
“That’s right. Some operators are raising organic beef where there are still a lot of pastures in the state. But even Ken turned over an alfalfa field this fall. They’ll have more corn come spring. And the price of land keeps climbing.”
“I see a turn that looks familiar.”
The dirt road they traversed was narrow with deeply rutted, sunken washouts for ditches.
Sloan drove smack in the middle of the road to avoid the tire trenches.
But the earth was soft enough dust clouds mushroomed around the tires. The dirt road engulfed them in memories. It was a favored spot to stop and share kisses on the way from weekend dates to her home.
Sloan reached over and squeezed Dahlia’s icy hand.
She had to be remembering. A sob escaped her throat and pierced his heart.
He waited for a solid turn into a field and slowed the pickup to a stop. In controlled motions, he turned the key and unlatched the seat belt.
Dahlia released her buckle and turned into his arms. She clung to him until her arms softened around his ribs.
He kissed the top of her exotic smelling head, lifted her chin until their gazes connected. Eyes wide open, the fire inside vibrated like the hum of old electrical wires. He read the answering heat in her expression and moved in for a kiss that ignited.
Dahlia’s kiss tasted of forever.
He drew back.
No chance of forever unless she was right with the Lord.
7
Dahlia’s hands trembled and her heart raced when she reconnected her seat belt. She relived the promises Sloan made with his intense look before their lips met. The intoxicating kiss had her eyes glazed over the
rest of the way to her parents’ home.
They didn’t speak again until they were inside the farmhouse that only resembled the one in which she’d grown up.
Dahlia hugged her petite mom while Sloan shook hands with her father.
“Ron, good to see you, sir. Pat, you’re as pretty as ever,” Sloan greeted.
Standing back in the expansive great room, Dahlia pushed anxiety away. She questioned the rush of her reaction to such a powerful kiss until her gaze collided with Sloan’s. And she felt scorched all over again.
Get it together. We’re here for Ken.
“What a surprise to see you again,” her father commented, looking from Dahlia to Sloan.
“Surprise, indeed. How did you find each other after all this time?” her mother asked. She turned to Dahlia. “Why didn’t you let me know?”
“No time Mom, with prepping for Christmas rush and all. Can you believe he just walked into the boutique? We decided late last night to come out together to see Ken. Where is he?”
“My recliner,” her dad answered.
Sloan thumped her handsome, tall, and lean father on the back. He stepped to Dahlia’s mother and placed an arm around her, and then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
Her parents were great people. She’d always thought they looked cute together.
Judging by her mother’s blush, Dahlia guessed her mom felt embarrassed over having a charming man like Sloan touch the little bit of extra flesh above her waistline.
“I expected you much earlier, dear,” her mom said, leading them to the den-slash-TV room. “I may be pressed for time to change those decorations in town.”
“We were delayed,” Dahlia said, exchanging glances with Sloan, “because we stopped for old-time’s sake.” Dahlia knew her cheeks were the color of her mom’s a few minutes ago.
“Hey, sis. Bet I know just the spot you checked out. Carrie and I did our share of spoonin’ off that dirt road. And Sloan Letheby, I’ll be. You still look like a runner, only with muscle. Do you know my wife, Carrie?”
Sloan ignored Ken’s question.
Dahlia figured he would have offered a hand, but Ken’s were wrapped in gauze.
Sloan teased, “You still look like a farmer, even with a white forehead in the middle of winter.”
Ken slumped back down, wincing in obvious pain, but grinning at his old friend.
Dahlia didn’t know where to touch her brother.
Ken looked like a swollen red and blue piece of over-ripe fruit.
She settled for a kiss on the cheek. She knelt between the ottoman where Carrie sat, and Ken’s chair.
Ken focused on Sloan. “What brings you to our neck of the cornfield?”
“Good to see you again, man. I was with Dahlia when she heard about your accident. Glad you’re all right.”
Dahlia said to Ken, “Tell me how this happened to you.”
Ken scowled, but began his tale. “I wasn’t proactive. What else can you expect from a guy who attended a discount college for substitute knowledge?”
No one responded with laughter at Ken’s joke referring to community college.
“You can’t possibly blame yourself, dear.” Their mother had moved close enough to pat Ken’s shoulder.
“All right, but quit hovering above me, people. Sit, please.”
Dahlia retreated to the corner of the couch facing Ken and drew her feet underneath her.
“I’ll call it surreal, you know. Happened so quick.” Ken cleared his throat, gaze lowered to his knees.
“That’s how accidents happen.” Sloan interjected, catching Dahlia’s eye, and giving the slightest headshake. Enough to tell her they wouldn’t mention any part of a plot.
“I don’t remember anything except for feeling in a hurry,” Ken continued. “You know farmers, especially if we’re out there for hours, forgetting to eat and drink on time. I usually check my own equipment. I’d gone over the fertilizer provider tanks. The safety valve checked out. That heavy metal protects the pressure.” Ken drew a shaky breath.
Mom unscrewed the cap on a bottle of water and handed it to him.
“I’d run the first ammonia tank to almost empty and unhooked it near the road. Pulled the second one round through the edge of last year’s cornfield and onto the rougher one, the old alfalfa field. I was in a hurry, sped up to two miles per hour faster than safe. I was thinking, ‘gotta get the job done,’ unfocused. Took the turn in the field, halfway to the road. Boom! Woke up in the hospital.”
Her father picked up the telling. “The tractor kept its momentum towards the road, where the front-end dropped, and came to rest. Curt Behrens, from up the road, heard the explosion and called 9-1-1. The fire inspector figures the vibration over the rough field worked to sever the applicator hose. Once loose, well, that’s all she wrote.”
“Where’s the applicator hose again?” Dahlia asked.
“Its rear mounted, behind the tractor cab,” her dad answered.
“That’s what I didn’t check,” Ken sounded agitated. “The rubber and steel hose is made to withstand high pressure. But it’s my job to see that it’s mounted securely for strength and safety.”
“No more technical talk and beating up on yourself, now.” Carrie stood. “I’ll get you a fresh ice pack.”
Mom said from the doorway, “Dahlia, I have some sour cream raisin pie and coffee ready. Let’s feed these men.”
Once in the kitchen, Dahlia had to bite her tongue to keep from drilling her mother for any details about noticing strange men around the place. Could Rusty Ewing have pulled off such a feat? Had anyone searched the field or what was left of the tractor for evidence?
She shuddered, so thankful Sloan hadn’t insisted on seeing the green behemoth of a tractor for himself. If anything remained.
Sloan entered the room. Could he read his name on her mind? “That pie looks awesome, Pat. Dahlia, how about we leave as soon as we eat? You said you have a big day tomorrow so you should take it easy tonight.”
“Sorry to eat and run, Mom, but—”
“Oh, I thought you’d tag along while I replace those antiquated decorations along Main Street in Willow.”
“Oops. I did say I’d help. Hey, Sloan, we can use some manly muscle. Are you good atop a ladder?”
“Don’t know what I’m in for, but I’m game.”
Dahlia’s mom kissed her dad and said, “My SUV is loaded, follow me.”
As soon as the pickup door was shut, Dahlia asked, “Do you think Ken’s accident was on purpose?”
“We may never know because it blew up, but I imagine someone could have used a sharp knife and cut partway through the connector. From what Ken said, the stress point of the hose is close behind the tractor cab. That rough ground would have vibrated and worked the connection loose, making the ammonia exposed to heat friction. If the hose was bent to the point of breaking at the turn Ken made in the field. Boom.”
“Well, thanks for the graphic picture.”
He started the motor and pulled onto the road. “The point is the Lord spared Ken. Remember, the cab and his clothing kept him from getting killed.”
This time.
****
“Check that out,” Dahlia said, pointing to a faded scarecrow on one lawn next to an artificial poinsettia spray on the next stoop.
They were still laughing when Sloan turned from the bank corner onto Willow’s Main Street.
“Only in America,” he said, rambling off the stores as they passed. “Coffee shop.”
“Gilded with gold garland.” Dahlia picked up on an old game when they both fired comments about the scenery.
“Garage.” Sloan took his turn, and then they bantered back and forth.
“Decked out with a deer mount flashing red bulbs.”
“Boarded over theater windows. That’s too bad. The same attorneys or their sons?”
“One the same, two sons.”
“Village utilities.”
“Spray painted
snowy window.”
“Beauty shop with an aluminum tree, are you kidding me?”
“Complete with color wheel.”
“Time seems to have stopped here sometime before we were born. I guess because it was dark the other night, I never paid any attention.” Sloan’s assessment ended their commentary.
By this time Dahlia was laughing so hard her stomach hurt. “Mom agrees. Look up. The ugly things were hooked up on Black Friday. The Monday after Thanksgiving, Mom went to a town council meeting and planned a quick pancake feed to make some modern changes.”
She sneered at the faded red and green bells slanting off the street posts.
Piped music from the hardware store played carols in the fresh air. At least that tradition was a timeless comfort as “Silent Night” greeted their exit from the pickup.
Her mom waved from across the street. “Are you ready to redecorate this downtown? Main Street won’t know what hit. Sloan, here’s the ladder. Oh, and there’s Carrie. She can hold the trash liner open while you drop those plastic monstrosities in. Dahlia, once the bell is down, hand these pine wreaths up to Sloan. I’ll leave the strings of colored lights at the coffee shop for the volunteer firemen to stretch across the street tomorrow.”
“Joy to the World” played in the background and gave them energy.
They all cracked up when Carrie, Sloan, and Dahlia clicked their heels and saluted.
“Mom, the red velvet bows are beautiful.”
“Thanks, did every single one myself.”
An hour and a half later, the trash bags tilted behind Sloan’s pickup cab. They’d dump them in the dumpster behind the grocery store on the way out of town.
“Syd’s Coffee Shop, my treat.”
“Sounds terrific, Mom. Thanks.”
“Oh, no. Thanks to the three of you.”
They placed their orders and Carrie and Mom went to the ladies’ room.
Dahlia caught Sloan looking out the window. “What’s wrong?”
“Thought I caught a glimpse of Rusty Ewing swinging into Hickman’s. Sure hope he didn’t see Carrie having a good time with us.”
“Under normal circumstances Carrie would have never opened up to a man like Rusty. She was unhappy when they met. She took the job so she wasn’t wandering around the house getting sadder. But things are better now that she’s working with me.”
