“So?” prodded Cat.
“So, Chet’s pretty great.” She could admit that much to Cat. What she was having a hard time denying was the way little zings went through her when she’d touched his arm.
“Oh yeah?” Cat was trying not to look too interested in the conversation, but Mercedes knew she was dying for some girl talk. All they’d really discussed since moving in was room dimensions and paint colors.
“He’s got these muscles.” Once she started, the thoughts just poured out. “I doubt he drinks protein shakes or counts carbs or any of that junk. He’s strong because he earned it.”
Cat grinned. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“Nope, that’s a great thing. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but compare him to Jeremey. Jeremey would never have eaten a cookie. He would have told me to watch my figure because if I stopped watching it so would he.” Mercedes looked down and traced the edge of the counter with her thumbnail.
Cat set her cup down in the chipped sink and put her arm around Mercedes’s shoulders. “Chet’s not Jeremey … That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Mercy dropped her face into her hands. “It’s also a problem. How am I supposed to swear off gorgeous men when the good Lord planted me next door to a guy like Chet?”
Cat paused before speaking. “When Grandpa told us about this idea, you were ready to leave the next day. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so thrilled. You told me I needed to have faith about this move—remember? You also said you thought this was a chance for you to get away from Jeremey. What if the Lord wasn’t trying to get you away from someone, but bring you closer to someone?”
The idea was new, and Mercedes felt the need to ponder it. Although, by the way her heart pounded when she was close to Chet, her heart was in line with the Lord’s will, it was her head that needed to get on board. She needed a chance to wrap her brain around an idea that felt much bigger than just her.
Chapter 9
Chet enjoyed the Sunday service. Once a month, the youth pastor, Pastor James, took over Sunday services and gave Pastor John a break. James was a good guy. He didn’t look much like Pastor John, but he had an honest delivery in his sermons that quickly won over the Bauer family.
Driving home, Chet eyed Mercedes’s place. The egg car was out front, but there wasn’t any movement.
He scratched his cheek. He should have invited the ladies to church like Whitney had said. Whitney was so good about stuff like that. She was constantly taking dinner to a new mom or a sick friend. Her bread was known all over town as comfort food. David was the same way. He was always bringing home what their dad called “strays.” People who had lost their way and needed some help. Not that Mercedes or Cat had lost their way.
Chet frowned. They could have lost their way and he wouldn’t know it. But he doubted it. Mercedes had the light. She practically glowed.
Hanging his keys on the hook by the garage door, Chet sighed. It was time to pull out the balance sheet. He’d put it off as long as he could, but this was the last week of the month and if he didn’t figure out how he was going to make the next payment, no one would.
Chet had turned his childhood bedroom into a home office. It wasn’t anything fancy. The room was clean, organized, and in need of a new coat of paint. The elementary school had been throwing out a few old teacher’s desks, and he’d taken one of those as well as a filing cabinet that had as many nicks and dents as his truck. But it all still worked and that was good enough for him.
The computer booted up with a whirl, and soon Chet logged into his accounting software. He took his time opening the bills that had piled up. He tried to avoid opening them until he could get an idea of the whole financial picture.
The vet bill for that steer was bigger than he’d thought. They’d had to sedate the animal. That was only sixty bucks, but the charge for an after-hours visit was steep. The propane company had filled his tank, too. He’d told them to when the price dropped below two dollars a gallon, but he didn’t remember seeing their truck come through. Between the vet bill and the propane, his savings dried up. He had one last paycheck from the school that would cover his mortgage and electricity. After that, his account was as dry as his great-grandfather’s well out back.
Chet looked up to the heavens beseechingly. “You have any grand ideas?”
The heavens were silent. Chet stood, stretched, and went to change out of his church clothes.
The phone rang, and he hurried to the kitchen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Chet.”
“Hi, Mom. Where are you guys?”
“Maine—you wouldn’t believe the lighthouses. They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”
Chet switched the phone to his other ear and smiled. She’d said the same thing about the Wasatch Mountains in Utah and the Grand Canyon.
“How are things back home?”
“Fine.”
“Here, your father wants to talk to you. He seems to think you’re in trouble.”
Chet shook his head. His mom could jump subjects like a grasshopper.
“Hello, son.”
“Hi, Dad. Having a good time?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
“I need to know things are okay. You’re not working at the school this summer, are you?”
“No, the job only runs through the school year.”
“That’s good. You’ll have more time, then?”
“Yep, I’ve got all day.”
“Great. How’s money?”
Chet gulped.
“That bad, huh?” His dad chuckled.
“Dad, I … I just don’t know how …” Chet picked at the chipped paint on his door. “I guess I could sell some steers—just enough to get by.”
Dad tsked. “That’s a slippery slope. It’s a short-term gain, long-term loss. If you sell the steers now, you’ll make a lot less than you would if you wait till the fall, when they’ve put on a couple hundred pounds.”
Chet pressed his palm against the door and leaned heavily against it. “What would you do?”
There was a deep sigh. “Well, there’s the small field on the north end. I had it certified last year to qualify as weed-free. You know, the stuff people in Utah have to have to take up in the Uintah’s—you been watering it?”
Chet nodded. “Yep.”
“Well, we’ve been feeding it to the horses, but they don’t need that good stuff. They’ll get by on the regular hay. You’ll need another inspection, but that’s no big deal if you’ve kept up on it. You should be able to get twice as much per bale if you sell it. It blooms early.”
“Yeah.” Chet thought that was a bonus, because he could do the north field first and have a head start on baling. Grabbing a calendar, Chet figured he could have the hay cut and ready to sell in enough time to make his July payment. If he kept a careful watch out for wolves, let the cattle graze longer in the hills this year, he might be able to sell the second cut too. At double the income, he’d be able to make it until his janitorial job started again in late August.
With a sense of lightness, Chet whispered “Thank you” to the heavens and said goodbye to his dad.
There wasn’t much he could do, except work. Work had saved his father and his grandfather many a time. It was almost like he could hear Grandpa Bauer say, “Work until you’re ready to break—then the good Lord has something to work with.”
Chet slid on his worn leather gloves and shut the door behind him as he headed out to the fields.
Chapter 10
Mercedes and Cat dragged themselves out of the car toward Big C’s. It was a small square building with a large patio in the front. There were tables crowded together, and a few families with small children ate outside.
The girls had pushed through the exhaustion, muscle pain, and discouragement to finish the master bedroom. It had taken them all day, but they’d put their heads down and pressed on through. Now, they were too ti
red to consider cooking.
“Grandpa’s going to love the paneling.” Cat’s smile was there one second and gone the next.
Mercedes’s smile hung out a bit longer. “He’d better. I’m not taking it down.”
That earned a longer smile from Cat. “The crown molding was a nice touch. Those corners were a nightmare, but I think they turned out good.”
Mercedes pulled open the door and a cool blast of air hit her face. Ah, air conditioning. She’d spent some long days in the sun helping her grandpa maintain and improve his apartment buildings. Whenever she went inside after a day like that, she swore she would never take air conditioning for granted again. Today was no exception.
Inside Big C’s, terracotta tiles lined the floor, a tan Formica counter was off to the right, and a few booths sat to their left.
“What can I get for you?” asked the lanky teen in the yellow- and black-striped shirt. His company-issued ball hat showed the Big C’s logo on a black background. He looked up from his register and did a double-take. “Hey, I know you.”
Mercedes and Cat exchanged a look. “You do?” asked Cat.
“Yeah. You guys moved into the old Callaway place by Aiden, right?”
Cat eyed him wearily. “Yes.”
“Cool.” The kid nodded like a David Ortiz bobblehead.
Did all boys’ heads come loose when they checked out a girl?
Cat cleared her throat. “I’ll take a number four with curly fries and a water.”
Mercedes kept her tired grin to herself. Cat would never drink soda; she’d eat a burger covered in cheese and fries cooked in grease, but she thought a carbonated drink would kill her. “I’ll have the same, but can you change my drink to a chocolate-marshmallow shake?”
“I’ll have to charge you extra.”
Mercedes sighed the sigh of a woman who was out of fight. “I’m fine with that.”
He gave them their total and then slid a plastic number across the counter. “We’ll call you when your food is up.”
“Thanks.” Mercedes snagged the number and they moved toward the only open table.
Cat laid her head on her folded arms. “I may never get up again.”
“I’m not gonna make you.” Mercedes rested her chin on her hand and shut her eyes. Just for a moment. Don’t fall asleep.
The empty clunk of a plastic tray landing on their table pulled Mercedes’s eyes open. She followed the beefy hand up an equally thick arm until her eyes landed on Sam’s concerned face.
“Where’s Chet?”
Mercedes lacked the energy to fight off sleep tonight, let alone Sam. “Um …” Her mind was as blank as the Crescent Moon colored walls they’d just finished painting.
“If he’s not coming, I think I’ll sit with you guys.”
Mercedes panicked.
Sam slid, uninvited, into the booth next to her.
Mercy scooted as close to the wall as she could get. Cat sat back and slouched in her seat.
“You two look like you’ve been horsewhipped and dragged behind a steer.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” Mercedes covered her yawn with her hand.
“This is your food.” He pushed the tray between the two girls. “Mick called your number a couple of times, but I think you were asleep.”
Mercedes and Cat divvied up the burgers. “I wish I was. Although, this smells really good.” She looked at Sam, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“Don’t wait on my account.” Sam gestured for them to dig in.
Cat shrugged and took a large bite. Mercedes’s mouth watered, and she figured if she was eating, Sam wouldn’t expect her to talk.
The burger was everything she’d hoped it would be. Snagging a few fries, Mercedes dunked them in her shake. Cat did the same and Mercy didn’t even protest sharing her ice cream.
Mick called another number, and Sam rose to get his food; then he plopped right back down next to Mercedes. Cat gave her a questioning look. Honestly, as exhausted as she was, she could sleep right there. Besides, Sam wasn’t hitting on her or Cat. He was just there ... which was kind of strange. Not intimidating like having him loom over her at the feed store but odd nonetheless.
Looking down, she realized the burger was gone. Besides the first bite, she hardly tasted it she’d been so hungry. Now she felt like an inflatable inner tube. She groaned and slouched in her seat.
Sam took a pull on his drink. “I gotta ask, what do you two do—besides remodel old houses? I mean, two beautiful women, such as yourselves, have got to have something else in your life.”
Mercy kicked Cat under the table. It was her turn to deal with Sam.
Cat used her napkin. “I have a teaching degree.”
“What grade?”
“Eighth-grade English.”
Sam nodded once, as if her answer made perfect sense.
“And she writes books,” chimed in Mercedes. She jerked her legs to the left, avoiding Cat’s kick. Maybe it was the big sister inside Mercedes, but she believed that if Cat was going to be an author, she needed to start acting like one. That included telling people about her writing.
“Nice.” Sam looked expectantly at Mercedes.
“I have a business degree.”
“And she paints.” Cat stuck her tongue out at Mercedes.
Mercedes sat up straight. Unlike Cat, she’d own it. “I do.” She lowered her eyebrows. “Although, I haven’t picked up a brush since we got here, except to paint the walls.”
“Well, you’ve been busy,” Sam excused her.
“No, it’s not that. I’ll stay up all night if that’s what it takes.” She ran her spoon around the inside of her cup, picking up the last bite of ice cream. “I haven’t felt driven.” She gave Cat a worried look. For years, she had to paint or sketch on a daily basis or she’d go nuts.
“How long has it been?” asked Cat.
“We’ve been here two weeks and it took about two weeks to pack up and make all the arrangements.”
“So a month?” Cat dropped her napkin on the tray.
“No, it was before that.” Mercedes rubbed her temple trying to remember the last time she’d put color to canvas. Her last piece was of the Boston Marathon. The marathon she’d gone to watch Jeremey run. All the sudden, it hit her. “Three months.”
Cat’s hand stilled. “If I ever see that two-timing son of a—” She glanced at Sam. “—gun again, I’m going to make him lose an octave.”
Mercedes burst out laughing. “Now there’s a moment worth painting.”
Sam shook his head but he had a smile on his face. “I’m sure there’s a story in there, but I’ve got to get going. I promised a neighbor I’d help him milk tonight, and I can’t keep the ladies waiting.” He stood and settled his straw hat on his head. “See ya later.”
The sisters watched him leave. “He’s an odd duck, wouldn’t you say?” asked Cat. “Sitting down like he was invited and then leaving like that.”
Mercedes shrugged. “Maybe he’s just lonely. You know, like those kids on the playground who don’t have any friends, but when you try to be nice to them, they don’t have the social skills to interact.”
Cat tapped her finger on the table. “Maybe.”
“You ready to head back?” Mercedes gathered up their garbage.
“Ugh. I don’t know if I can make it home.”
“That shake must have been full of sugar, because I’m totally awake. I’ll drive.”
Once in the car, Cat leaned her seat back and closed her eyes. Mercedes’s thoughts turned back to her lack of painting. Part of the reason they were out here was so she could build a portfolio she could take home and present to different galleries. That wasn’t going to happen without actually touching a brush to canvas.
It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the reason her inspiration had dried up. Jeremey had stomped on her heart, and things like that took time to heal. However, if she was honest, the pain was gone—a sad memory she preferred not to visit. Even the d
ull ache was gone. Not that she’d forgiven him: she just wasn’t there yet and if he came around, she’d be more than happy to let Cat have a go at him. But the cloud that had descended after their embarrassing breakup had lifted as soon as she’d decided to come to Snow Valley. She believed she was content, if not happy with her current situation.
So what was holding her up?
It was probably the seclusion. Back home, there were hundreds of people around to use as subjects. Here, it was just her and Cat. And the Bauer family. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.
In fact, the few times she’d felt the tug to sketch were at Chet’s house. Maybe her heart was trying to tell her something and she’d been fighting against it.
Chapter 11
The next Thursday, Chet was running late. He glanced at the clock on his dash again. Yep, late. After four days of pushing himself, he had a good handle on the ranch. The cattle were well-fed and happy, the crops were growing, and the horses were healthy. He had inspected the north field and found the hay coming in thick. It wasn’t particularly high, but the flowers were swelling and he guessed they’d burst in a week, maybe ten days, and then he could cut. It would take four to five days for it to dry out. Then he could rake it and bale it. He already had a buyer lined up, thanks to his dad’s contact list. With any luck, he’d make it through the summer.
He pushed his old truck as hard as he dared on the dirt road. He’d had to replace the struts a couple months ago and he needed them to last a while.
He slowed down to pull into Mercedes’s drive and was surprised to see Mercedes and Aiden standing inside a new frame for the front porch. The old porch was completely gone. There was a miter saw set up on a stand, with an orange extension cord wrapping around to the back of the house. Mercedes wore a pair of overalls that looked brand new over a tight fitting T-shirt that looked older than the house. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had a carpenter’s pencil stuck behind her ear. For a moment, Chet just stared. He’d never seen a girl, let alone a woman of Mercedes’s caliber, build a deck before. Sure, his sisters helped with the irrigation, could drive tractors, and handled livestock, but they never wielded a nail gun. A shotgun? Sure. But, when it came to keeping the house in good repair, the chores fell to him and his brothers.
Summer in Snow Valley (Snow Valley Romance Anthologies Book 2) Page 60
