CHAPTER
2
Once again, Dillon woke to the sound of her phone jingling. But judging by the light sneaking beneath the blinds, at least it was morning. She reached for her phone, thinking it might be Brandon calling to apologize, but seeing it was her boss, she ignored it. Of course, she knew this would only result in more calls, usually about three minutes apart until Dillon finally answered. LeeAnn was relentless.
On the second call, Dillon answered. “Hey, LeeAnn.” She said in a flat tone. “What’s up?”
“I need you to work today.”
“It’s Saturday.” Dillon knew this excuse never worked with LeeAnn, but it was worth a try.
“I know it’s Saturday, Dillon.” Her voice dripped of exasperation. “It’s Saturday for me too and I’m already here at work.”
Dillon wanted to point out that LeeAnn was paid more than Dillon, and that she got paid double-time for weekend work. “I’m exhausted, LeeAnn, and I need a—”
“Who isn’t exhausted? But if I have to work, you do too. I expect you here by—”
“What if I can’t come in today?” Dillon held her breath, knowing she’d just shoved her big toe over the proverbial line.
“Are you dying?”
“No, but I—”
“Then you get in here or else.”
“Or else what?” She felt another toe sliding across the line.
“Or else, get yourself to the unemployment office.”
“Seriously?” Dillon jumped out of bed. “You’d fire me for not working on a Saturday? Seriously?”
“You bet I would. And I’d have every right to dismiss you . . .” LeeAnn’s tone softened. “But I know you won’t put me in that position, Dillon. You’re always such a trooper. I can always count on you. Besides, I just sent out for breakfast bagels and lattes.”
Although the thought of food was tempting, Dillon decided to stand her ground. “I’m sorry, LeeAnn, but I cannot come in today. You’ll just have to get by without—”
“Then consider yourself unemployed, Ms. Michaels. I’ll send a memo about this to Reggie.”
“Honestly?” Dillon didn’t believe it. “You’d do that after all I’ve done for—”
“You can clear out your cubicle on Monday.” Her tone was firm.
Too stunned to respond, Dillon simply hung up and began pacing back and forth in her tiny bedroom. Within twenty-four hours she had lost her boyfriend and her job? How was that even possible? As she paced, two things became very clear. She was ravenous . . . and homesick.
By one o’clock, after a hearty brunch at a nearby café, Dillon had carelessly crammed all her belongings into her small car, surprised that they actually fit. Then, standing in the apartment parking lot, she handed her apartment keys over to her stunned roommates who’d just pulled up.
“Are you leaving because of the Lean Cuisine incident last night?” Reba poked Val in her padded midsection. “Told you she was mad at you.”
“I’m really sorry,” Val said. “It’s just that I started that dumb diet, and I got so hungry, well, I totally meant to replace your food.”
“It’s okay.” Dillon sighed.
“Was it because our movie was too loud last night?” Reba asked.
“It’s because I’m going home to Oregon,” Dillon admitted.
“Because of your breakup?” Reba sounded sympathetic.
“No, not really. It’s a combination of things. I think my grandfather needs me right now.” Dillon jotted down his address on the back of a now-defunct business card. “I just need to go home . . . it’s been too long.”
“But what about your job?” Val’s eyes grew wide. She worked at the same company. “What about your boss—the Dragon Lady? She’ll fire you for sure if you’re not there on Monday.”
“That ship has sailed.” Dillon forced a sheepish smile. “LeeAnn fired me this morning, for not working today.”
“Oh wow, but maybe it’s for the best.” Val patted her shoulder. “It could’ve gotten awkward with Brandon still working there—remember how it went down with Cassie and Tom after they broke up? What a mess.”
“Yeah, I hadn’t really considered that.” Dillon handed Val the business card. “This is to forward my mail. And would you mind boxing up my personal stuff at my workstation and sending it on?” She reached for her wallet. “I’ll give you postage to—”
“I’ll mail it, but you keep your money. I owe you for the Lean Cuisines.”
The three of them hugged and, feeling surprised that her roommates looked genuinely sad to see her go, Dillon got into her jam-packed car, waved goodbye, and drove away. As she headed westward on the interstate, she felt strangely free. Almost like a bird that had just been released from its cage. It was a gorgeous day with clear blue skies and a beautiful landscape. Perfect for driving. What could be better? She put on a mix of her favorite songs and even sang along.
But as the day wore on and the flat Wyoming landscape made her sleepy, she began to feel worried. What on earth was she doing out here like this? It was one thing to give up on Brandon . . . but her job as well? Had she lost her mind? Throughout high school and college, Dillon had always worked hard. Some had labeled her an “overachiever,” which she felt was a compliment. She’d taken the first decent-paying job offered after graduation, relocated to the Colorado Springs software company, and continued with her hard work ethic. For more than a decade, she’d lived frugally, whittling away her college loans, which she’d paid off last year. She’d always been careful and responsible and reliable—something Margot had never understood or even appreciated.
Dillon had never done anything that could’ve been considered spontaneous or impetuous or risky. Even the Subaru she was driving right now, her first and only car, had been carefully researched for gas mileage, safety, and dependability. But today she was taking a long trip in it, and she hadn’t even checked to see if her oil needed changing. Had she gone completely mad?
Suddenly Dillon remembered last night’s prayer . . . how she’d asked God to direct her path. And here she was on the outskirts of Wyoming, heading for Silverdale, Oregon. Was this really the path she was supposed to take? If so, why? Nothing made much sense right now. Well, except for the fact that she was not going to make it to Salt Lake before sundown. And she was hungry. But she’d made no plans on where to stop for the night.
Up ahead was an old-fashioned-looking camp trailer. One of those cutie-pies that someone must’ve lovingly restored. It was white and Pepto-Bismol pink, shaped like a teardrop—and adorable. As she passed the trailer, she tried not to stare at the driver in the white pickup that was pulling it, but she felt curious. What kind of people did that sort of thing? To her surprise, there was another vintage trailer up ahead. This one was white and turquoise and even cuter than the one she’d just passed. Was it a coincidence, or were they friends traveling together? She wasn’t sure, but noticing an exit sign for Evanston, she decided it was time to find food and lodging.
To her surprise, the trailer in front of her exited too, and as she followed it off the freeway, she realized she was now between the two trailers. As if mesmerized or hypnotized, she continued to follow the turquoise trailer until she realized she’d just entered the Stay Awhile Trailer Park and was now stuck on a one-way lane with the pink-and-white trailer behind her. Embarrassed, she had no choice but to continue on, driving up to the gate of the trailer park.
“Can I help you?” a middle-aged woman asked pleasantly.
“I, uh, made a wrong turn,” Dillon said quickly. “I was, uh, looking for food and lodging and I—”
“We have food and lodging.” The woman smiled.
“But I don’t have a trailer.” Dillon gestured behind her.
“You don’t need a trailer to stay here.” The woman explained that most of the park was for campers with trailers. “But the trailers in that section over there”—she pointed to where a row of cute trailers were situated—“are nightly rentals.”<
br />
“Really?” Dillon blinked in surprise. “You mean I can stay overnight in one—you have a vacancy?”
“You’re in luck. I just had a cancellation.” The woman introduced herself as Susan and told Dillon where to park her car. “After I take care of these folks, I’ll meet you in the office.”
Before long, Susan registered Dillon as a guest, handed her a map of the park, and gave her the key to the Lemon Drop trailer. “It’s the one closest to us.” She pointed it out. “And our restaurant is in that Airstream down on the end. They close at nine. Enjoy your stay.”
Dillon felt a childlike excitement as she entered the tiny abode. It reminded her of a child’s playhouse. Everything was small and sweet—and yellow and white—from the checked curtains in the tiny kitchenette to the quilted bedspread on the full-sized bed in back. Perfectly charming!
Dillon decided to take a quick stroll through the trailer park since she wanted to get a peek at the other campsites before it got too dark. Then she stopped at the restaurant trailer, which had a few small tables inside and outdoor dining as well. She ordered from the limited menu and, sitting outside in the dusky light, consumed the most delicious blue cheese buffalo burger ever.
By the time she was tucked into the surprisingly comfortable sunny yellow bed, she felt almost completely happy . . . and before she drifted off to sleep, she said a little prayer, gratefully thanking God for directing her path today.
With more than ten hours of driving ahead of her, Dillon got up with the sun the next morning. Her hope was to reach Grandpa’s farm before dinnertime. She had purposely not called—in the hopes of giving Grandpa a pleasant surprise. But she didn’t want to arrive after he’d gone to bed and scare him to death.
It was a long drive, but after her good night’s rest, she felt refreshed. And the scenery through Utah, Idaho, and into Oregon was beautiful. But with dark clouds ahead, she could tell she was heading for bad weather, and about an hour from Silverdale, in the middle of nowhere, it began to pour. Fortunately, there weren’t many cars on the road, but to her dismay, after half an hour of vigorous swiping, her windshield wiper blades appeared to be disintegrating—right before her eyes.
By the time she reached Silverdale, it was still pouring and she could barely see the car in front of her. But if her memory was correct, the old hardware store was on this end of town. Hopefully it was still open. When she found the hardware store, now called Atwood’s Feed and Seed and Hardware, she could see the OPEN sign still on. Parking in front, she made a fast dash through the rain, reaching the door just as the sign turned off. But when she tried the door, it was still unlocked. “Hello?” she called out hopefully.
“Sorry, ma’am, we’re closed,” the man briskly told her. “I’m just locking up.”
“But I really need some windshield wiper blades.” Dillon remained inside the door, ready to plead her case.
He pointed to the clock over the door. “Sorry, but we close at six on Sundays. We open tomorrow at—”
“But I can barely see out my windshield—and it’s raining cats and dogs out there. I’m desperate.”
His expression softened. “Okay, what kind of blades do you need? Our automotive section is kind of limited.”
“I, uh, I don’t know. Are there different kinds?”
“What kind of car do you drive?” His tone sounded impatient.
She quickly told him the make and the year, and he disappeared for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he had a package in hand. “I think these will work—at least for now. But you should replace them with the ones specifically recommended for your vehicle. We have an auto parts store in town, but they’re closed now.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” As he rang up the purchase, she realized this guy was rather nice looking. She took in his hazel eyes and wavy brown hair, and as he ran her debit card, she noticed his name tag read Jordan. “I really appreciate your help. I’ve been driving all day, but the last hour—in all that rain—well, it was torturous.” She paused to sign the receipt. “I don’t have far to drive, but it’s a narrow gravel farm road. And I’d rather not drive into the ditch.”
He handed her the receipt with a crooked smile. “So . . . do you know how to install new blades?”
“Not really . . . Is it difficult?”
“It can be tricky. If you want to wait a minute, I’ll lock up and give you a hand.”
“That’d be great. Thanks.” He walked her to the door, locking it after she went outside. She stood under the awning, trying to avoid the rain still pouring down in sheets. One by one, the lights in the store went out until it was dark inside. Wishing she’d put on a jacket, which was probably buried in the back of her car, she continued to wait. Then, wondering if Jordan had forgotten her, she decided to open the box of blades. Perhaps she was on her own now. How hard could it be to put on wiper blades? She was just giving up on ever getting the plastic box open when Jordan came around the side of the building.
“Sorry to take so long.” He shook the rain from his head. “The security system can be finicky.” He produced a large pocketknife. “Let me get that box open for you.”
“It might need the jaws of life.”
He chuckled as he slit it open. “Packaging is a pain.” He dropped the waste into a nearby trash barrel, then nodded to her Subaru. “That your car?”
“Yep.” She followed him out into the pouring rain, noticing that he, like her, didn’t have on a coat. “Can I help?” She reached out to hold the new blades while he proceeded to use his pocketknife tool to remove the old blades.
“You’re right, these are shot.” He handed them to her.
“Colorado had a long, hard winter.”
“That where you’re coming from?” He already had one blade installed and moved to the passenger side.
“Yes. Colorado Springs.”
He handed her the second worn-out blade and she threw them both into the trash barrel, taking a moment to stand under the awning, even though she was already soaked. Jordan fiddled a bit with the blades, then joined her under the awning. “Well, hopefully that will keep you from driving into the ditch.”
“I don’t have far to go. My grandpa’s farm is about six miles out of town.”
“Well, drive safely.”
“Thanks. And I’m sorry you had to get so wet.” She looked up at him. “Can I pay you for your time?”
He held up his hands. “Nope. That was my good deed for the day.” He pushed the trash barrel closer to the building so the rain couldn’t go into it, then smiled at her. “Now, you be safe out there, ma’am.”
She returned the smile. “The name’s Dillon.”
“Dillon?” He nodded with a thoughtful look. “Interesting.”
“It’s Celtic. A boy’s name, really. It has something to do with the sea.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dillon.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jordan.”
The warmth of his hand soaked into hers, and perhaps she held on a bit too long. Then, her face flushed with embarrassment, she hurriedly thanked him once more and dashed through the pouring rain to her car. As she slowly drove through town, relieved to be able to see out of her windshield, she wondered about this Jordan fellow. Was he simply an attractive former Boy Scout employed by the local hardware store? Or was there more to him than met the eye?
CHAPTER
3
Dillon felt a rush of excitement as she drove down the familiar farm road. And, as if to reassure her, the rain began to let up and the sun peeked out from behind a bank of clouds in the western sky. Then, just as the farm buildings came into sight, a rainbow began to appear, suspended over Grandpa’s white clapboard farmhouse like a sweet promise of better things ahead. It was so pretty that Dillon was tempted to stop and snap a photo on her phone, but shivering from the damp and cold, she couldn’t wait to get inside the house.
As she parked in front, she considered her tactic—should she knock on the door or slip inside an
d surprise him? Either way might startle him since he didn’t usually get many visitors out here. As she went up the porch steps she decided to simply let herself in and quietly call out. She paused in the living room, taking in the old plaid sofa, Grandma’s gold velveteen rocker, and Grandpa’s worn brown recliner. Nothing much had changed since she’d lived here during high school. But the dust-covered end tables, old newspapers, stained coffee mugs, and clutter spread about was a stark reminder that Grandma was gone. The room looked depressed. Grandpa probably was too. Dillon hadn’t come a moment too soon. She couldn’t wait to hug him.
“Grandpa?” Dillon said. “Are you home?” Hearing noise in the kitchen, she imagined him in there. Probably still wearing his dirty overalls and a plaid flannel shirt . . . maybe heating up some canned soup. “Hello?” she called out as she pushed open the swinging door.
“Dillon!” Margot dropped a frying pan with a loud clang. “What on earth?”
Dillon tried to hide her disappointment. “Hi, Margot,” she said with a fixed smile. “Is everything okay? Is Grandpa here?”
“Grandpa’s just coming in.” She nodded to the back door, just opening. “Does he know you’re coming?” she whispered.
“No, I wanted to surprise him.” Dillon waited as Grandpa came into the kitchen, hanging his barn coat and John Deere cap by the door without spotting her.
“Hello, Grandpa,” Dillon said cheerfully.
He turned to face her, breaking into a wide grin. “Well, if it’s not my favorite granddaughter.” He spread his arms and she ran into them.
“Yes, look what the cat dragged in,” Margot said.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Grandpa held Dillon at arm’s length, looking her over carefully. “Still my pretty girl.”
“Looks like a drowned rat to me.” Margot tweaked a soggy strand of Dillon’s hair.
“Thanks a lot.” Dillon wrinkled her nose at Margot.
The Happy Camper Page 2
