The Happy Camper

by Melody Carlson

  “Well, thank you for stopping by,” she told Brandon. “And I hate to cut our visit short, but I have a lot of work to do on my trailer.”

  “That’s right.” Jordan stood, thanking Margot for their lunch.

  “Yes,” Dillon said quickly. “You really outdid yourself today, Margot. Thanks.”

  “But I told you I want to help,” Brandon protested.

  “Oh.” Dillon nodded. “I’m sure Margot would love some help putting all these things away.” She smiled at Margot. “What a lot of work it must’ve been to bring all this out here for us. But it really was lovely to eat outside. Such a pretty day too.” She noticed her uneaten burger still on her plate. “In fact, I think I’ll take this with me for my afternoon snack.” She snatched it up, then grabbed Jordan’s arm. “Daylight’s burning, right?”

  He chuckled as she tugged him away from the picnic site.

  “Sorry about that.” As they hurried away, she released his arm.

  “Sorry?”

  “About Brandon.” She looked down at her partially eaten burger as they walked. Maybe her appetite was returning now that Brandon was behind them. Hopefully he was helping Margot to clear and carry.

  “He appears to be a nice enough guy.” Jordan tossed her a sideways glance. “And he really seems to like you.”

  “Well, appearances are deceiving. Trust me, Brandon is—”

  “Hey, wait up!”

  They both turned to see Brandon jogging toward them, waving with enthusiasm, his suit jacket flapping behind him.

  “Oh, great,” she muttered.

  “Margot gave me a reprieve on helping her,” Brandon announced. “So I’m free to help you guys with the trailer.”

  Dillon pointed at him. “In that suit? Did you not hear that we’re painting?”

  “That’s okay.” Brandon pulled off his jacket as they walked, and then removed his tie. “I’m not concerned.”

  “What about your fancy shoes?” She pointed to his favorite Italian loafers. “They’re sure to be ruined.”

  “Then I’ll take them off. It’s warm enough to go barefoot.”

  “But you’ll—”

  “Oh, you worry too much.” Brandon patted her on the head in a condescending way. “Lighten up, Dilly.”

  She felt rage rising within her. “Do you even know how to paint?”

  “How hard can it be?”

  “Not that hard,” Jordan told him. “As long as you do it right.”

  “It’s just an old trailer,” Brandon said lightly. “Does it even matter?”

  “It matters to me,” Dillon said curtly. “And unless you can follow our directions and paint it right, I suggest you don’t bother to—”

  “I’m not an idiot, Dilly. I can follow directions. Remember when you helped me build those IKEA cabinets for my condo? They turned out just fine. I can be handy when it’s necessary.”

  Instead of challenging him, like she wanted, Dillon strode toward the barn. Knowing Brandon, he’d tire of painting before long. And, even though she hadn’t mentioned it, she was the one who’d finished putting those IKEA cabinets together. Because Brandon had gotten distracted by a new video game, claiming the cabinet project was boring. Hopefully, he’d get bored of trying to win her over as well. Her plan was to simply chill him out. But she would do it politely. Not for Brandon’s sake so much . . . but because she wasn’t eager for Jordan to perceive her as an angry old fishwife. Although that was exactly how she felt!

  “Jordan, since you’re a more experienced painter, perhaps you could instruct Brandon on the basics.” She opened the door to her trailer. “I’m going to change into my paint-speckled tennis shoes.”

  Inside the trailer, she looked down at her leftover hamburger. Closing the dinette curtains for privacy, she sat down and proceeded to slowly eat it. She had no desire to go back outside and risk losing her temper with Brandon. But finally, her burger was gone. Not wanting to look like a slacker, she put on her old shoes and, with no more excuses to remain inside, went out to discover that the guys were working on the door side of the trailer.

  Wanting to distance herself from Brandon, she went to work on the rear end. Far enough to be out of sight, but close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation. To her surprise, it sounded as if Brandon was questioning Jordan’s credentials, asking about his college and career goals. Like it was any of Brandon’s business!

  Jordan, not surprisingly, played himself down, acting as if he were merely a store clerk. Not unlike the way he’d portrayed his role to her when they’d first met. She’d been confused then, but now she found it amusing . . . and endearing. Jordan, unlike Brandon, was not full of himself.

  “It’s been a good way to learn about tools and agriculture and all sorts of helpful things,” Jordan said. “And the people are great.”

  “So is that your life goal?” Brandon asked. “To live in a small town and work in a hardware store?”

  “It is for now. And maybe forever. Hard to say.”

  “What about family?”

  “Well, family is what brought me back here. My dad got sick and passed away, so I’ve been helping my mom. And my sister and her twins.”

  “But no wife and kids of your own?”

  Dillon stopped painting, trying to hear every word.

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  “But maybe someday?”

  “God willing . . . and the creek don’t rise.” Jordan chuckled.

  “Well, I used to think I’d never settle down,” Brandon said. “But I’m having second thoughts now.”

  “So, is that why you’re here?” Jordan asked pointedly.

  “Might be . . . guess we’ll see . . .”

  For a long moment, neither guy said anything, but Dillon knew she couldn’t just bite her tongue on this. “Excuse me.” She stepped around the corner, waving a paintbrush at Brandon. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you just said. And if you think that there’s any hope for us, well, I’m sorry, but you might as well forget it.”

  Brandon paused from painting. “I thought you’d act like this. At first, anyway. And I don’t even blame you for being mad at me. I deserve that. But I also know how you really feel about me. Deep down. Underneath your recent cover-up . . . pretending not to care. I know that you—”

  “I don’t care and I wish you’d—”

  “I honestly didn’t expect you to fall into my arms, Dilly.” His smile remained fixed and persistent. “The only reason I came here today was to make you understand my feelings for you haven’t changed. It’s just that I was pretty bad at sharing them before. But I’ve changed.”

  “You’ve changed?” she studied him, trying to grasp this concept. If a skunk changed its stripes, wasn’t it still a stinker?

  “I can see now that you were right about a lot of things. And I know that I took you for granted.”

  “That’s for sure.” She wasn’t sure which was more irritating . . . that he had taken her for granted or that he was admitting it now. Now that it was too late.

  Jordan laid his brush down. “Maybe I should excuse myself from this—”

  “No.” Dillon firmly shook her head. “I am not going to let Brandon stop me from painting my trailer today.”

  “Well, it sounds like you two have old business to attend to.” Jordan smiled apologetically at her. “I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”

  “Thanks, buddy. Really appreciate that. Because you’re right, we need to deal with this privately.” Brandon’s tone was dismissive and Jordan started to leave.

  “No way!” Dillon held her brush inches from Brandon’s face. “There’s nothing I need to deal with as far as you’re concerned. I just want to paint my trailer. If you guys don’t want to help me—fine.” She turned abruptly, hoping to stop Jordan from going.

  “Hey, careful, Dilly!” Brandon exclaimed.

  Dillon turned back to see that she’d accidentally knocked the shoulder of Brandon’s sky-blue shirt with a swath of wh
ite paint. “Oops.” She smiled sheepishly. “I really didn’t mean to do that. Sorry.”

  “Oh, no?” Brandon swiped his brush right across the bustline of her T-shirt. “I didn’t mean to do that either.” He laughed like this was hilarious fun, holding his brush like a weapon, challenging her to a duel.

  Dillon stared down at her favorite T-shirt, trying to control her temper and feeling uncomfortably close to tears. Not because of the ruined shirt, but because of what was feeling like a ruined day. Why had he come? Why wouldn’t he leave?

  “Hey, that wasn’t necessary, Brandon.” Jordan’s tone was gentle but firm, reminding her of how he spoke to his nieces at times.

  “She started it,” Brandon responded—like a juvenile.

  “Hers was accidental.” Jordan looked at Dillon. “Right?”

  “Yes.” Then, seeing the satisfied smirk on Brandon’s face, she lost it. “But this isn’t.” Now she wiped her brush right across his smug face. She knew it was a stupid move, and that Jordan would probably think she was childish, but she no longer cared. Prepared to call it quits and abandon her hopes of painting her trailer today, she was caught totally off guard by Jordan’s uncontrolled laughter.

  Feeling somewhat relieved, she turned to him, holding up her hands in a helpless gesture. “I know that was wrong and I should be—” Her words were stopped by a swat from behind. She whipped around to see that Brandon had swiped his loaded paintbrush right across the seat of her shorts. Her favorite shorts! “Brandon Kranze!” She glared at him. “You are no gentleman!”

  “Just tit for tat.” In one hand, he wielded his paintbrush like a weapon while using the other hand to wipe his paint-smeared face with a rag. “Care to go at it?”

  She held her brush defensively, resisting the temptation to let him have it full force. “No, no. I think that’s enough.” She watched in amusement as his paint-smeared face only grew worse with his wiping. “You look like a mime!” She couldn’t help but giggle at his pasty white face.

  “Maybe you’d like to become a mime too.” He dipped his brush into the paint and aiming it at her face, approached with a menacing expression.

  “No,” she yelled. “Leave me—”

  “Back off, Brandon.” Jordan grabbed his paintbrush and stepped between them. And just like that, it turned into a full-blown paint fight—like they were ten-year-olds. Although there was some laughter and joking as paint splattered and splashed, there was also some underlying seriousness. At least with Brandon. By the time they quit, all three of them were covered in white paint. And Dillon was angry.

  “Look at this mess,” she told Brandon.

  “Hey, don’t blame me.” He looked down at his ruined pants and shirt. “I took the worst of it.”

  Dillon turned to Jordan, instantly filling with guilt and shame. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I can’t believe how childish we were.”

  “It’s okay.” He grinned. “To be honest, I kind of enjoyed it. Good thing this paint’s water soluble.” He pointed to the nearby pump and water trough. “Maybe we should go clean up some.”

  As they attempted to wash off the paint, Jordan tried to smooth things over. “I guess that was some kind of paint therapy.” He removed his T-shirt, rinsing it in the trough. “Maybe not as effective as real couple’s therapy, but probably more fun, eh?”

  Dillon nodded, trying not to stare at his firm torso as he wrung out his shirt.

  “See what happens when you don’t take care of old business,” Brandon said to Dillon. Then, as if to compete with Jordan, he unbuttoned and removed his dress shirt, washing it in the trough as well. But Brandon’s physique didn’t compare with Jordan’s. And not wanting to get caught gaping, Dillon excused herself to the house, where she planned to take a good, long shower.

  “What on earth happened to you?” Margot demanded when Dillon came in through the kitchen.

  “Don’t ask. I’m going to take a shower, but I didn’t bring any dry clothes. Can I borrow a bathrobe or sweats or something?”

  “Sure. Go use the second-floor bath and I’ll find something.” Margot laughed as she followed her up the stairs. “You’re a mess, girlfriend. What did the other guy look like?”

  “They both look a lot like me.”

  “So was it fun?”

  “Not particularly.” Dillon went into the bathroom. “I wish Brandon would take a hint and make himself scarce.”

  “But I thought you were in love with him and brokenhearted. And now it looks like he’s in love with you, Dilly.”

  “That was then. This is now.” Dillon closed the door and peeled off her clothes, putting them in the bathroom sink to soak, hoping she might be able to rescue them later. As she got into the shower, she wondered. Did she really want Brandon to leave her alone? Or did a small part of her enjoy this sudden and unexpected attention? Sure, he was aggravating. But was she aggravated about today . . . or still holding a grudge about the way he’d treated her before? She might’ve claimed she’d forgiven him, but maybe she hadn’t . . . completely.

  As she shampooed her hair, her thoughts migrated to Jordan. The more she knew him, the more she liked him. And he hadn’t seemed like the eternal bachelor this morning. In fact, things had been going so well that she really believed they were stepping into a new sort of relationship. Something beyond “just friends.” She didn’t think she’d imagined it. But then Brandon had appeared and literally messed up everything.

  What would’ve happened if Brandon hadn’t made his unexpected appearance? Where would she and Jordan be right now? Happily painting together like mature adults, conversing, getting more acquainted . . . maybe something more . . . She blew out a sigh as she rinsed her hair. There was no denying she liked Jordan a lot. Apparently most of the single women in town did as well. But unless she’d imagined it, the attraction was mutual.

  As Dillon reached for a towel, she remembered that only a few weeks ago, she’d felt similar sentiments for Brandon. And when he hurt her—and never called—she’d been brokenhearted and disappointed and hopeless. But then she’d come home . . . and recovered so quickly. So maybe her heartache hadn’t really been about Brandon at all. Maybe it had simply been about her—and her whole messed-up life.

  She was happy with her life now. At least she had been until Brandon showed up today. She felt like her life, for the first time in her adulthood, was finally on track. She felt strong and resilient in her ability to put Brandon firmly behind her. But now she questioned herself. How could she spend years hoping to marry a man . . . and just a few weeks later wish he would vanish into thin air? Wasn’t that just plain flaky?

  CHAPTER

  17

  With her hair turbaned in one towel and the other wrapped around like a sarong, Dillon opened the bathroom door to her mother.

  “Here you go, Dilly-Dilly.” Margot came in with what looked like a short dress or a long top, setting underthings on the countertop.

  “Don’t you have some sweats or something more casual?” Dillon asked.

  “It’s enough to get you back to your trailer.” Margot dropped a pair of green flip-flops on the floor. “Then you can change into something else if you want.”

  “Thanks a lot.” Dillon held up the summery mint-green dress, which was definitely on the short side. “Seriously?”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Margot laughed as she shut the door.

  As Dillon pulled on the dress, she suspected that Margot had picked this feminine garment for a specific reason. She’d never seemed overly pleased that Dillon had come home to roost, and she probably hoped her daughter would hook herself a man—either Brandon or Jordan, move away from the farm . . . and get out of her hair. This dress was probably meant to be bachelor bait. Well, whatever. And to be fair, it looked better than expected.

  The house was quiet when Dillon went downstairs. Her plan was to slip out to her trailer and quickly change into casual clothes. And then, even if she had to do it by herself—she planned
to continue working on her trailer. Hoping that Brandon had the good sense to make his exit, she went outside and peered off the porch, disappointed to see that his sporty rental car was still parked in front of the house.

  But as she headed toward the barn, she felt encouraged to see that Harvey, the old red pickup, was still here too. Hopefully no white paint had splashed onto it. Going around the corner of the barn, she was about to enter her trailer when she spotted Jordan squatted down and fiddling with something up front. She called out a cautious hello.

  He looked up and smiled. “Well, you sure clean up good.” He stood, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “That was quite a paint fight.”

  She glumly shook her head. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it, Jordan. You didn’t deserve that.” She touched his damp shirt. “And you’re still wearing wet clothes too.”

  “Keeps me nice and cool.” He grinned, then looked more somber. “Seemed like there was more going on than just paint throwing.”

  “Yeah . . . maybe so.” She sighed. “What a mess we made.” She looked around the trailer to see the drop cloths and all the painting things were gone. “But looks like you cleaned up. Thanks.”

  “Well, it was a good time to call it quits. While smoothing out some of the splashes on the trailer, I realized the first coat could use some more time to cure and dry anyway.” He tipped his head toward her. “Besides that, you look too pretty to paint now.”

  “Thanks.” She pointed to the front of the trailer. “What are you doing up there?”

  “I just hooked up your propane tank. I already used your grandpa’s air compressor to blow out the lines, and I was getting ready to check your stove. Want to help?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have matches in there?”