Miranda rolled her eyes. Her mother had been trying to make a match for her since she turned sixteen. Using her fork, she got a stack of three cakes, put pats of butter between the two lower pancakes and a final pat on top. Then she took the bottle of real maple syrup from the saucepan of hot water with a pot holder and drizzled a good amount on top of the pancakes and added more around the perimeter of the plate.
Austin followed her lead and took four pancakes and dressed them the same way. He put his fork through the syrup- and butter-soaked stack. After he put the first bite in his mouth, Austin put his fork down and placed each hand flat beside the plate and closed his eyes. “This is exactly the way I remembered them.”
Miranda surfaced after her first bite. “Mom’s been trying to teach me how she makes them, but I just haven’t gotten the trick yet.”
“Now, now.” Dorothy took two pancakes from the platter. “You know what the secret is—I’ve told you enough times.”
“Right,” said Miranda through her second huge bite. “They’re made with love.”
Dorothy smiled. “My job is done here.”
“Whatever you do, don’t change anything about these pancakes.” Austin cleared his plate and glanced at Dorothy. She waved a go-ahead to him and he grabbed four more pancakes.
After his third stack had disappeared, Austin took a swallow of the hot cider and leaned back from the table and looked at Miranda. “Your mom cooked, so I’m betting we’ll be doing kitchen duty?”
Dorothy grinned at Miranda. “This one knows his manners. I reckon he was brought up that way. The right way.”
Miranda laughed. “Bring your dishes. We’re on cleanup duty.”
Austin stacked up the plates and added the forks and knives. “I’ll wash and you dry since you know where everything goes.” He walked into the kitchen, put the dishes on the counter, and turned on the hot water.
“That’s nonsense. You don’t like drying. You’re not fooling me.”
“Guilty as charged.” He squirted soap to one of the two enamel pans in the deep porcelain farm sink and filled both of them with hot water.
Miranda opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a dish towel. “I decided not to install a dishwasher, even though the farmhouse is attached to the city water line. Living for generations with a limited supply of well water means that our deeply entrenched habits still conserve resources. I’m going to apply for a green-business certification through the state.”
“Will that help you appeal to more clients?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. This area is beginning to attract tourists from New England, Ohio, Michigan, and even out West. I had two clients from Santa Barbara, California, last week. They had never seen anyone hand-wash dishes before. Amazing, but they have a different lifestyle out there.”
“The rock-climbing opportunities down in Red River Gorge have gone international. I heard that there were climbers from Australia, Japan, and India last week. We’re becoming known to the world as an area of natural beauty.”
“Too bad some of the old-timers still behave like these visitors are outsiders trying to steal their privacy. Some of the old-timers cling to their clannish way of living.”
“Things are changing very fast for the old family farmsteads—too fast.” Austin said more with his shoulders than anything else. “Tobacco is no longer viable. Hemp is the new cash crop.”
“It’s so strange for it to be legal in most states, and the final insult seems to be my moonshine distillery. It is out in the open and completely legal.”
While Miranda dried the last few dishes and put them away in the cupboards, Austin wiped down the counters, the kitchen table, and the gas stove. He emptied the soapy water first, then washed the dishcloth in the rinse water and dumped that pan as well.
Miranda caught his hand and turned him to face her. “I want to thank you for being there up on the Indian Staircase last night. I’m an experienced woodsman, but you made such a difference to everyone’s comfort.” She raised up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
He swallowed hard, flushed pink to his scalp, and coughed. “Um, my pleasure. It was an experience I’m not likely to forget anytime soon.”
Miranda looked down to see that her hand was still in his. It felt good.
At that moment, Sandy ran into the kitchen to sit by his food bowl and let out a little yip. Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my goodness, Sandy. I forgot to get your dinner.” She tucked him up into the crook of her neck. “I’m so sorry. It won’t take a minute.”
She opened a can of wet dog food and plopped a good dollop onto a layer of puppy dry chow. When she lifted the bowl, Sandy was hopping up and down on two feet to try to get to the bowl. “Where are your manners? Sit.”
Sandy immediately sat at perfect puppy attention. Miranda put the dish down and filled Sandy’s water bowl at the sink.
Austin leaned against the counter with one leg crossed over the other and his arms crossed over his chest. “I heard you had some damage to the barn in the storm last night.”
“How did you know that? I only just discovered it myself.” She threw back her head. “Oh, Ron has spilled the beans, right? Is he one of those guys that has never experienced an unspoken thought?”
“Yes. He’s a real chatterbox.” Austin chuckled. “He called to ask if he could borrow my tallest ladder. He seems to have misplaced his at a customer site—but, of course, he doesn’t remember which one.”
Miranda furrowed her brow. “That’s odd.”
“He also asked me if I could drive him over to the hardware store in town. It appears that he doesn’t have a truck right now.”
“What? How can he work without a truck?”
Austin grimaced in frustration. “He’s been calling every distant relation who even has a faint family connection. He’s apparently one of my third cousins, although I can’t verify the connection. I’ll help him out, but you might want to find someone else to work on your place.”
Miranda frowned. “I heard from the post office clerk about how Ron tackles jobs in a disorganized flurry, but she says that his actual workmanship is excellent. She said he’s a bit ditzy, so the cure for that is that I need to be here while he works. I might have to cancel a few of my tours.”
“Cancel? That’s drastic.”
She rubbed her chin. “Maybe reschedule the ones that are flexible. Another idea is to offer an afternoon tour without the meal once or twice a week. I might be able to attract clients who have morning scheduling problems. Right. Maybe I’ll do that on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That will give me all day Monday and two mornings to get distillery work done.” She tapped Austin on the arm with her fist. “Good idea.”
“Right, but I still strongly suggest that you cancel Ron and find someone else. He’s bad news.”
Miranda stood to her full height and began to walk toward the front of the farmhouse. “That’s not happening.” She continued to walk out through to the front porch. “This is my business and he will do his best work. I’m perfectly capable of managing him.”
Austin followed her out to the porch. “I know that, but—”
“No buts. This is my business. Good evening.” She turned and went back inside closing the front door with not quite a slam, but definitely with purpose.
“What was that all about?” Dorothy had added more wood to the stove and sat in one of the rockers with a large quilt in her lap. She was making some repairs with a fine needle. “What did you say?”
Miranda blew out a long breath. “Too much.”
Chapter 12
Tuesday Morning, the Farmhouse
Ron, the handyman, knocked on her door at the break of dawn. Sandy growled like a big dog. The warning wasn’t needed. Miranda had been up for an hour expecting that Ron would arrive early. She didn’t want to face him in her nightclothes. It was tricky for some men to take orders from women. She didn’t want their employer /employee relationship to get off to a bad start.
/> He stood six feet six at the door in bib overalls over a threadbare flannel shirt. Neither he nor his clothes had seen wash water in quite some time. He pointed over to Austin’s still-running truck parked in the driveway beside her van. “Hey, missy. I need to unload my tools in the barn. Austin needs to get to work.”
Ron had all his tools piled in a jumble in the bed of Austin’s truck. They unloaded them smack-dab in the middle of the barn. There would be no client tours showcasing her uncle’s original moonshine still until the roof repair was complete. She had assumed that, but in any case, the mess irritated her.
Austin raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together barely suppressing a smile. “I’ll see you on the trail tomorrow. Good luck.” He left with a grim look on his face.
Ron leaned the ladder up against the barn to examine the hole. It wasn’t far from the edge of the roof, but he climbed up with a measuring tape to estimate the amount of material he would need. He made of bunch of moaning and tsk-tsk noises that did nothing to raise Miranda’s confidence.
He came back down the ladder and showed her the measurements he had written in a small spiral notebook. “This is a whole lot bigger hole than it looks like from down below. I’m gonna need quite a bit more material than the roofers left behind. Can you take me to the hardware store now? I don’t have any cash money so you’ll have to pay for that.”
Miranda sighed heavily and rubbed the back of her neck.
Remember, the post office clerk promised me that he does great work, but you know this is going to be a pain.
“I can’t go this minute, but I can take you over when I finish with today’s event. It’s a golden anniversary so I can take you over at about three o’clock. You can start with the material I have. There should be plenty.”
“I’m going to need some two-by-fours for replacing the substructure first. I can’t really start without that.”
Miranda smiled and waved Ron over to the back of the barn. “I have several piles of leftover wood from my uncle. He was so skilled he didn’t need anyone.” She led Ron to the tool storage stall and pointed to the neatly stacked building materials. “There are all sorts of offcuts and scrap pieces from everything that’s ever been built on the farm. The leftover roofing materials are in here as well. This will have to do until I get finished with my clients. Will that be enough for you to get started?”
He rubbed his chin. “I’m not gonna be sure until I dig in.”
She nodded. “I understand you have a going rate of twenty dollars cash per hour, right?”
He tilted his head. “Well, costs are going up you know. I’m charging twenty-five dollars an hour. I’ll need today’s cash in advance, you know.”
“But you can’t go anywhere.”
“I’m gonna walk down the road to the gas station for my lunch break.”
“Fine.” Miranda exhaled in a puff. “I’ll give you six hours’ worth and we’ll see where we are after that.” Darn, I’m already losing control.
She returned to the farmhouse and got the cash, then walked back into the barn. Ron had already taken out all of the scrap wood and stood them up against the walls, stalls, and support columns.
“Oh.” She involuntarily shuddered. Thank goodness he’s got a good reputation as a workman or I would send him packing right this minute.
“You know, it wouldn’t take but maybe an hour or so to build you a sturdy set of racks in that stall so you could store your extra material a mite better.”
Here he goes already. Trying to start more work before he’s finished with the roof repair.
“No. I don’t need anything else done. It’s the roof that’s the critical task. I can’t ask you to start anything else since I’m not making enough money to pay for it. That’s why I need the roof fixed right now.”
He didn’t need to know that she had discovered her uncle’s hidden stash of moonshine money in the small cave where he had brewed his last batch. It wasn’t a lot of money but would keep her from going out of business while she worked on getting the distillery licensed.
Miranda looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go. Call me if anything urgent comes up. I’ll be back soon.” She turned to go but turned back. “I almost forgot. My mother is visiting, so if you have any questions, she’ll be glad to help.”
“Dorothy is here?” His eyes lit up like those of a kid in a candy shop. “That’s wonderful.”
“She’s only here for a few days. Good luck, and, Ron”—she waited until he looked at her—“be careful.” She knew that he didn’t have a lick of medical insurance or any kind of normal life. He lived completely off the grid and would apparently keep it that way.
She wondered, Who paid for that cell phone? It looked like someone’s hand-me-down. He certainly wouldn’t have it in his name. Never mind. I don’t want to know.
* * *
On this crisp fall morning, Miranda’s clients had traveled from nearby Winchester and were all members of the same family. Three generations were on her tour in celebration of the grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. On this sentimental expedition they were painting the view of the limestone arch from the spot where the grandfather, Courtney, had proposed to the grandmother, May. The couple were joined by two grown sons, their wives, and two preteen grandchildren.
They met in the lobby of Hemlock Lodge and hiked the short distance to the first spectacular view of the underside of the Natural Bridge Arch against an incredible azure sky. They were grouped in a little clearing a few feet off the trail right next to one of the resting benches. When she’d scoped out the site, Miranda didn’t know how healthy the grandparents were and didn’t want to leave their comfort to chance.
It turned out that the couple had wed as teenagers and were in better shape than some of her clients in their thirties.
As a lesson learned, she thought she should add a comment section to her online application form. She could ask that people mention celebrations, special needs, or anything that would enhance their experience. She mentally added that to her list of ongoing website updates she needed to make.
She was a bit concerned about the attention span of both the grandparents and the grandchildren. However, she was pleased that this appeared to be a kind, loving, and close-knit family. The sons and wives kept everyone on task, and the paintings were similar because they were all sharing the experience.
The wives had preordered a cake to be delivered to the farmhouse and had invited local friends and relations to join in the celebration after the paintings were finished. Instead of a sit-down meal, Miranda would be offering finger foods, as well as her newly created moonshine mimosa.
Since it was planned to be a short painting session, Miranda skipped the ranger talk. She had given them a history of the view along with their painting instruction. Austin had taken the news quietly, but she was keenly aware that there was still a disagreement between them. It bothered her that it bothered her, but maybe that was a good realization.
Ron’s behavior was at the back of her mind. He was a wild card to her determination to survive the event in perfect calm. This amazing couple deserved a wonderful celebration. She mentally crossed her fingers, eyes, and toes.
Grandmother May kept looking at Miranda. Furrows of thought appeared and disappeared on the matriarch’s forehead. “What was your name again, young lady? My hearing isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“Miranda Trent. I’m the niece of Gene Buchanan, from up on Pine Ridge.”
“Oh, that’s right. He left you that nice farmhouse, didn’t he?”
“Yes, I’m a lucky girl.”
“That’s not what I’m remembering, though. I’ve heard about another relation.” Her brow furrowed then smoothed out again. “Never mind. It’ll come to me directly.” She turned back to her painting.
“She’s the one that discovered those bones,” piped up Grandfather Courtney. “They’re cousins. That’s what you heard, honey.”
“Laws-a-mercy.”
May turned to Miranda. “That poor hiker that got lost out on the trail. I remember when that happened. Such a sad time for dear Ora Cable. It hit her very hard. I took over my special tuna casserole.”
Everyone knows everyone up here. I keep forgetting that.
Grandfather Courtney looked over to the trail just a few yards from their painting site. “He must have gotten lost on one of those false animal trails up there over the Indian Staircase. I’ve heard that the tribes used to do that to confuse their enemies. I wonder if that’s what happened.”
“Sir, I doubt that. My cousin regularly hunted deer with a bow and arrow to put meat on my aunt’s table. He always took his limit on the first day of hunting season. He couldn’t get lost in these woods if he tried. Something else must have happened.” Miranda hesitated, thinking that exact details shouldn’t be shared.
“Aw, that’s wishful thinking,” said the grandmother. “But it shows that you have a sweet nature. Ora Cable has always spoken so well about you.”
Miranda felt the warmth fill her chest. Nice. Miranda also wondered about those legendary woodsman skills. Maybe she was falling for a family myth about Howard, who had become a better woodsman the longer that he had been missing. It would be a way to keep alive the hope that he would show up someday.
“He wasn’t lost.”
Chapter 13
Tuesday Morning, Hemlock Lodge
Miranda stacked everyone’s paintings along the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the lobby. Each client kept the painting backpack as a souvenir. As the last group activity, she liked to take a group picture of the clients displaying their works. One of the advantages was that passersby would see them and ask about her tours. It was a handy way to drum up more business.
She gave the family instructions on how to reach her farmhouse. They were going to change their clothes and then meet her there for their celebration.
“Hey, Miranda,” called out the receptionist behind the counter next to the lobby. “What’s this I hear about Howard Cable being found up on the bluff above the Indian Staircase? I heard that you were in the middle of all that. Is it true?”
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