That was the last straw. She grabbed her wallet from her backpack and stood. “I hate to dash out like this...” All eyes shifted her way. “Can you watch Ava for a bit?”
“You’re leaving so soon?” Mrs. Tappen scooted to the edge of the couch cushion.
“I’ve got...” She’d never been a good liar, and had no intention of becoming one now. But neither did she plan to sit here, while her Mom openly discussed her failures. “To pick up a few things.” Which was true enough, if she wanted to feed her daughter something other than corn chips and peanut butter for supper. Maybe she’d buy a tub of ice cream for herself while she was at it. Chocolate fudge macadamia with brownie chunks. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait, please.” Deep lines etched across Mrs. Tappen’s furrowed brow. “I— We’ve been wanting to speak to you regarding...” She looked from Paige to Jed, then back to Paige. “I...er... What I mean to say is...” She nudged Jed. “Did you have a question, dear?”
He blinked. “Question?” He cleared his throat and stood. “Right. I...um...” He stepped forward. “Can I call you? Maybe we could meet? For coffee? I’d like to talk with you about something.”
She studied Mrs. Tappen. “Are you feeling all right?”
She laughed. “Oh, nothing like that, dear. Jed here’s just got...an idea, is all.”
Paige wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.
“You know where to find me.” She forced a smile, but it felt wobbly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do have things I need to attend to.”
Chapter Three
Late Friday morning, Jed met his contractor friend, Drake Owens, at the theater, to get an estimate on the needed renovations. Seemed he wanted to make more changes than he had the money for.
“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear,” Drake said as he tucked his pencil behind his ear. “And of course this is all a guestimate. Won’t have real numbers till I price things out. But based on your budget, it’s fair to say you’re going to have to make some choices.”
Jed rubbed the back of his neck. “Sounds like I need to separate the must-dos from the want-tos.” The carpet was top on the gut-it-and-burn-it list. Maroon with a gold paisley pattern, darkened to a dingy yellow in high-traffic areas. The chairs and wallpaper, both a faded burnt yellow, needed to go. The stage could use new paint, maybe new flooring. Then there was the lobby. And the outside. Plus he’d need a new sign.
Was he foolish trying to turn this place Western? Everything was costing much more than he’d expected, but if he could do some of it himself... And maybe if he got a few of his buddies to help...
His thoughts drifted to Paige and the job offer Grandma wanted him to give her. That’d add yet another expense, and probably more than Grandma had considered. With all of Paige’s big-city experience, she’d probably want a paycheck to match it.
One they couldn’t afford, no matter how many ways Grandma crunched the numbers. Even so, he had to try—had to ask Paige. Grandma wouldn’t let up until he did.
He cracked his knuckles one at a time. “How’s the bed-and-breakfast-ranch deal coming?”
Drake gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Slow but steady. You oughta stop by sometime and see what Neil’s got planned for that adventure/training course of his. That guy’s got one creative imagination.”
“Might need to.” Hopefully his friend’s business venture would bring in tourists—the kind who liked murder-mystery dinner theater. “Thanks for coming.” He shook Drake’s hand.
“My pleasure. I’ll be in touch.”
Jed nodded and walked him out. As he was returning to his office, his chef called to him from the kitchen doorway.
“Coming.” He followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee. “What’s up?”
Decked in a stained apron and the toque he insisted on wearing, Dillon Tedford stood with his backside resting against the edge of the worktable. “We’ve hit a few snags.”
“Such as?”
“The asparagus is nasty. We can’t serve it.”
“Great.” Jed sighed. “Can you substitute summer squash?”
“Don’t have any, but I’ve got some canned beans in the pantry.”
“We talked about this. Fresh produce. Quality meat.” He couldn’t elevate guest opinions of the place otherwise. “Guess you’ll have to hit the store. And see if you can get a refund on the rotten stuff.” He should’ve checked the produce when their supplier had dropped it off. Now it would cost double what they’d budgeted for.
Jed glanced at the meal-plan calendar on the wall. Some nights Italian, and others Mexican. Hard to establish any sort of brand when their dishes were all over the place. He needed to talk to Dillon about the menu changes he wanted to implement once the renovations were complete, but based on the man’s scowl, today wasn’t the day.
“I’ll let you get to it, then.” As he turned to leave, his phone rang. He pulled it from his back pocket. His mom. He answered en route to his office. “Hey. Sorry I haven’t returned your call.”
“You’re busy. I know.”
“How are you? You get enough donations for the charity auction you’re working on?” Their conversations always went better when he focused on her. And away from his “wreck of a life plan,” as she liked to call it.
“Yes, plenty. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Okay.” He shucked his Stetson, placed it on the corner of his desk and then sat behind his computer. He pulled up his emails. Hopefully he’d received those Gold Rush script samples he’d requested. What he really wanted was a train heist, but he hadn’t found anything like that. Would Paige be able to write what they needed in time for the reopening? If he didn’t land on something by midweek, he’d have to make do with what he could find. And soon, so his cast had time to rehearse.
“Your father cut his trip short. He’ll be home this weekend, and I’d really like us to go out to dinner. As a family. It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”
“I love the idea, but I’ve got a show both nights. You know that.”
She let out a long sigh. “Well, I’m sure you can miss one. Rhonda said she drove by last Friday and the parking lot was nearly empty.”
“We’re doing fine.” At least, they would be. Once he revived the place.
“Well then, there shouldn’t be a problem with taking the night off.”
“Actually, there would be. As part owner, I need—”
“The place won’t fall apart if you step away for an evening. Your grandmother’s quite capable. I’m sure she’ll be able to manage things on her own.”
No, she couldn’t; otherwise he wouldn’t have needed to help her out. But he didn’t want to admit that to his mother.
“I just wish you’d go back to school and finish your degree, Jed.”
“I did—in business. Which I’m utilizing now. Tell you what. Why don’t you and dad come out here this Friday, on me? We’ll grab coffee and dessert after.”
“At the theater, you mean?” Her voice sounded pinched. Was she envisioning herself serving dinner guests while wearing a waitress’s uniform? “No, no. I appreciate the sentiment, but your father will be tired, I’m sure. He’ll want a much quieter environment.”
“Some other time, then.” He ended the call and set his phone on his desk. He knew his mom was just worried about him, though it’d be nice if she were a little more supportive regarding the dinner theater.
Had Paige stopped by his grandmother’s yet? To snag a cookie or mug of hot cocoa, like old times? Grandma would be happier than a calf in the clover patch if Paige brought that giggling little one of hers. Ava. She had her mama’s nose, slender but round as a button at the end. Her curly hair, too, like shiny copper coils. And a mischievous glint in her eyes that reminded him of Paige.
A smile tugged as he remembered her from hig
h school, always thinking up something fanciful. When she wasn’t hunched over a book. He’d been a fool to let her go. Maybe if things had been different for both of them, he never would have. He doubted there was any chance of them rekindling what they had, but hopefully they could rebuild the friendship.
* * *
On Saturday morning, Paige sat on the living room floor with Ava snuggled in her lap. Toys and books were spread out to her left, and her calendar and notes to her right. Still dressed in her pajamas, she checked the time and then her agenda, and penciled in her day planner. At some point, she needed to send out article queries and follow up on all of the places she’d sent her résumé.
“Mama, pway wiff me?” Ava held out a doll with blue hair.
“Sure, baby. Who am I?”
She scrunched her neck into her shoulders and put her arms out in the most adorable “I don’t know” pose.
Paige laughed and kissed her cheek. She smelled like peanut butter and strawberry shampoo. “How about I be the mama and you be the little girl.”
“Uh-uh. Me big giwl.”
“That you are, and an adorable one at that.” She gently tugged on her big toe.
The one highlight of her unemployment—more time spent with her daughter. And her mom.
She glanced toward the kitchen and the sound of clanking dishes. Though she still didn’t understand the hypochondria, or whatever the doctors called it, and hadn’t a clue how to help, she was here. She had to believe that meant something.
A low rumble outside caught her attention. It sounded close, like in Mom’s yard.
“Oh, no.” She glanced toward the living room windows. The blinds were lowered. “Please don’t tell me...” She sprang to her feet, crossed the room and parted the blinds to see out. What in the world?
Jed Gilbertson was mowing Mom’s yard. What was he up to?
“Hold on, sweet girl.” She kissed Ava’s forehead. “Mama will be right back.”
She hurried outside, stopping a few feet from Jed and his lawn mower. Close enough that bits of grass flew back at her, causing her to sneeze.
With his back to her, he remained oblivious to her presence.
Dressed in cut-off jean shorts, a gray T-shirt that stretched across his muscular frame, a straw hat and—boots? Who wore boots with shorts? Didn’t matter... He looked amazing in them.
She shook her head. She wasn’t a stupid teenager anymore, and she would not go all goo-goo eyed for this man. She’d had enough heartbreak in the past couple of years to last the rest of her life.
She waited for him to notice her.
He did on his way back. Releasing the lever, he let the mower die, then removed his hat and wiped his sweaty forehead with a bandana he fished out of his pocket. “Howdy.”
“Hey.” She shifted and brushed grass flecks from her face. “I...um... I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but...what are you doing here?”
“Mowing your mom’s yard.”
“Why?”
“I do it every Saturday. On account of her being ill and all.”
So he thought Mom was sick. Like sick-sick. And there was no way she could correct him without embarrassing her. Or herself. “That’s very thoughtful, Jed, but I can take care of this.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes started to itch and water, probably due to the grass dust that had bombarded them. She swiped the ends of her fingers under her bottom lashes. Oh. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Feeling her face heating, she cast a glance at her pajamas—froggy boxers with a mismatched, baggy T-shirt decorated with a big old coffee stain. And her hair...
She touched her curly—and no doubt frizzy—locks and winced.
Too late to hide under a rock now. Straightening, she raised her chin and forced a confident smile. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but it’s really not necessary. I’ll manage my mother’s yard work from now on.” Or at least for as long as she stayed in Sage Creek.
“You got a mower?”
“What? Of course.” She glanced toward the garage, which was closed and likely jam-packed with Mom’s clutter.
She left Ava well occupied by her mother and returned less than ten minutes later. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and with her hair tamed by curl cream, she pushed a rusted mower with cobwebs clinging to it. The thing had to be at least twenty years old, and probably hadn’t been used in twice that time. She pressed the little gas button thingamabob numerous times, widened her stance, grabbed the lever and cranked.
Nothing. Not even a putter.
She tried several more times, jerking faster and faster, until her hands felt slick and sore. Same outcome. She studied the contraption. Then cast a nervous glance Jed’s way, grateful to find him focused on mowing his grandmother’s yard.
She turned back to the hunk of metal that was causing every last drop of her patience to evaporate. Stupid thing was probably broken. Now what?
The steady hum drifting from Jed’s direction stopped, and she stiffened. She squeezed her eyes shut, then gritting her teeth, gave the lawn mower’s lever another hearty yank.
Nada.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Jed approach with his cedar-citrus scent preceding him.
“Need a hand?”
She smoothed rogue strands of hair from her eyes and faced him with what she hoped to be a casual smile. “I appreciate your concern, but...” What? She had this handled? Obviously not.
His crooked grin sent a jolt through her. “As stubborn as ever, I see.”
She crossed her arms. “As cocky as ever, I see.”
He laughed, and his chocolate-brown eyes danced. “Let me take a look.”
She stepped aside to give him access to the contraption, and then she waited while he gave the mower a thorough once-over.
After a few minutes, he straightened and dusted off his hands. “Out of gas.”
Great. But at least it wasn’t broken. “Thanks. Guess I better fill it, then.” Did Mom even have one of those portable gas cans? She stepped toward the house to grab her keys, knowing full well he’d likely mow Mom’s lawn while she was gone.
* * *
Shaking his head, Jed watched Paige pull her car out of the driveway and exit the neighborhood. That girl was as bullheaded as...as a...as a bull. But a whole lot cuter. Especially when annoyed. Not that he intended to provoke her, except maybe by tackling her mother’s lawn before she returned.
Now, there was a challenge.
Then, once she’d calmed down a bit—she never had been good at accepting help—he’d mention the script-writing job. Or send her to Grandma’s. No. As tempting as it was to pass the buck, he wasn’t going to chicken out on this one.
Why was he so nervous to talk to her? He’d never been this way before...except during that summer when he’d first realized he’d fallen in love. Man, he had been a wreck, stumbling over his words and blurting out stupid, nonsensical statements. When he’d finally mustered up the nerve to ask her out, he’d botched it so badly, she’d laughed.
In the most adorable, shy way.
Then she said the word that practically made his heart spring from his chest—yes.
Moving quickly, he pushed her rusted lawn mower aside, then started up his. He’d made it three-quarters of the way through with sweat trickling into his eyes and down his back by the time she returned. But rather than quit, he stepped things up, as if daring her to stop him.
He made a sharp turn at her fence and almost laughed out loud. This was more fun than calf wrangling. He cast Paige a glance as he maneuvered around the thick, protruding roots of her mama’s oak tree, feeling amused to find her standing in her driveway. Watching him. A red gas can sat at her feet. It looked brand-new.
Once finished, he lifted his hat and mopped his face with his bandana.
Fighting a victori
ous grin, he sauntered over to her. “I normally weed eat every other Saturday. I’ll take care of that next time.”
“It’s really not necessary.” The sun lit her peach complexion and highlighted the most endearing splatter of freckles on her nose and forehead. “And thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “So, how long are you staying?”
“At my mom’s, you mean?”
He nodded.
Her gaze dropped. “Awhile.”
Tight-lipped, just like she’d been at the house. Everything about her, from the hard glint in her eye to her stiff stance, said “back off.” But he couldn’t do that. Not yet.
“Listen. About your job...” Probably not the best intro. “You remember my grandparents’ theater?”
She nodded, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“We’re partners now, Grandma and I, and we’d like to hire you on. As a writer. If you’re interested.” He told her about his renovation plans and his difficulties finding a workable script. “Can’t pay you a whole lot, unfortunately...”
“I appreciate the offer, but...” She lifted her chin. “I’m a journalist. What makes you think I could write a mystery?”
“You won that short-story contest in junior high.” She’d written a modern-day Peter Pan meets Cinderella love story.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Thought maybe you could give it a whirl. If it doesn’t work out, no harm done.” Except then they’d be out of time and without a script.
“I don’t think—”
He raised a hand. “You don’t have to answer now. Just chew on it.”
She gave a slow nod.
With his hands in his pockets, he watched her a moment longer. Long enough for three cars and a bicyclist to pass through his peripheral vision. He knew, because he counted, while trying to ignore the pull of her vanilla-cinnamon perfume and blue eyes.
“’Spect I should let you go.” With a tip of his hat, he left, before things became any more awkward. It felt like high school all over again, only harder, because now a canyon of confusion and misunderstanding stretched between them.
Hometown Healing Page 3