“Thanks.”
The way she answered quickly and didn’t expound left Chet to wonder if he’d embarrassed himself again.
Mercedes turned in a full circle. “Your spread is beautiful. Is that what you call it, a ‘spread?’ I mean, I guess you would just call it ‘land’ or ‘property,’ but it kind of spreads out when you come up over that hill and that was the word that came to mind.” Mercedes cut herself off and her cheeks turned pink. “I’m rambling. Do I sound like a dork?”
Chet’s heart stumbled over Mercedes and the way she looked at his ‘spread.’ “You do not sound like a dork,” he assured her. “This land has been in my family for generations.” He turned toward his field, green with early hay. It would be ready to cut in a couple weeks. “It’s seen generations of hard work and family. Sometimes, it’s like they’re still watching over it.”
“Maybe they are,” Mercedes said softly.
“My dad thought so.” Chet shifted. “We’ve had developers make offers and there’s a company bound and determined to get a spot on that hill.” He pointed. “But my dad refused, even when times were tough.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
Chet grinned. “Stubborn too.”
“He’d have to be, to build a spread like this.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Chet ran his hand through his hair. He hadn’t given his dad enough credit. Now that Chet struggled under the load of a heavy mortgage, he appreciated what his dad had done all the more.
Mercedes shuffled her feet and took a deep breath. “Hey, I was wondering …”
Chet came out of his thoughts.
“Can I get that bucket from you?”
“Bucket?”
Mercedes pressed her lips. “Yeah, the one you said we could borrow … you know, when we were at the feed store … Sam …” She trailed off and looked away.
Chet had spent the whole afternoon trying to forget what happened at the feed store. He’d done such a good job that he forgot that in his pathetic attempt to impress her, he’d offered a bucket. I’m a regular knight in shining armor. He mentally kicked himself as he said, “Sure, there’s one in the barn.”
He’d hoped she would wait in the yard and give him a chance to regain his confidence, but she followed him through the doors and right into the tack room.
“I just have to get the horseshoes out of it.” Chet leaned over and grabbed a handful of rusted iron out of the bucket.
“Why do you keep them? Are they valuable? I mean, if you could reuse them they might be worth something, but back home we would take them to the salvage yard. My grandpa used to let us take the soda cans in when we were little and then we’d go for ice cream. Come to think of it, I doubt we ever made enough to pay for an ice cream. Not in one trip. But those shoes look a lot heavier than soda cans. So, do you sell them?”
If Mercedes didn’t look so cute when she went on like that, Chet would have laughed at the idea that used horseshoes were valuable. Her thought process played out on her face, and it went from curious to happy memory and back to curious. “I use them to make hooks and things. Like those.” He pointed to the wall next to the door, where several horseshoe hooks held winter coats and overalls.
Mercedes flipped around and took a moment to inspect them.
They weren’t anything special. All he’d done was bend a horseshoe in half and attach it to another shoe that he’d pounded flat. The flat shoe was nailed to the wall, and the bent shoe formed a deep hook. They were rustic, and the ones in his barn were his worst efforts, because he gave the best ones to his family for their barns or coat rooms.
Chet got the bucket emptied and took it out to the spigot to rinse it out. He was just finishing up when Mercedes came to join him.
“Those are really great.”
Chet shrugged. “They do the job.”
“Did you do that welcome sign too?”
Chet’s eyes automatically went to the top of the doorway. “Yep.”
“And that clock?” She pointed.
“Yep.” Chet kicked the dirt. He wasn’t used to people noticing his projects, and Mercedes was really looking them over.
“They’re creative and ...” She tilted her head. “... beautifully rustic. I like that you didn’t spray paint them or try to make them look new again. Could you make some hooks for my grandpa’s house? They’d be perfect for the mud room off the kitchen. I mean, if you have the time and I’d pay you of course.”
Chet smiled. “I usually make them when I shoe the horses.”
“Okay. We aren’t starting on the kitchen until later this summer, so that will work. Let me know how much I owe you.”
Chet opened his mouth to protest the payment when Mercedes placed her hand on his forearm.
“I think I messed up this morning.” She licked her lips, and Chet swallowed, glancing down at her hand resting on his arm. She looked down too, and seemed surprised that they were so close.
He didn’t mind, he just wasn’t sure how to read it. One minute she was flirty and the next she refused his help or offer for lunch. He didn’t know which Mercedes he was talking to.
“I’m sorry for what I said today. I didn’t mean to sound so rude.”
Chet smiled. She didn’t mean to sound rude. She’d meant to turn him down; she just hadn’t meant to be rude about it. Everything came into focus: the cookies, borrowing the bucket, it all made sense. Mercedes wanted to be friends, but that was all she was after. Maybe she was flirty by nature and he shouldn’t have read so much into their encounter this morning. If he was being fair, it wasn’t as much what she said or did as it was the way he reacted to it. It wasn’t her fault she made him feel ten feet tall. She just had that effect on him.
Chet forced the bucket between them, and Mercedes’s hand dropped from his arm. “Well, you had been through a traumatic experience.”
Mercedes accepted the bucket. “Traumatic experience?”
Chet stepped back. “Sam hit on my sister, Chelsea, once, and I swear she came out here looking like she’d been chased by a mountain lion.”
Mercedes laughed, and Chet’s heart tugged. It was a distinctly feminine sound that washed over him like warm spring water. He was mesmerized by the way her eyes danced when she laughed.
She caught him staring and quickly looked away, rubbing at that spot behind her ear. “I’ll bring this back when we’re done.”
“No rush,” said Chet.
Mercedes climbed into her car and waved as she pulled out.
Chet was still watching her car when Aiden and Whitney left the corral. They came up behind him, and Old Grey nudged him in the shoulder.
“Hey.” Chet twisted his head to check for horse goo on his shirt.
“How was your visit?” Whitney and Aiden turned their horses and followed Chet as he grabbed a bag of grain from his truck.
“Fine. She needed a bucket.”
“That’s a big project those girls have taken on.”
“Yep.” Chet disappeared into the tack room, stacked the bag on top of the others, and walked back out.
“Did you invite them to church?” Whitney asked.
Chet shook his head. He hadn’t even thought about it.
Whitney put her hands on her hips. “You should have at least told her what time services start.”
Chet scratched his cheek. “Yeah, probably.”
“What about Thursday?” asked Aiden.
Chet pulled up short. “Thursday?”
“Mom says we have to fix Mercedes’s front railing we broke when we took her bread.”
Chet pointed at Aiden. “You broke it.”
Whitney huffed as she pulled the saddle off Old Grey. “Chet’s right, you broke it.” She set the saddle on the stand and flipped her hair out of her eyes. “But I don’t know how to fix it, and his dad has the irrigation water this week. I thought maybe you could help him out.” Whitney dusted off her palms.
Chet knew she worried about Aiden, about his attitude. Fixi
ng the railing would be a good lesson for the kid. It was one Chet thought he could learn from, too. Not only would it set the example that if you break something, you take responsibility for it, but he’d gain some woodworking experience that he could use throughout his life.
Those good reasons outgunned the one reason Chet would stay away—his pride. He ran his hand over his face, sucked it up, and said, “I’ll meet you there Thursday at six.”
Chapter 8
Mercedes found Cat at her computer. “Hey,” she said on her way through to clean up the mess she’d made in the kitchen. Wanting to get the cookies to Chet while they were still warm, she hadn’t bothered to put away anything before she raced out the door.
Cat hurriedly shut her computer and jumped to her feet. “Hey.”
Mercedes paused to give Cat a once-over. Her eyes were wide and she was holding her breath. This was the second time she’d jumped when Mercedes came in. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Cat glanced down at her laptop and then smiled. “Everything’s great. You just surprised me.”
“Lost in your fantasy world again?” Mercedes teased.
When Cat was caught up in drafting a story, she would joke that she could only be reached in her imaginary world. Mercedes didn’t understand Cat’s fascination with historical figures, but she understood the need to create. In fact, her mind had turned over several ideas for paintings while standing in Chet’s yard watching Whitney and Aiden together. The way the light bounced off the horse’s mane and how Aiden’s face was half shadowed under his ball hat entranced her. But it was the sight of Chet talking about the land and his heritage that had her mind spinning. His sincerity was beyond words and she’d felt the whisper of generations past as he spoke. If she could capture that on canvas … She shook her head. Painting just wasn’t a priority lately.
Cat ignored her teasing. “Did you get the bucket?”
Mercedes held it up and let it dangle from her fingers.
“Ah, the power of cookies.”
Mercedes rolled her eyes.
“Did he ask you out again?”
“No.”
“Did you ask him out?”
“No.”
Cat pouted. “Were you nice?”
Mercedes raised one eyebrow. “I got the bucket, didn’t I?”
“Touché.” Cat stretched her arms out and yawned. She took a cookie and went to the fridge, where she pulled out the milk.
Mercedes put away the flour and sugar first, her mind on Chet more than on where baking supplies were supposed to go. She really liked the hooks he’d made. They were creative, Western, and functional. She could probably sell a ton of them back home. One couple she’d met through Jeremey was remodeling an old barn into a guest house. They would love a set. Mercy shook her head; Chet had all sorts of skills that surprised her.
“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.
It didn’t take long for his computer to boot up, 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.
Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set Page 16