Summer in Snow Valley (Snow Valley Romance Anthologies Book 2)

by Cindy Roland Anderson

“The initial payments are substantial.”

  “I’m sorry you drove all the way out here for nothing.”

  Not to be deterred by Chet’s refusal, Mr. Staker held out a manila envelope. “I’m not asking you to make a decision right now. All I’m asking is that you look over this information packet.”

  Chet eyed the envelope. He reached his hand out slowly, as if he expected it to bite. When he had a good grip on it, the salesman dropped his hand.

  Touching the brim of his hat and smiling at Mercedes, Mr. Staker said, “It was a pleasure speaking with you both. Have a good night.”

  Chet exchanged a look with Mercedes as the truck pulled away.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “Change.” He sighed. “They come around every couple of months. This is the first one since I bought the place.” He glanced behind him again. “He’s the first one who’s willing to talk about money though. They must be getting desperate.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Chet grinned. “I think we got interrupted. Do you have plans tomorrow?” Chet cupped her elbow. Mercedes felt an awareness spread through her. The world started buzzing again as Chet continued on. “I mean, besides working on the house. Maybe in the evening, around dinnertime?”

  Mercedes blinked. Was he …? “Are you asking me out?” It took her a moment to wrap her mind around the shift in conversation.

  Chet chuckled. “If that didn’t come out right, maybe I need a lesson from Sam.”

  Mercedes grinned. “I’d love to. I mean, I like dinner. I mean, I like dinner with you.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she realized how cheesy they sounded. She bit her cheek. “Can I just jump in a well? Do they have wells in Montana? I should probably get back. I left a mess in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll pick you up around six.”

  “I’d like that.” Mercedes turned to leave and bumped into a low hanging branch. The world buzzed around her, and she felt like an idiot. Then she felt pain—in her forehead. She reached up to rub the spot where she’d hit the tree, and a bee fell away, already dead.

  Chet grabbed her hand, pulled her out from under the branches and over to her car.

  Mercedes‘s eyes stung and she blinked.

  Chet took her face in his hands. “Are you all right?”

  “I, I think so. I got stung again.”

  He checked for a stinger by brushing his fingers across her forehead. “They were really swarming. Their hive must be in that tree. I’ll have to call Sam and have him come get it tomorrow. At least the stinger isn’t stuck in there.”

  Bees hummed through the air, madly circling the tree, ready to defend the hive.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah, he owns an orchard and has tons of hives. This group may be his. If not, he can give them a home.”

  Mercedes’s face felt heavy and strange. She wanted ibuprofen, and fast. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You look kind of out of it.”

  Mercedes wanted to get home, where she could lie down and let this stupid thing swell up in privacy. So much for painting tonight. Her head felt like someone had grabbed her cordless drill, attached a quarter-inch drill bit, and decided to see if they could drill through her forehead. Resisting the urge to press her hand over the wound, she replied, “I’m fine.”

  Chet opened her door. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  Mercedes’s stomach rolled. Losing her meal wasn’t the impression she wanted to leave with Chet tonight, so she smiled through it. Of course, running headlong into a tree branch wasn’t a great one either, but at least it was better than watching her be sick. “You’re welcome.” She hurried to put on her seatbelt.

  Chet shut her door and stepped back. Mercedes focused on getting the key into the ignition and starting the car. It was a good thing she lived on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, because she had to work through the pain to keep the car on the road.

  The one bright spot was that Chet hadn’t laughed at her for running into the tree like a dork. He was a true knight in shining armor, fending off giants, building a bridge for her castle—okay, it was a deck and she helped, but still—and now taking her to dinner. But what she liked the most was the way his eyes warmed when she said she’d paint him. He wasn’t embarrassed or overly flattered. He was accepting, as if he understood it was a part of her. That was, in and of itself, enough of a reason to get to know him better.

  Chapter 13

  Mercedes woke up the next morning to a pounding in her head and a stiff face. She padded into the front room to find Cat hunched over her laptop, her fingers tapping away at the keys.

  “Looks like the writing is going well,” said Mercedes.

  Cat jumped up and blocked the computer with her body. “It’s great … great. Holy cow—what happened to your face?”

  “That wasn’t nice.” Mercy reached up and felt her head. Just over her left eye was a huge lump. “Oh no.”

  She ran to the bathroom, Cat right on her heels.

  “Oh, no, no, no, no.” Mercedes’s gently probed the bump that was roughly the size of a baseball. “This is awful! I have a date with Chet tonight.” She whirled to face Cat and pulled her hair out of the way. “Is it as bad as I think it is?”

  Cat grimaced. “If Quasimodo had a sister …”

  “Agh! I can’t go out with him looking like Quasimodo.”

  Cat took her hand and pulled her back to the living room. She quickly closed Word and opened her web browser. “Do you think you got bit by a spider in your sleep?” She pulled her shoulders in and glanced around the room, as if a spider would jump out and attack her at any moment.

  Mercy melted into a chair. “No, I got stung by a bee when I took dinner over to Chet last night.”

  “How did that go?”

  Mercy pressed her cool fingers to her head. “Can I give you the update later?”

  “Right.” Cat bit her lip as she typed. “Maybe we need to reconsider this relationship if he has bees …” She scrolled through several sites. “Okay. A normal reaction is to have redness and a dime-sized amount of swelling.”

  Mercedes felt her head. “What does it say about growing a horn like a unicorn?” Of all the rotten luck.

  “That’s what they call a ‘localized’ reaction. It’s no more dangerous than a normal reaction, but it looks a lot worse.”

  “Ya think?” Mercedes couldn’t help the sarcasm from filling her voice. “Why would it get worse?”

  “Alls I know is you’re going to the doctor. I’ll call Whitney and see who she takes her family to.”

  Mercedes slid onto her back on the couch and threw her arm over her face. Cat returned before she had a chance to really dig into the self-pity and enjoy it.

  “Doctor Taggart’s office said we should come in right away.”

  ***

  Chet’s head was as full as a barn after the harvest. After Mercedes left, he’d spread the papers from the businessman across the counter and dug in. The numbers looked too good to be true. Therefore, he assumed they were.

  On the positive side, the company had no interest in buying the land; they wanted to lease it. That was a selling point for him, because he’d worked this land his whole life, and he didn’t have any desire to see it parceled off. In addition, he could continue to put cattle on the hill in the winter like he always had. All he’d have to do was clear a dirt road and put in a fence.

  He’d spent hours looking through the lease agreement, trying to find the loophole that had his dad up in arms the last time the guys came through town. The biggest detriment was the idea of having an ugly cell tower right there on the hill. But with that kind of monthly income, Chet could quit at the elementary school and put some into savings. He just wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do.

  As the sun warmed the eastern sky, Chet pulled into Vicky and Brad’s house to pick up the mower. It was time to cut hay
. This was the day he’d been waiting for. The purple flowers had burst open, and if he cut now, he could have it sold within two weeks. The rushed schedule gave him just enough time for the check to clear his account for the July mortgage payment. Well aware that if he fell behind he’d never catch up, Chet worked as hard as anyone just to keep his head above water. As long as they didn’t get a freak summer storm, he could do this. In the predawn light, he felt the stirrings of possibilities burning in his gut.

  Chet had a Tom Clancy novel downloaded, his ear buds set in place, and a long day of anticipating his date with Mercedes. This was the kind of day that he looked forward to, and it reminded him why he enjoyed ranching. What other job allowed a man to listen to books while he worked?

  Andy burst out of the house at the sound of Chet’s John Deere and took position to the left of the mower, waving her hand to direct Chet as he backed up toward the hitch. Chet was so proud of her. How many six-year-olds could do that?

  They had it locked on in a matter of minutes.

  Brad stepped out on the porch and waved at Chet to come in. Chet cut the engine and climbed the front steps. The house smelled like blueberry pancakes. Chet followed the sound of children digging into breakfast and ended up in the kitchen.

  Vicky handed him a plate. “We just said grace. You’d better get some before they’re gone.”

  Chet leaned over Andy to snag a couple. They way these kids ate, Vicky had to triple the batch.

  Brad sat at the head of the table. “Did ya get hooked up?” He poured a glass of orange juice for himself and a half glass for Andy.

  Chet drizzled homemade syrup over his pancakes. “Good to go. I’ll have it back to you this afternoon.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  Chet studied his pancakes.

  “I’ll bet he wants to get done fast so he can visit with his new neighbor.” Rhett leaned back in his chair and shoved a half a pancake in his mouth.

  Chet chuckled. He shoved down another bite.

  “What gives?” Vicky pressed.

  “I, uh, I have a date.”

  “Nice.” Rhett offered him a fist bump. “You hooking up with Boston?”

  Vicky smacked the back of Rhett’s head.

  “It’s just dinner.” Chet worked to keep his face smooth. No sense letting Rhett know he’d ruffled a few feathers. He shoveled in the last few bites of pancakes and rinsed his plate in the sink.

  “I think it’s great.” Vicky set a fresh pitcher of orange juice on the table and Rhett snatched it up. She set her dishes in the sink. “I’ll follow you out.”

  “See ya,” Chet called over his shoulder.

  “Bye!” Andy yelled.

  Vicky threw her arm around Chet’s neck. Not an easy feat, considering she was six inches shorter than him and Chet had to lean over to accommodate her. “All right, little brother, normally I stay out of your business, but I feel like it’s time to pass on some words of wisdom.”

  The last time Vicky gave him some “words of wisdom” was when Chet was learning to drive. Chet ended up rebuilding Pastor John’s picket fence and replanting two flower beds. Even though it was her advice that had Chet plowing through the pastor’s yard, Vicky got out of it all by getting engaged to Brad and spending her time planning their wedding.

  Chet folded his arms and planted his feet. He wasn’t a dumb fifteen-year-old anymore. Whatever Vicky had to say, he’d take it with an ocean’s worth of salt.

  “I saw you two together the other night. Mercy is different from the girls around here. You’re going to have to work harder to impress her.”

  Chet relaxed his stance. He’d worried about the same thing.

  “Get done early and get that truck cleaned—inside and out. Wear your best jeans, but don’t put on church clothes; you’ll look like you’re trying too hard.”

  Chet nodded. His stomach started to ache. What if he screwed things up tonight … embarrassed himself beyond redemption?

  “And don’t bring up any of your Cliff Clavin factoids. Girls don’t care about Chinese burial practices or Mayan harvesting techniques. Talk about normal things.”

  Chet rubbed his gut. “Thanks, Vicky.” He climbed onto the tractor.

  “No trouble. Hey, if this works out, you can name your first daughter after me.”

  “It’s just one date!" Chet yelled as he started the engine.

  Vicky raised her hand to say goodbye instead of yelling over the noise.

  Chet did the same. He turned the wheel and headed toward his small hay field.

  Vicky was right. He should get done early and clean his truck out. It was best to put his best foot forward. He rubbed his gut again; Vicky’s pancakes were sitting awfully heavy. Who was he kidding? No way was the stomachache from the pancakes; it was Vicky’s advice to talk about things girls liked that weighed on him. How was he supposed to know what Mercedes was interested in besides power tools and painting?

  Maybe this was a bad idea.

  Chet put the tractor in neutral and jumped down to open the gate. Once the mower cleared the posts, he did the same thing once again, only this time he shut the gate behind him. He looked around and decided he was completely alone. Folding his arms, he offered up a prayer for guidance.

  “Dear Lord, I’m fit to be tied over going out with Mercedes tonight. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. If you could give me a little extra help, don’t let me screw it up, I’d be very thankful.” Chet paused, giving the Lord time to answer. When the tension in his stomach relaxed, he took a deep breath. It always left him humble to feel the Lord answer his prayers. Sometimes it was as simple as a sense of peace; other times he felt prompted to act or hold back.

  There was something else weighing on his mind, and he decided now was as good of a time as any to lay it at the Lord’s feet. He explained his financial situation, knowing full well that he wasn’t divulging any new information to the Lord, before presenting the dilemma he felt over the cell tower. After saying it all out loud, he realized the cell tower sounded like an easy answer to all his problems, which worried him all the more. In his experience, there were no easy answers. After a pause, he felt prompted to discuss it with his dad. Closing the prayer, he shook his head. It would be several days before he could get in touch with Dad. Until then, he had a field to mow, a truck to wash, and a date with the prettiest girl he’d ever met.

  ***

  Cat drove slowly because Mercedes’s head still hurt. She’d never made it to the kitchen for ibuprofen.

  “What do you want to do about your date?” asked Cat. “After the whole IFA thing …”

  Mercedes threw her arms in the air. “I can’t cancel. He’ll think I’m playing tug-of-war with his emotions. Do guys really have feelings like that, or is that just a girl thing?”

  Cat shook her head. “Yes, guys have feelings. I think they call it ‘pride’ though.”

  “Well, if I cancel now it will hurt Chet’s pride. That would be two strikes against me, and no amount of cookies would get him to ask me out again. I’ll be relegated to ‘friend’ status.”

  They reached the outskirts of civilization and Mercy slid down in her seat. There had been some mighty fine firefighters cruising through town and she didn’t want them to see her. Also, there was no sense scaring the local children.

  “Look on the bright side,” said Cat as she pulled into the parking lot. “That big bump would scare off Sam once and for all—maybe we should stop at the feed store before we leave town.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

  Cat pulled into a parking spot and cut the engine. “Come on, let’s go find out just how big of a freak you’re going to be.”

  Mercedes smirked and followed Cat through the front door. Even though she talked about backing out on her date, she didn’t really want to. “If I look like a monster, Chet may not want to be seen in public with me. Maybe we could invite him to dinner? I’ll cook.”

  “With me as a third wheel? Sorry, sis, that’s as bad as can
celing the date.”

  Cat checked her in and gathered the insurance and new patient forms from the receptionist. They went to the waiting area. When Mercedes turned to sit in a chair, the room spun. She gripped the edge of her seat. “Who am I kidding? I’ll be lucky to get dressed halfway decent before he picks me up.”

  “If the doctor clears you to go.”

  “A doctor’s note would be a good reason to cancel.”

  Cat patted her knee. “Let’s wait and see what he says.”

  “Mercedes,” called a nurse.

  “Coming.”

  After taking her vital signs, the nurse got the doctor. When he entered, Mercedes was surprised to find he was young. By the look of the aged building, she expected the doctor to be just as old.

  After a quick introduction, he asked, “Is this your first bee sting?”

  “No, I was stung a week ago. It did swell up, but not this bad.” She pointed to the place where Chet had removed the stinger.

  The doctor’s warm fingers probed both sides of her neck at the same time. “It’s still a little swollen. Did it get as big as the one on your forehead?”

  “No.”

  He huffed. “Your reactions are increasing in intensity. You may be developing an allergy.”

  “Developing? I thought you were either allergic or you weren’t,” said Cat.

  “That’s a common belief. However, it usually takes at least one exposure to a toxin for your body to develop the allergy. The next time you’re exposed, you experience an allergic reaction.” He wiggled the mouse and cleared away the screen saver on his computer. “I’m going to write you a prescription for Benadryl and an EpiPen. Take the medicine today and keep the pen with you. If you get stung again and have trouble breathing, use the pen and go to the emergency room.”

  Mercedes nodded. It could be worse. “Will the medicine help the swelling go down?”

  “It might. The fluid may also drain and puddle elsewhere.”

  Mercy’s hands flew to her face. “Like where?”

  “Like around your eye. It should be reabsorbed into your body in five to seven days.” He started typing. “Your prescriptions are out front. Call me if you have any more trouble.” With a nod, he was out the door.