Delivery to the Farmhouse (Havenwood Cowboys Romance #4)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I never anticipated how lonely living on my own could be. Before my parents had left, it wasn’t like we did all that much together, but I still knew they were in the next room. Now, they were just a phone call away, but it wasn’t the same.

My evenings were spent adding to my travel book. It was getting thicker by the day.

The last time I’d gone to Burley for groceries, I stopped by the library to print my latest itinerary—this one for Florence, Italy.

I was like Queen Latifah’s character in Last Holiday , except she’d dreamed of going to only one place. I had a thousand destinations in mind.

Wanderlust was an additive in everything I drank. It coursed through my bloodstream and only seemed to amplify like the sound of Kyler’s guitar. Under the Tuscan Sun played on my TV, and I sank back for several minutes, watching the main character’s indecision as she ditched her tour group to impulsively buy a house in Tuscany.

This movie channeled vibes of just what I wanted to do.

Maybe I could be like Diane Lane’s character. She was devastated by her husband’s infidelity and their recent divorce, so when her friend booked her a trip to Italy, she ditched her tour group, bought a villa with her alimony, and started a new life there.

New friends. New people. New everything.

“That’s what I need,” I muttered as the show went on, watching the scene when she has a chance meeting with a handsome Italian man.

Could I do it? Leave everything behind? Where would I go?

I had nothing to keep me here. Construction was fine—but it wasn’t something I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

I stared at a wall hanging I hadn’t yet put up. It’d been a gift from my sister and was too big to fit inside of a box so I’d propped it up against a stack of them instead.

In curly, black script on a white background, it said, Let Go and Let God.

“Sure,” I muttered, thinking of the prayers that had thus far gone unanswered.

I kept waiting for Him to show me His plan, but so far, no blueprints had manifested themselves.

How much longer could I wait? If I didn’t take the reins on my life, like a wild horse, it would run away without my consent. Or worse, like an old nag—worn-out, over-worked, with nowhere to go but the same, mundane stall I’d been in my whole life—I’d be right where I was.

Would I still be here twenty years from now, living in Dorothy Erikson’s basement, hearing her and her husband talk and laugh in the room above mine or the sound of the shower running at four in the morning?

Would I still be listlessly searching the help wanted section in the paper, trying to find the next new thing? Would I still be planning trips I wasn’t taking?

I pushed the paper away from me.

“Are you even there?” I asked, sitting back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “What am I even doing with my life?”

I heard Dorothy and Harold tromping around up there, running water and stepping across the room. For a pair of old people, they sure made a lot of noise. But other than that, I got no response to a question I’d asked far too many times.

A loud crash thundered above, stirring me from sleep. I was used to hearing Dorothy and Harold at all hours since they were early risers, but something about this crash sounded off.

Unsure, I blinked the remnants of sleep from my eyes, slipped into my shoes and robe, and dashed up the stairs. The lights through their back window were on. I didn’t bother knocking but instead tried the handle. The back door opened, leading me into their kitchen.

Dorothy was on the floor, holding Harold’s head in her lap. She wore a purple house dress with her gray hair tied back in a braid. Harold’s eyes were closed, his mouth gaping open. His left hand twitched on his chest.

“What happened?” I asked.

She wailed. “I don’t know! He was making his morning coffee, and he just collapsed.”

Morning coffee…at four a.m.?

“Is he breathing?” I asked, stepping closer.

“I think so.”

I took a CNA class in high school, though I hadn’t pursued anything after that. From what I could tell, it looked like he had signs of a heart attack.

Thinking fast, I bent in and placed my fingers at his throat. Sure enough, there was a weak pulse. Did he have a heart attack? Did he have any other existing conditions?

“Call 9-1-1,” I said.

Dorothy shook her head. “They’re too far?—”

“Dorothy,” I said, making my voice firm. I knew she was the glass-half-full type, but she needed to grasp that sometimes, the glass tipped over. “He needs help. Call 9-1-1. I’ll run across the street and get Steve. Okay?”

Her jaw set. She acted helpless and dazed, which was no wonder. It was common for thoughts to scatter and for shock to kick in in moments like this, especially if she was with him when it happened.

I hated to leave her, but we needed help. Steve Kennedy was a retired P.A. but he would know what to do until the paramedics got here.

Dorothy made no move toward her phone. In fact, she didn’t act like she grasped much other than her husband’s lack of response. I hesitated, thinking better of my instructions.

“On second thought, I’ll call them.”

I dug out my phone and simultaneously dialed the emergency number while running across the dark street. The morning air was chilled, but I pushed through, welcoming its coolness against my flushed skin.

I pounded my fist against Steve’s door. His house was shadowy, without even a porch light on. Was he home?

Please be home.

Minutes passed. I pounded on the door again. This time, he answered just as the woman on the other end of the emergency line responded.

So I explained it to them both at the same time.

Steve’s eyelids were heavy at first, but he quickly livened up when he heard what had happened. Together, we ran back across the street and into the Eriksons’ house. Dorothy still held Harold, staring. She hadn’t called 9-1-1 after all, so I was glad I’d decided to.

I held the phone to my ear, staying on the with the responder until the paramedics got there.

Steve knelt near Dorothy, placing a hand on Harold’s throat. He checked him, tilting his head and opening his mouth to clear his airway. He kept his fingers on his wrist, testing his pulse.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it felt like an hour and a day before the paramedics arrived. They had to drive all the way from Burley, which was a good twenty minutes away. The blue and red lights of the ambulance flashed through the front windows.

Looking ragged and tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes, Steve stepped back, clearing the way for them. Together, he and I watched the team of professionals heave Harold onto a stretcher and administer oxygen to him as they guided him out the front door and to their waiting ambulance.

The whole situation felt so surreal. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in a position like this before. Mom had had to go to the ER once for breaking her fingers, but that had been mild and nothing we’d had to rush for.

This was heady. Slowly, the edges of my vision blurred. Exhaustion began to seep into the edges of my body, tugging at my limbs, luring me to slump against the nearest wall. I fought the urge, rubbing a fist across my eyes.

“Good thing you got to him when you did,” Steve said. “Or he might not have made it long enough for the paramedics to get here.”

“So he’ll be okay?” I asked as the ambulance drove away.

Steven stared at the street. “Let’s hope so.”

Tipping his chin toward me, he bade me goodbye and made his way back to his house across the street. Sunlight was dawning in the east, adding pink hues to the lightening sky. I stayed outside, watching the gradual change in colors as the sky came to life.

Yawns were the only thing I fought back. Even though it felt good to help the Eriksons, to feel like I had a purpose, that feeling didn’t last. It only served as a reminder of my predicament, making me wonder just what my purpose was.

As much as I’d grumbled about how much noise the Eriksons made on the main floor, now that their footsteps and muffled voices were gone, it only added to my worries for Harold. A day had passed, and I hadn’t heard whether he was okay or not.

I’d have to get an update when I got back from work.

Dressing, brushing my teeth, and tying my hair back into a ponytail, I applied sunscreen on the back of my neck and readied to head out to the townhouse site for the day. Dorothy’s cookies stared at me from the table with chocolate eyes.

As nice as the gesture was, there was no way I was going to eat this whole plate of cookies by myself. On impulse, I brought the plate with me. There had to be someone at work with a sweet tooth.

The site was singing like birds in the treetops, only this was a chorus of pounding hammers, high-pitched saws, the grunting noise of a staple gun against the soffit, and laughter. Sunlight already beat hot against the dirt, and even though it was only eight in the morning, it was already climbing to eighty degrees.

June was only days away. Summer was definitely in full swing.

Drake and Dan stood near the saw. Each man wore some kind of earmuff that I assumed blocked the shrill sound of the saw slicing through the aluminum as Drake held one end of the long sheet of soffit and Dan measured and lowered the saw to its target.

I winced, plugging my ears the best that I could with one hand while trying not to drop the plate. Regardless, the shrill noise cut right into my eardrum.

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. The saw sliced right through, and Drake tossed the piece of soffit onto a pile on the dirt at his feet, sliding the piece over to make another cut.

“Here,” I said, interrupting and peeling the plastic wrap back. I held the plate to him. “Cookie?”

“For me?” Drake said a little too loudly.

“Yep.”

Tearing off one work glove, he snatched a cookie and took a bite. Dan moved in, taking two. Soon, the guys all lined up, flocking to the promise of sugar.

Never mind that it was still so early in the morning. Jo arrived, tossing her hair back and stuffing her gloves into her pocket before taking a cookie, too. She looked pretty, with bright eyes and a sweet smile. And was that lip gloss?

Yeesh. I didn’t bother putting any makeup on here. With how much I sweated through the day, there didn’t seem to be much point.

“You’re the winner today,” she said through a mouthful.

“I can’t take credit,” I said, turning to offer the plate to Jesse, who swooped in for one of the few that were left on the plate. He tipped it up to me in thanks before taking a bite. “Someone else gave them to me first.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jo said, licking a bit of chocolate from her lip. So much for that gloss. “You brought them.”

Excited chatter grew, and the men gathered, stepping around the saw and the cut soffit, joking and laughing and enjoying their cookies. For a moment, I caught sight of Bryce and Colton, who also crept in and took the final cookies from the pile.

I worried they’d be upset at this impromptu snack and the delay it created in the day, but from the smiles on their faces and the way Colton licked his fingers, they didn’t seem to mind that work had stopped.

In fact, this little interruption brought a friendly mood to the site. The guys laughed. They teased each other. There was a different pep in their steps by the time many of them went back to their various tasks.

Bryce nudged my shoulder with his fist. “Thanks for the cookies,” he added before stalking toward Colton and Jesse.

I watched the three men meander toward the blue plumbing truck that had arrived that morning, stilling for a moment. The empty plate had been left behind, but I didn’t mind. Nor did I mind that it had been cast to the ground like so many of the guys did when they finished their lunches or downed a bottle of water and tossed their garbage to the dirt.

Who knew a plate of cookies could rally the crew the way that it did? I couldn’t come to grips with the warmth in my chest or the feeling of inclusion I’d gotten from each one of them as a result of it.

I’d been skeptical about this job. I’d felt out of place, clueless half of the time and going through the motions the rest of the time. But this?

I’d been included. I’d been part of the crew.

It was like I was finally accepted.

A smile tugged on my lips. In that moment, it didn’t matter that I had no experience at all.

I was getting experience, all right. The soreness in my back, arms, and legs was proof of that. Not to mention the calluses. I rubbed one on the inside of my left palm with my right hand and strode toward the unfinished unit I’d been working in for the past week.

I was really getting a rhythm for mudding and texturing. Soon, it would be time to paint these walls. And of course, this particular job only made me think of Colton and how adorably goofy he’d been, sticking his hand into the fresh mud I’d scraped onto the wall of the last townhouse I’d been working in.

He hadn’t really talked to me since our dance. Since I’d rejected him.

Not that I blamed him. I had shot him down pretty hard—which was why I couldn’t figure out why that moment wouldn’t leave me alone.

I thought about him. A lot.

The truth was, I liked him. And I wasn’t sure what to do about it.

By the time I finished the room I’d been working in and stepped outside for a tiny break and to get a drink, the yellow sun blazed high, baking my skin. Beads of sweat dripped down my back.

I tucked myself into the cool shade near the unfinished side of the townhouse, wiped an arm across my brow, and took a long swig of cool water from my water bottle.

This was far more intense than yoga. In fact, I hadn’t been to the gym since I started this job. There really wasn’t any need to.

It made me wonder if Allie still went. I’d bumped into her there occasionally before.

Several of the guys strode past, pulling the saw on its wheeled cart. Stupidly enough, my heart did a hopeful little kick when it thought one of them was Colton, but reality kicked right back.

It wasn’t Colton. It was Dan, who was just as tall and tanned as Colton was.

Dan paused long enough to wave to me. I waved back—and that caught Jesse’s attention.

The foreman treaded across the dirt, waving at me once more.

“There you are!” he said.

“Here I am,” I said. “Did you need something?”

“You busy? The electrician just finished assembling that control box for number thirteen, but they left a mess behind. We need it cleaned up so the guys can finish laying up the soffit and get the walls up on the inside. I left a broom by the door. Can you?—?”

“I’m on it, boss,” I said, eager for an excuse to move around a little more than I had been.

Jesse liked to keep things orderly. The guys made a mess throughout the day, but I did what I could to pick things up.

At first, I didn’t know what needed to stay and what needed to go, but Jesse didn’t like leaving tools out, and he wanted to keep up on the garbage, so it didn’t look like a total slob was in charge.

Like anyone would.

I picked up some spare pieces of plastic along the way and stuffed them into the garbage sack. Then I made my way through, using the magnetic lawnmower to sweep up bits of cut wire, aluminum, nails, and pieces of metal the electricians and the workers left behind.

Then, I headed inside. From the look of things, the electrical had just been done. The walls weren’t yet in place over the open two by fours making up the townhouse’s interior. And it was just as big of a mess as it’d been outside.

As per Jesse’s instruction, I retrieved the broom just inside the door and began sweeping the room’s perimeter, picking up bits of insulation and cut wire. I paused my broom as I approached the control panel.

From the look of things, it’d been left open, and several wires hung loosely out of the box.

I peered toward the window behind me. Glass had been installed, at least, but from this vantage point, I couldn’t see any of the guys, and the electrician’s truck was driving away from the site.

Jesse said they were done? This looked like a bigger mess than usual.

“It’s probably not the best idea to leave these wires exposed,” I muttered, nudging them with my broom.

Not that I was in any way acquainted with what needed to be done with electrical boxes and wires, but I doubted this was the way things should have been left. I’d seen finished electrical boxes in the apartment I’d grown up in—and it hadn’t looked like this.

Then again, I should probably just leave them alone. Leave it to the experts and stick to sweeping.

I nudged the wires with my broom when a sudden crackle of electricity sparked from the ends.

A screech slipped out of my mouth. I startled, my heart racing.

“Stop!” I shouted at the wires. “Stop!”

I smacked them with my broom once more. Which, in hindsight, was the worst thing I could have done at that moment. In my defense, I was trying to put them out—but the bristles on my broom only seemed to stoke things that much more.

Another shrill cry escaped, this one closer to a scream.