6. Peyton
PEYTON
He was late. I checked my watch. Mr. Franklin was supposed to start work on my client’s house yesterday and he hadn’t shown. After a heated conversation, he’d promised to be here by eight this morning, but it was almost nine and there’d been no sign of him or anyone from his crew.
I tried calling him again, but it just went straight to voicemail. At least my client wasn’t here. He was over in Bozeman, visiting his sister for the week. One less person to convince I had everything under control.
My stomach clenched, and I took another gulp of my coffee. Not that it would help, but it was better than standing around twiddling my thumbs. Babysitting a house I couldn’t sell while waiting for a flaky contractor wasn’t on my list of things to do today.
My phone rang just as Mr. Franklin pulled up in the drive. I let the call go to voice mail. Whatever it was, I could deal with it later. Right now, I had to rip the contractor a new one.
“Morning Miss Winslow.” He didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry as he got out of the truck, a cigarette hanging from one side of his mouth.
“Maybe for you. I’ve been sitting here for over an hour waiting for you to show up. You were supposed to start this job yesterday.” Frustration clawed at me, but I kept a tight lid on it. I couldn’t afford to explode. Not yet.
He walked around to the back of his truck, unaffected by my accusation. “Left you a message yesterday that I got hung up over at the festival site. As for this morning, it took longer than it should have to pick up supplies. You ought to know this business can be pretty unpredictable.”
Gaslighting his customer, that was original. I wouldn’t stand for it. “Don’t try to tell me how this business goes. I’ve been in real estate a long time and worked with dozens of contractors.”
He lifted his foot to rest on the bumper and flicked his cigarette to the ground. “I’m sure you have. And I bet not a single one of them has had a schedule change.”
Why couldn’t he just apologize and get on with things?
I’d had a bad feeling about him all along and the longer I tried working with him, the worse it got.
No point adding delays by chasing an apology I wasn’t going to get.
“Well, you’re here now. Please tell me where you plan to start and what my client can expect. ”
He went over the plan… bolster the supports, back fill with dirt, and regrade the area around the house.
It was exactly what he’d talked about before and exactly what my client had agreed to.
I just hoped the work held. It had taken several days of back and forth phone calls to talk my client into investing in the repair.
He’d made it crystal clear he expected the house to sell easily as soon as the work was done.
“And you’re starting today,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“As soon as the materials are delivered.” He glanced up and pointed to a huge truck that stopped in front of the house. “Looks like they’re here now.”
The truck beeped as the driver put it in reverse and backed up the driveway. The driveway where my car sat.
“You need to tell him to move. I’m not sticking around. I’ve got too many things to do.” I stalked toward my car, ready to back it out.
As Mr. Franklin walked toward the driver’s side window, the back of the truck lifted.
I stood there, my mouth open wide as the truck dumped an entire load of fill dirt onto the driveway behind my car. “No, no, no.”
The driver hopped out with a clipboard in his hand. Franklin scrawled his signature, confirming delivery. I didn’t move, too shocked to form words. What was I supposed to do now?
“Sorry, Miss Winslow. Looks like you’re not going anywhere for a while.” Franklin pulled a couple of shovels out of the back of his truck and handed one to a young guy who stepped up next to him.
I held out my hand, palm open. “Give me your keys.”
“What?” His brow creased and he let out a sharp laugh.
“You blocked me in here, but I’ve got places to be. I’ll have to take your truck.” I thrust my hand closer to him. “Give me your keys.”
“I’ve got equipment in there. You can’t just take off in it.”
If he thought I wasn’t serious, he didn’t know me or my family as well as he thought he did. “Then I suggest you put down that shovel and start unloading what you need for the day. Call me once you move this dirt, and I’ll bring the truck back.”
He might have muttered something unfavorable under his breath, but he handed me his keychain and moved to the back of the truck to grab what he needed.
Twenty minutes later, I was on my way to meet with a local photographer to talk about taking pictures for a new listing when I remembered the voicemail message.
Franklin’s truck rumbled under my ass, almost too loud for me to hear the message play through my speaker.
I swear it said something about our headliner band canceling, but I must have heard wrong.
With my heart pounding, I pulled to the side of the road and played it again. The band’s manager said they’d heard rumors the festival wasn’t happening because construction wouldn’t be done in time.
That was ridiculous. I’d been out there myself over the weekend to check on things. Franklin might be behind schedule on the house repair, but the festival construction was happening right on time. My hands shook as I dialed Mayor Nelson’s number.
“Mayor Nelson here,” Orville answered.
“Hi, it’s Peyton Winslow. Our headline band is canceling because they heard the construction at the fairgrounds won’t be done in time for the festival.
Do you know where they might have gotten that impression?
” It didn’t make sense. Tumbleweed Crossing wasn’t even local, though the lead singer was related to one of the guys in the Mustang Mountain Riders somehow.
That’s how we’d been able to convince a band so big to come play in our tiny town.
“I thought everything was on schedule out there,” Orville said.
“As far as I know, it is. I’ll go check after I’m done with my appointments. If you hear anything, please let me know.” I crossed my fingers, hoping it was just some bad information that got passed along.
When we first went out to evaluate the stage at the fairgrounds, it clearly needed to be repaired.
Expanded too, since the Founders Festival was supposed to bring in several hundred people from neighboring towns.
But that’s why we put the work out to bid.
Probably just a matter of them getting old information.
“You do the same,” Orville said.
We hung up, and I tried to focus for the next several hours through a series of appointments. Working on the festival had put me way behind on other things. It was early evening before I had a chance to take a break and even think about driving out to the festival site.
I hadn’t heard anything from Mr. Franklin about my car being accessible so I snagged a pre-made sandwich from the gas station to satisfy the hunger pains radiating through my belly and reached the site while there was still just enough sunlight to be able to take a good look at the stage.
I stopped short since another truck sat in the way.
Black as night with out-of-state plates, I would have bet my real estate license it was the same one I’d seen Huck driving.
Suspicion rose, tightening my lungs, making it hard to draw in a full breath.
Had Huck been messing around at the festival grounds?
After a quick scan of the area, I didn’t see him. He had to be close, though. I got out of the truck with the sandwich clutched in my hand. Turkey and swiss on wheat might not be the best defense, but I had to work with what I had and Franklin’s truck cab didn’t offer a lot of options.
Whistling came from a shed behind the stage.
It had to be him. I recognized the tune as one he used to whistle while we walked back and forth to the old swimming hole on warm summer nights.
I’d tell my dad I was spending the night at a friend’s house and instead, I’d meet up with Huck and spend the night in the back of his truck staring up at the stars.
Damn those memories. Gripping the sandwich tighter, I crept toward the shed. The wind kicked up, blowing dirt into my eyes. Squinting, I stopped at the entrance to the building and peered into the darkness.
“Huck? Are you in there?”
“Peyton?” He turned toward me. “What are you doing here?”
Convinced he was up to no good, I stormed into the shed. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question? Are you trying to sabotage the festival? Is that why you’re sneaking around out here after hours?”
“What?” His brows knit together and his lips corkscrewed into a frown. “I’m actually here fixing things, but I guess you never considered that.”
“Fixing what?” I whirled around as he stomped past me.
“The whole thing. Franklin’s crew has been doing shitty work. I stopped by the other day to check on things since I heard him bragging about how he could cut corners on that foundation repair he was doing for you.”
It took a second for his words to sink in. “You heard him say that?”
“Yeah.” Huck tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling.
“When was that?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Last week sometime?”
“And you didn’t think that might be something I ought to know?”
His eyes met mine. Heat and anger burned deep in their depths.
“Are you telling me that if I came to you and said that I’d heard Franklin was doing a shit job on your client’s foundation repair, that you would have believed me?
That you wouldn’t think I was just bitter about you not taking my bid for the festival job? ”
He was too close. I could feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. I took a step back to put a little bit of distance between us and fumbled for the right words. “You should have told me.”
“I suppose I should have told you your guy Franklin has been doing a crappy job on the stage build out too?” Huck put his palm on the wall behind me and leaned close. “Because you would have taken me at my word, right? Just like you did back then.”
My knees threatened to buckle, but I locked them tight and pushed off the wall, going on the offensive. “What I did back when, Huck? You want to go there? You want to talk about how you left me without looking back? How you walked away without even saying goodbye?”
He didn’t budge, just stood there blocking my way. “That’s not what I wanted, but what was I supposed to do? Your dad made it pretty clear I didn’t have a choice.”
“What does my dad have to do with anything? You did something stupid and got caught. He wasn’t the one who spray painted the bank building.”
“Neither was I, Peyton. But you didn’t believe me then either.” His jaw clenched.
There was just enough light coming through the door to the shed that I could see his pulse beat along his throat. Old habits had me lifting my hand to run it over the scruff on his chin. I stopped myself just before I touched him and let my hand drop to my side.
“It doesn’t matter.” Defeated, I shook my head and swallowed back the threat of tears.
“Might not matter to you, but it sure as hell still matters to me.” He took in a deep breath and turned to go. As he did, a huge gust of wind rattled the walls of the storage shed. The door slammed closed and everything went dark.
“Huck?” I reached out, feeling around for him in the dark as panic rose.
There were few things in life I was afraid of…
snakes, going to the dentist, and being trapped in the dark.
It all stemmed from a game of hide and seek when I was a kid.
I’d hidden in the trunk of my mom’s huge Oldsmobile and it was such a good spot that no one found me for hours.
Ever since, I’d been terrified of the dark.
“I’m right here.” His hand found mine, and he pulled me against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around me, reminding me I wasn’t alone. He knew about my fear and knew exactly what to do to keep me from sliding into a complete panic.
“Can you find the door? Please?”
The handle rattled, but the door didn’t open. “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise. Do you believe me?”
“What’s wrong?”
His arm tightened around me. “The door’s stuck.”
“What do you mean, stuck? Can’t you knock it open?” Already, I could feel the walls pressing in on me. Even with Huck holding me close, my head started to spin. I needed air. I needed out.
“Hold on a sec.” He moved away and landed a loud kick on the door.
It held tight.