Chapter Seven
Andrea stood staring at the gap between the fresh drywall and the baseboard trim that she’d been trying for the last two hours to fit flush against the wall, but despite her best efforts, once one side was aligned, the other would pop off, and she was so frustrated she wanted to break the trim over her knee in two pieces.
She took a deep breath. She’d known, starting this project, that there would inevitably be parts of the renovation best left to the experts, and she’d reached that point.
She wanted the finishes to be perfect. Knowing it was a bit off might not matter so much to her guests, but she would always know it was there, and it would be like an itch forever unscratched.
She dropped her hammer to the ground, then looked around for her phone so she could check the hours for Tenacity Feed and Seed. Dammit. Closed on Sundays. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
Unless…
I’m sure my brother knows some people in construction in the area, Seth’s voice sounded in her head. I could give him a call.
She hesitated for a moment, then dialed Seth’s number. He picked up after one ring.
“Hey, Seth,” she said.
“All set for tomorrow?” Seth said.
“All set,” she said. “But actually, I was wondering—you mentioned your brother might have some contacts in construction. I’m looking for a contractor who might be able to come by and do some baseboard finishing. Turns out it’s a little more precise than I’m able to do.”
“Let me look into it,” Seth said. “Have you got the materials?”
“Yep. Just not the attention to detail,” she said, running her fingers along the edge of the trim she’d just been wrestling with.
“I’ll make some calls,” Seth said.
“Thank you.”
“See you tomorrow,” said Seth. “You take milk, right?”
“Milk?”
“I’ll grab us coffees.”
She warmed at the fact that he’d remembered. “Milk is great. See you tomorrow.”
Andrea hung up and stared at her phone. Asking Seth for help wasn’t exactly a huge deal, but still—there was something about it that didn’t sit entirely right.
She was here to help him with his project, sure, but now she was asking him for a favor in return.
Was it really that simple? A little quid pro quo?
She spent some time tidying up the workspace—no more progress was going to be made today—and heated up a pot of the butternut squash soup she’d made the day before.
Just as she was swiping some butter across a toasted piece of sourdough to have on the side, a knock came at the door.
A middle-aged man with a thick beard and a toolbox stood on her doorstep. “Andrea Spence?” he said. “Seth Taylor asked me to drop by and have a look at your baseboards.”
Andrea blinked. She’d called Seth just over an hour ago, and there was already someone here to do the work? Her phone pinged and she looked at the screen to see a text from Seth. Jesse Larson. One of my ranch hands. Today’s his day off. Super skilled, trustworthy.
“You must be Jesse,” she said. “Come on in.”
Ten minutes later, Jesse was working on the baseboards with Andrea watching.
He showed her how to use her miter saw to cut the corners with precision and make sure each angle had perfect fit.
She contemplated offering to take over—surely Jessie had other plans for his day off—but he was making such fast work of it, and of exceptional quality, that she decided to enjoy her toast and soup in the kitchen.
“How much do I owe you?” Andrea said, after Jesse had packed up his toolbox and had called out that he was going to be on his way.
“Seth took care of it,” said Jesse.
“Oh, but I—”
“Not to worry. Seth made sure to tell me not to accept any payment.” Jesse looked around. “Nice place you’ve got here. If you need anything else, just give me a call.”
And just as quickly as he’d arrived and solved her problem, Jesse was gone, and Andrea was left standing in her newly trimmed foyer, feeling a mixture of appreciation and—what was it—annoyance?—that Seth had gone and arranged a service for no charge without giving her the opportunity to weigh in.
He was next-level wealthy, and paying Jesse for three hours of overtime work was likely a drop in the bucket for him. But that was beside the point.
Early in their relationship, Harold had taken Andrea for dinner at a restaurant outside town, and she remembered her irritation when the waiter was passing her the thick leather-bound menu, and Harold had waved it away.
He knew the restaurant well and knew exactly what to order, he’d told her.
Forget the fact that she’d looked the menu up earlier that day at work and had already decided she was going to choose between the half-rack Australian lamb with honey Dijon butter and the striploin with mixed mushrooms and potato gratin, depending on how she felt at the moment.
She almost said something, but didn’t want to start the date off on the wrong food, so she’d smiled and acquiesced. The pan-seared Chilean sea bass was okay, but she remembered the moment another waiter strolled by the table with the perfect steak and regretting her decision not to speak up.
Seth’s just being helpful, she reminded herself, but something about it was still not sitting well with her.
She would ask Seth about the cost tomorrow, at the booth, then send him an e-transfer for the full amount.
And until then, she was going to enjoy her now completed remodeling of the front space.
A shiver of excitement washed over her when she pictured what it would look like once it was painted, and all the furniture was in.
Deep camel leather club chairs near the fireplace, and a coffee table with stacks of nature and history books.
Four o’clock happy hour, featuring some local craft beers, fresh-baked jalapeno and sun-dried tomato popovers and spiced pecans.
A chest full of board games and puzzles, and a record player.
One thing she’d been scouring the internet for was a vintage jukebox.
Some long-range plans included building a barrel sauna at the back of the property and hanging a few hammocks between the trees.
In the meantime, some firepits would be a simple and cost-effective way to set up the outdoor space.
They’d make for a cozy spot for stargazing.
And, fingers crossed, if the ranch did well, there was more than enough space to build some cabins separate to the main building.
Andrea loved the idea of them all having different names for different animals that were local to the region.
Or, if Seth’s plans panned out, and the majority of the guests coming through were traveling to see the dino park, maybe a nod to that?
That was down the road. In the meantime, she had to focus on getting the rooms decorated, the foyer and main living space set up and then consider the day-to-day operations of the ranch.
Breakfast menus, cleaning schedules, laundry services, insurance: all the things required to operate a business like hers.
There was still a ton of work to do to get the ranch ready to open, but for now, some perfectly trimmed baseboards felt like one more big step forward.
* * *
Seth stood leaning at the edge of the corral, one boot resting on a wooden post as he observed one of the ranch’s cowboys working with a chestnut Mustang on some basic flexing and yielding, getting him ready to join their remuda sometime in the coming days.
It was a quiet morning, the air still and cool.
The peaceful moment was only interrupted when he heard the trademark jingle of keys approaching that could only be one person.
Thaddeus.
His father kept his full collection of keys for various parts of the ranch on a ring clipped to his belt loop with a carabiner, an auditory signal that had been helpful to the Taylor children as kids. No matter what kind of trouble they were up to, they always had a warning when Dad was close by.
Today, Seth wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be doing. But nevertheless, he was sure Thaddeus would have something to say about it.
The jingling came to a stop as Thaddeus joined him at the corral, his Stetson casting a shadow over his white hair, a coffee mug in his hand. “Morning,” he said, glancing at the horse. “How’s that one doing?”
“Coming along,” said Seth. “He should be ready to join the fold in a few days’ time.”
Thaddeus grunted. “I’ve always preferred quarters and stocks,” he said, a hint of disdain in his voice. “Mustangs are too independent.” He paused for a moment, and if a bookie had been close by, Seth would have placed a sizeable bet on what he knew was coming next out of his father’s mouth.
“Like you,” Thaddeus said.
Jackpot.
Seth said nothing, the clomping of the mustang’s hooves filling the air.
Most parents would be happy with an independent child.
But Seth knew very well that the independence that his father was referencing had more to do with the fact that Seth didn’t always fall in line.
He wasn’t a pleaser, the way he knew Thaddeus would have preferred.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve been absent more than your fair share these days,” Thaddeus continued. “Just because your name is on the ranch doesn’t mean you don’t have to contribute just like the rest of us. Where’ve you been for those hours on end these days?”
Seth felt his blood start to boil. “There’s not a single part of my job that hasn’t gotten done,” he said.
“Maybe it’s gotten done. But not always by you. I’m not paying you to delegate your work to others.”
“I’m not—”
“Daniel’s already made it clear he’s unlikely to come back. What kind of family business is this if another Taylor drops off?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me pursuing some side projects, Dad,” Seth said.
He could only imagine the field day Thaddeus would have if he shared his ideas for the dinosaur park.
Not like Andrea, who seemed to believe not just in his idea, but his ability to execute it.
The thought of her helped temper his annoyance in the moment, and the idea of seeing her on election day helped him fight the urge to bite back at his father. “I’m still committed to the ranch.”
Thaddeus nodded curtly, then stood back from the corral. “I hope so. Because if you’re not, I’m not sure why I’ve been busting my ass all these years to have a business to pass down.”
“All right,” Seth said through gritted teeth, just to appease him.
Thaddeus continued on his way down the path towards the barns, the jingling of his keys growing faint.
Seth continued to watch as the mustang executed the cowboy’s commands, every now and then trotting toward the fence or delaying when he was commanded to yield.
Seth had to smile to himself. His father wanted to compare him to a mustang? Independent, strong-willed and hard to control?
He would take that as a compliment.