Chapter 13 Pane #2
“You see how this goes.” Our gazes lock, and for a brief second a smile flickers on her lips before she turns it into a frown. “But anyway, that in a nutshell should answer your question about the tourists and why they fizzle out in the fall and are pretty lacking in the summer, too.”
It did, and a plan begins to slowly form in my mind.
But first things first. I need supplies if we’re going to make Wadley Farms a business that has a chance at surviving.
And that’s what I’m concentrating on as we pull into a parking spot in front of Mystic Meadows Hardware.
“Do you want me to come inside?” Rowe squeaks as if she’s hoping I’ll forget she exists. “Need any help?”
I smirk. “No.” My gaze drills into her. “I don’t need any help.”
She’s not even looking up from her phone. “Let me know how it goes. Coleman Barrier can be kind of a human splinter, so watch out.”
I lean in to her. She glances up, her eyes widen, and she sinks deeper into the valley between the seat and the door.
“Don’t worry,” I growl. “I can handle him.”
“Great,” she whispers, dropping her attention back to the lit screen. “I’m going to call my mom while you’re inside.”
My gaze falls to her mouth. It’s so plump and glossy, like a waxed apple—perfect for biting into.
I rip my eyes away and they land on two men walking by. They spot Rowe, who sits oblivious in the passenger seat as these two Neanderthals ogle her, eye-fucking her at the same time.
I get out and slam the driver’s-side door. The men glance at me, note the scowl on my face, and speed into the shop, their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.
That’s right. Keep moving.
No one’s allowed to eye-fuck Rowe except . . . except . . . I don’t know who.
As I make my way down the street, there are clusters of locals outside, walking into stores. For as gray as the exterior of Mystic Meadows is, the people are drab, too. Their clothing is colorless—dingy whites and faded blacks, sorrowful slates and muted creams.
It’s almost as if the decline of magic that Rowe told me about didn’t just affect the town structures, but the people as well.
I tuck that info away and head inside the hardware shop. There, the men who leered at Rowe are nowhere to be seen, and a few folks browse the aisles. The store’s nice. It’s well lit, and a quick glance reveals that they sell everything from paint to camping equipment.
Just as I turn toward the tents, I hear them.
Voices—gruff, agitated, and just loud enough to snag my attention.
Up at the counter, three men stand with their arms crossed, their postures stiff with frustration. They’re dressed like every contractor I’ve ever met: baseball caps pulled low, mud-stained jeans, and yellow construction boots that have seen their fair share of jobsites.
One of them, the clear ringleader, plants his hands on the counter and levels a glare at the man behind it. His voice is as sharp as a handsaw.
“I’m sick of this, Coleman. Every time I buy lumber from you, K-Yard advertises a better deal. Every time. Now, I like your lumber, but your prices are just too high.”
“Yeah,” mutters the man beside him.
“Damn straight,” adds the third, his drawl thick with irritation.
Well, well, well. What’s this I hear? A problem? A negotiation standoff?
This might just be the opportunity I need.
Behind the counter, Coleman Barrier—store owner and, as Rowe so lovingly put it, “human splinter”—stands like a stone pillar. His thick forearms are crossed defensively over his chest, his flannel shirt untucked, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He doesn’t budge, but his jaw tightens.
“Now, hold on,” he says, voice steady but firm. “I give y’all the best deal I can. You know that, Chandler.”
Chandler, clearly the man in charge of this contractor trio, snorts and slaps a sheet of paper onto the counter. “This is the deal K-Yard has running right now. If I do the math, going with them on my next job will save me thousands.”
Coleman wipes a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I can’t force y’all to do business with me.”
“Oh, but you can,” a voice calls from the back.
Heads turn as a woman peeks out from behind a shelf, one manicured hand braced on the edge. She wears a low-cut white blouse with ruffles at the sleeves, big hoop earrings swaying as she leans forward. Her hair is teased up high, and dark liner circles her sharp blue eyes.
“Hilary,” Coleman warns.
She purses her lips like she’s about to spit fire, but instead she just lifts a knowing brow and disappears behind the shelves again.
Chandler picks up the flyer and shakes it at Coleman. “If you can’t match these prices, I’m walking.”
The other two men grumble their agreement, shifting like they’re already halfway out the door.
And that’s when I step in.
“Now, hold on just a second.”
The room freezes.
Coleman shoots me the pointiest who-the-hell-are-you look I’ve ever been thrown. Chandler and his men turn, sizing me up like I just strutted into a lion’s den wearing meat-scented cologne.
“What?” Chandler says flatly.
I pluck the flyer from his hands and scan it. It only takes about three seconds to find what I’m looking for.
I flip it back around, tapping a finger at a line buried in the fine print. “You’re being cheated.”
Chandler blinks. “Excuse me?”
“This.” I slide my finger under the text.
“See this part? After the first fifty boards of lumber you buy at a discount, K-Yard hikes up the price. By a lot. They charge extra after that. You’re getting lured in with a flashy deal, but the second you need more material, you’re paying more than you would here. ”
Chandler snatches the flyer back, and the three men huddle over it, reading. The silence stretches as realization dawns.
Coleman’s gaze snaps to me, sharp and suspicious. I flash him a wink.
Chandler exhales hard. “Well, hell.”
“I told you last time that place wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” one of the other men mutters.
I take the opportunity and push forward.
“Look, you know the quality of lumber here is better. It’s why you’re still buying from Coleman in the first place.
That means in the long run, you’ll need less to get the job done.
And if you place an order today, I’m sure Mr. Barrier will be willing to offer a small discount, plus a guarantee that your next lumber order will be in stock. Right?”
Coleman’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth parting like I just hit him over the head with a two-by-four.
Chandler turns to him expectantly. “A small discount?”
Coleman clears his throat and nods, recovering quickly. “Yes. A small one. And guaranteed stock when you return. Absolutely.”
Chandler rubs a hand down his stubbled jaw. “You got what I need today?”
Hilary pops her head out from behind the shelves again, a wide smirk on her lips. “Oh, we got it.”
“Then let’s do this.” Chandler claps Coleman on the back and motions for the others to follow.
For the next fifteen minutes, I browse the store while Coleman handles the transaction. But I don’t miss the way he keeps cutting glances at me, his expression unreadable.
It’s only when Chandler and his crew are heading out the door that Chandler looks back at Coleman and jerks his chin toward me.
“I don’t know who that new employee is,” he says, “but you need to keep him.”
As soon as the contractors are gone and the store’s empty, the store owner comes out from behind the counter, crosses his arms, and scowls at me. “I’d like to know who this new employee is, too. Though I suppose I should thank you for saving those customers for me.”
I extend my hand. “My name’s Maddox. Pane Maddox.”
After all, my mother didn’t say that I had to keep my name a secret. She just told me that I’m a big nobody. That’s me—Pane Maddox, big nobody.
“What’s your angle, Maddox?” Coleman’s gaze sweeps up and down me, pausing at my dress shoes. “You don’t look to need a job.”
“No, I don’t need a job. I’d like to do some business with you.”
He snaps to attention at that. He’s practically got dollar signs in his eyes. Even his tone is softer. “What sort of business?”
“I’m fixing up a property here in town. This is the kind of project that, once it’s completed, will bring attention to Mystic Meadows.
Contractors like the ones who just left, along with investors, will sit up and pay attention.
They’ll want to build here. They’ll want to invest in the future.
They will see this town in a way that it’s never been seen before.
And the best part? They’re all going to need supplies. That’s where you come in.”
“I’m listening,” he says.
“So am I,” parrots Hilary, who’s come out from the back.
Coleman thumbs toward her. “My wife, Hilary.”
I give her a nod. “Nice to meet you.”
“What were you saying about building?” Coleman prods.
“Right. As soon as I’ve completed my project, you’ll have orders coming out of your ears.
But the thing is, right now I’m lean on funds.
” He frowns. I push on. “I’m looking for a line of credit.
Now, you’re taking a chance giving it to someone you don’t know.
I realize that. But for taking that big chance, you’ll see an even greater reward.
Imagine it, more business than you know what to do with—orders flooding in, and no one’s talking to K-Yard. They’re all dealing with you.”
Hilary pokes him. “You need to listen to him, Coleman. I been wanting a trip to Paris. You been promising it to me. You can get the money and I can have my trip.”
He studies his wife before focusing back on me. “And how are you going to do all this? Have you seen our town? Few visit Mystic Meadows anymore. Once the magic dried up, the whole town fell apart. Hell, I’m lucky to have the business that I have.”
Here’s where the Maddox determination floods through me. Even though I’m going out on a limb, I believe every word of what I’m about to say. I don’t know how, but it’s a feeling bubbling deep inside me.
“This town is going to come back, and the first property that’s going to be part of this renaissance is the one I’m working on.”
“And what property is that?”
“Wadley Farms.”
There’s a beat where Coleman looks at me and blinks. Then he tosses his head back and laughs. “That old place? That farm ain’t worth two pennies. How are you going to make it anything?”
My chest constricts. He just insulted my business, and by doing so, he also insulted Rowe. “I don’t appreciate being laughed at,” I growl.
“I’m sorry, but there isn’t hope for that property. You tell me that you’re going to fix up the ice cream shop and I’d believe you, think maybe you’d be on to something. But the Wadleys’? Forget it.” He turns his back to me and walks off. “Good luck, city boy.”
No.
No way am I leaving without this man’s partnership. I storm up to the front counter, which he and his wife are back behind, still laughing.
My next words are spoken around the gravel in my mouth. “What would it take for you to do business with me? To help me out?”
One side of Coleman’s mouth ticks up into a smirk. “I’ll tell you what it’ll take.”
Coleman points. “You see all those trees over there?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
We’re out in a lumberyard behind the hardware store. One side is filled with treated and cut planks. The other is filled with uncut logs.
He points to the mess of haphazardly stacked logs. “I need those cedars cut into poles. We got a big order going to the off-grid yurt community that’s just outside town. All my workers are busy on other projects. If you can get those cut, then we’ll talk.”
Why do I have the feeling this test isn’t about whether or not I’m a successful person, but whether or not I’m a man?
“I’ll be happy to cut them.”
“You ever worked a chain saw before?”
Once, a long time ago. And it was only the one time. My uncle had us up at his cabin, and he was cutting away at a tree that had fallen.
That was also twenty years ago, and as much as I’d like to say that the hotel business requires regular maintenance with chain saws, it does not.
“I’ve, um . . .”
“Great,” Coleman says, slapping me on the back.
“Just make sure that you cut where the logs are marked, straight down the center. You’ll find safety gear there.
” He points to a shed. “If you need anything, just give me a holler. Get to it, and let me know when you’re done.
Good luck, kid. May you be able to put your money where your mouth is. ”
Before I can say anything else, he disappears inside the store.
A chain saw. I’ve got to cut cedar posts with a chain saw. This is definitely a test of my manhood.
I flip back through my memories, trying to quickly recall everything my uncle taught me—keep your hand steady, watch for kickback, don’t let the chain touch the dirt. That seems about it.
I rub my hands together. This is going to be a piece of cake.