Chapter Four
CURRENT DAY
brEANNA
The old house is… old …like, really old.
So old that it doesn’t have running water, bathrooms, or electricity, but it’s beautiful.
It has that turn-of-the-century charm with a wrap-around porch, a gorgeous stained-glass window, a giant farmhouse kitchen sink slash tub, and the wood throughout is so old it’s practically petrified.
The property is twenty acres north of my family’s ranch, midway between Claremore and Owasso.
It’s close to a large wild horse refuge, which happens to be where my sister, Marley, sends her rehab horses that refuse to forgive humans for whatever wrong has been done to them.
The location is a bit more rural than what I initially wanted, but not so much that it’s an issue.
I purchased the land from the great-grandchildren of the original, and only, owners of the farmstead. He built the house himself when they married, making it just a little bigger with each child. The grandchildren told me they raised five children in this house.
The grandmother passed away about twenty years ago, but the grandfather passed away a few years ago after making it to a hundred and five. They said he was strong as a bull until the day he died.
When I saw it, I knew it was perfect. I built the vet hospital on the west part of the property with some help from Dad, and a promise to be the designated vet for the Harlow Springs Ranch - the ranch I grew up on.
He co-signed on the loan for the hospital and helped fund some of the equipment that wasn’t covered by the loan.
Then there’s the house. I didn’t intend to buy property with a house on it, my focus was on building the hospital. The realtor I used to buy the land suggested demolishing it, and I didn’t think much of it until I walked through the inside.
I fell in love with the old-time charm and the love the couple put into it. After that, I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it.
There were two things that made me wonder what it would be like to live in this house.
The first was the peeling wallpaper in one bedroom, which exposed bunnies dancing in a circle around pudgy babies.
If I’m destined to never have my own children, at least I can live in a place that once heard laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet.
The other was a half-circle stained-glass window inset over the big picture window of the breakfast nook.
It wasn’t just the window itself, it was the warmth created as the morning sun shone through like a kaleidoscope of color.
Once I envisioned myself sitting next to that window, first thing in the morning with a cup of coffee, there was no going back.
The east side of the land is where the house, barn, garden, and other small structures like horse lean-tos and the outhouse are. Everything besides the house will need to be demolished since they haven’t been used or maintained in a long time.
However, there is a charming water windmill behind the house that I will be keeping.
There’s no denying the house has strong bones.
Sitting on the top step of the wrapped front porch, the view to the west is beautiful.
I’m sure the original owners liked it better without my vet hospital and surrounding buildings smack dab in the middle of the small rolling hills, full trees, and gorgeous sunset every evening, but I think the hospital fits in perfectly – I could be biased.
The rumble of a diesel engine down the dirt drive pulls me out of my thoughts. I have an appointment with a contractor to look at the house and tell me where it stands structurally and what I need to do to make it livable.
When I built the hospital, I had to use special contractors who were licensed for medical-type structures in an obviously agricultural area, and were all covered under the bank loan, but when I asked the county inspector who signed off on all the permits if he knew a general contractor for the house, he set up this meeting.
The truck is older, and dust lifts into the air around the tires, and the chilly west wind blows it onto the browning weeds in what is supposed to be the front yard of the house.
On the door of the truck is a simple logo with the name Jacob Neil, Contractor.
The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
Taking the two steps off the porch down to the rock path that connects to the tire ruts that are the driveway, I wait as he slowly pushes the driver’s door open without even as much as a smile.
With clipboard in hand, he takes his time getting out.
It’s unhurried, almost arrogant, like he doesn’t want to be here.
My immediate vibe is that he’s local, his boots are worn flat at the heel, and he has permanent wrinkles at the edges of his eyes from squinting in the sun.
His features are hard and unfriendly, but so are most of the farmers in my daily interactions who are concerned about their animals and how much it’s going to cost them, so I’m used to unfriendly and have developed a thick skin when dealing with people.
“Thanks for coming out.” I offer my hand as we meet in the overgrown, dead weeds that have taken over the rock path in front of the house.
He looks down at my hand for a half-second longer than is normal before giving me a quick shake.
“Didn’t have much choice.” He clears his throat and slides the hand I just shook into his front jeans pocket. “If you want ag-related work done in this county, I’m it.”
Okaaay.
Brushing off his rudeness, I wave toward the house. “It’s old. But solid. I just need an honest assessment.”
“Everybody does.” He walks past me toward the side of the house, not waiting to be led and not waiting to walk with me.
I follow him as he circles the house as if it’s his property and I’m the outsider.
His eyes are sharp, and he stops to crouch near the foundation, tapping the stone with his knuckles.
He silently writes his notes on the pages attached to the clipboard.
His eyes follow the slope of the land, and he makes more notes.
Turning to me, not looking up from his notes, he asks, “You plan on living here?”
“Eventually, but it’s not a priority.”
He huffs as if he’s put out. “That’s what they all say when they can’t afford the problems.”
Everything about him is raising my hackles, and I relax the frown that’s trying to twist my face.
It’s a tiny jab, but it feels like he’s insinuating I bit off more than I can chew.
Feeling like I need to justify myself, I say, “I bought the land to build my veterinary hospital.” I wave my arm toward my pride and joy, “so the house was just a bonus.”
He pauses in his scribbling and lifts his eyes to mine without lifting his head. “Then you’re already on the county’s radar, that just means anything you do here gets looked at twice.”
Sliding my hands into the pockets of my jean jacket, I nod. “Is that bad?”
He turns toward the old outhouse that’s kind of leaned over to one side and half swallowed by old weeds. “There’s no septic.”
Duh.
“No, there’s not.” Why does it feel like he doesn’t like me?
Holding his clipboard against his front, he hooks his thumb into his front pocket. “Once you pull any permit that implies future occupancy, the health department’s going to jump on it like a cat on a mouse.”
“Is that a problem?”
He lifts his ball cap and rubs the brim against the thinning hair on top of his head. “The Health Department has strict rules, nothing gets done before the septic system is established.”
Taken aback some, I’m a little confused. “Even if I’m not living in it yet?”
My excitement just deflated a little. I hoped to schedule everything around the same time and maybe, just maybe, be living in the house by this time next year.
He spits a glob of tobacco juice at his feet. “Doesn’t matter, intent’s enough.”
I’ve always hated that habit in a man. I dated a guy once who chewed, and not only did I get tired of the cups full of spit everywhere he was, but his breath was always stinky, and I hated kissing him. Needless to say, I didn’t date him long.
He squats and grabs a handful of soil, rubbing it between his fingers and letting it fall to the ground. “Clay-heavy. High water table. You won’t pass a perc.”
“Uhm, what’s a perc?”
I can’t see his face, but I can feel the eye roll. I’m trying hard not to let his shitty attitude get to me, I can’t afford to piss off the only ag contractor in the area.
Pushing himself back up to standing, he turns to me. He looks familiar, I just can’t place him.
“Percolation Test. Since there is no legal wastewater system tied to the house at all, you’ll need an approved septic tank system before we can do anything else to the house.
Before you can install a septic system, you have to test the soil for septic drainage, that’s what the perc test is for.
” He says all of this like he’s reading from a textbook and I should already know all of it.
“How long does that take?”
He spits again, and I fight the urge to scrunch my nose. “That type of system could take anywhere from four to six months.”
I fight back the urge to ask him if he’s fucking kidding me. That sets everything back. I can’t say why, but I really wanted to see how the house looked with Christmas decorations next year as I drank a cup of hot cocoa.
“How much?” Smartass. I don’t say that last part, but I sure want to. I’ve listened to Kinley give tongue lashings all my life, I learned from the best.
He pulls a piece of paper that he’s been scribbling on from his clipboard and hands it to me. I stare at the number at the bottom of a list of numbers and swallow the gasp that almost slips from my lips. I look up at him through my eyelashes. “Twenty-seven thousand?”
“That’s a conservative estimate.” He almost seems happy that I’m disappointed.
This guys a real dick.
My mind is reeling as I think of the other numbers I’ve got for roof replacement, electric install, inside renovations to include bathrooms. “This is more than the roof and the electric install combined.”
He shrugs his shoulder and clicks his tongue before he spits again. “Wastewater’s where they get you. Always has been.”
Looking out over the back of the property and all the overgrown weeds, I take a deep breath. “And there’s no workaround? Since I’m not even living in the house?”
For the first time, he smiles, and it’s not warm. “You always were a bit on the lofty side.”
Now my anger is starting to bubble just under the surface, and I tilt my head, squinting my eyes. “Do I know you?”
Something unreadable passes behind his eyes as he stares at me. “We went to school together. You wouldn’t remember me.”
I stare at his green eyes and try to remember him. He’s a good-looking guy. Tall, muscular from his line of work, but I just can’t place him. “I remember most people, and I didn’t go to a big school.”
He huffs quietly. “It was a long time ago. Your boyfriend made my life hell after your father made sure we were never put in the same class again. All because I taunted you a little.”
The memory is old, but I remember Dad taking me home because I got in trouble for punching a boy who told me I killed my mom. A few days later, Mato had a split knuckle and told me he got into a fight. I never saw that boy in any of my classes after that.
“That was you?” Now I remember. He planted the seed in my head that had me in therapy for most of my young life.
He only stares.
“Wait, you said my boyfriend made your life hell?” Mato was my only boyfriend, but we kept it on the down-low so my brothers wouldn’t find out.
He spits on the ground again. “Until he left town.”
Mato never said anything. Just thinking about him makes my heart sink, he’s a memory I keep pushed to the far corners of my mind. I give a small shake of my head. “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t change how it felt.” He says it with an indifferent huff.
Well, damn.
Needing to right this before he starts adding fees just for fun, I say, “I’m sorry.” I mean it, but I have a feeling he’s just as much an asshole as he was when we were kids.
He shrugs it off, like it’s not a big deal, but I’ll bet his need for revenge is just as strong as his memory. “He didn’t stick around, though, did he?”
Clenching my jaw, not wanting to talk about Mato, I shake my head again. “No.”
He nods. “Hmm. Figures.”
It’s not overtly cruel, just a small jab that landed right where he meant for it to. Looking away, I realize he’s going to drag me through his petty spite no matter what I say. Folding the estimate he just handed me, I clear my throat. “And you’re the only one in the county who does this?”
He smiles again like he’s the cat who got the cream.
“Only one licensed for ag and residential crossover. You’re welcome to bring someone in from Tulsa or Owasso, but they’ll charge you for the drive and the inconvenience of coming out here.
” He shrugs his shoulders, the smile still there.
“And they won’t know the local inspectors. ”
Being direct is part of my livelihood, there’s no way to sugarcoat the fact that a beloved animal is dying or needs to be put down. So, politely letting someone know they are being an asshole is not something I usually shy away from.
Logic tells me that if I don’t want extra fees attached to all of this, I need to swallow my snark and try to keep things friendly. “Meaning?”
He knows he’s won, I can see the smugness in every line of his face. “Meaning they won’t tell you if something is about to go sideways, and they won’t take it easy on you.”
But you will?
Turning to walk back to his truck, he doesn’t wait for me to follow him, but I do. “So, you’re telling me the only way to do this is…”
Setting his hand on the handle of his truck door, he says, “You wait until the septic issue is taken care of, or you’ll pay more in the end.”
I glance at the pretty front porch and the deteriorating shingles on the roof of something I’ve decided is worth saving.
It became a quiet promise of a home I hadn’t considered until I let myself want it, and asked myself, ‘What if?’.
Disappointment washes through me as I realize I won’t be drinking coffee to the sunrise in this house anytime soon.
My heart sinks.
He stops as he’s about to climb into his seat. “I’ll hold the estimate for a while, but prices won’t be getting better.”
Closing the truck door, he starts the engine and puts the truck in reverse. Dust rises in the air as he drives off like he just won a competition.
Jerk.
Looking at my watch, I turn and walk to my truck.
I told Dad I would stop by sometime today to check on my oldest brother’s horse, Frost. She’d been distancing herself and started snapping at the other horses when they interacted with her.
Turns out it’s arthritis, and I gave her some meds last week and told them I would be back to check on her today.