Chapter Eight #2
Asher had been hopeful Herman might have forgotten the twins and their antics from their high school daredevil days. No such luck. Asher said, “I’ve been away for a while.”
“Yes. Too busy taking a bite out of the Big Apple to see fit to come home,” Herman stated, a thread of disapproval in his words.
“I’ve got a pretty demanding job in New York,” Asher said by way of an excuse. One that suited him quite well. Until he came back and danced with a pretty chef.
“Well, Walter always claimed you wouldn’t forget your roots.” Herman harrumphed and plucked his straw hat off his head as if to better see Asher. “Have you, then? Forgotten your roots.”
Things were certainly coming back to Asher. Yet, those he feared had more to do with the cowgirl beside him than his roots. It had been a while since he felt any sort of spark. The last time he had been captivated by a cowgirl was even longer.
There was no denying he was drawn to Kelley. Although, it was like sweet tea on a hot summer day—eventually, it ran out. Sparks faded. Distance would dim that awareness. As for his roots, there were too many city miles under the soles of his boots to feel that tug anymore.
“Perhaps we should get back to this chicken coop,” Kelley cut in. “This seems like a rather big request, Herman.”
But would Kelley consider dinner with Asher and a few turns on the Lucky Lane dance floor too big of an ask? Asher was only inquiring out of curiosity, of course. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Kelley continued, “Perhaps there is something else Asher might assist you with. Something perhaps less technical and labor intensive.”
Asher arched an eyebrow at Kelley, amused to realize that his cowgirl doubted he could build a chicken coop.
“Don’t fret, Kelley.” Herman waved his hand in the air and grinned. “The Blackwell boys have experience with chicken coops. They are particularly good at knocking them down.”
Kelley swung toward Asher.
“That is true.” At Kelley’s dismayed expression, Asher quickly added, “We also put it back together.”
That was after his brother Dylan knocked the chicken coop over and released more than a dozen of Herman’s excitable chickens into the field.
Asher had the entire coop back to rights long before Dylan corralled the last of the agitated hens.
Unfortunately, Asher had been laughing too hard watching the hens cluck and peck at Dylan’s ankles to help his twin or they might have gotten away before Herman caught them.
Asher looked at Kelley and said solemnly, “No chickens were harmed.”
“Even so, you didn’t have to come back only to knock the chicken coop down again the following day and the day after that for more than a week straight.” Herman smashed his cowboy hat in his tight grip and shook it at Asher. “Don’t think I wasn’t watching you.”
Asher straightened and adjusted his cowboy hat.
He had not returned to jump the chicken coop.
Not one time. Asher had been the only one to scale the coop cleanly and without incident the first time.
There was no need to do it again. However, his brother Dylan could not claim the same bragging rights.
Apparently, Dylan had not been so keen on giving up, either.
What his twin could do, Dylan always wanted to do better.
For the most part, Dylan succeeded, except when he didn’t.
And that was usually when Asher covered for Dylan.
Kelley shook her head at Asher and said, “What were you thinking?”
“We were teenagers. We pretty much only thought about racing fast on our horses and scaling whatever we could find,” Asher argued, still defending his twin even now.
As if he was still looking out for Dylan like he always had when they were growing up.
Asher continued, “It was all about the dare for my brother and me. Jumping things like fences and streams and whatever seemed to be the preferred obstacle in the moment.”
“Like my chicken coop,” Herman muttered and propped his straw cowboy hat back on his head. Then the crafty farmer turned around and started walking across his property. “Come on, then. I’ve got something to show you.”
Asher and Kelley followed Herman toward a vintage red barn with a second-story hayloft. Asher motioned Kelley inside, then let the door shut behind him.
Herman went over to a warped workbench where what looked to be building plans were spread across the stained wood top. Kelley moved beside Asher and leaned over to study the drawings.
The farmer’s gaze flashed and he said, “I can assure you that you won’t be knocking this chicken coop over anytime soon.”
“I think my days of jumping and racing across the back prairies are over,” Asher said easily and watched a small smile curve across Kelley’s face.
Herman shook his finger at Asher, yet his words were good-natured. “Get yourself in the saddle, son. It’ll all come back to you right quick.”
“I’m in the saddle, but it’s work related.” Getting the twos ready to race was requiring all the staff’s help. Asher added, “Seeing as I’m not scheduled to be in town for long, I doubt there’s time for pleasure riding.” Or fun with a chef.
Kelley’s smile faded.
Asher shifted toward her as if he wanted to defend himself for returning to the life—the good one—he had going in the city.
“It’s not about you making the time.” Herman nudged his elbow into Asher’s side, drawing Asher’s attention away from Kelley.
The farmer’s eyebrows hitched upward. “It’s about you being worried you might realize you still like it around here.
Hey, you might even miss it, if you give yourself the chance to think on it too long. ”
There was a certain chef Asher was starting to worry about missing. Asher grinned. “Okay, if I do ride for pleasure, I promise to stay on Blackwell land.” But staying away from his cowgirl, well, Asher knew he should do that, too.
“To be fair, I’ve expanded my corn crop so there’s not much prairie out there for you to chase now anyway.” Herman’s gaze was clear and wise. “But if you’re lucky, when you’re out riding and remembering, you might find some of those roots.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Asher said and earned a quick nod of approval from Herman. He would also keep his eyes off his cowgirl.
Kelley straightened. Her arm brushed against Asher’s. Her words were apprehensive. “Herman, this looks more like a small house than a chicken coop.”
Asher finally looked at the plans.
“It’s my chicken palace.” Satisfaction and pride filled Herman’s face. “My daughter has a degree in architecture. She whipped these up for me.”
“It is quite something,” Kelley whispered.
That was an understatement. Asher rubbed his chin, already calculating the amount of wood he would need. Well, he wanted to be busy. And from the look of things, constructing the chicken palace was certainly going to fill up his days.
Kelley’s eyes widened, revealing her skepticism. “I’m not sure Asher has the time or the…”
“Or the skill,” Asher finished for her.
Kelley flushed but did not correct him.
Even his chef doubted him. He should be more upset than he was. Instead, anticipation filled him.
“You still remember how to handle all those power tools, don’t you?” Herman eyed Asher and rocked back in his boots. “If I recall correctly, Asher worked enough jobs around town, putting them to good use, just about every summer.”
Kelley watched Asher. Interest replaced the uncertainty in her expression.
“As it happens, I remember a lot about those summer days,” Asher said casually.
How things had changed. Now he simply called the building maintenance manager whenever he had a problem, big or small, in his apartment. Still, if Asher could not be behind his laptop screen, buried in work, he supposed the next best thing was having a power tool in his hand, building something.
“Well, son, you’re gonna have to prove it,” Herman said, his smile relaxed and his words resolved. “You build me this coop, and you got yourself a proper parade trailer.”
Prove it. There it was again. First Mayor Corbin and now Herman Whittaker. Asher should be insulted at being underestimated again. Ironically, he welcomed the challenge as if he had something to prove to himself and it seemed to Kelley now, too.
After all, he promised the mayor the Blackwells could be counted on. He wanted Kelley to believe it.
Challenge accepted, cowgirl.