Chapter 27 Brady
Brady
As soon as I saw the Turn Back Now sign, I immediately regretted this plan I had concocted.
I’d never been up to Boone’s property, and there was a reason for that.
The man gave off the world’s strongest “don’t fuck with me” energy.
He’d only ever given me grunts and withering looks.
Joanie said it was because he was wary of outsiders—even though I was pretty sure he himself wasn’t from Sweetwater Peak, but whatever.
Anyway, Collins cared about him, and I cared about Collins, so here I was on a Saturday morning, determined to fix this man’s roof. She’d had a rough couple of days, and she mentioned more than once that she was worried about him, and I wanted to help out in any way I could.
Collins was back at her parents’ today. It sounded like the four of them were going from the house to the shop trying to put the pieces back together.
I told her I had some things to do at my shop, which was true.
But this was more important— for a lot of reasons.
Plus, I was an able-bodied thirty-two-year-old man—getting on a roof felt like the least I could do after this week.
But of course, it all came back to Collins. I thought about her constantly. I was pretty much desperate to always have her mouth on mine, even though it would inevitably result in my untimely death because, for some reason, kissing her made me forget to breathe.
But if I died while kissing Collins, I’d die a happy man.
Fuck, I was down bad.
I couldn’t think about that—at least right now.
I didn’t need those types of thoughts popping up when I was in the presence of her grandfather-like figure.
I looked ahead and promptly slammed on the brakes.
There was a gate on the road, and I didn’t even notice because my head was so full of Collins.
God, she had the power to kill me even when she wasn’t around.
I got out of my truck and pushed the gate open, drove through it, and then closed it. I did that two more times before I ended up on a steep, winding dirt road. The last gate was already open, and I could see Boone’s house in the distance.
A dog came out of nowhere, and I hit my brakes again. I decided this was as good a place as any to park, so I got out and three more dogs came my way—including a yappy little Chihuahua who looked and sounded like it was hell-bent on ripping out my jugular.
Great.
I squinted at the fifth animal coming toward me. Was that a pig ?
I grabbed my toolbox out of my truck bed and started walking toward the house. Once I was close enough to the menagerie, they turned around and ran toward the house, too—no doubt warning Boone that he was about to have company. Except for the Chihuahua—it charged me and went for my pant leg.
I let out a squeal—a manly squeal—and shook my leg a few times.
“Please don’t,” I begged the dog, who growled around its hold on my jeans.
When it didn’t let up, I bent down and picked it up.
It did not like that. The little goblin continued to growl and bark and tried to bite my fingers and my face.
“Chill out,” I said. “I come in peace, you little devil.” The Chihuahua didn’t let up as I walked toward the house.
It’s fine, I thought. He’s literally like eighty. He’s not scary.
Just when I got to Boone’s front steps, his screen door swung open, and he stepped onto the porch.
And he was holding a shotgun.
“Didn’t you see the signs?” Boone’s voice was deep and gravelly. “No trespassing. No visitors.”
My brain short-circuited. “I’m Brady,” I said dumbly. The little dog in my arms started to kick and squirm, so I set it down. It scampered over to Boone and planted itself right in front of his feet—standing guard and continuing to growl at me for good measure.
Boone grunted. “I know who you are, city boy. Why the hell are you on my property?”
I held up my toolbox. “I thought I could help you fix your roof.”
Boone’s green eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your help. How the hell did you know about that?”
“Collins sent me,” I lied. “She was worried.”
Boone’s gaze softened in real time, and my shoulders relaxed a bit. “The kid sent you?” he asked.
I nodded. “She would’ve come.” A lie. “But she’s helping her parents out today, so she asked me to take a look.”
“She didn’t tell me that,” Boone said—eyes narrowing again.
“She didn’t think you’d want a stranger on your property,” I said. “Figured it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“Hmph.”
“It’ll take twenty minutes,” I offered. “And then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I could almost see Boone weighing the pros and cons of this offer. “Fine,” he said after a minute, and then pointed an old, crooked finger at me. “But no funny business.”
I held my hands up. “No funny business,” I agreed. “Maybe we can also put the shotgun back in the safe,” I suggested.
Boone grinned—an evil, terrifying, grin. “It ain’t loaded, pretty boy. Don’t you worry about it.” Well, it was a very effective intimidation tactic—that was for sure.
“Right, got it,” I said. “Okay, well, let’s do this, I guess.” Boone stepped back inside his house—I didn’t think I was invited in, so I stayed on the porch. When he reappeared, he was wearing a worn-out cowboy hat and a weathered denim jacket.
“Leak’s at the back of the house,” he grumbled. He shouldered past me and down the porch steps. I turned to follow, but I let the dogs and the pig go first. The Chihuahua caught my eye and bared its little teeth at me.
I bared mine back.
“Don’t worry,” Boone said with his back to me. “Chicken only kills when commanded.”
My mouth dropped open a little. This little demon’s name was Chicken ? I figured Butch or Hell Boy or something.
“Lady is the tripod, Hank is the pittie, and Phil is the farm mutt,” Boone said. “And the pig’s name is Pig.”
“Makes sense.”
I looked around at my surroundings. Boone’s property was beautiful. I could see a barn a few hundred feet back with a few horses out in the pasture. On the other side of it, I saw different sections with chickens, goats, and sheep. There was a greenhouse nearby, too.
“You’ve got a nice setup here,” I said. “How long have you lived here?”
“Forty years, give or take,” Boone said.
“Where are you from originally?” Maybe I could loosen him up—warm him up to me, I guess—or at least get him to chill out with the grunting.
“Meadowlark.”
“I rode through there when I moved here—nice place.”
Boone grunted. Again. “Too big.” Of all the adjectives I could think of to describe Meadowlark, “big” wasn’t anywhere on the list.
“How many horses do you have?” I asked.
“Nine.”
“How many sheep?”
“Thirty. Fifteen goats and a donkey, too, before you ask,” Boone grumbled. “You city folks always want to yap.”
“I’m not from a big city,” I said. “I’m from Redmond—Washington.”
“Big city,” Boone said.
“Why’d you move here?” I asked.
“Because I wanted to.”
“Do you have any family in Meadowlark?”
“Little brother,” Boone said, then stopped in front of a ladder. “I was going to get up there myself this morning, but Chicken lost his shit every time I tried.”
I looked at the little gremlin, who had stopped next to Boone’s feet and was oscillating between growling at me and looking up at his owner with admiration.
“How old is Chicken?”
“Seventeen, probably,” Boone said. “Ladder’s a little rickety—careful on your way up.” Well, that was reassuring.
I set down my toolbox and grabbed the tool belt out of it. I slid in the hammer, a few nails, roofing cement, and tar paper.
When I got in front of the ladder, I reached out and gave it a few shakes.
Rickety was a steep understatement. I didn’t know how this thing was still standing.
I took a deep breath and started up it. I’d never felt more physically unsteady in my life, and that was only heightened by the fact that Boone, the tough-as-nails old bastard, was watching me and judging me. Harshly, probably.
The ladder started to bow inward once I got to the middle of it, and I suppressed a curse. When I was close enough to the roof, I reached out, abandoned the ladder, and pulled myself onto it. Take that for core strength.
I saw the damaged part of the roof immediately.
When I stood and started walking toward it, I noticed that different parts of the roof felt soft.
I made a mental note of that. I started removing the damaged shingles once I got to the leak.
I didn’t have any replacements, but I’d put some wood over my patch to hold it over until I could get some.
It didn’t take long. The hole wasn’t very big, and I’d done this a million times.
My stepdad, Arnold, refused to call anyone to do anything—no plumber, no electrician, nothing.
He did it all on his own, and he made all of us help.
Sometimes we’d make the problem worse, but most of the time, it turned out okay.
I didn’t understand how he just…knew how to fix things, but I was glad he had given me that skill too.
That skill had given me a second chance when I needed it.
When I was satisfied with my work, I walked back to the edge of the roof. “We’re all good up here,” I called down to Boone, who was clearing some debris from the side of his house. “Do you have any more shingles?” I asked.
“No, but I’ve got a piece of plywood around the back. I’ll get it.”
“Thanks,” I said. Boone disappeared from my view—followed by his gaggle of animals, except for Chicken. That little motherfucker was not going to let me out of his sight.
Likewise, asshole.
Boone returned a few minutes later with a two-by-two piece of plywood. “If you can hold it above your head, I can just reach for it,” I said, and Boone nodded.
That worked fine, and once I had it on the roof, I put it over my patch and secured it with a few nails.