Chapter 6
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. She thought Eric was coming over to complain about the bumper sticker and instead he’d asked her out. She’d never seen him in dress clothes before. He looked rather dashing. Normally, he wore a hat, a flannel, and a T-shirt. She couldn’t decide which look she liked better.
She handed out another pamphlet, watching as he drove away. Maybe he hadn’t noticed yet. Would he still want to go with her after he discovered it? Would he be mad she violated his car?
After a few hours of canvassing, the Sugar Mamas needed to go. “Thank you so much for coming today. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“We love Preston and Coco. They’re like family.”
“And Deb started the Sugar Mamas. We had to help her.”
Deb spent the summers here in Sugar Creek and in the fall returned with her new husband to Montreal to travel to sunnier climes. This winter, they were staying in the Bahamas.
As soon as she thanked the last of the Sugar Mamas, she raced back to the Sweet Suite Bakery.
Coco was just cleaning up.
Charlotte leaned across the table. “We have to take the bumper sticker off his truck.”
“What? Why?”
“Eric just asked me to the bonfire.”
She wiped off the tables. “You think he won’t want to go if he sees the bumper sticker?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t worth losing a friend over a political issue. No matter how strongly we both feel about it.”
Coco stopped wiping and faced Charlotte. “Eric is the enemy. He’s the biggest spokesman for the opposition. If he drives around town with a bumper sticker with our message, it can only help our cause.”
“But doesn’t that seem a little amoral?”
Coco arched her brow. “For someone who wants to go to law school, you sure have an active conscience.”
Coco’s assessment hurt Charlotte. “I’m going to law school so I can help kids overseas get adopted, like my parents. Besides, Eric may have a reason he doesn’t want to annex.”
“I like Eric. I grew up with him. He’s just being a brat.” Coco scrubbed furiously again on a table. “He’s from the old-school thinking that the town shouldn’t ever change. I’ve known him my whole life. The man will never change.”
“In debate, both parties have an opportunity to express their opinions and reasons why they feel a certain way. Too many people jump to conclusions and think they’re right.”
If Coco wasn’t going to help her remove the bumper sticker, she’d just do it herself. Later that night. After he was asleep.
After running multiple errands around town, Eric got some strange questions and strange stares from people. Although he was used to it. He lived in a small town, and people often stared, wondering if they knew someone. But today was different. When he got home for the evening milking, he was glad to be outside in the quiet. Cows never judge.
A hush fell over the hills at night. Only the sound of the owls hooting, the cattle mooing, and a few moose calls could be heard.
After changing into his Sweet Milk Dairy shirt and flannel, he met Keaten at the milking barn and went through their routine. Lining up his ladies, as he liked to call them, dipping teats, milking, and then sending them off to eat in the pasture. If he loved them any more, he’d be giving them massages and pedicures, too. A part of the earth called to him. He was born to do this. He couldn’t lose it all.
After he’d finished with his ladies, he washed the milking equipment and swept out the floor with Keaten.
“How did it go with the ice cream men?”
Eric settled the broom in the toolshed and walked toward the house with Keaten. “Oh, they said they’d get back to us. I think we’re too small to provide enough milk for them. They looked at our production numbers and said they’d get back to us.” He removed his work gloves.
“Sounds suspiciously like no.”
“Yeah.” He studied his gloves. “I can’t increase the herd until I make more money. I can’t make more money until I increase the herd. It’s a chicken-egg problem.”
Keaten stopped, lifting his chin. “I didn’t realize you’d changed your mind on supporting the annexation.”
“What are you talking about?” Eric shook his head.
Pointing, Keaten furrowed his brows. “The bumper sticker?”
Stuffing his gloves in his back pocket, Eric turned, following his finger with his gaze. To his truck? “What bumper sticker?” He stalked over to his pickup, parked near the house. On his bumper was a Vote Yes on Proposition 11 sticker. Keeping his eyes on the long white rectangle adorning his bumper, he lifted his hat and settled it on his head again, laughing. “That’s why she wasn’t mad. She stuck the sticker on my truck to get me back.”
“Who did?”
It had to be Charlie. Who else would do something like this? She’s the one with the time and the motive. He waved his hand then placed both on his hips. “No one. She thought I was coming over to yell at her,” he mused. “And like a fool, I drove all around town advertising for her.” Holding on to his back gate, he shook his head. He couldn’t help but smile. Clever little minx.
“Who’s this now?” Keaten shifted as he stared in the semi-darkness at the back of his truck.
“Forget it. How do I get this off of here?” Squatting, he ran a finger over the sticker, trying to pry it up with his stubby fingernails.
“Since it’s fresh, it shouldn’t be too bad.”
The sticker held fast. “It’s stuck down good.”
“I bet if you use the heat gun, it’ll come off.”
“Good thinking.” Eric marched off to the supply barn where he kept all sorts of odds and ends. He found the heat gun, a putty knife, and an extension cord, plugging it in and dragging it over to his truck. Holding the hair dryer-like heat gun, he turned it on and pointed it at the sticker until it started to bubble. He scraped it off with a putty knife.
“Oh, that girl. I’ll have to get her back, but how?” The fact that she wasted a bumper sticker on this little prank delighted him. One less for someone in town. But attention was attention, and he liked attention from Charlie. He mentally rubbed his hands together and plotted again.
“Well”—Keaten took off his hat and placed it on his head again, exposing a nearly balding head—“I’d better get. My wife will be wondering what took so long.”
“Thanks for your help, Keaten.” Eric stood and shook his hand.
Keaton stalked off to his car.
Eric shone his phone light on his bumper, inspecting it for any residue or damage. A small scrape from the putty knife across the bumper was the only evidence anything was there. Good enough. After winding the cord, he returned the tools to the shed and went inside to eat.
Post-dinner, he sat on the mum-and-pumpkin-filled porch step, a cool breeze brushing over his forearms, staring at his truck, breathing in the scent of hay and cattle. He needed a prank to get back at Charlie. What if she didn’t place the bumper sticker on his truck? Nah, this had to be Charlie. The dirty deed had her name written all over it. He sat there, soaking up the autumn breeze, nearly falling asleep in his rocking chair, like his old man. He looked at his watch. Nearing ten? He should get to bed already.
Wind rustled in birch trees nearby. He closed his eyes, wondering when he should tell Laurie about the new pumping system, when he heard a sound of ground gravel at the bottom of the drive.
He opened his eyes.
Headlights shone through the trees in blades of white.
At a quarter to ten, everyone inside was in bed. Who came visiting?
But no one continued up the drive. He cocked his head. Had he imagined it? No. One doesn’t imagine light. Maybe the driver only turned around.
Then he heard footsteps.
Footsteps? Holding his breath, he strained to hear. Yes, regular, soft footfalls. He squinted to see anything in the dark.
A slight figure came into view.
Most likely whoever it was wasn’t expecting anyone to be on the front porch. He grinned. What a surprise he’d give them!
When the person approached where the cars were parked, he recognized the outline—thick curls, slight curves.
Charlie?
He chuckled to himself. So, she’d either come to do another prank or undo the first one.
Without making a sound, he crept off the porch and around to the side of his pickup.
Just when he crept close enough he could hear her breathing, he jumped out.
“Gotcha!”
She screamed and dropped something.
Eric erupted in laughter. “Caught you!”
Charlie laughed and bent to retrieve her phone, which gave a sliver of light to her face. “You scared me.” She clutched her heart.
“You shouldn’t come sneaking onto someone else’s property. You’re lucky I don’t own a shotgun.”
“I uh, I—” She glanced at the place where the bumper sticker used to be.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, I already found and removed it.”
She squinted her eyes and crinkled her nose. “I hope I didn’t ruin your car.”
What was she holding? A butterknife? That would’ve done more damage than the bumper sticker. He was glad he got to it first. Grinning, he leaned an elbow over the gate of his truck. “Nah.”
“So, we’re even now?”
“I guess so.” Yeah, right. He had already concocted his next idea. “Just to show I bear no ill will, come in for a mug of warm cider?”
“I’d love to.” She pointed with the butterknife toward the end of his drive. “But I left my car at the bottom of your street. I wasn’t planning on being here long. Should I go get it?”
“Naw.” Using his phone as a flashlight, he led the way toward the house. “It’ll be fine. No one comes visiting this late at night, except the bears…and the vandals.” He cast her a teasing glance.
“Hey!” She punched him in the arm.
He rubbed his arm in mock hurt. “I’m just saying this is dairy country.” He let her go first onto the porch. “We close up shop early and go to bed early. Not very exciting. Not compared to the city life.” He stood facing her.
Looking up, she inhaled. “The city is nice.”
“Do you miss it?” He stood on the front porch under the darkened skies, admiring her face hidden in shadow. Being with her, a deep-rooted sense of harmony grew within him.
She hesitated. “I miss some things.” She glanced out at the rest of the farm. “It’s not quiet like this, that’s for sure.”
“No, you can only get this in the country.” He loved his land, the trees, the wild animals. The darkened hills stretched around them, creating steam as they released their warmth from the heat of the day.
At last, she faced him. “There are more opportunities in the city.”
“Law school, for one.” The glow inside him weakened.
“Yes.” She bowed her head and furrowed her brow. Somewhere a story lurked, but he wouldn’t try to weasel it out tonight.
“Let’s go inside.” He opened the screen door for her and turned the knob on the old oak door. “We have to be quiet; people might be asleep.”
She nodded.
All the lights were off inside. Angie was at a night class, and Laurie probably went to bed eons ago. That meant a quiet house all to himself until a little after ten o’clock.
He brought her into the kitchen, put a pot on the stove and grabbed the cider from the fridge. “My mom makes this”—he held it up—“from apples from the Twelve Oaks Orchard. We sell it by the half-gallon in our food truck.” He poured it into the pot and turned on the burner.
Running his hands along his jeans, he hoped it took a long time to warm up.