Chapter 2 #3
I’ve heard enough of Farmer Tad’s lore to know all the single ladies in Red Bridge want a piece of him.
Hell, Josie says there are women from Molene—a town that’s about thirty minutes away—who come to her husband Clay’s bar just to see Tad Hanson.
He’s apparently quite the hot commodity out here in small-town Vermont.
Though, on all my visits to Red Bridge, I’ve never actually seen him with anyone. Maybe he’s just a one-night-stand kind of guy? I don’t know.
It’s a slippery journey, and by the time we pull into the long gravel drive of Tad’s farmhouse, the time on the clock glows red with 1:30 a.m.
Shit.
That’s about four hours too late to be barging into Bennett’s house where his not-even-two-year-old toddler, Autumn, is asleep, and up until now, I was too busy worrying over the snow to realize. But I can’t go in there. I’d rather die of hypothermia than risk waking a sleeping baby, to be honest.
“Home sweet home!” Tad exclaims as he hops out of the truck and holds out a hand for me to follow.
I do, but my mind whirls as I try to figure out a plan for where I’m going to go until the sun comes up.
“What an honor spending the evening with you.” He literally bows in front of me like I’m royalty.
“Anytime you get stuck somewhere, give me a call, yeah? Day or night or afternoon.”
“Uh…thanks,” I say.
“You good?” Tad asks, weaving on his feet a little as he leans back into the truck. Evidently, even in his buzzed-up glory, he can see the hesitancy on my face.
“Yeah. Yes,” I say, but a sigh escapes my throat. “I just…I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Does Bennett know you’re coming?” Randy asks, leaning across the bench seat to meet my eyes, and I cringe a little.
“He knows I’m coming, but he might have been under the impression that I was coming tomorrow. Something about a snowstorm I should wait out before making the drive.”
“Oh! I know what you should do!” Tad exclaims with a giant grin on his face. “You should stay at your buddy Farmer Tad’s house!” He winks. “That’s me, by the way. I’m Farmer Tad.”
“I’m aware,” I answer, shaking my head as I do. “But I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“C’mon, Breezy. It’s a great idea. No use in you waking up Bennett and Norah and little Autumn. I’ve got plenty of beds here.”
“Uh…” I pause, completely unsure of what to do. I mean, I definitely don’t want to risk waking up my little niece at two in the morning, but spending the night at Tad Hanson’s? That’s quite the turn of events.
“If you’d rather, you can stay with me,” Randy offers kindly. The idea of getting back in a vehicle right now, however, is akin to the most brutal of psychological torture.
Tad takes charge, grabbing my hand and pulling the two of us a couple steps away from the truck.
I grip him tightly back, but it’s only because the ground is so freaking slippery.
“Let’s go, sweetheart. You can stay here.
No problem! And I’ll be very gentlemanly, okay?
Make sure you got your own bed and everything. ”
I hesitate for a long moment, but when I look past the tree line to where Bennett’s house sits, a wide expanse of snow-covered darkness the only thing between here and there, I exhale.
“Okay, yeah.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic!” Tad cheers.
Randy makes sure I’m good with the plan before heading on his way, even taking my keys with him and kindly offering to get my car out of the snow in the morning, and I follow Tad’s jovial lead up the porch steps and into the warm farmhouse.
It’s a sweet, old place—the kind where the wood floors bounce a little with each step—and reeks of bachelorhood in every way. The walls are bare, the couch is old, and the cords from the giant TV run unhidden down the wall.
He unearths a blanket from a cabinet in the corner of the living room, accidentally hands me his coat before realizing his blunder with a laugh, and then gives me the lay of the land.
“This here’s the living room. And the kitchen’s over there.
This woodstove’ll keep you hotter than any electric heat ever could, but if you need the extra blanket, you’ve got it.
” He shrugs. “I’ll be in my bedroom down the hall, but you can sleep in the guest bedroom or here on the couch because I’m not in the mood for any of your funny ideas. Nothing handsy from you, okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Sounds good.” I clutch the blanket to my chest and shift from one foot to the other. “Anything else I should know?”
“There’s a bathroom in the hall, and oh! Don’t get too close to the stove here, ’cause she’ll roast your ass.”
I laugh. “Noted. Goodnight, then. And…thanks. For the help in the snow and the hospitality now.”
“Anytime, Breezy Bishop. Anytime.”
As Tad stumbles down the hall, I sink onto the couch and pull off my wet shoes, leaving them by the woodstove to dry.
It’s late and I’m tired and I desperately want to sleep. But I can’t help marveling at how far the mighty have fallen.
A month ago, I was single-handedly running one of the biggest art gallery empires in the country. Now, I’m without a job, temporarily without a car, and completely adrift in all aspects of my life.
And I’m about to have a sleepover at a small-town sheep farmer’s house.
Goodness, things have certainly taken a drastic turn.