“Yes,” said Bede. “There’s a solution to this, I assure you.”
Galen almost sagged with a sense of relief. Bede knew his troubles and wanted to help. Maybe this was Bede’s way of saying thank you for not turning him in for smoking pot in the valley.
Bede chuckled and reached out his hand.
“What?” asked Galen again.
“Give me your phone,” he said.
“No, I will not.” Galen clasped the phone to his chest. He really shouldn’t be taking care of personal business on company time, but this was urgent, though not urgent enough to give Bede access to his phone.
“Property tax, right?” asked Bede.
When Galen nodded, Bede held out his hand and said, “There’s a form for that. I’ll find Susan or Betty for you. TherightSusan or Betty. She’ll know just what that form is, but you have to press the correct buttons first. Go ahead, dial the number, and then give it to me.”
From the sounds of it, up ahead on the trail, Toby and Owen were goofing around. Galen probably needed to get on top of that situation before it exploded.
More importantly, really needed to get his money problem figured out and fast, so he could stop worrying about it and focus on his job.
So, with a sigh, he redialed the number and handed the phone to Bede, who took the phone as though it was his own.
At each prompt from the IRS’s bot answering service, he pressed a number, quite a different sequence of numbers than what Galen had entered, and pretty soon, Bede had the phone to his ear.
“Yes, this is Galen—” Reaching out, Bede took the IRS letter and scanned it. “Galen Parnell. Who is this? Yvette? Thank you, Yvette. I’m looking for an extension for this tax payment. I’ve got other bills and am just trying to get them in order. Can you help me?”
Bede’s voice was soft and flirty, but not, it seemed, entirely disingenuous. With the melty tone in each word, the softness around the masculine, he sounded like he really meant what he was saying, that he, personally, was in dire tax straits.
“So it’s not you? Who does that? Oh, Clara? Can you connect me? Thank you.”
“It’s Clara, not Susan or Yvette,” said Bede, pulling the phone away from his ear as he gave Galen a wink. “My mistake.” He paused, and then, focused on the call, said, “Is this Clara? Thank goodness. I think you can help me. What’s the form for an extension when the payment for property taxes is late? Or a payment plan, if there’s no extension?”
Bede listened for a good two minutes straight, flicking his gaze up to meet Galen’s, his eyebrows curved in what Galen could only interpret as a hopeful expression.
Then Bede read her some of the information from the letter, then said to her, “You can? Sure! Yes, just send the confirmation number to the email on file. That’d be great. Awesome. Yes, you too, have a fabulous day.”
Bede ended the call with his thumb, then handed the phone back to Galen.
“You’ve got a three-month extension, boss,” he said. “She just filled out the form for you.”
“How thehelldid you do that?” asked Galen, his jaw dropping, struggling to wrap his mind around how unbelievably grateful he was for Bede’s help.
“She had the raspiest voice I ever did hear.” Bede shrugged, his grin widening. “Must smoke two packs of unfiltered Camels a day.”
“But how did youknowyou could do that?” asked Galen. “You talked to her like you already knew there was a way?—”
“I guess being a criminal comes in handy,” said Bede with a laugh as he folded the letter from the IRS and handed it to Galen. “I worked with a lot of accountants, so I know a few loopholes, legal and otherwise. This one’s totally legit. But really, people at the IRS are just people. They just want to file their papers, take all your money, and then go home.” He shrugged again and then hefted the hoe in his hands, tapping the heel of it on the ground. “Let me know if you don’t get that confirmation, okay?”
Open-mouthed, Galen watched Bede go up the trail and disappear around the bend, the leaves of the river willow folding dappled sunlight across his broad shoulders.
Galen’s phone dinged, and he held it up, thumbing his email open and there, like a bright shiny star, was the email from the IRS.
He opened and scanned the email, seeing the confirmation number and the date, three months out, for the full payment. He could manage that. He had time. He could figure out his life.
By October, he’d have the bonus from the valley job and several months’ payment from the tenants at the farm. There’d also be honey to harvest, which would bring in some ready cash.As for what would happen to the farm, that was future Galen’s problem.
His only problem, at that moment, was catching up to his team and making sure Toby and Owen didn’t bash each other’s heads in as they fought over who got to go back to the compound to bring out more vinegar. And to keep his eyes on the task, and not on Bede’s strength as he dug more knapweed than Toby and Owen combined. Not to mention how eye-catching he was, those shirt sleeves rolled up, the dark-eyed glances he sent Galen’s way from beneath the brim of his straw cowboy hat.
The afternoon went by quickly, and right before dinner, while his team was busy getting into the buffet line in the mess tent, Galen paused at the bottom of the wooden steps, and dialed the number from the hospital bill.
