“Thanks. It was so hard at first, and I still miss him every day, but Amara and I are managing.”
“Managing well. I still can’t believe you maintain that ranch alone. Milking the goats everyday alone is too much by itself.”
“I’m used to it. I can make a lot of soap,” she says then shrugs. “At the second stop sign, you’re making a right. Richard’s will be on the left. What about your family?”
“It’s just me, my Uncle Rufus, and his wife. My grandparents raised me but I lost them both before I was eighteen.”
“My condolences,” she offers.
“Thanks.”
“We got way off the topic of the tree though,” she says with a smile. “I’m picking it up Thursday from The Phoxes Den when I deliver my soap in the morning.”
“Well, I tasted your jam this morning and it was really good. I guess I need to try your soap next.”
“You should. It’ll make these hands softer,” she says as she places hers over my hand on the steering wheel. A feeling of comfort I haven’t felt in a long ass time overtakes me. This, her, feels natural and I don’t want her to remove her hand.
“I’m a cowboy. My hands aren’t supposed to be as soft as yours.”
“They can be softer though,” she snaps, then laughs.
I pull into the shopping plaza with the hardware store and find a parking spot. It’s a nice sized plaza with Richard’s on the end. We get out and walk inside. I pull up my list on my phone. She grabs a cart and we shop. She’s so into what I’m buying, asking questions and listening intently when I explain. Her level of interest is refreshing and I like it.
It doesn’t take long to fill the basket because rewiring is a task. When we make it to the register, I realize I’m missing two main tools. I was so focused on the materials that I overlooked the tools. So I leave her at the register and go back to aisle D to grab a wire tripper with voltage tester and a small drill with a wire twister tool. When I get back, to my disappointment, the cart has been rung up, items bagged, and bill paid. She’s standing off to the side waiting. While shaking my head, I pay for my tools then walk over to her.
“I was going to handle that,” I tell her.
“I figured so I asked her to hurry up before you got back. You’re already providing free labor; I wasn’t going to let you pay for the materials.”
“You know it’s okay to let someone do something for you, right?”
“I do, do you?” she counters, then shrugs. “I’m not backing down from this, Meleck. I paid for the materials needed to fix mybarn. I had to, okay?” she says with something in her eyes I can’t exactly read so I just focus on her stern tone and concede.
“I guess. Okay.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding.
I reach into the cart, gather all the bags, and we walk back to the truck. She gets in and starts it while I load the bags into the back seat. As I place the bags inside, I spot a truck and trailer in the back corner of the parking lot. The trailer is filled with chopped wood. When I get in, I drive back there.
“Why are you stopping?” she asks.
“The wood pile was light and it’s getting colder.”
“I didn’t even check it.”
“I told you I got you,” I say before getting out. I open the bed of the truck then buy four bundles of firewood. The young boy working with his father loads the truck bed and I tip him a ten. As I’m walking back to the driver’s side of the truck, my damn stomach growls. It must be close to lunch time. “Are you hungry?” I ask as soon as I’m back inside.
“I can eat a little something,” she admits. “There’s a Pancake House a few blocks from here.”
“I know where that is.”
“You do?” she asks, surprised.
“I ate there yesterday.”
“Then, we can go somewhere else,” she suggests.
“No. It was good, plus it’s close,” I say and she nods in agreement.
