“It’s a good house,” he finally said. “Like honey too.”
“Yeah, Honey likes it too,” she said, uncertain as to which honey he meant.
“My Honey?” he asked.
“Yes. Mom. She likes the new house too.” Okay,likemight be a stretch since Mom had seemed more worried than pleased over this new addition to their property. But her worries had more to do with Dad than the house at the moment.
Cooper was just crossing over the field toward them, coming back from the Oroscos’ house. Hopefully Dad wouldn’t get worked up over that. Jewel waved at her daughter and, relieved that Cooper wanted to accompany her grandpa to the hives, Jewel stepped back.
“We need to get that honey out before it gets too messy, Grandpa,” Cooper said.
“Yeah.” He nodded eagerly. “Get the honey out.”
“Want to do it now?” Cooper sounded hopeful. “I got the harvesting stuff all ready, but I was waiting for your ankle to get better.”
“My ankle is fine.” He shook his cane as if to prove this.
“Is it still warm enough?” Cooper asked him. “I mean, for the honey to flow good enough. We could get the honey out now if you want.”
“Yeah. Get the honey out.”
“Well, I’ll leave you two experts to it,” Jewel told them. “And I’ll go help Mom with supper.”
Dad and Cooper were already headed for the hives. Relieved to escape the perils of honey harvesting, Jewel went inside and, finding Mom at the kitchen sink, she began to report, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, about how impressed Dad had seemed with the new house.
“That’s something.” Mom sliced into an early tomato. “But he could be totally opposed to it by tomorrow.”
“I know, Mom.” Jewel washed her hands. “But I was thinking about putting a few pieces of furniture over there. You know, to make it feel more homey. Dad seemed concerned that it was unfurnished.”
Mom nodded absently. “That might help some.”
“But if you’re not sure”—Jewel studied her mom’s furrowed brow—“Cooper and I can live there instead. It’s actually growing on me, and I could start moving my stuff into it—”
“What do you really think of it?” Mom asked a bit sharply.
“Well, I’ll admit I was having some second thoughts earlier. And the color is horrific. Although Dad kind of liked it.” Shereached for a cucumber to slice. “But I’m going to get it painted as fast as I can. And then I’ll add the flower boxes and spruce up the front porch and a few more things. I think it might look like a cottage. Plus, the interior has lots of possibilities.”
“You think it could look like a cottage?” Mom sounded a tiny bit hopeful. “I wouldn’t mind living in a cottage.”
“A comfortable cottage.”
“I did like the way the Oroscos’ house looked when we were there the other night. And I remember how much I disliked seeing it at first.” Mom’s smile looked weary. “So do your best with it, Jewel. One way or another, we’ll figure things out. Excuse my lack of enthusiasm. I suppose I’m just tired.”
Jewel reached for her mom’s paring knife. “You go put your feet up. Let me finish getting supper ready.”
“I’m not that tired—”
“Please, take a break while you can.” Jewel gave her mom a gentle shove. “I insist. Dad is occupied with Cooper right now. Take advantage of it.”
Mom’s smile grew bigger. “I should know better than to argue with my strong-willed daughter. Who knows where that might lead.”
“Good thinking.” Jewel shook the knife at her. “You know me when I put my mind to something.” But as her mom left, Jewel wondered how strong-willed she would be if her plan for the new house didn’t go as smoothly as she hoped, or if it unraveled completely. She’d been counting on restoring the old farmhouse into a B&B. But if her parents put the kibosh on that ... well, she and Cooper might be stuck in that bright yellow house for a while. Not exactly the artsy retreat she’d been dreaming of—and no extra income to go with it. Time would tell.
It wasn’t until the following morning that Jewel discovered her dad had once again gotten into the barn. She’d already gotten a couple of early hours of painting done on the new house but, in need of more rags, she’d gone to the barn to discover the broken padlock on the door. Inside, she was dismayed to see that someone, a.k.a. her dad, had gotten into her paints. Several newtubes of oils had been emptied into a tin can and stirred around with an old paintbrush. Nearby, strokes of muddy multicolored paint were smeared across the wall like graffiti. Was this Dad’s idea of art?
She heard a rattling sound in the back of the barn, near the area where she’d stored her art pieces and belongings from California. Hopefully Dad wasn’t getting paint on her things. “Dad?” she called out. “Where are you?”
“Huh?”
