Chapter 15
Pane
I am so screwed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rowe tells me on the way back to the farm. “We’ll figure out something else.”
“There’s nothing else to figure out,” I snarl. “There isn’t time to run around the countryside begging store owners for help. And on top of that, I made a fool of myself in front of the entire town.” My head snaps in her direction. “How did they wind up there? Does word about newcomers travel that quickly?”
“You know, it must,” she says, sounding mystified. “No clue how that happened.”
Rowe looks out the window, avoiding me. She’s lying, but I don’t know why.
I’m too pissed off to care anyway. Dammit, I need the wood, paint, and hardware if I’m to have a fighting chance at winning this competition.
My stomach knots in anger. Un-fucking-believable. Stone probably has half of Boston eating hot dogs by now, and I’m still scrambling to get a plan together.Thanks, Mom.You wanted to challenge us—well, you’ve got your challenge.
Sunbeam glances back my way and says in a soothing voice, “Don’t worry, Coleman yells at people all the time.”
An image flares in my head, one of Coleman, arms in the air, glasses askew on his face, and spit flinging from his mouth as he screamed—at me—from the top of his lungs.
“Thank you for the reminder,” I say, my voice sounding cold even to me. “That’s a memory burned into my brain forever.”
“I told you he could be something else.”
“You didn’t say that he’d be evil.”
“Did he evenaskif you could run a chain saw?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you tell him?”
I pause. “That I could.”
“Then you have no one to blame but you. You got yourself into this mess—”
“And I’m going to get myself out of it,” I bite back. “Thank you for the useless platitude. You want to add more to it? Something like,Whether it gets done today or tomorrow, it’s got to get done?”
From the other side of the truck, I feel her glaring at me. “What’s your problem with sayings?”
“Everything.Nothing. Never mind. It doesn’t concern you.”
“Good. I’m glad it doesn’t. I don’t want anything that deals with you to concern me. But unfortunately”—she tosses out her arm—“you’ve shown up promising to help me, so I’m stuck with you.”
We reach a stop sign and I slam on the brakes. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be. I don’t want to be with you and all your”—I wave in her general direction—“stuff. You’re nothing but a little sunbeam, and I’m not interested.”
“Great! Neither am I!”
“Me neither.”
A car behind me honks, and I gas the truck through the intersection. “I’m stuck with a dying farm and no prospects. On top of that, I get to sleep in a shamper with men staring at me.”
“Don’t you touch any of those posters.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. But maybe I’ll take out my sexual frustrations on them.”
Her jaw drops in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”
