All Summer Long
Page 34

Shane leaned against the counter and grinned. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise. North end. The acres that had the alfalfa.”
Something Clay didn’t want to think about, but had to face, he thought as he grabbed his truck keys and headed out. He drove to the north end of the property only to find a couple of old guys, some farm equipment and several trucks of what looked like dirt.
Last week the alfalfa had sprouted. The seed company’s insurance had arranged to have it dug out and the top eight or ten inches of soil hauled away. Clay had avoided the area ever since. The earth left behind looked as if it had been through a war. He wasn’t sure of the next step and hadn’t had the heart to call and find out.
Clay parked and got out of his truck. One of the old guys waved and started toward him.
“You must be Clay,” the man said. He was eighty if he was a day, all wrinkles and bright, alert eyes. His coveralls were threadbare but clean. His boots were probably as old as Clay. “I’m Bernard. That there is Ernie.” He grinned as he motioned to his equally geriatric friend.
“Okay. Nice to meet you. How can I help you today?”
Bernard guffawed. “A nice way of asking what the hell we’re doing here, right? Well, I’ve got a grandson-in-law who lives down in Bakersfield and Ernie’s youngest is in Stockton. We heard what happened and put out a call.” Bernard motioned to the trucks. “Best topsoil money can buy.” He winked. “I got a real good deal for the insurance company, not that they deserve it. But I’m old-school. Why pay a dollar if you can get it for a dime, I always say.”
Clay looked at the trucks. “You brought me dirt?”
“Topsoil.”
Bernard slapped him on the back. Clay nearly went flying. The old man was stronger than he looked.
“You need to get something planted before winter, son. Ernie had a strain of legumes we’ll be putting in later. They’ll do fine over the cold months. Come spring, you plow ’em under and give them a season. Next fall, get your alfalfa planted. It puts you behind, but trust me. This way your land will be good as new.”
Clay had been doing research and talking to some agriculture experts at UC Davis. But he hadn’t been able to rent the equipment he needed. Fall was a busy time in the farming community and he hadn’t gotten his order in soon enough.
“You’re with the insurance company?” he asked.
“Hell, no.” Bernard’s mouth straightened into a disapproving line. “There’s not enough money in the world for me to work for the bloodsuckers. I have an orchard on the other side of the vineyards. Ernie has the farm on the west edge of town. We’ve been working the land since God was a boy.”
Bernard glanced at the clear sky. “We’ll get a good day’s work in. Trust me, son. By the end of the week, you’ll have a plowed and planted field.”
Clay didn’t understand. “If you’re not with the insurance company, why are you doing this?”
Bernard slapped him again. This time Clay was able to brace himself in time. “You’re one of us. Okay, you’re a slick city kid, but that’ll fade. In a few years, you’ll be able to tell anyone who asks that you’re a farmer. Salt of the earth.” He gave a wink. “Saying you’re a farmer makes the ladies hot. Trust me. I’ve been milking that line for years.”
“Good to know,” Clay said, a little confused by Bernard and his folksy wisdom. “Just to make sure I understand, no one asked you to help? You’re just here?”
“Sure. Look, kid. There isn’t one of us who hasn’t had to deal with the same mess. You’ll be fine. Ernie and I can answer any questions you might have about whatever it is you want to grow. In the meantime, how about I teach you to drive that baby there.”
He pointed to the large piece of equipment. It was the size of a small house and looked complicated. Clay grinned. “I don’t know what it’s called, but I want one.”
“That’s the spirit.” Bernard waved at Ernie. “Let’s make the magic happen.”
* * *
NINE HOURS LATER, Clay walked toward the house. He was exhausted. Bernard and Ernie had worn him out. They were still going strong, talking about some movie they were going to watch on pay-per-view, joking with each other and coming up with some surprisingly dirty limericks. He wanted to be just like them when he was in his eighties.
He stopped at the back door and pulled off his boots. He’d been calf-deep in mud as he’d learned the ins and outs of prepping a field and then planting.
Still in his stocking feet, he walked into the kitchen to find Mayor Marsha, a couple of the old ladies from the city council and Dominique milling around. There were cakes and pies on the counters, a pot of coffee going and plenty of laughter. The latter came to a stop when he walked in.
His mother greeted him with a quick hug. “They showed up just after lunch,” she whispered. “We have casseroles in the refrigerator and freezer. There’s a guy watching the news who wants to talk to you.”
He started to say he had no idea what she was talking about when the mayor moved toward them.
“I have some names for you,” she said, handing over several business cards and a sheet of paper. “Contractors, mostly. A man who does restoration work and two companies for the pool.”
Clay took the papers. “What pool?”
The mayor smiled. “We were thinking it would be nice to have another community pool. We’ll need to work out the details, of course. But we can coordinate it. Share the expenses. We’ll provide the lifeguards and insurance, if you’ll take care of maintenance. That sort of thing.”
“A pool?”
“By the vacation homes.” Mayor Marsha spoke as if that information would help. “For your guests and the town.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “We should set up a meeting.”
“I agree.” She pointed to the other business card. “After you talk to Milo about his donation, you’ll want that number.”
“Donation?”
“Talk to Milo.” She motioned toward the living room.
He had no idea who Milo was, but if he was anything like Bernard and Ernie, Clay would like him. He nodded at the mayor and walked down the short hallway.
A man in his sixties stood when he saw Clay.
“You must be Milo,” Clay said.
“I am. I heard about your Haycations. Great idea. Tourism with a twist. We welcome their dollars.” Milo, a big-bellied guy with graying hair, rocked back on his heels. “I have a carousel. One of those old-fashioned ones with the painted horses. It needs a lot of work, but it used to be a beauty. You can have it, if you want.”
“A carousel?”
“For your guests. All I ask is you pay to get it delivered here. And fix it up.”
“Because it used to be a beauty?”
Milo beamed. “Exactly.”
A carousel? There was plenty of room and it would be an interesting attraction. He glanced down at the card in his hand. One of them was for a guy who did antique restorations. Now he knew why the mayor had given it to him.
“We like what you’re doing,” the older man said. “Fool’s Gold takes care of its own. You’re one of us now.”
“I’m starting to get that.”
Milo sniffed. “Someone put on Eddie’s chili. I’m going to get a bowl before I head out. Coming?”
“Be right there,” Clay told him.
Milo disappeared down the hall. Clay stared at the cards he held and thought about the pool and the carousel. The support shown. It hadn’t just appeared. Someone, somewhere had said something. He had one guess.
Charlie.
* * *
“YOU’RE RESPONSIBLE,” Clay said.
Charlie watched him anxiously, not sure if he was mad or not. It was about eight on Saturday night. The day had been warm, but the evening was cooling off. There was a light breeze that promised to be a stiff wind by morning. She was halfway through her twenty-four-hour shift and normally a visit from Clay would be a highlight. But she wondered if she’d overstepped any lines in their relationship.
They sat out on the patio behind the station. The rest of the shift was inside, watching TV. Charlie clutched her can of diet soda.
“I’ve been worried about you,” she admitted. “First the bones, then Nate, then the alfalfa. It was so much. Your idea is great and I didn’t want you to get discouraged. So I might have said something to a couple of people.”
“More than something,” he said, reaching for her free hand.
“You’re not mad?”
He smiled at her. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because I butted into your new business.”
He lifted her hand and lightly kissed the back of her knuckles. “No. I’m not mad. I’m a little overwhelmed. Do you know about the carousel?”
“I’ve heard rumors. You interested?”
“I want to see it first, but maybe. Mayor Marsha gave me the name of a guy who does restorations. I’d want to work with him so I can do future repairs myself. The pool idea is interesting.”
“Summers can be hot here. The tourists would like a pool.”
“We could go skinny-dipping.”
She was torn between the mental image of him na**d and climbing out of the water and the idea that the pool wouldn’t be built for some time. So an invitation to go skinny-dipping meant they would still be together.
Love was a bitch, she thought, as her heart gave a little shimmy of happiness at the thought of more time with Clay. Because if it were up to her, she would be planning time together into the next century. She had a feeling she’d inherited more than her physical strength from her mother. She might have also inherited a heart that could only love one man. But that was a problem for another time.
He continued to nibble along her fingers. As she was on duty and there were a half-dozen people in the building behind them, she let herself enjoy the sensation without having much in the way of expectation. Although if Clay suggested meeting her at her place after her shift, she would happily agree. Of course that wouldn’t be until the next morning.
“They brought casseroles,” he said as he lowered her hand to his lap. “Dozens of them.”
“We’re a town that likes to feed people.”
“The chili was good.” He turned to her. “Thank you. I know you talking to people was your way of saying you believe in me. That means a lot.”
“Happy to help. And you’re right. I do believe in you.”
“It’s nice to be more than a piece of ass.”
She smiled. “You’ve always been that. Although it is a very nice—”
The alarms went off. She was out of her chair and moving before the sound even registered. As she ran into the building, she heard the loudspeaker calling out the address. Before the announcement had finished, she was jerking on her turnouts.
Olivia appeared at her side. The captain was pale, her eyes wide.
“It’s the warehouse,” she said, as they both grabbed helmets. “The one on the edge of town. My son told me that teenagers have been hanging out there. It’s a party place.”
Charlie swore. Teens partying usually meant alcohol. It also meant acting stupid. With the nights getting colder, the kids could have started a fire to stay warm. Or because they thought it would be fun. Old buildings and flames didn’t go well together.
They ran to the engine. “I told him not to go there,” Olivia said as she took the right-hand seat. “What if he didn’t listen?”
Charlie didn’t have an answer. The engine rumbled to life. Before she pulled out, she saw Clay and rolled down the window.
“Phone dispatch and tell them to call in the trainees. You’ll be in charge of them. Stay out of the way and help where you can.”
He nodded once, then took off toward the phone. She hit the siren and drove out into the night.
* * *
CLAY STOOD ON the sidewalk, momentarily immobilized by the rage of the fire. The warehouse was a block long, about three stories high, wood construction with a brick facade. Most of the windows were boarded up.
The flames were everywhere. Coming out the roof, shooting from the few openings that hadn’t been covered over. Smoke rose into the night. It wouldn’t take long until there weren’t any visible stars, just thick, black smoke that stole oxygen and blinded those inside.
Once again, the sound shocked him. The roar of destruction, the crash as parts of the building collapsed. Snaps and screams filled the night as the structure fought against the inevitable.
“Go set up the monitor over there,” Captain Fargo yelled.
Clay wanted to go help, but knew he would only get in the way. He stayed back by the engines, pulling out hoses when asked and keeping the growing crowd far enough away.
He didn’t know if word had spread in the small town or if people could see and smell the massive fire. Either way, the two observers had grown to a crowd of fifteen or twenty.
One woman ran toward him. She was blond and frantic, her eyes wide, her cheeks wet with tears. “My daughter’s in there,” she screamed. “She’s at the party. You have to help her.”
The captain turned. “Get her back,” she yelled. “Keep them all back.” She started toward the building, then stopped. “How many teens?”
The mother sobbed. “I don’t know. Eight. Maybe ten. Oh, God. Tell me she’s okay.”
Clay grabbed her around the waist and pulled her clear. “If you get in their way, they can’t help.”