Shadow of Turning. Valerie HansenЧитать онлайн книгу.
right, son. Yes, sir, you surely did.”
“Thanks to you and Grandma Hester,” Nate said, sobering. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “I owe you both a lot.”
“Nonsense,” Ted said. “You don’t owe us a bloomin’ thing, boy.”
“Still, I’m thankful I’m in a position to take care of you the way you took care of me.”
Watching his grandfather out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction, Nate saw him stiffen and push himself up straighter in the seat.
“You ain’t gonna start that nonsense again, are you?”
Nate ignored his scowl. “It’s not nonsense. You and Grandma deserve a chance to kick back and relax.”
The old man sighed and shook his head as if he thought Nate was addled. “If I don’t have my chores and my shop and Hester don’t have her kitchen and garden to tend, we might as well curl up and die right now. I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but we’re not ready to retire from life.”
“Okay,” Nate said. He didn’t want to start off on a sour note. There’d be plenty of time to discuss making sensible changes during the remainder of his visit.
He drove out of the airport and headed down Byron Road. To his surprise, cars were parked on the grassy shoulder on both sides of the two-lane road as he neared its junction with Hawkins Mill Road.
“What’s going on here?” Nate asked.
“Farm auction.” Ted grimaced as if it pained him to say the words. “The Hawkins place. Jewel went first. Ol’ Pete was lost without her. He didn’t last three months after she died. Didn’t think he would.”
Nate arched an eyebrow but held his peace. Jewel and Pete Hawkins had been friends and neighbors of his grandparents for literally decades. Losing them both so close together had to have been difficult. He saw no need to point out the obvious correlation between their lives.
He slowed the truck, barely finding room to squeeze it through the single lane remaining between the parked vehicles, while Domino panted and paced from side to side in the truck bed, trying to sniff every vehicle they passed.
“Half the population of Fulton County must be here,” Nate remarked with disdain. “Who taught these people how to park, anyhow?”
“Old geezers like me,” Ted answered. “Your grandma wanted to come to the auction today but I talked her out of it. We’ll never live long enough to wear out all the junk we’ve already got, let alone find good use for any of this stuff.” When Nate’s head snapped around, the elderly man guffawed. “That don’t mean we’re ready to pack it up and move to some fancy old folks’ home, so don’t go gettin’ any funny ideas, y’hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Nate slowed even more, edging forward inches at a time rather than scrape one or more of the unevenly parked vehicles. “I don’t believe these people. Don’t they care about their cars?”
“Sure they do. They’re just not in an all-fired hurry the way you are. Slow down. We’re almost home. Those chocolate-chip cookies you’re cravin’ will wait.”
Before Nate could comment, a slightly built woman staggered onto the roadway directly in front of him. She was carrying such a big box, her face was obscured and she obviously couldn’t see where she was going. He slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting her, jammed the truck into neutral and jumped out, fully intending the deliver a lecture on safety that would turn her ears red.
The woman must have heard him screech to a halt and get out because she peeked around the side of the cardboard box and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. I should have looked before I crossed. That’s my van right over there. The tan one that says Chancy’s Second Chances on the side. It’s not locked. Do you mind?” She passed the bulky box to Nate with a smile. “Thanks. That was getting heavy.”
Flabbergasted, he stood there in the middle of the road holding the box and staring after her as she turned and hurried back the way she’d come.
Traffic was beginning to pile up in both directions. Someone honked. Nate’s head swiveled from side to side as if he were watching a professional tennis match. True to her word, the woman had vanished back into the rapidly dispersing auction crowd. Southern manners dictated that he deliver the box to her van whether he liked it or not, and given the worsening traffic jam, the sooner the better.
As he stepped out of the way, he noted that Ted had slid behind the wheel of the farm truck. The old man leaned out the open window to call, “Can’t park here. I’ll go turn around and come back for you.”
Nate shook his head. “There’s no need for that. Just get out of this mess and go on home. I’ll walk over.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. It’s not far.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the house. Take your time.”
“Yeah, right.” Nate was miffed. Free time was the one thing he had far too little of. He’d come to Serenity for the sole purpose of convincing his grandparents to sell their small farm and move to Oklahoma where he could better look after them. He had not flown all those miles to waste one minute carrying useless junk to some peddler’s wagon. He was a man on a mission, a man with an important goal.
Reaching the back door to the van, he rested the leading edge of the box against its bumper while he tried the handle. It didn’t turn. It didn’t even jiggle.
Nate was considering abandoning the enormous box when its owner returned.
“Sorry,” she said pleasantly, “I forgot to mention that that door sticks. You have to give it a nudge to get it to open. Here. I’ll do it.”
There wasn’t enough room between the parked vehicles for Nate to step back, let alone turn and put down the box. Consequently, he found himself leaning awkwardly with the backs of his legs pressed against the bumper and grille of the truck next in line, while the woman wedged herself in front of him and the box to fiddle with the van door.
She was a little older than she’d seemed at first glance, he decided, probably nearly his age, although with her sun-streaked, golden hair pulled back in a ponytail and no makeup, it was difficult to tell. One thing was certain, she wasn’t afraid of hard work. It looked as though there was already enough heavy furniture crammed into her van to give anyone a good workout, let alone a woman her size.
She turned and tried to relieve him of the box. “Okay. I’ll take that now.”
Nate’s ingrained chivalry had kicked in. “No problem. I’ve got it. Where shall I put it?”
Her laugh was light and full of cheerful self-deprecation. “Beats me. I think I may have overbought.”
“I have to agree with you there. I take it you have a business?”
“Yes.” She pushed up the arms of her sweatshirt and extended her right hand. “I’m Chancy Boyd. Chancy’s Second Chances is my antique store. Maybe you’ve seen it. I’m one block off the square, behind the grocery market.”
“Sorry, no,” Nate said. “I’m just visiting.” He managed to shake her hand by shifting the box and temporarily supporting it with his forearm. “Nate Collins. My grandparents live right down the road.”
“Hester and Ted? You’re a Collins? Nice to meet you! Your grandparents are dears. No wonder you’re being so helpful. It must run in the family.”
Nate’s guilty conscience kicked him in the gut. Had he lived in a bustling city so long that he’d forgotten his upbringing? Apparently so.
He hoisted the cardboard box aloft and managed to wedge it into the cargo space above a carved dresser. “Actually,” he said as he brushed off his hands and the front of his lightweight jacket, “I got out of Ted’s