Jackson was focused on the road, and I found myself focused on him. His thick, shiny hair was brushed back off his face revealing his amazing profile, straight nose and strong jaw. I sighed inwardly. I rested back against the seat of his truck. He'd bought the old Ford to go along with our dreams of turning Cider Ridge into a charming farmstead. (Charming was my word. He preferred words like working and rustic.) The truck was the first purchase toward our life as farmers and, more importantly, our future together. We hadn't formally discussed marriage yet, but it was always out there on the peripherals of our conversations whenever we talked about Cider Ridge.
I gazed out the window as the landscape, now dripping with the fiery colors of fall, swept past. "I guess that whole candle blowing tradition isn't just a hopeful myth after all," I said confidently. Jackson didn't look convinced.
"I always thought it was a terrible tradition," Jackson said.
I pulled my eyes from the scenery. "Why is that, you party pooper?"
"Spit. My friend, Bucky, had a mom who would always bake an awesome chocolate cake for his parties. Then she'd fill it with candles, and Bucky, who tended to spit even when he was just talking, would suck in as much air as possible, puff out his skinny chest and blow spit all over the cake. I never touched the cake at his parties."
"Then how do you know the cakes were awesome? Maybe they just looked pretty but tasted like dirt."
Jackson laughed. "I know it definitely would have tasted like Bucky's spit."
I crinkled my nose. "Yuck, this topic has gone very much to the dark side. Sorry I brought it up."
Jackson glanced over at me. "Why did you bring it up?"
"I was just admiring the very handsome man sitting next to me and then I remembered for my sixteenth birthday, before I sprayed spittle all over my sweet sixteen cake, I closed my eyes and wished for a car and a cute boyfriend. I decided since it was my sweet sixteen, I could make a double request. It took two years befor I got the car and more than a decade for the second part of the wish, but I'm now a believer."
Jackson grinned. "Ah, Bluebird, am I your cute boyfriend?"
"You're cute and you're my boyfriend, so again, as I said, wish fulfilled." My eyes caught the glimmer of an old metal sign. I leaned down to get a better look through the windshield. "There's a sign for the Garten Sheep Farm." As we rolled by, I read it out loud. "For all your wool needs. Come and say hello to our flock."
Our trip to the sheep farm would lead to our next significant farm purchase. Jackson had spotted an ad in a local paper for pipe corrals at a good price. Now that he was a budding farmer with a truck, we were able to buy some. We still needed to save up enough for a barn, or, at least, the plans and supplies for building one, but eventually the pipe corrals would be necessary. Jackson was looking forward to having his own horse, and I was looking forward to seeing him riding with his black cowboy hat pulled low and his worn, leathery boots jammed in the stirrups.
I caught a twinkle in Jackson's eye. "You're dreaming about your horse, aren't you?"
"I'm looking forward to it." He smiled at me. "Looking forward to us."
I unbuckled my seat belt and slid over next to him. "I love these old trucks that don't have the big, bulky console in between the seats."
"Or the alarm when you unbuckle the belt," he said in a policeman sort of tone. Then he lifted his arm and dropped it over my shoulder to draw me closer. "Hmm, you're right. Kind of nice having a bench seat. Takes me back to my teenage years in my dad's old truck."
"Nope, don't want to hear about the amorous exploits of young Brady Jackson."
Jackson laughed. "Probably best to leave the past in the past."
I leaned forward. "I see sheep… and a farm. Guess we've arrived."
The Garten Sheep Farm was a sprawling mass of wool and black heads. The sheep were bleating intermittently as they grazed on a mostly brown pasture. The farmhouse was a small, early twentieth century house with wood siding that was painted a pale yellow. The railing on the wraparound porch was painted a bright blue and dark brown shutters bordered the windows. A red barn stood amongst some maples and oaks, and several other outbuildings had been painted red to match.
"Should we paint our barn red?" I asked. "I was kind of thinking it would be fun to buck tradition and paint it something else, like a teal blue or forest green."
"Since that barn is merely a dream in our heads right now, I think we've got time to decide."
"Yes, but when you're imagining it in your head, what color are you seeing?"
He tilted his head. "Red with white trim. But that's because it's a barn." The truck waddled side to side as we hit a rough spot on the mostly dirt driveway.
"Minnie, the lady I texted about the fencing, said we could pull up to the house." I took out my phone. "I'll let her know we're here."
"Don't think you need to." Jackson motioned toward the house. An older woman, late sixties, maybe early seventies, had stepped out onto the porch. She had a friendly smile and crinkly lines around her eyes. She was wearing a pair of faded overalls that were a little snug in every section. My gaze was drawn to her work boots. They looked worn and faded and comfy as if she'd been wearing them so long, they were now molded to her feet. For all her sweet, farm-hearty appearance, her complexion looked sallow, almost grayish. She tightly grasped the hand railing as she made her way down the three porch steps.
"Welcome, welcome," she said cheerily. The second she spoke the sheep in the field started up a loud chorus. She waved at them. "Stop, I'm not talking to y'all." She turned back to us with an eye roll. "As soon as they see me they think it's time for grain. Come on inside for a minute. I have something finishing up on the stove. It'll just be a second, then we can walk out to the barn and look at those panels." She was breathing hard as she spoke and walked as if doing both things was using up every bit of her energy.
Jackson held open the screen door, and I followed Minnie inside. Two orange tabby cats bolted from the front room as we entered. The house smelled strongly of onions and something else, something pungent. Minnie must have caught both of us flinching at the strong odors.
Her laugh was the kind I'd expect from Mrs. Claus, jolly and lyrical. "You'll have to excuse the smell." We followed her into a spacious country kitchen. Large soup pots sat on four of the six burners, and pungent steam wafted up from each pot.
Minnie picked up a large wooden paddle and stirred the bright red contents of one of the pots. "It's beets. You see, I make my own dye for the wool. I teach knitting classes. Back when I still had the stamina, I taught sheep farmers how to take the wool from the animal and all the way to the finished product." She pointed out a beautifully knitted pillow on a wooden bench near the kitchen door. "I'm making dye today. Otherwise, we use this stove to actually cook food. My sister, Donna, is a chef. She works at the Thornbridge Hotel."
The Thornbridge Hotel came up quite often at home these days after we'd learned that someone Edward, my resident ghost, knew when he was still alive, was currently inhabiting the Thornbridge. (I avoided using the word haunting because it made Edward bristle.)
A car door slammed outside. Minnie shuffled to the front room to see who had arrived. "Speaking of Donna, here she is now." She didn't seem all that pleased to see her sister. "No doubt checking up on me to make sure I don't give away that fencing."
Donna walked in with far more vigor than her sister. She was smaller and looked a few years younger. She moved fast and fastidiously, like a trained chef who had learned never to waste a step in the kitchen. She looked Jackson and me up and down as if we were coming to adopt a child rather than buy some used pipe corrals.
"Why are you home?" Minnie asked.
"Wanted to make sure you got the right price for those panels." Donna was far less friendly and had a stern brow. She reminded me of some of my least favorite teachers. "They are used, but they're still as good as if you bought them new. They'll keep the animals in just fine. What kind of animal are you looking to corral?"
We weren't expecting an interview, but Jackson, who I sensed was more amused than irritated, stepped forward. "We're going to be getting some horses eventually."
Donna looked us over again. "You don't look like horse people."
"Donna!" Minnie said sharply. "They don't need to answer any of these questions. Please excuse my sister." The two sisters exchanged angry glares. "Let's go out to the barn. Then you can see how many you want."
Donna followed close at our heels as if Minnie was opening up a barn filled with treasures. It was hardly that. It seemed the animals didn't spend much time inside the building either. There were a few box stalls on one side and rakes and brooms hanging on another wall. The fencing panels had been neatly stacked along the wall below them.
Jackson looked them over. "These will do."
Donna crossed her arms. "We're not wheeling and dealing. We're firm on the price."
Jackson pulled out his wallet. "No problem. We'll take them all." He glanced out the opening of the barn. "Can I back my truck in so I don't have to carry them so far?"
"Of course," Minnie said just as Donna said, "If you must." They were certainly polar opposites in personality.
"Of course you can," Minnie repeated. She gave her sister an admonishing older sister look. It was an expression I'd been on the receiving end of many times as Lana's little sister. "Donna, now that you've seen I have this well in hand, why don't you go back to work. I'm sure you have a lot to do for Sunday lunch."
"Naturally, I have tons to do. The hotel is celebrating its 250th anniversary. There are cakes to make and breads to bake. I just wanted to make sure—"
"Yes, I know. You were checking up on me." The two set into a sibling squabble, which was our cue to leave the barn and get the truck.
"Those two are quite the pair," Jackson quipped. "Think I like the older one best."
"I have to agree with you there." I wrapped my arm enthusiastically around his. "Our first pipe corrals, Jax. The first piece of our farm. Who knew a bunch of old metal panels could be so exciting."