Maggie Moves On(4)
She waited until Dean had grumbled his way around to the back with his toy before taking out her phone and lining up a selfie with the house behind her.
It was tradition. Every project. Just her and the house at the very beginning of their journey together. She’d never shared any of them. It felt too personal, as if she were standing in front of her own dreams and asking them to come true.
“Closing’s not until tomorrow, Magpie,” Dean said when he returned. “Still have time to change your mind.”
She heard the hope in his voice and grinned. “Nice try. This is happening.”
He heaved a heroic sigh. “Fine. I have a couple of local trades lined up tomorrow after settlement. Figured you’d want to get started on the estimates right away.”
“You figured right. Come on. Let’s get you some caffeine so you can be nice. Maybe they’ll let us check in to the hotel early.”
2
“Look, man. All I’m sayin’ is, if it makes you yack, maybe think about not eating it next time.” Silas Wright’s passenger had the good grace to look chagrined…and a little nauseated. “I mean, seriously, Kev? A whole pack of bacon. Even I know better than that.”
Kevin, a burly pit bull, whined a little, his wet nose twitching.
Silas hit the button and lowered the window a little more. “Don’t you puke. I’m trying to impress a client that desperately needs my expertise. Dog barf isn’t impressive.”
His dog’s tail gave a happy wobble as warm spring air rushed in.
Silas loved this time of year, too. As a kid, it had meant that endless summers of swimming, skipping rocks, and sleepovers were just around the corner. As an adult, the first sustained days of spring buoyed Western Idaho residents into thinking about mulch and weeding and retaining walls and patios for outdoor entertaining. And how much they didn’t want to do that work themselves.
It was no coincidence that the mailers for Bitterroot Landscapes were landing in mailboxes in a fifteen-mile radius today. Not only had he highlighted the nice, clean look of fresh mulch and neat lawn lines, but he’d also made sure to hint at what a pain in the ass the work was.
After several years of steady growth, he’d predicted this season would be tougher. The plant closing had many neighbors hurting for those paychecks. So he’d been prepared to tighten his belt and do what was needed to keep his people working steadily.
However, he hadn’t predicted a call about the Old Campbell Place.
Born and raised in Kinship, Silas was as familiar with the house on the bluff as the cold cuts cooler at Garnet Grocery and every kayak-swamping submerged rock on the five miles of Payette River he considered to be his.
Judging from the call, the estate’s new owner was looking to do more than Band-Aid the grand dame of a house. And Silas was going to dazzle the hell out of that someone into letting him get his hands on those grounds.
The dog let out a sigh.
As long as a certain someone kept his breakfast down.
The road got skinnier and steeper as his truck climbed. He’d laughed when the client—Dean Jensen with those California vowels—had asked if he needed directions to the project. Everyone knew where the Old Campbell Place was.
He slowed and signaled for the turn onto the lane. Not even the camouflage of wild Rocky Mountain maple and chokecherry could hide the way.
Bumping along, he noted the fresh ruts in the mud. He wasn’t the first trade on-site. A good sign that the owner was excited to get started. He could get behind excited, he decided as the quaking aspens that seemed intent on devouring the drive thinned and the house came into view.
He let out a low whistle that had Kevin perking up.
She’d been a grand beauty in her day. Now, crumbling and sagging. But beyond the peeling paint and broken windows was the kind of charm that never faded. The grounds—he’d had a look at the site map to refresh his memory—were five acres of hilltop roll. House, garage, barn, remains of a greenhouse. Mother Nature had been busy here in the years the property stood vacant. Trees and shrubs, weeds and thistles.
She needed love. A lot of it. But the potential was there. She could rise again, given the right care…and a sizable budget. And he wanted his hands on it. Not just for the job security and that influx of cash to his bottom line. No. He liked the idea of adding his mark to this piece of local history.
Kevin let out a bacon-scented burp that pulled Silas from his romantic reverie.
“Gross, man.”
He spotted a Hines Contracting van out front and swung in next to a pickup the same make, model, and blue as his own.
“Stay put and, if you gotta puke, puke out the window,” he told his dog.
The screen door on the front banged open and then shut, and he spotted his old Little League coach exiting.
“How’s it going, Jim?” Silas called, getting out.
“Some place, Sy,” Jim told him with a grin usually reserved for over-the-fence homers.
“Sure is. I’m hoping the pockets are deep.”
“Deep and smart. Big job,” he said cheerfully. “But the owner’s got brains and vision. And best as I can tell, a decent budget, too.”
Music to the ears of the Kinship small businesses, Silas thought.
The screen door creaked open and banged shut again, and he felt his world tilt a few degrees.