Chapter 3
Clay dropped a load of heavy, musty feed sacks just as the sneeze hit him. Swiping a hand across his brow he waited for the ticklish sensation in his nose to subside. He’d been at it since oh-dark-thirty this morning, moving twenty years of accumulated crap to the entrance of the barn. He’d promised Pippa he’d have the place spotless in time for their wedding. And come hell or high water, he’d make it happen.
Last night, after dinner he’d called Jack and activated the Kerrigan first response team. At least, that’s what he called them privately. The spitfire’s brothers never held back when it came to helping their sister out. As soon as he’d proven to them how much he loved their sister, they allowed him into the circle of trust. So by extension, they had his back. He’d be redeeming the favor in spades to give Pippa the fairy tale wedding he’d promised her last night.
Jack walked over to join him then threw himself onto the Adirondack bench just outside the door. “Remind me to never let you estimate a job for me, Clay. You suck at it. I can call a couple guys from my construction crew for additional help. It will cost you, though.” He reached for the water bottle he’d left there earlier and took a long drink.
“Mom told me it was only two decades worth of stuff, but I hauled a stack of newspapers from the Eighties out a little bit ago. Damn, I wish Sam wasn’t in class this morning. We could use the help.” Jack smirked, and held up his cell phone, waggling it at Clay. “Well, shit. Make the call. I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
Waiting for his call to connect, Jack asked, “Did you arrange for a Dumpster?”
“Mom promised to ground me if I threw anything away before she had a chance to sort through it.” Clay chuckled as he scanned the rutted lane leading to the highway. “I’ve ordered a container to use for storage. It should be delivered soon.”
He surveyed the parking area in front of the shop. Thank God he’d had gravel dropped in November to even out the lot for Christmas tree shoppers. Gravel worked great for boots and sneakers, but wasn’t optimal for ladies’ shoes. Unfortunately, it was the only thing they had. He pulled a small paper tablet from his back pocket and added a note to talk to the company he planned to rent tables and chairs through. Maybe they could provide carpet runners. It beat risking a twisted ankle.
The thought brought Pippa to his mind, not that she was ever far from it. She hadn’t slept well due to pain. She’d refused to take medication for it, so Clay had chosen to stay awake with her. They’d passed the darkest hours of the night discussing the logistics of using the barn as a venue for a wedding.
He’d always believed Pippa had skills as a planner and strategist. But if her life for the past four weeks entrenched with planning the wedding even remotely resembled his for the last twenty-four hours, he had a new found respect for her ability.
Jack disconnected his call and snapped his fingers. “My crew is wrapping up at today’s job. They’ll be here in under an hour. I had to promise overtime.”
Clay shrugged. His most recent royalty checks guaranteed he’d be able to pay twenty guys at triple pay. This would be a drop in the bucket. But it would go a long way in fulfilling his promise to Pip.
Rumbling from the highway distracted him. A huge truck turned in at the farm’s entry, barren tree limbs scraping across the top. Great timing. They’d get the container situated, take a fast break for lunch, then hit it hard when Jack’s workers arrived. The day was certainly shaping up.
Bruce Kerrigan, Pippa’s dad, drove up the lane mere minutes after the semi driver had dropped the trailer then left. So far, Bruce’s job today was to pick up burgers for lunch and deliver them. Clay hoped he’d stay. Not to work, but to keep them company and entertain them. He truly liked his future father-in-law. It was a kick in the pants to be obtaining in-laws at this point in his life. Most of his friends had done it years ago. But he’d lived a vagabond lifestyle with the military, then free-styled through the years after he mustered out of the service.
