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“Something Mrs. O’Hara talked me into in one of her many e-mails.” He grabbed his coffee and the doughnut to go outside. Blue picked up a powdered doughnut and followed him through a refurbished laundry room to the side door.
When they reached the yard, she extended the powdered doughnut. “I’ll trade you.”
He took a big bite out of his glazed one, handed it over, and grabbed hers. “Okay.”
She gazed down at it. “Once again, I’m forced to live on other people’s leftovers.”
“Now you’re making me feel bad about myself.” He sank his teeth into the fresh doughnut.
They walked around the back. Blue studied the overgrown garden with her artist’s eye, imagining it alive with banks of color, maybe an herb garden by the iron pump, old-fashioned hollyhocks against the side of the house, a rope clothesline with laundry snapping in the warm breeze. Gonna take a sentimental journey…
Dean inspected a shady area just beyond the garden. Blue joined him. “A covered wagon?” she asked. “A paddy wagon?”
“I guess you’ll see.”
“You don’t know yourself, do you?”
“Sort of.”
“Show me the barn,” she said. “Unless there are mice.”
“Mice? Hell, no. That’s the only barn in the known universe without them.”
“You’ve been very sarcastic all morning.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry.”
Maybe he was covering up his grief. For the sake of his soul, she found herself hoping.
A flatbed truck pulled in, carrying what looked like a small covered wagon heavily wrapped in black plastic. She stayed where she was while Dean walked over to talk to the driver. Before long, the man was slapping him on his injured shoulder and calling him “Boo.” Finally they got down to business. With Dean directing, the driver backed the flatbed toward the trees and began unloading the wagon. Once they’d jimmied it into position, he began stripping away the black plastic.
The body of the wagon was red, but it had bright purple wheels with gilt patterns on the spokes like a circus calliope. Painted spindles decorated the sides, and every surface displayed flowing vines and fanciful flowers in bright blue, indigo, buttery yellow, and sunny orange. At the front of the wagon, a gilt unicorn danced on a royal blue door. The bowed top of the wagon formed a small overhang supported by lemon yellow gingerbread brackets. The wagon’s flat, spindled sides slanted outward from bottom to top and held a small window with miniature royal blue shutters.
Blue sucked in her breath. Her heart hammered. This was a gypsy wagon. A home for wanderers.
“Dibs,” she said softly.
Chapter Six
As the driver pulled away, Dean tucked his thumbs in his back pockets and circled the wagon as if it were a new car. She didn’t wait for him but pulled down a hinged step and climbed up to open the door.
The dark red interior was as magical as the exterior. Every surface, from the beams curving across the bowed ceiling, to the wooden ribs on the walls, to the panels between the ribs, had been painted with the same dancing unicorns, wandering vines, and fanciful flowers as the exterior. Across the rear of the wagon, a silky curtain trimmed in loopy fringe had been swagged at one side, revealing a bed that reminded Blue of a ship’s berth. Another bed formed a top bunk along the left side, with a painted double-door cupboard beneath. Small pieces of furniture had been upended for transport and wrapped in brown paper.
The wagon had two miniature windows, one in the center of the side wall above the table, and another over the rear bed. Both had white lace doll’s-house curtains drawn back with loops of purple braid. Near the baseboard on one side, a painted brown rabbit munched a tasty tuft of clover. It was so cozy, so absolutely perfect, that Blue wanted to cry. If she hadn’t forgotten how, she might have.
Dean came in behind her and gazed around. “Unbelievable.”
“This must have cost you a fortune.”
“She got a deal.”
No question who she was.
Only the center of the wagon rose high enough for him to stand upright. He started unwrapping the protective paper from a wooden table. “There’s a guy in Nashville who specializes in restoring these caravans. That’s what they call them. Some record mogul backed out of the deal after he’d ordered it.”
Caravan. She liked the word. It hinted of the exotic. “How did April talk you into buying it?”
“She told me it would be a good place to stick drunken guests. Also, some of my friends have kids, and I thought it would be fun for them.”
