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And I was mostly right. We traveled another few minutes, up and around a big curve, and then it was ahead of us, the house and the barn. It was like a picture in a magazine.
A huge red barn was where we pulled up to, Noah cutting the engine before he turned to me, laying his left arm on the steering wheel. “I’m gonna get a ramp and we’ll get the bike down from the bed of the truck. You can work on it while I make some supper. We’ll eat and if your bike is okay, you can be on your way. If it’s not… well, what are your plans?”
“I guess…” I had no idea. “You could take me back to the highway and I’ll hitchhike.”
“To where?”
That was direct, but I had the feeling that he didn’t beat around the bush. “To be honest, I don’t know. I… uh, left someone, and I just started riding.”
“That’s about what I thought. Work on the bike. We’ll talk at supper.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“Haven’t done much,” he said, turning away from me to exit the truck.
He went to the door of the barn and disappeared through it. The big door raised to show the inside of the place.
To the left, there were stalls, one containing a cow, the others empty. There was a stack of hay in the center that went up about twenty feet high, and I wondered briefly how anyone could stack hay that high.
Then, on the right, was a work area with tools neatly lined on a pegboard and three red tool chests under the worktable. Despite being in a barn with hay all over the place, not a speck of dust was on them.
“Nice setup.”
“Thanks. I take good care of my shit, so I expect anyone using them to do the same.” He was gruff without being a prick, and that was a thin line. He managed to do it with the tiniest bit of charm. From a room just to the side of the table, he pulled out a metal vehicle ramp. “Let’s get this thing unloaded.”
We got the bike down much easier than it had been to get it into the truck, and true to his word, he took off to the house as I pushed my bike into the barn.
I watched him walking to the house and up a big, wide, welcoming porch. It was one story, but tall, and big windows up front. Log cabin style, with raw logs that had silvered with age and weather, the foundation the same red and gray stones I’d seen on the way there.
Off on its own on a hill, surrounded by trees on the right and back sides, a hill on the left, I wondered what it was like to live there, seeing that kind of scenery every day.
I got to work and quickly found out the cause was bad gas. The filter was full of gunk and the pump was suffering from it, and I knew I’d have to empty the tank, clean it and the filter and hope that was good enough to get it started again.
There was a sludge sink next to the work area, and I cleaned up as best I could. There was no nail brush, but I laughed at the thought. I didn’t have to worry about that any longer. Harvey had been a nag about my nails being clean.
I looked at the grease under my nails and smiled. It was a minor rebellion, but it was mine.
I went to the house and knocked, using the knocker that was a simple ring and metal plate. No lion’s head, no cherub, just a brass plate that I smacked the ring against a few times.
Without his hat, Noah opened the door and nodded, asking me, “Get it figured out?”
“Bad gas.”
He waved me in and walked off into the room, calling over his shoulder, “Close that door and come this way.” After I did that, I looked around quickly, and was blown away by the rustic comfort of the place.
A long leather couch on a braided rag rug was all I could see with the quickness of my tour. It sat in front of a fireplace that spanned most of the room. Covered in stones that were blue and gray. A mantle that was as thick as my leg over the opening, holding candles, pictures, and a tall vase.
Right away, I thought Noah had a wife, and I was on alert for her as I went into the short hall that led to the dining area and kitchen off to the right.
Noah started cutting red and orange peppers, and the smell of the steak grilling on the top of the stove made my stomach ache with hunger. I had eaten little that morning, and it was almost five in the evening.
The kitchen was just as amazing as the living room, rustic as well, with wood cabinets that were pine and black iron hand and drawer pulls standing out darkly on them.
A farm style sink was under a heavily curved black faucet, and the refrigerator and stove were stainless steel. The big hood over the stove was galvanized steel, and everything was neat and tidy, but he wasn’t obsessed, like he seemed to be about his tools. Food was spread all over the island where he was chopping on a wide cutting board, and there were pots and pans in the sink.
“Your house is beautiful.”
“Yup,” he said simply.
