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“And a week’s babysitting.” Tad buried his face in his hands. “How many kids do Val and Vern even have?”
“Two—Tim and Rose. You’ve met them, remember?”
Tad racked his brains, but he must’ve met fifty kids since he’d rolled into town: the kids from West’s riding class, the ones from school. Then there were Will’s twins and their gaggle of friends, and the cousins and second cousins and maybe-cousins and…
“They’re good kids,” said Sarah. “And cute, and right around West’s age. It’ll be like a playdate, totally fun.”
Tad exhaled harshly. “I planned forourwood.”
“Yeah, well, plans change.” Sarah kneaded his shoulders, working the knots. “If this is about accepting Uncle Vern’s help, you’renot. I am. The floor’ll be perfect, whichever way we do it. Uncle Vern’s barn had that same look, all weathered in.”
Tad closed his eyes. Sarah was the client, and what she said went. If she wanted to change suppliers, who was he to say no?
“I guess we could make it work,” he said. Sarah sighed with relief, but Tad’s frown only deepened. “That is, if your uncle brings back my rubber mallet. I let him borrow it for the Games, and he never gave it back.”
“Oh, yeah, about that…” Sarah’s expression turned pained. “Uncle Vince might’ve snaked it. He thought it was Uncle Vern’s. But he said he’d bring it by carol night, and you can grab it then.”
“Carol night?” Tad bit his cheek hard to keep from blowing his top. “That’s not for days. We’ll be done by then—or we would, if I had my mallet.”
“So pick up a new one. I’ll cover the cost.” Sarah’s voice was low and soothing, but Tad thought he detected a hint of irritation. He forced himself to breathe, to let his shoulders go lax.
“Okay,” he said. “No big deal. We got this.”
“That’s right,” said Sarah, and enfolded him in a hug. “Nothing we can’t handle, as long as we stick together.”
Tad breathed in her scent, snow and pine sap and vanilla shampoo. She was warm against him, her breath soft on his neck. Her heartbeat was calming, and he pulled her close. This was just a snafu, a bump in the road. Sarah wasn’t worried, so why should he be?
Because it’s chaos, all these moving parts. Dad was right—it’s too much, all this borrowing and lending.
He pushed the thought away, but he knew it’d be back. This wasn’t how he did things, by the seat of his pants. Until it all came together, it wouldn’t feel right.
10
Sarah hummed along with the radio, an upbeat tune that went well with hard scrubbing. She’d forgotten to let the pan soak, and the mix was spackled on, chocolatey crusties baked to the sides.
“What are you doing?”
Sarah shrieked. Dropped the pan. “Tad? Where—where’d you come from?”
“From the hardware store. They’re out of fine sandpaper.”
“The tack shop should have that.” Sarah retrieved her pan as her pulse returned to normal. “Some people use it to buff their horses’ hooves.”
“Good to know,” said Tad. “But that’s not all.” He leaned on the counter and scratched his beard. “Your uncle’s wood needs a lot of work, more than I thought. I’m three days behind schedule, and that’s if nothing else goes wrong. Wally White’s still insisting I meet his deadline, and as for your Uncle Vince, a New Year’s start for his bar renovation is looking less and less likely.” He tilted his head back and sniffed at the air. “Something smells good, though. Got any left?”
“Actually, about that…” Sarah smiled to hide her nerves. She’d done a good thing, she knew, but she’d done it her way, and Tad was still getting used to that. She could only hope this would be like the flooring—he’d balk at first, then see it was for the best.
“You ate a whole pan of brownies?” Tad gave her the Pillsbury poke, right in the belly. “No, let me guess: you gave ’em to Will.”
“I gave them to Wally White,” she said, and braced for his reaction. Sure enough, Tad’s lips went taut, and he backed away.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because I felt bad,” she said. “I made you use the new wood, and it set us back days. And I knew Wally would understand that, if I just explained.Youweren’t to blame for my project running over—that was on me, so I wanted to be the one to set it right. Wally’s a whiner, but he’s got a sweet tooth, and I figured I could fix this, if I just—”
“What did you do, exactly?” Tad clenched his teeth, visibly struggling to hold back his temper.
“I told him what happened, how my project was going to take longer than you’d planned, and that it was all my fault.” She tried a smile. “Then I fed him some brownies and I talked him round. I reminded him his anniversary’s coming in April, and wouldn’t a set of deck furniture go better in spring? I bought you three months, so what do you say to that?”
