But as she gathered bed things from the linen closet, she felt resentful of Margot, who was upstairs sleeping in Dillon’s bed. Why was she doing this? Being so stubborn, and acting like her lavender project was some sort of a spiritual calling? And what would happen when she tired of the hard work and gave up? Would Grandpa be stuck with the mess? And who was paying for everything?
As Dillon settled into the sagging sofa, she wondered if it would be wrong to pray for Don to show up and beg Margot to return to him and continue living together in less-than-holy-matrimony so that Dillon could have her old bed back. Probably. Fortunately she was so worn out, she hardly noticed the sofa’s shortcomings. She realized she could probably sleep anywhere tonight.
When she woke the next morning, she wasn’t sure whether she was relieved to get up or not. Although her back begged to escape the sofa, she was still sleepy. But the aroma of coffee wafting in from the kitchen was enticing.
Grandpa greeted her as he spooned sugar into a mug.
“Bacon and eggs?” she asked as she poured herself some coffee.
“Count me in.” He nodded eagerly.
As Dillon laid bacon strips in the big cast-iron frying pan, she told Grandpa about her visit to the hardware store and the change in irrigation plans.
“A drip line makes sense,” he agreed. “I didn’t question Margot because she told me she was researching everything.”
“Right. Which brings me to another question. Are you paying for all this? Or is Margot investing in it herself?”
He sighed. “Margot doesn’t really have anything to invest.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem fair to put the expense on you. I mean, it could be profitable.” She actually questioned this. “But what if it all falls apart? Can you afford it?”
“Your grandmother got life insurance policies on both of us a long time ago. I’d assumed they’d lapsed, but it turned out she kept up the payments all these years. So, anyway, I can afford to help your mother with her lavender project.”
“Speaking of Margot, I wanted to wake her up early. The parts for the watering system will be here by seven and I think she should be up when the delivery comes, don’t you?”
He grinned. “You bet, I do. I’ve been telling her that farmers can’t afford to sleep the morning away. Gotta make hay while the sun shines.”
Dillon turned the flame down under the bacon, then ran upstairs and banged on the bedroom door, calling out that Margot’s delivery would be here in about fifteen minutes. “So get up—now!” Margot mumbled something unintelligible but, worried about the bacon, Dillon didn’t stick around.
It was almost seven when Dillon started dishing up breakfast, but Margot still hadn’t come down. “There’s the Atwood truck.” Grandpa pointed to the window over the sink. “I’ll go out and see to it.”
Dillon would’ve preferred to drag Margot out of bed kicking and screaming but knew it was pointless. Instead, she poured the orange juice and suppressed her desire to phone Don and beg or bribe him to come get Margot.
“I invited Jordan to breakfast,” Grandpa announced as he came in through the back door. “I hope you have enough.”
Dillon blinked then nodded. “Sure, there’s plenty.” She smiled at Jordan. He looked bright and shiny in a plaid Western shirt and blue jeans. She resisted the urge to smooth her bed-head curls, wishing she’d taken some time with her own rumpled appearance. “Have a seat.” She set down the two loaded plates, then turned back to the stove to scramble a couple more eggs. Fortunately she’d made lots of bacon.
“Want coffee?” she asked Jordan as she poured an extra glass of orange juice.
“Sounds great. I’m not used to such accommodating customers. Guess I’ll have to start making more morning deliveries. Say, Alex, your pumpkin seed should be here by Monday. Want it delivered?” He winked as Dillon set his coffee down.
“Why not?” Grandpa laughed.
“But we could be having oatmeal then.” Dillon sat down with her plate.
“So you’re growing pumpkins and lavender now?” Jordan asked Grandpa.
“Looks that way.” Grandpa glumly shook his head. “If anyone told me that a year ago, I’d have called ’em crazy. But . . . well, things change.”
“I sort of know how you feel.”
Grandpa nodded. “Yeah, I suppose you never planned to be running the family business.” He turned to Dillon. “Jordan’s dad passed away about a month after your grandma.”
“But we had more warning,” Jordan told Dillon. “My dad battled cancer for a couple of years.”
“Dale Atwood was a good man,” Grandpa said with respect.
“Atwood?” Dillon frowned. “Isn’t that the name of the hardware store?”
“Of course,” Grandpa told her. “Atwood’s Feed and Seed and Hardware.”
“Oh?” She looked at Jordan. “So you’re Mr. Atwood?”
He laughed. “Most people just call me Jordan.”
“Jordan’s been in charge of the store for about a year now,” Grandpa told her. “And doing a good job too.”
“We thought it was just to help out when Dad got sick. No one expected I’d stick it out this long. But the town sort of grows on you. Such a great family place. And, as it turns out, I like running the store.”
“Good morning,” Margot said crisply as she entered the kitchen. “Are we having a party?”
“No, just breakfast.” Grandpa introduced her to Jordan, then lifted his coffee mug with a twinkle in his eye. “Feel free to join us.”
“You don’t expect me to eat that.” Margot turned her nose up. “Looks like a heart attack on a plate.”
“You go ahead and drink green slime if you like,” Grandpa teased, “and leave the bacon and eggs to us. We need some fortitude to help us work.”
“Speaking of work, I better get going.” Jordan pushed back his chair. “But I do appreciate the breakfast. Compliments to the cook.”
“Don’t sue us if your cholesterol count is sky-high,” Margot said lightly.
Jordan just laughed, but Dillon felt annoyed—and as if she were ten years old again . . . trying to make sense of her peculiar parent. As an excuse to escape Margot, Dillon walked Jordan outside, thanking him again for all his help. “I should’ve guessed you were more than just an employee at the hardware store.”
He grinned. “That’s okay. It took a while for the town to adjust when I stepped in for Dad. They’re barely used to me now.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “But I’m sure your dad would be proud of how well you’re managing the hardware store.”
“Well, it’s a family business. We do our best.” He thanked her again for breakfast, then hopped in his pickup and took off. As she watched the trail of dust behind the dark green hardware-store truck, she thought Jordan Atwood was a man of many layers. Not the kind of enigma Brandon had been, always keeping her slightly off guard. But Jordan was definitely a bit mysterious. He’d sounded amused by her assumption that he was an employee at the hardware store. As if he’d enjoyed the joke. And yet he wasn’t malicious.