“Oh, yeah . . . right.” Dillon had no desire to visit the hardware store, but since a couple was asking Vivian for help, she thanked her and headed down the street, hoping that Jordan might be on a lunch break just now.
Since she didn’t see Jordan as she entered Atwood’s, she went straight to the back of the store. There, sure enough, was a fairly large RV section. Before long, she’d gathered up several items from her list. She was just picking out a fresh water pressure relief valve when Jordan walked up. “Can I help you?” he asked with a surprisingly warm smile.
“I think I found what I’m looking for.” She held up the package.
He looked confused . . . or maybe amused. “Is that for your irrigation system?”
“No,” she said curtly. “This is for my camp trailer.” She dropped it into her cart.
“Oh.” He nodded. “You have a camp trailer?”
“Yes.” She pointed to the package of RV toilet paper in her cart as if proof. Then immediately felt embarrassed.
“Well, that’s great. What kind of trailer is it?”
“An old one.” She started to roll her cart—as in, hint, hint.
“How old is it?”
She thought about that. “Well, it’s older than me. That’s for sure.” She attempted to do the mental math, then gave up. “It’s well over fifty years old.”
His brows arched. “Really, that old?”
She nodded, trying to think of a way to curtail this pointless conversation and escape.
“Vintage?” He set a hand on her cart, as if to detain her.
“Yes, I guess you could say that.”
“What make?”
She wondered why it mattered, but told him it was an Aloha.
“Aloha?” He frowned. “What model?”
She told him it was an Oasis, thinking he’d probably assume it might look like an Arabian tent, at home in the desert.
“What year Oasis?”
She tipped her head to one side. “I, uh, I think it’s 1964.”
“With a cab-over?” he asked.
“Cab-over?” She made a confused frown.
He made a high wavy motion with his hand. “You know, it would hang over the pickup bed. Just slightly. But it’d have a bunk inside it. Right over the dinette.”
She blinked. “Yeah, it’s exactly like that.”
“Cool.” He nodded. “And does it have a tiny bathroom in the back corner? Barely big enough to stand in?”
“Yes. But how can you possibly know so much about a 1964 Oasis?”
“Because my uncle used to have one like that.”
“Oh.” She nodded.
“Yeah, I used to go hunting with him. I slept in the cab-over bunk. Pretty cool since it had its own windows. Always loved Uncle Jack’s old trailer.”
“Uncle Jack?”
“Yeah. Jack Martin. He passed away last year.”
“Jack and Rose Martin?”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “Aunt Rose moved to the coast and—”
“Jack left his old trailer to my grandpa,” she said somberly. “They used to be hunting buddies.”
“Oh, that’s right. I remember now—your grandpa went hunting with my uncle sometimes. Man, those were good ol’ days. Just the guys out in the woods, hunting elk or deer. Or if no game showed up, just shooting the bull and eating great food.” He rubbed his chin with a wistful look. “Seriously, you have Uncle Jack’s old trailer?”
She bit her lip, suddenly worried that Jordan, like her mom, might feel he had some sort of ancestral right to her trailer. What if he thought his uncle should’ve left it to him—or he wanted to contest the will? “Yeah, well, my grandfather gave it to me last week,” she said quickly. “I’ve been fixing it up.”
“Well, good for you.” His smile looked genuine. “I’m sure it needed some serious TLC.”
She felt slight relief. “Yeah, it’s been great working on it. Kind of therapeutic.”
“Therapeutic?” He peered closely at her.
She felt her cheeks warm. “Well, cathartic or something. I just left a job and everything behind in Colorado. I guess I needed something to occupy myself.”
“You mean besides teaching swimming lessons?” His brows arched with obvious amusement.
“Yeah, that’s not really my career choice. Just filling my time.” She stood up straighter. “By the way, Chloe made impressive improvements today. I was very pleased with her.”
His eyes lit up. “That’s great news. I meant to tell you this, but I didn’t want to say it in front of her. Chloe had a real scare last summer. She fell into the deep end of the pool and, thanks to one of those floating alarm devices, she was rescued. But ever since then, she’s been totally paranoid of pools. And it was starting to affect Emma too. That’s why Janelle insisted on lessons this summer. But it’s a challenge for Janelle because of work demands. And the nanny doesn’t drive. Which is why I’ve been picking up the slack some.”
Dillon nodded. “I wondered if something had happened to make her so fearful. It actually helps to know this. Thanks.” She pointed to her cart. “Well, if I’m going to get any work done on my trailer today, I better get going.”
“And if you need any pointers or any—”
“Jordan?” a guy called out from the other end of the aisle. “Delivery question—we need you in back.”
Dillon thanked him and rolled her cart away. It rattled her that Jordan was being so nice and friendly. A bit too friendly. Or else was she just being overly sensitive . . . because of her earlier assumptions? Whatever the case, she was glad to get away from him.
CHAPTER
13
By Friday morning, after much online research, Dillon’s mind was made up. She was going DIY. She would paint her own trailer—and save thousands of dollars. At least that’s what she hoped. She’d already spent several hours sanding the metal siding, masking the windows, and removing hardware and lights, until she finally felt like this was a task she could handle. And after looking at her bank balance, she knew it was belt-tightening time.
Her plan was to take each step slowly and carefully—and she would get the recommended paint products. To this end, she found herself at the hardware store on Friday afternoon. Relatively sure that Jordan wouldn’t be there since he’d just picked up the twins at the pool—on time for a change—she’d hurried to Atwood’s. Now with paint samples of a nice milky white and a medium-toned turquoise picked out, she was explaining her DIY plan to Ryan the paint guy.
“You’re seriously going to do it all by yourself?” he asked.
She nodded. “That’s my plan. It’ll probably take my whole weekend, or longer, but I don’t care. It’s worth the savings. And I’ve seen great photos of trailers that were painted this same way.”
“Well, I’d like to see your photos when you’re done.” Ryan put the first gallon of paint in the shaking machine.
“Then you will.” She glanced over her shoulder, still worried that Jordan might pop in and start offering his opinions . . . and really, she didn’t want any more advice. And she didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to get her little trailer looking as sweet on the outside as it was on the inside. And her plan was to start painting first thing tomorrow morning.