She was happy with her life now. At least she had been until Brandon showed up today. She felt like her life, for the first time in her adulthood, was finally on track. She felt strong and resilient in her ability to put Brandon firmly behind her. But now she questioned herself. How could she spend years hoping to marry a man . . . and just a few weeks later wish he would vanish into thin air? Wasn’t that just plain flaky?
CHAPTER
17
With her hair turbaned in one towel and the other wrapped around like a sarong, Dillon opened the bathroom door to her mother.
“Here you go, Dilly-Dilly.” Margot came in with what looked like a short dress or a long top, setting underthings on the countertop.
“Don’t you have some sweats or something more casual?” Dillon asked.
“It’s enough to get you back to your trailer.” Margot dropped a pair of green flip-flops on the floor. “Then you can change into something else if you want.”
“Thanks a lot.” Dillon held up the summery mint-green dress, which was definitely on the short side. “Seriously?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Margot laughed as she shut the door.
As Dillon pulled on the dress, she suspected that Margot had picked this feminine garment for a specific reason. She’d never seemed overly pleased that Dillon had come home to roost, and she probably hoped her daughter would hook herself a man—either Brandon or Jordan, move away from the farm . . . and get out of her hair. This dress was probably meant to be bachelor bait. Well, whatever. And to be fair, it looked better than expected.
The house was quiet when Dillon went downstairs. Her plan was to slip out to her trailer and quickly change into casual clothes. And then, even if she had to do it by herself—she planned to continue working on her trailer. Hoping that Brandon had the good sense to make his exit, she went outside and peered off the porch, disappointed to see that his sporty rental car was still parked in front of the house.
But as she headed toward the barn, she felt encouraged to see that Harvey, the old red pickup, was still here too. Hopefully no white paint had splashed onto it. Going around the corner of the barn, she was about to enter her trailer when she spotted Jordan squatted down and fiddling with something up front. She called out a cautious hello.
He looked up and smiled. “Well, you sure clean up good.” He stood, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “That was quite a paint fight.”
She glumly shook her head. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it, Jordan. You didn’t deserve that.” She touched his damp shirt. “And you’re still wearing wet clothes too.”
“Keeps me nice and cool.” He grinned, then looked more somber. “Seemed like there was more going on than just paint throwing.”
“Yeah . . . maybe so.” She sighed. “What a mess we made.” She looked around the trailer to see the drop cloths and all the painting things were gone. “But looks like you cleaned up. Thanks.”
“Well, it was a good time to call it quits. While smoothing out some of the splashes on the trailer, I realized the first coat could use some more time to cure and dry anyway.” He tipped his head toward her. “Besides that, you look too pretty to paint now.”
“Thanks.” She pointed to the front of the trailer. “What are you doing up there?”
“I just hooked up your propane tank. I already used your grandpa’s air compressor to blow out the lines, and I was getting ready to check your stove. Want to help?”
“Of course.”
“Do you have matches in there?”
“I have a lighter. I use it for candles at night. And I have this cute little kerosene lamp too, in case I lose electricity, but I like lighting it just for the fun of it.”
“Nice. Go ahead and put your lighter by the stove. And open all the windows in there.”
She did what he said and came back out. “Now you can stay out here.” He showed her how to operate the propane tank. “And I’ll go inside and experiment with the stove and other appliances. Hopefully, they’re all in good shape.”
“Maybe I should be the one in there,” she suggested.
“No. It might be, uh, hazardous—and I know what I’m doing. You just stay here by the tank and if I yell turn it off, don’t hesitate.”
“And if it looks dangerous, you get out of there—pronto.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry.”
As they tested the appliances, yelling back and forth, Dillon wondered what had become of Brandon. Not that she cared, particularly. Or maybe she did. Now that she was clean and dry, she felt guilty for the way she’d taken pleasure while slapping white paint all over his fancy shirt and pants. She knew it was part of an expensive suit . . . and what if he got paint on the upholstery of his rental car?
“Looks like everything in there runs just fine,” Jordan said as he came out of the trailer. “Do you want me to show you how they all work today? Or are you worn out from all our activities?”
“No, I’d love to learn how to use everything.” She still felt bad for his damp and paint-stained clothes. “But what about you? Maybe you’d like to call it a day.”
“I’m fine. Might as well figure this out now.”
“Great. I’ll get my little notebook. I want to write it all down so I don’t forget.”
They went inside and Jordan took her through all the steps. She asked questions and took careful notes. “This is so exciting. This means I can use the fridge and the stove and have hot water.” She looked around in wonder. “I could really live out here?”
“Well, we’re still assuming they all work. The stove works perfectly fine, and the fridge sounds like it’s running, but it’ll take time to tell if it’s cold. The hot water heater seems to be okay. And I’m guessing you’ll want to wait for cold weather before testing the furnace.” Jordan replaced the padded bench seat on the dinette, then checked his pants for paint and sat down. “Although I’m not sure you’d want to live out here when it’s really cold. These old trailers don’t have much insulation, Dillon. And as you know, winter can be harsh in these parts.”
Dillon set her turquoise teakettle back on the stove burner, imagining it whistling . . . making hot tea. “You know what I think I’ll name her, Jordan?”
“Huh?” Jordan looked confused.
“My Oasis. I don’t think I should call her an Oasis since that’s not very personal.” She sat across from him. “I think I’ll name her Rose. After your aunt. Since this was her trailer.”
He grinned. “I think Aunt Rose would like that. And with your Southwest color scheme, you could even call her Desert Rose.” He chuckled. “An appropriate name for an Oasis.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I love that. She will be called Desert Rose.”
He looked around again. “My aunt Rose would really like what you’ve done in here. It’s so cozy and homey and welcoming. Much more so than my trailer.” His eyes lit up. “In fact, maybe I should hire you to give Helen more personality.”
“Really? You’d trust me with your trailer?”