I didn’t know what to say, struck by his honesty and, frankly, that he was still talking.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything.
He pulled the truck to a stop in front of the barn and put it in park, waving at the guys by way of a single hand held briefly in the air.
“Maybe you should stay in the truck,” he said as he opened the door.
I frowned at the command, but that almost-smile rose a little on one side. He nodded, his eyes cutting to my crossed arms as he slid out.
“Wouldn’t want you to start a riot.”
My cheeks were hotter than a meteor. “That sounds like a them problem, not a me problem.”
A noise escaped him that sounded almost like a laugh. “Tell that to Helen of Troy.”
Before I could answer, he shut the door with one gigantic hand, grabbing some bags out of the bed of the truck and heading to the barn without looking back.
I sat there, stunned and stupid over Keaton Meyer, considering all the things I could never have.
Including him.
6
HOT DOG
DAISY
That afternoon, I was busy in the kitchen, waiting for Poppy to get home so I could exact my revenge, just like I had been since Keaton dropped me off that morning.
It had been a similarly awkward ride back to the house, and I’d spent the rest of the morning doing chores, contemplating my revenge. But when Poppy finally walked in the door, slamming it behind her hard enough to bounce the pictures on the wall, I decided her comeuppance could wait.
“What’s the matter?” I asked as she stormed straight to the fridge, took out a beer, and slammed that door too.
Jo wandered in, frowning.
“What’s the matter is that I have never been so sick about this town in my life. And that’s saying something.” Poppy twisted the cap off with a hiss and took a long pull.
Jo and I shared a look and kept quiet, knowing she wasn’t close to opening the floor for questions.
“Doug fucking Windley headed a small mob in the park harassing vagrants, which on its own is bad enough. But every single one of them had a holstered gun around their waists. Even Marjorie.” Poppy spat the name with as much vitriol as Jo ever did. And Jo hated Marjorie’s guts.
“So,” she continued, “a bunch of us were in Bettie’s Biscuits and saw the commotion, so we headed over there while Bettie called the sheriff and tried to calm the assholes down, but they only got bigger and louder. Somehow I ended up speaking for all the vagrants—”
“Of course you did,” Jo said fondly.
“Of course I did! And Pastor Coleburn worked with everybody trying to help the homeless gather their things and get them to the church while Doug and I barked at each other. And when the sheriff showed up, know what he said?”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“He said he’d arrest anybody found in the park after nine at night, but didn’t say shit about Dave Jackson waving his loaded pistol around a public park with children in it. Goddamn I’m mad.”
“Is everyone all right?” I asked.
She nodded with the bottle to her lips, lowering it when she swallowed. “No thanks to them. Pastor Coleburn got everybody rounded up and out of the way and put together a temporary shelter, but it’s not going to work for long.” Under furrowed brows, her eyes fell to the ground. “There’s got to be something we can do, something bigger than this. Not sandwiches, not clothes. These people need real, actual help. They need a place to stay, medical attention, therapy. Job assistance. They need a home.”
I turned the words over in my mind, and I could see them tumbling around Jo’s too.
“A homeless shelter?” I asked. “But where? Pastor Coleburn is already doing what he can.”
Something dawned on Poppy, and she rose, her face lighting slowly. “We build one. Lindenbach, I mean. We can build one, or convert something that already exists. They want to get the homeless off Main Street? Find them a place to stay. Do some outreach, see if we can get a legitimate free clinic running, see if we can’t call in some psychologists willing to come to town.”
Jo frowned. “Poppy, I don’t mean to sound like a naysayer, but how do you figure we can do all this? The amount of organization, money, time … I’m just not sure how it’s possible.”
“It has to be possible. Someone has to have a building we can use for the shelter. If we can set up a clinic inside and rally volunteers? Maybe we could start a fund, establish it as a nonprofit.” She snapped. “What about Keely Brumer? Isn’t she a doctor now in Austin?”
“Yeah, but why would she come back here to get paid next to nothing to work for charity?”
Poppy’s face quirked in thought. “I don’t know. But there has to be someone. We’d need a whole crew of people. I just don’t know how we’d pay them.”
“If only we had a million dollars,” a smiling, deep voice came from behind me.
Grant sauntered in, sliding in next to Jo to kiss her waiting cheek.
“So what’s this I hear about charity?” he asked.
Briefly, Poppy explained. And by briefly, I meant she ranted for a few minutes while Grant listened patiently. He’d learned how to handle Blum women like a seasoned professional, baptized by fire, thanks to Jo.
He was also richer than God.
“So,” he recapped, “you’re looking for housing, medical care, and social workers?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is there anywhere in town to house them that already exists?”
“What about the old motel?” Jo suggested.
I shook my head. “No way the Broomfields would let us use it for a homeless shelter. I don’t even think they’d sell it to you, Grant, despite the size of your wallet. Not if they knew what we’d use it for.”
“What about building something here? On the farm?” he suggested.
We blinked at him.
“This farm is twenty acres—what if we built something in that back corner off 1098? We could fence it off, make a separate entrance. Build a facility for the kitchen, laundry, showers, and medical facilities, a common area. I was just reading about a place in Oregon that built a bunch of tiny homes to house the homeless, and it was a huge hit. Plus, I might know a guy who’d be willing to invest.”
Poppy’s face was once again a spotlight. “Grant, don’t you mess with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You would fund this?”
“Sure. I don’t think it’d even cost that much to put together or run.”
“We should start a charity,” Poppy said. “We can throw fundraisers, make a website. Get local businesses involved.”
“You’re going to need a lawyer too,” Grant noted. “Think Evan would help?”
Poppy flushed at the mention of her crush, who barely knew she existed. “I know he would. It’s not going to be easy. Mitchell will never approve.”
“Luckily you just need city council to back you up,” Grant said.
The females in the room laughed.
Jo smoothed his shirt, patted his chest. “Oh, honey. Every single one of them is in Mitchell’s pocket. But we have our ways to get things done around here. Don’t you worry.”