Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 9

Part 9

Monday, October 11, 2010.

“Maybe it would be better if I just found another place to live,” Wilson commented as Sally drove along the interstate with her old camper hooked up to the back of her truck.  She called Mike yesterday to let him know she was bringing it in, and what she'd be looking for when she got there.  Wilson fidgeted and pouted the whole way.

“Are we going to go through this again?” she asked, frustrated with his less-than-eager attitude. 

“I just think it's pointless,” he said, staring out his window.

“Pointless, how?  I need a new camper and you need a place to stay.  I'd say all that makes for some pretty good points.”

“Then I don't feel comfortable with it,” he added, still not looking at her.  She glanced over and saw the scowl clearly filling his face.

“Get comfortable,” she returned.  “Once I've made up my mind about something, I don't like to change it.  So get over it.”

“I've noticed,” he said quietly as though she wasn't supposed to hear it.

“You've noticed what?”

He risked a quick glance at her.  “Nothing, ma'am.”

She grinned out the windshield, knowing exactly what he’d been thinking.  No, she didn’t like to change her mind about things.  She knew she was stubborn to the core, but that’s what got her through life.  A single woman at her age had to have something.  A mulish personality suited just fine.  Wilson owned a few shares of stock in that regard, too.

Last night she felt bad about him having to sleep in his truck again, so she set up a cot on her screened-in back porch, assuming he’d flat turn down an invitation to take up squatting rights in her spare bedroom, if only for the one night.  When he saw the old army green, camping cot and sleeping bags, his cheek began to tic, but she bulled over any objections and left him to get over his tiff.  This morning, she discovered that he moved the cot to the tack room in the horse barn.  Keeping her opinions to herself, she met him at the door with a cup of coffee and a doughnut.  Then she offered up her bathroom so he could shower while she attended the chicken coops and gathered the eggs for Donald North.

Wilson had his pride, she’d give him that, but he also had the good sense to take what he could get.  The shower did wonders for his appearance.  Freshly washed and shaved, he carried handsome to a whole other level.  She spent a decent five minutes just admiring him.

Then the cavalry showed up.  Wilson stood aside as two trucks barreled down the driveway, spilling out Miguel Sanchez, his wife, Anna, and the men that worked with them.  Immediately, the workers scurried around, digging out the tractor and harvesting equipment while Miguel approached Sally, keeping a wary eye on Wilson.

“Buenos dias, Miguel,” she called out with a smile.  He replied in kind with his gruff voice, holding Anna back as he stopped a couple of yards away.  His glance took in Wilson from the tips of his toes to his damp hair.

“Miguel,” she said, “this is Wilson.  I’ve hired him to help out around the place, like you suggested.”

“Buenos dias,” Miguel replied evenly.

Sally turned to Wilson, saw him sip his coffee in a nonchalant way, though his eyes hardened and never left Miguel’s aging face.  “Wilson, this is Miguel Sanchez and his wife, Anna.  I contract him to do the harvesting a few times a week, and Anna comes in to clean my house and do the laundry and stuff.  If you have anything that needs a scrubbing, just let her know.”