A way to find something he was missing in his life? He’d been thinking more and more about that lately, with his twenty-ninth birthday coming up. Then he shook his head. What a crock—he had everything. He just temporarily needed something new, that was all. An adventure.
The afternoon heat was kicking in with a vengeance, made worse by the sticky black vinyl seats of his borrowed truck. He’d give anything for a shower and a long cool drink about now. Right. Enough thought, time for action. He leaned over, started the truck, then glanced in his mirror and pulled back onto the highway that headed straight to the heart of Cecil, Kentucky.
It was a pretty little town, full of old, well-restored homes, riotous gardens and charming shops laid out on either side of a broad main street shaded with majestic elm trees. He looked for a likely place to stop to get a drink and find some conversation that would clue him in on job prospects around Cecil. Unfortunately, everything looked too genteel to get the kind of gossip he needed. Then he remembered his own farm and it dawned on him to look for the local feed and grain store. People there were bound to know what type of work was available.
Darcy found the feed store on the other side of the town, near the outskirts. It was a large enough business to feature gas and diesel tanks, storage areas and a large grain operation. The main building had a broad porch where a couple of old men were seated on wooden chairs, engrossed in a game of checkers.
“This is more like it,” Darcy said aloud, eyeing the men.
He pulled into the front parking area, slid out of the truck and stretched, aware of the two men giving him curious glances. With his trademark saunter he headed for the steps, pausing on the top one to ask, “Can I get a cold drink inside?”
“Yes, sir,” drawled one of the sparsely thatched, gray-haired gentlemen. “They got one of them cola machines right inside the door.”
“They’ve also got those fancy sodas in there, too, Tater,” said the other man, who was wearing an old John Deere hat pulled low over his forehead. “Remember when they put them in there?”
“That’s right, I remember ’cause…”
Positive these two geezers might go on this way for a long time, Darcy gave them a grin and small salute. “Thanks.” He sauntered inside the building, feeling their eyes on his back. He knew the men’s conversation would shift to him as soon as he disappeared through the door. Darcy pulled some coins from his pocket and made his selection at the soda machine. He took a long, cool drink before strolling back toward the doorway.
If I’m really lucky, these two old guys will open up and talk to me. Tell me just what I want to know. Unlike his father, who had an exaggerated sense of his own worth, Darcy generally found it easy to approach individuals in all strata of society, and for the most part it was easy for them to approach him, too. Unless he got on one of his arrogant high horses. Then everyone who knew him ran for cover, as the Tremont twins had last night.
Cold drink in hand, he strolled over to the railing and leaned against it. He watched the checker game, wondering how to start the conversation, when one of the men—Tater—saved him the trouble.
“Just passin’ through, are ya?” Tater asked.
“No, sir,” Darcy replied. “I’d like to find a job and stick around for a bit. Decide whether to move on or not.”
The other man jumped his red king over Tater’s black one. “Ah, you one of them migrant workers then?”
Tater glared at the board, then glared at his companion. “’Course he ain’t no migrant, Lawrence. What in Sam Hill’s the matter with you?”
“Well, I didn’t mean no disrespect, I just meant—”
Darcy interrupted before the squabble got more intense. These two men seemed to have a long-running routine, and he wasn’t sure he could stand still and listen to it. “I don’t know as much about working crops,” he said diplomatically, “as I do working horses.”
“Ah.” Tater nodded. “You a horseman?”
Darcy nodded in turn. “Yes, sir.” It was true he’d ridden and been around horses all his life. Even if he didn’t do any of the breeding and training work on his farm now, his grandfather had made him work on the farm every summer until he was thirteen. He’d avoided it ever since, but what the hell—a horse was a horse! How bad could it be for a month? “Know of any horse farms around here that might be hiring?”
Tater narrowed his eyes and leaned back, giving him a slow, steady once-over. “Well, I might. I just might.”
“Ain’t you looking for somebody to help out for a while, Tater?” Lawrence asked.
Darcy met Tater’s gaze with his steadiest stare, hoping the man liked what he saw, fully expecting that he would. After all, Darcy had been rebuffed by very few people in his life. The strange thing was, he was just now starting to wonder if he’d earned that reaction or if it was given in sheer deference to his wealth and position.
The man’s eyes, bright and sharp, seemed curiously out of place in his grizzled old face. “That I am, Lawrence.”
Talk about luck. Darcy was tempted to ask for a job, but restrained himself. His stomach clenched as he waited for Tater to make up his mind.
A long moment later, the old man rubbed his chin and exhaled. “Might be we could give you a try. I gotta warn ya, though, the pay won’t be great. But we’d be talking room and board.”
“We?”
“Harden Braybourne of Braybourne Farm. Harden had an accident awhile back and he’s decided we need some more help.” Tater grinned, revealing a large gap between his front teeth that gave him a peculiarly boyish look. “The operation’s not as big as it was, but we ain’t as young as we used to be, neither.”
“Getting older happens to everyone, I hear,” Darcy said with a smile.
“Gotta tell you, Son, I’d be a lot happier if t’weren’t happenin’ to me.” He stood up and extended his hand. “Name’s Travis O’Neill. Most folks call me Tater.”
“Darcy…uh, Rick Darcy.” He shook the man’s hand. “Just call me Darcy. Everyone does.”
“Okay, Darcy. Hop in your truck and follow me back to the farm. I’ll show you around and you can tell me about yourself. Then we’ll see.”
“Didn’t you say Harden was lookin’ for a temporary manager, Tater?”
Tater nodded, saying slowly, “So he told me this morning.”
“Oooeee!” Lawrence hit his knee with the heel of his hand. “Silver Braybourne ain’t gonna be happy about that, is she?”
Tater gave his friend an annoyed glance. “You know, Lawrence, you talk a mite too much sometimes.”
Darcy was intrigued. “Who’s Silver Braybourne?”
Tater clamped his hat on his head. “Sylvia is Harden Braybourne’s daughter. Silver’s her nickname.”
Lawrence laughed. “Name fits her. She’s fast moving, with a temper as hard and shiny as a new quarter. Oh boy, I’d love to be a fly on the wall if you
