Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5) Page 3

  Keanan entered the twenty-one-foot diameter circle. At 364 square feet, it wouldn’t be a large house, though the square footage would double when he and Brent laid the joists for the second floor. He looked up, imagining the completed building. A clear autumn sky peered back at him, only a few light clouds looming in the west. The ribbed galvanized steel gave an industrial feel, but he could live with that. So many shanties in third world countries used a sheet of a similar product. On rainy days, they were the lucky ones. On hot days, the sun beat mercilessly on them.

  He was blessed. So blessed. He had the privilege of insulating this place. The honor of creating a home for himself at little cost. He stood in the center, spread his hands, and bowed his head, murmuring a grateful prayer to the Lord above who’d given him so much more than he deserved. Could ever deserve.

  This evening he’d bring his guitar and play some worship songs.

  “What do you think, man?”

  Keanan blinked and shook his head. He hadn’t heard Brent come up beside him. “It overwhelms me. So simple, yet so beautiful.”

  “It has a charm all its own. I’ll always prefer wood, but your solution is certainly cost-effective, to say nothing of unique. I can already imagine all the cars turning around at the end of Thompson Road as folks ogle your house.”

  Ogle? “That’s not my intention.”

  Brent shrugged. “I know. But Green Acres causes enough curiosity in these parts. You’ve just added another reason for them to come.”

  Hard to figure. Sure, he’d seen a few people staring from slow-moving cars as he drove the team of horses while cutting hay. But there was nothing beyond the farm save a rutted forestry road. It was not as though they were on the way to anywhere, which was one of the reasons he loved this place.

  “They can’t see much from the road. I left a band of trees.” He’d only cut down six, in fact. Why should the land be disturbed for his human needs? Yet the trucks had required access to his knoll. More trucks would come and go before the job was completed.

  “The trees will offer some privacy.” Brent adjusted his tool belt. “Gabe and I looked over the list of available personnel. We’ll get everyone including Allison’s students over here Monday morning to start pounding straw into the gap. When it’s packed to the window line, we’ll call a break until we can get those in.”

  “I hadn’t expected help. Don’t we need everyone to preserve the garden produce?”

  “There are enough hands to go around, and this is just as important as the winter’s food supply. You can’t very well sleep out here in the snow.” Brent indicated the small stack of windows at the far edge of the clearing. “How many of these are going on the main floor, again?”

  “Five.” Keanan pointed across from the door. “Two above the kitchen sink there.” He pivoted to the right. “One in the bathroom.” Then to the left. “Two there, on either side of the wood stove.” He could see it clearly in his mind, as though it were already complete.

  Would a woman ever stamp this place with softer touches?

  Where had that thought come from? He was thirty. Women rarely caught his eye long enough for a second glance. He’d worked beside many of them to alleviate suffering in various parts of the world, and never desired a one.

  That curly-haired fairy who’d newly arrived at Green Acres was a good example of someone he’d never be interested in. Rude and spiteful. She detested him. Made no sense. She barely knew him. How could she hate someone she didn’t even know?

  “Lost in thought?”

  He blinked, turning toward Brent’s voice and waving his hand to encompass the circle. “She is beautiful. I am all but speechless.”

  Brent hefted a plank destined to fit one side of the door. “She will be even better if she’s closed in before we get rain. That’s in the ten-day forecast.”

  The door would shut nature out, but for a time at least, Keanan could still view the sky. Brent, however, was correct. It would be best to have the roof on before the fall rains came.

  * * *

  Chelsea knelt in the garden with several small crates beside her. The sun had melted away the remains of last night’s frost, but the urgency remained. The days of gathering the harvest were coming to an end.

  Was it okay to be thankful? She’d never worked so hard in her life.

  The sounds of power tools echoed over the garden as she set orange-to-red tomatoes in one bin and yellow-to-orange in another. As soon as one set was filled, Zach exchanged the full ones for empty ones. The garden remained dotted with colored tomatoes. Even with Claire working a few rows over, this was going to take a while.

  “That’s quite the structure Keanan is building, isn’t it?” Claire shifted a bin of tomatoes beside her. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  What was with everyone’s need to discuss Keanan? “Me, either. Hey, I’m sorry if my arrival forced him to do that. Maybe he’d planned to live in the duplex.”

  Claire chuckled. “Not Keanan. He could have put in a word for it before Allison and Finnley moved into their new house, but he’d already started researching this. One thing about him, once his mind is on track, it’s difficult to shift him.”

  Well, at least those discussions had taken place before Chelsea’s arrival, so it wasn’t her fault. And Keanan’s stubbornness could go right on that list of ways he annoyed her. “So you guys would’ve preferred not to have grain bins on the property, too?”

  Claire shot her a sideways glance. “No, I think it’s cool. Sounds like you don’t agree.”

  Oops. “His call, I guess.”

  “We’ve got a pretty eclectic set of buildings here now, and I kind of like it. The straw bale big house, Jo and Zach’s log cabin, the timber-frame house Brent built for Allison... Why not add to the diversity? Especially with something so environmentally friendly as recycled galvanized steel? It’s perfect, really.”

  Except that everything else looked more or less normal. Whatever. It wasn’t like Chelsea had to live in the thing, and she’d arrived too late to vote it down.

  “He went to a bunch of building centers in Coeur d’Alene and Spokane until he found one with a kitchen display they wanted dismantled. He got that thing for a song. It’s not solid wood, but the off-gassing is complete.”

  Chelsea frowned. “How do you put square cabinets in a round house?”

  “There will be gaps at the back, but a curved countertop will cover them.”

  “I hate to wonder what kind of surface he’ll put in.”

  Claire burst out laughing. “Oh, you. One would think you didn’t approve of our Keanan.”

  “I didn’t know my approval mattered.” Chelsea bit her lip. She’d probably said too much.

  “Seriously? What’s not to like?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything.”

  “No, tell me. We’re a team, and it’s important not to let stuff fester.”

  What was it about Keanan she didn’t like? Nothing she could put a finger on, really. He just irritated her, and had done so since she’d come to visit in June for Sierra and Gabe’s wedding. Did everyone have to be best friends around here?

  “It’s probably just me. The time of month, you know.” That might not even be a lie. Maybe that’s all it was.

  Probably not.

  Chapter 4

  Keanan found himself nodding in agreement throughout Pastor Ron’s sermon the next day. He loved Galena Gospel Church and the opportunities to serve. Playing guitar with one of the worship teams was a real joy.

  He was content. Thankful to God for what he had. He had the opportunity to look to the needs of others rather than hoarding for himself. These were words he’d lived by all his adult life, and before, really. He’d never had a lot since he’d walked out of his father’s life, but then he hadn’t needed a lot, either. Plane tickets to places he could serve. New shoes every now and again when his wore out.

  Yet Pastor Ron challenged him to deeper thought. How could he
do even more with his resources? With his time?

  Keanan rose with the other members of his worship team at the end of the service.

  “Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee. Take my moments and my days; let them flow in endless praise.”

  Every verse of Frances Havergal’s hymn echoed the prayer of his heart. It didn’t matter what people thought. What Chelsea Riehl thought, though why his mind went to her was anybody’s guess.

  She stood beside her sister in the fourth pew, singing along. If she heard the words — believed them and took them to heart — they’d get along a great deal better. But he wasn’t responsible for her attitude. Only his own.

  I’m sorry, Lord. Fill me with Your love for her.

  He certainly had no desire for any other kind of love. Not from anyone. Definitely not from her.

  * * *

  Chelsea followed her sister into the foyer. One thing about a small church like this was how everyone seemed to know everyone. Several women introduced themselves to her. That was kind of nice. She could only hope she’d remember any of the names by next week.

  A glance across the crowded space revealed Keanan Welsh, his red head higher than any other. She shifted slightly to see whom he was talking to with such animation. An old guy in an outdated suit?

  The man shook Keanan’s hand and nodded with a smile. Keanan turned to someone else, but the old man’s gaze landed on hers. He wove toward her. Uh oh.

  “You must be Sierra’s sister. You look so much alike, and she told us you were coming. I’m Ed Graysen, one of the elders here.”

  Chelsea dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Pleased to meet you.” Should she call him Ed? Mr. Graysen? How formal was this place? “Yes, I’m Chelsea Riehl.”

  “Well, you folks must be splitting at the seams at Green Acres. God is doing wonderful things for you out there.”

  “He is.” Chelsea smiled. “I’m delighted to be part of it.” And she was. Mostly. If only there were events to plan instead of tomatoes to can. Surely that was coming soon.

  “Well, if you ever find yourself with time on your hands, we always have volunteer projects on the go here at Galena Gospel. Just let me know, and I’ll put you right to work.”

  Now that was a temptation. They must have events that needed planning, right? She itched to keep her hand in… before tomato stains covered it. “I do have plenty of experience organizing events. I like to think it’s one of my spiritual gifts.”

  “Now that’s what I like to hear. A young lady who knows what God’s gifted her with then steps forward in faith.”

  Maybe she’d overdone the spiritual aspect. Still, it was true, right? God had formed her personality and talents.

  “We do need someone to coordinate the kitchen volunteers for the upcoming Alpha sessions this fall. They start in early October and run through November. Jean Stedman usually does this, but she’s having health issues right now.”

  “Um…”

  “Jean has a good list of who usually helps out and that sort of thing.” Ed looked around the foyer then pointed. “There she is. Shall I introduce you?”

  Oh, man. How had she gotten into this? But it couldn’t possibly take that much time, and she did like to make sure things ran smoothly. She put a smile in place. “Sure, why not?”

  Ed tucked her hand behind his elbow and powered through the crowd, Chelsea in his wake. “Jean! Have you met our lovely new friend, Chelsea Riehl, yet? Sierra’s sister, newly come from… Portland, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Portland.” Chelsea nodded and extended her hand to the middle-aged woman. “Nice to meet you.”

  Jean’s face lit up in a friendly smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Ed shifted from one foot to the other. “Chelsea would like to talk to you about taking over the kitchen for Alpha. Unless you already found someone?”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful. I’d love to have someone to help carry the burden. My strength just isn’t what it used to be.”

  Chelsea wondered what kind of health issue the woman had. “I’m happy to help.”

  “Oh, you sweet thing. Thank you. Let me give you my phone number. Is there a time in the next few days we could get together? Though I imagine things are busy at the farm this time of year.”

  “Yes, we’re busy.” Chelsea tugged her glittery pink phone and matching business card case out of her purse. “But never too busy for the Lord’s work. Maybe tomorrow evening? I’ll need to make sure nothing else is planned, though.” She handed a business card to the woman.

  “Tomorrow would be perfect. Thank you so much.” Jean rattled off her number as Chelsea entered it into her phone.

  “I’ll confirm later then.” Chelsea smiled and backed up a step. Right into something unmoving, but it couldn’t be a wall. She’d walked right through there. A glance behind her showed a jeans-and-sweatshirt clad body. One she knew.

  Keanan.

  Great. But maybe overhearing would give him a better impression of her. Oh, why did that matter?

  “Ed, Noel agrees Wednesdays would be best.”

  Best for what?

  Ed gripped Keanan’s hand. “Very well. I’ll get the final information to the church office so the advertising can go out.”

  Chelsea perked up. They were having an event?

  Ed nodded to Chelsea. “I should have mentioned the commitment is for several hours Wednesday evenings throughout the fall.”

  The... what?

  “Keanan is leading one of the Alpha groups.” Ed turned to Keanan. “And Miss Riehl has just volunteered to coordinate the kitchen. Two volunteers for the price of one tank of fuel.” He grinned. “I know how much you folks out there value good use of resources.”

  Great. Not only was she stuck with Mr. Welsh every single day at Green Acres, now she also had to put up with him when she’d volunteered to get away from the farm?

  God had a sense of humor.

  Chelsea wasn’t sure hers was intact.

  * * *

  “Want to run the tractor?” Brent asked Keanan as the crew gathered around the building site Monday morning. “Zach’s at work.”

  Keanan shook his head. “Let Noel do it. He’s probably the next most experienced operator. I don’t want to ask these volunteers to pound straw if I’m not willing to do it myself.”

  He’d planned to do it alone. Sure, he’d hoped some of the others might join him, but he hadn’t counted on it. He’d just been thankful to get an experienced contractor in Brent, who knew how to put the whole project together.

  Brent grinned and smacked him on the back. “As you wish.”

  Scaffolding surrounded the two nested metal circles. Keanan’s heart warmed to see so many friends climbing up the rungs, carrying long poles for tamping down the insulation. The tractor grumbled to life. Noel drove the front-end loading bucket into the heap of straw and lifted it high in the air before angling toward the structure.

  Keanan climbed quickly to join the others. Chelsea stood directly across the circle from him, her hair bound back in another of her many scarves. Had she been watching him? She averted her gaze when he looked her way. Didn’t matter. Hopefully the work gloves would keep the blisters off her dainty little hands.

  Maybe she was following the song’s dictates. Take my hands and let them move at the impulse of Thy love. Maybe she wasn’t as antagonistic as she’d sometimes seemed. After all, she’d volunteered to help with Alpha. That had to say something about her devotion to Christ. Even the organizational skill everyone raved about could be used for the Lord. Take my intellect and use every power as Thou shalt choose.

  He’d misjudged her. My apologies, Lord.

  As if she’d heard him — though it wouldn’t have been possible over the roar of the tractor, even if he’d spoken out loud — she looked straight at him. Assessed him, as he assessed her.

  The tractor bucket rose between Keanan and Claire. They guided the straw into the gap then began tamping it down as No
el and the tractor went to the nearby pile for the next load. Within a few minutes, everyone had straw in front of them to pack tightly, and Noel was making the rounds again.

  The heavy labor was satisfying. This would be Keanan’s home. His shelter from the savage weather to come. For all the places he’d lived, he’d never experienced a northern winter with blizzards, ice, and sub-zero temperatures. He stifled a chuckle. He should probably have waited until he’d experienced a full year at Green Acres before deciding to make his permanent home here.

  The grind of the tractor’s engine ebbed and flowed as it moved around the circle, scooping straw and dropping it between the rings. The thud of poles ramming the straw tightly into place formed an uneven staccato that grated the musician in Keanan. It was tempting to drum out a rhythm as if he were leading a band.

  The tractor lifted straw beside Chelsea. She flexed her shoulders then wiped her forehead with her sleeve as she waited.

  She normally lived behind a computer, yet she didn’t complain. When the crew decided to take on this project together, she’d come, too, even though she was clearly out of her element. How many muscles could she have built typing on a keyboard and making phone calls? Or from washing plums and skinning tomatoes?

  This life was one hundred percent new to Chelsea Riehl. He should give her a little time to adjust. Be patient with her.

  She bent on the scaffolding and returned into his line of vision with a stainless-steel water bottle. After turning the cap, she took a long drink. Good idea. Her gaze met his across the circle.

  Keanan lifted his own water bottle in salute before slaking his own thirst.

  She broke eye contact, pounding her pole into the new load of straw.

  “Keanan!”

  He blinked and glanced down at Brent, who snapped his measuring tape. “Yes?”

  “Looks like we have insulation to the bottom of the first row of windows. Time to cut the steel and insert the frames.”