The Deal Between Us

Chapter 1

Eden

The last few miles of the trip home to Elizabethton down the winding mountain roads is always the best part. When I know I'm close enough to smell Mama's homemade roast and potatoes, or the scent of Daddy's tobacco pipe. But this time is different. I was here only ten days ago for the service, but it didn't feel permanent, not until they put his body in the ground in the back pasture.

The trees have spring buds poking through shoots on their branches, and baby animals peek out now and then as I meander the slick mountain pass, but instead of being enamored with the beauty of it all like normal, I'm sullen, withdrawn into myself and grateful I don't have to see anyone for a few days. My heart squeezes in my chest just thinking about having to deal with all the overly personal questions people in this little town will ask when they learn I'm back for a while.

Not sure if I'll stick around, but I have Daddy's affairs to get in order, final expenses to figure out and all. If it's as bad as it looked when I stayed at the homestead for the service, I'll have my work cut out for me. At least I managed to keep the town busybodies off my back, or maybe they realized how painful it was for me to come back to this town full of dark memories and sadness.

I pull up the lane, winding between the old hickory and oak trees toward the house. The branches wave a welcome to me, their own sort of mourning evident. Leaf litter coats the blacktop driveway Daddy had paved only a few years back to combat loss of gravel when the snow gets bad in the winter. It makes the steep climb a little slippery and the wheels of my Camry slip and spin a bit, but I manage to roll up next to Daddy's old 80s model Ford pickup.

I smile at the sight. He refused to sell the thing because "I can't do repairs on fancy computer cars" was his excuse and favorite thing to say. I miss him and the scent of his pipe already and he's been gone less than two weeks, and I've lived in Johnson City, far away from this place and the painful memories for three years now, ever since Mama had that accident.

My smile fades at the thought and I put the car in park, setting the E-brake to make sure it doesn't roll backward. The house is in bad shape now, has been for a while. The paint is peeling off its wood siding and the porch sags desperately on the west corner. As I stand next to the car, listening to Luna's whimpers from the back seat, I wonder if it's even safe to stay here. The entire house leans on the foundation now, which Daddy called "Charm" but Mark Baker--fire chief--may consider a hazard. But it's home, and as long as I can tend to it, it will be. Or maybe I'll sell the whole place and pretend this part of my life never existed.

Luna paws a the window, whistling through her nose and leaving a fog on the glass. She acts pathetic, but she's really a very smart animal. I got her when I moved into Johnson City because I needed the protection, and she is definitely protective. I open the back door and lean down to unhook her from the safety harness installed in my backseat to keep her safe in the event of an accident. Her tongue laps at my cheek, probably tasting the salt from the tears I cried earlier in the drive. I slick my hand across her white-tan brindled coat and step back so she can jump out. Her long lanky legs carry her like lightning toward the front door. She'll be sad when she realizes Daddy isn't here this time.

Leaving my luggage in the car for now, I slide my keys into my pocket and head toward the house. It's still chilly, and the breeze bites down on my cheeks and the back of my neck as I side step the puddles. Mama would have called it "spring's hugs and kisses." She liked to compare weather to displays of emotion with spring being the season of love and passion. I pray this year spring stays loving and affection it, and refrains from any angry outbursts.

"Come on," I tell Luna, clapping my hand. She sniffs around the old ceramic flower pots long devoid any plant life. The colorful pots use to burst with foliage and blooms of all shapes and sizes, but Daddy never kept up with those either. There are a lot of things he let go when she passed.

Luna comes trotting up the porch steps on my heels and I pull the key out of my pocket to unlock the door. Before the key is all the way in the lock, I hear the rumbling of a large engine, a truck or Jeep. I press my forehead to the door for a second and sigh, then hear the rumble of warning start low in Luna's chest. She'll never hurt a flea, but the bark of a German shepherd-husky mix is something that makes people think twice before approaching me.

I hastily grab her collar as the first bark booms out of her muzzle. She tugs at my grip but so long as I've got a good hold on her, she'll obey me. I look over my shoulder to see a newer, large, Chevy pickup creaking up the drive way slowly. I recognize it instantly. The thick red stripe down the side gives it away before the words "Carter County Fire Chief" are even in focus. Mark Albers, fire chief and nosy neighbor, was Daddy's best friend, and I figured he'd be the first one to come calling. I just thought I'd have a bit more time to adjust to being home.

Luna tugs and barks even harder as Mark stops his truck and slides out. His boots drop in a puddle and send the water out of the divot and trickling down the hill. He lifts the hat off his head and nods at me as he calls out, "Afternoon, Eden."

I can barely hear him over Luna's insanity, so I turn back to the door, wrestling with her while I fumble to get the door open. It sticks a little, between the moisture of the storm and the way the house has settled, it's done that for a while. I shove her into the dark front room and pull the door shut, effectively trapping her inside for now. Then I turn and wipe the moisture from the front doorknob onto my jeans and slide my hands in my front pockets.

It's been so long since I lived here in Elizabethton, I forgot how backward this place is. My skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors probably look foreign to Mark. He's got that classic down-home look, boot-cut Levi's with a nice flannel tucked in. His beard is almost completely gray now too, not unlike Daddy's was. It's painful to compare them because they were the same age, same height, even similar body frame. But Mark lives on and Daddy's massive coronary ended their friendship forever.

"Hey, Mark." I wave at him with one hand then slide it back into my pocket. He ambles up toward the porch but stops short of the steps and looks up at me. There is a sparkle of emotion in his eye. I'm sure it's hard on him too.

"I reckon you'll be here a while to settle some things up." The wad of tobacco in his lip distorts his words, but I'm used to it.

"Uh, yeah." I shrug a shoulder and look down at my feet. Mark knows me well enough to know I'm not good with words in situations like this. I barely spoke the day of Daddy's funeral, and not at all when Mama died.

"If you want, I can give you a lift in to see the banker. Seems the sheriff may serve papers out here soon. There's a matter of back taxes..." As the fire chief Mark plays the role of law enforcement, political voice, and a bit of friendly neighborhood hero. If Daddy had back taxes, it's likely Mark was out here to gently nudge him toward making payments.

"Seriously?" I breathe out, not quite ready to jump right in to handling this sort of stuff.

"Sorry, Eden. There's nothin' I'd like more than to say things will be easy." He hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and spits into the grass.

Luna scratches on the door behind me and barks again, this time a whimper of sadness. She knows Mark, but out here she'd do nothing but put her muddy paws all over his nice jeans and I don't want to have to apologize for that. Besides, it seems like I have a bit of work to do today.

"It's Friday afternoon. Do you think they'll wait until Monday?" I'm not sure how much in back taxes Daddy owes, but a brief glace at his papers on his desk when I was here for his service revealed he has a bit of debt. No life insurance, and low property value means I may end up losing it all anyway, but at least I can try.

"Well, Eden, they've been breathin' down his neck for a while. I s'pose you oughta just make a cordial visit to let 'em know you'll be handlin' things now. It's the right thing to do." Mark takes off his hat and presses it to his chest. "Everyone in town knows how hard this is. We'll do our best to make it a bit easier."

I huff out a sigh and drop my chin to my chest. The last thing I want is anyone making anything easier for me. I can handle this on my own and that's the way I want it. I don't want nosy busybodies in my personal space prying around, and I definitely don't want help.

"I'll handle it, Mark. Thank you for stopping by."

I linger in the chilly breeze until he turns his truck around and heads back down the steep driveway. One day at a time, Eden, and you'll get through this. It'll be okay.

Chapter 2

Elizabethton is a lot like the small town of New Bremen where I started this crazy journey, but instead of small-town Ohio charm, I get the mountains and the twang of the southern accent. And I get to distance myself from Gloria and my former life. Starting over isn't my first choice, but I didn't really get to choose. At least not the part about starting over. Where I start over, however, was completely my choice and I did my research.

This small town has been struggling for some time, and just like the small village in west-central Ohio that I put on the map again, I plan to make something of this little burg that's tucked away in the mountains like a gem that has yet to be discovered.

Setting out on foot, I head south on foot from the Traveler's Inn. There aren't even any ritzy hotels here to speak of, though there is a bed and breakfast a bit farther north of town. But I like being in the thick of things, where I can watch the people and get to know them a bit better. I find that working with the vibe in a town this small is the best way to ensure success. No one wants a big real estate developer to come in and build the town up only to change the atmosphere and disrupt things, besides the fact that it would only fail then.

I breathe in deep. The smell of rain still hangs in the air. I figured mid-April in Tennessee would be a bit warmer than mid-April in Ohio, but I was wrong. At least at this elevation. It's just as chilly here for spring as it is back home, but I don't mind. Summer comes soon enough, and with it the swells of warm weather and high pressure that brings monstrous storms. If winter wants to linger a little longer, I'll welcome its fingers.

This place is so laid back even the wildlife seems to understand folks here take it easy. I've seen a few black bears roaming around but they smiled and waved just like the old man who sits on the bench outside the Tractor Supply store on Bemberg Road. Everything about this little town is ripe for the plucking; I just have to play my cards right.

I head toward the Elk Crossing shopping plaza. I drove past it the other day, but I want a closer look. It seems a little run down, not at all as promising as the plot of land just south and west of town. The plaza boasts seven shops, all rented out by local retailers at the moment, but the upkeep has been neglected for a while. Whoever owns it has a lot of work to do to get it back into shape and they don't seem interested in it at all.

After walking from one end of the plaza to the to the other, I to stop in for a donut at the little coffee shop that occupies the corner unit in the plaza. It's a cute little place with a homey feel, though the name doesn't do it justice. I walk into Hot Joe's and get blasted with the thick scent of sugar in the air and the pungent aroma of a dark brew of coffee. The bell overhead chimes, alerting the few folks having coffee this time of day that someone new walked in, which draws a few gazes.

Creaky wood floors whine under my weight. The walls, adorned with framed images of people I've never seen before, posters announcing town festivities, and other memorabilia that means nothing to me but everything to them lean inward, as if hovering over the conversations to soak them all in with nostalgia.

I nod at a few of the customers and walk over to the counter and wait, expecting to see a burly man with a full belly running things, but I'm surprised to see a sweet older woman with graying hair and warm hazel eyes cutting dough into cinnamon rolls ready to be baked.

It's quiet too, not too much chatter, at least since I walked in. I get this everywhere I go. I walk into a place and people get quiet, as if they don't want an outsider hearing their town secrets. This place, though, is made for secret sharing and maybe I'll do them a favor and let them in on my secrets so they're less suspicious or scared of me.

The menu board hung on the wall behind the counter has a selection of drinks to chose from, the letters worn and faded over time. When the woman looks up at me, I see a dab of flower on her cheek and a smile on her lips.

"Welcome to Hot Joe's. What can I get for ya?" She dusts her hands and then wipes them on her black apron as she walks toward me.

"Just a black coffee... Something to keep me going this afternoon. I have a few errands to run here in town." I reach into my wallet and pull out my debit card and she types into her cash register.

"Oh, sorry, sir. We don't take card. Cash only," she announces proudly as she spins around and grabs a paper cup and lid, then walks to the old school percolator and fills a cup with the hot brew. When she turns back around I have a few dollars in my hand and my debit card is back where it belongs in my leather bi-fold wallet.

"Thank you, Miss..."

"Joe," she says sliding the coffee cup into a brown cardboard sleeve to protect my hand. She sets it on the counter and takes my money. "Josephina Walters. I own Hot Joe's and I'm happy to make your acquaintance, Mr....?"

"Adrian Wolfe." I accept the coffee and then the change. "Say, you wouldn't be able to give me directions to Carter County bank, would you?" I learned yesterday that the bank in charge of the property south of town may be foreclosing due to back taxes. I want to pop in and see what sort of wheeling and dealing I can do to make my goals a reality.

"Ah, afternoon, Joe." A male voice booms out just as the bell jingles above the door and I turn to see a broad-chested man with a cowboy hat walk in. He wears a black button down shirt with what appears to be a fire house insignia on the breast pocket. His full beard is neatly kept but in a country sort of way.

"Mark, this is Adrian Wolfe. He's new in town, looking for directions to the Carter County Bank." The way Joe says the words makes me feel like an outsider. She raises an eyebrow and turns to collect another cup and lid, going on autopilot. I get eh feeling she knows Mark well and already understands what he wants before he places any order.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Wolfe. I heard rumors floatin' around that some ritzy real estate developer was lookin' at the plaza." He takes his hat off and squeezes it in his hand, nodding at Joe as she puts a cup of coffee on the counter. "That'd be you I reckon."

I sip the scalding liquid, sucking it in through my teeth. "Yeah, that's me. I'm looking to purchase some property here in town or on the outskirts."

"Well, you'll find the town awful nice to just about everyone--if they're nice in return. Just keep to yourself and give 'em space." Mark swigs his coffee and winces, then continues. "Banks a few blocks south of here, one block over. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, sir." I raise my glass to him and move toward the door casually. I'm not here to stir anyone up. I just want to build my shopping center and move on with my life. God knows I've had enough trouble over the past few years anyway.

"Oh, and Adrian?" Mark calls.

I turn over my shoulder. "If you need anything at all, just call the fire and rescue house."

Somehow I get the feeling that isn't a friendly gesture, but more of a warning, though I'm not sure why. I head out onto the sidewalk and down the street, following Mark's directions. The day is starting to warm up, puddles drying as the sun breaks through the cloud cover. In only a few minutes my coffee is gone and the bank appears in view. One good thing about small towns is being able to walk where you need to go but feeling safe doing it.

I drop my cup into the trash can outside the bank entrance and wipe my hands together as I walk in. Large windows line the entire front of the building, decorated with soap chalk pictures of flowers and small houses. There is a poster on the wall announcing lower interest rates and encouraging people to get their mortgage refinanced right away. I see a few occupied desks to the right, a redheaded woman talking in earnest with a middle-aged, balding man in a brown suit.

To the left is a high counter with a few tellers waiting on customers. I meander over and wait in line, hoping to speak with the person in charge. The discussion behind me between the woman and the banker is a bit heated. I hear bits of her protesting some bill owed and I feel compelled to step in, but I hold my peace. I'm not about to get sucked into another damsel in distress situation like I did with Wren. I'm a kind person, but not an idiot.

"Sir, you're next." The polite woman behind the counter is nearly six foot tall, stunning blue eyes, and wild hair. She gestures with her finger and I move up to the counter.

"I'm looking for the person in charge of the property south of town. I believe it's Sneed Hill Road. I'm not sure the number. It's several acres, sort of run down. It looks deserted. Squat blue house."

"Ah, you mean the Hartley property." Her eyes flash with recognition then she looks over my shoulder at the scene unfolding. "You'll have better luck when Ms. Hartley is finished with the banker. If you wait over there in one of those chairs, I'll let Mr. Eckert know you're here to see him."

"Hartley? Like that woman owns the place?" I turn and take her in. Petite in stature, a little on the thin side, but beautifully so. I can't see her face fully, but she is well dressed. She looks like she's not from around here.

"Her late father, yes. She's probably here for final expenses and such. Go on, have a seat."

The teller shoos me away, but rather than having a seat, I move toward the commotion. I'm nothing if not a sucker for someone in need of help. If Ms. Hartley is here to settle up from her father's estate, I'll gladly help her and take things right off her plate.

I approach slowly, listening as I do. She's flustered and red in the face; bits of her hair hang in her eyes and it appears she's fighting back tears.

"I will never be able to pay that today. I haven't even gone through Mama's things, Billy. And now Daddy too? You want to lock me off the property before I can even get any family heirlooms?"

"Eden, my hands are tied. This is a bank matter. Your Daddy hasn't paid taxes in three years. We've been fightin' him ever since your Mama passed and if things aren't settled up, we have to seize the property. It's the law." The man, Mr. Eckert, seems like a piece of work. He looks to be only a few years older than her too, maybe they know each other from back in the day.

"Excuse me," I say, clearing my throat. Both of them look up at me in surprise and the woman's eyes flash with anger.

"Yes, sir, can you give us just a moment?" The banker's tight smile irritates me and suddenly I want to help this poor woman more just because of it.

"I couldn't help but overhear how Ms. Hartley here was unable to pay her back taxes." I reach for my wallet without thinking. I'm not as well off as I used to be, what with Wren taking me for just about everything I'm worth, but I have more than enough to get the ball rolling on this property. "How much?"