Dirty: The Complete Series (Secret Baby Romance Love Story) (2 page)

My
latest project, helping build a new community development west of town, was
finishing up for the season and with it my job would be finished; I needed to
find something fairly quick to take up the slack. I took another sip of my
coffee and found the ads, setting aside the rest of the paper to enjoy after I
looked over the job openings.

I
normally tried to stick to construction jobs as much as possible, but there
were only so many of those going on at any given time, especially in a small
town like Ohanzee Plains. I couldn’t afford to be too picky—anything I was
qualified to do, that at least was honest, I would try for.

Of
course, as I looked over the ads, it was obvious that the meth problem the sheriff’s
department talked about on the news from time to time wasn’t getting any
better. Some of the postings were to sell items that weren’t all that valuable,
and I could only assume that the sellers were either in debt or looking to buy
drugs. I skimmed the section for a few moments, pausing to make sure that I
didn’t have anything to offer any of the people seeking to buy. Once I was sure
that wasn’t the case, I moved onto the jobs.

The
little town I’d lived in all my life didn’t have a whole lot of jobs in any
kind of long-term sense. A good chunk of the population was farmers, and most
of them tried to maintain their own fields and ranches as much as they possibly
could.

There
was always a good bit of seasonal work, including the construction jobs I
normally tried to go out for, and there was always day labor—cleaning up the
highway, clearing brush, things like that, if I got really desperate for money
in between larger jobs.

I’d
done handy man work more than once in my life, starting back when I’d been in
high school: mowing lawns, doing basic home repairs like replacing window
sashes and things like that. I could take apart and put back together a basic
motor thanks to the shop electives I’d done in high school, but I’d never
gotten certified, so any kind of permanent mechanical repair job was out of my
reach.

I
looked at each one of the postings carefully, trying to decide if it would be
worth applying for. Some of them, where I recognized the company or the person
posting the ad, looked good only if you didn’t know the personalities you’d
have to deal with.

Mrs.
Evans wanted a handyman, but I knew for a fact that she tended to want to get
eight hours of work for the price of five, which wasn’t something I was
interested in fighting another time. Nathan Ellis wanted someone to help him
clear the back 40 on his farm, but that job would only last a week—and I knew
he tended to be a little late paying.

I
put my coffee aside and started looking at the entries more seriously, taking a
pen out of my pocket and marking the ones that looked the likeliest. I managed
to find a couple of listings that sounded like they’d be good options—most of
them pretty short term, but they would be better than nothing. A house-painting
job would probably last about a week, but the pay listed was good, and the
family—the Smiths—was solid, I knew.

There
weren’t very many families in the town that I’d never met, even with a few
people starting to come in as first generation residents. The kind of work I
usually ended up doing made it easy to get to know lots of people.

There
was a longer-term job listed for helping hands to do some packing for a local
farm equipment company—that would probably last about a month, and the pay
would be decent, even if it didn’t come with any benefits. As long as I didn’t
get sick or injured, I could make enough probably to float me for two months if
I was careful.

Farm Hand Needed!
The ad jumped out at me as I came to the end of the last page.
Nelson family farm is looking for help to
cover newly purchased land. $13/hr. Frequent meals provided. Experience not
necessary, but a plus.

The
ad surprised me; I knew the Nelson family mostly by reputation—they had a good
one. But as far as I knew, they’d never hired anyone on for more than a week or
two for the purposes of helping with the harvest. Then again, if Robert Nelson
had purchased more land to expand his fields, it would make sense that they’d
want to pull someone on for the whole season.

I
had gone to school with the Nelson kids, and I was pretty sure I’d heard gossip
now and then about the son and daughter—that Tuck was dating so-and-so, or that
Autumn had gotten pregnant with her boyfriend. I assumed that she’d probably
married the father of her child. That was the usual course of things in town.

The
ad mentioned that it would be months of work, and at $13 an hour, it was
nothing to sneeze at, especially with the meals that they were going to
occasionally offer their worker in addition.

Of
course, I realized that even with a good reputation, it was possible the
Nelsons would be as bad as any of the people I was trying to avoid working for,
but it seemed less likely to me. The ad included an email address to write to
and requested a work history and references. I considered who I could ask and
how to go about submitting a work history. I had a resume that I used for time
to time—I could update it with my most recent project and send it on its way.

I
set the newspaper aside and finished off my coffee, thinking about the problem
of applying for the farm hand job the Nelsons had available. I was pretty sure
it would be a popular opening. It was a good few months of work at least, and
it was a good pay rate.

But
I was also pretty sure that none of the other temporary guys I was working with
at the construction site were looking seriously for a job yet—we were slated
for an early completion bonus. Those who weren’t going to give themselves a
week off probably already had work lined up at another construction site,
probably in the next town over. There’d be the usual seasonal workers applying,
and people new to the town hungry for any job they could get. But I liked by
chances overall.

I
remembered that I had Robert Nelson’s phone number from someone—they’d gotten
it when they’d repaired one of his tractors and had passed it along to me as a
contact in case I was looking for handyman work.

I
could call Robert directly and see if he would give me an interview, instead of
bothering with the email situation. That might give me an edge. Of course, it
might also piss him off that I wasn’t obeying the instructions in the ad, but
that was a risk that I was willing to take.

I
found the number in my old address book and dialed it on my phone; I considered
adding it as a contact, but that wouldn’t make sense unless I actually started
working for the Nelsons. I waited as the other end of the line rang once,
twice, three times—and I was sure that Robert Nelson was going to let it go to
voicemail. But then I heard the ringing stop. “Hello?”

“Mr.
Nelson?” It occurred to me—too late—that my friend could have given me a wrong
number either accidentally or on purpose.

“This
is him,” the man on the other end of the line said. “Who’s this?”

“Good
morning, Mr. Nelson,” I said, putting on my best company manners the way my mom
had taught me years before. “This is Cade Wilson—I went to school with your son
and daughter years ago.” Before Robert could say anything, I kept going. “I saw
your ad in the newspaper and thought I’d contact you directly.”

“You’re
the first one to show that kind of initiative,” he said with amusement in his
voice. “My daughter’s already starting to get emails from folks looking to fill
the position.”

“My
friend Cal Peters worked for you a while back and he gave me your number—he
thought I might ask you for some handyman work sometime if I got into doing it
again. But when I saw the ad, I thought I could maybe get in touch with you,
see what it is you’re looking for more specifically.”

“As
I’ve never hired anyone to work the farm for me before, I’m not sure I know,”
he admitted. “Have you worked on a farm before?” I nodded, even though I knew
Robert Nelson couldn’t see me.

“I
worked planting and harvest at my uncle’s place every year growing up,” I said.
“And, I’ve done the occasional stint working fields for fertilizer or pesticide
in the past when I was between construction jobs.”

“Are
you working for anyone right now?”

“Yes,”
I admitted. “But my contract will be finishing up in a few days—before you’re
going to need anyone to start.”

“I’m
going to need the help sooner rather than later, but if you’re free starting a
few days from now, that works for me,” he said. “I’d like to have you out to
the place, have a chat about the details of the job. Can you come out this
Sunday?”

“I
can definitely do that,” I told him. “As long as you don’t mind me coming by
after church.”

“Not
at all,” Robert said. “We’ll be there ourselves, anyway. Do me a favor and send
your information to my daughter—she’s scheduling everyone and I don’t want to
foul up her program.”

“I
will email her my resume and contact information just to keep things kosher,” I
promised.

“Then,
I’ll look forward to seeing you Sunday afternoon,” Robert told me. “Thanks for
giving me a call, Cade.”

“Not
a problem, Mr. Nelson. I’ll see you this weekend.” I hung up with him and went
back into the house to find my laptop.

It
took me a little while to find my resume in my files, but once I did, I updated
it with my most recent jobs and put in a few references at the end before
sending it off to the email address from the ad. I wrote a little note,
mentioning that I’d already called Robert, and that I looked forward to
dropping by the farm that weekend to check things out, and sent it off before
going back to the classified ads.

I
thought I was a pretty good candidate for the job—but that didn’t mean I
shouldn’t have something up as backup just in case.

Chapter
Three

Autumn

It
was Sunday, and I had Adelyn with me in the living room after church, while Dad
met with a few of the people who’d applied to work on the farm.

I’d
gone with Mom, Dad, and Tuck to church that morning with my little girl, and
once we were home, there was not only the interviews to get through, but also
the normal tasks that needed doing on the farm and around the house on a daily
basis. Even on Sundays there wasn’t such a thing as a true, complete day of
rest—chickens had to be fed, lunch and dinner had to be made, the house had to
be straightened for the people coming and going for their interviews.

Mom
got Tucker to hose down the porch outside—it was almost too chilly still for
it, but she didn’t want anyone to see the front of the house looking anything
less than its best.

I
straightened up the living room and helped with lunch, and then I was on
greeting duty with my mom, meeting prospective farm hands at the door, talking
to them a bit, and then handing them over to my Dad to talk more seriously
about the responsibilities and work that the job would include.

Adelyn
had reached the age where she just about had crawling down and was trying to
get to her knees or onto her feet, pulling up on the coffee table or the couch
under my supervision. She didn’t like to be held as much as she had even a
month before, and the only way to deal with her fussiness at being unable to
move around as much as she liked was to let her have plenty of space on the
floor with toys to amuse herself.

I’d
tried to narrow down the people who emailed their resumes to me to maybe a
dozen total. Dad had already talked to a couple on Friday and Saturday, but
Sunday, being a day of mostly-rest on the farm, was the best time for him to
sit or walk around the fields and talk at length to anyone.

The
first of the candidates came by and I introduced myself to him; it was Lane
Jacobs, who I’d known in high school—not very well, but he’d been in the
graduating class before me, and we’d had a class together. “Hey, Lane, come on
in—mind you don’t get Addie under your feet.”

I
led him over to the couch where he sat down to wait while my mom looked for my
father. “Can I get you a glass of lemonade? Or maybe a cup of coffee?” Addie
crowed at Lane, flopping around a bit as she scooted on her elbows and knees on
the rug in front of the fireplace.

“Coffee
would be great,” Lane told me, smiling. He looked older than he should—but
then, if the rumors in town were right, that would stand to reason. His mother
was going through chemo for breast cancer, from what I’d heard, and he was
picking up odd jobs here and there to help pay for the treatment, in addition
to helping run the family drug store.

I
was surprised that he’d be looking for work as a farm hand so far away from his
parents’ place or the store. But if his younger sister was in control of things
at the shop, it was possible that he had some time to devote—though probably
not the amount of time Dad would need, at least not throughout the rest of the
season. I didn’t think he’d get the job, but I wasn’t about to tell him that;
it’d just be mean.

I
went into the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee. I filled one of Mom’s
cream pitchers with some half-and-half and grabbed the sugar bowl and put
everything on a tray to carry out to the living room.