Farmhouse

"How much?" Doyle asked again but not in an overtly rude way.

"Four-hundred and twenty thousand, but I'm sure they'll be flexible about the price."

"Offer them three-fifty," Doyle said without looking at her.

"Oh, well, I'm not sure they'll be that flexible, but I can certainly ask," she replied.

"Let them know that's my one and only offer. It's a take-it or leave-it deal," he said quietly still staring at the house.

The roof was shot, too, so he'd pretty much be taking it down to the studs and rebuilding it. But he had to admit there was something about this place that appealed to him. Perhaps it was nothing more than the feeling of utter solitude, but it spoke to him, and the thought of making it into a beautiful home seemed like a reasonable idea even if he ended up turning around and selling it once it was finished. He could work at his own pace and that, too, was very appealing. Perhaps his mom was right after all.

"All right. Well...I'll see if that works for them and get back to you as soon as I can," Kathy said still not sure how to take Doyle's way of doing business.

They'd no sooner gotten back home than Kathy called and told them the sellers had reluctantly accepted their offer, and with 72 hours, the property was in escrow pending an all-cash sale within a week.

Doyle laughed when Kathy handed him a set of keys to the place at closing. He had no intention of keeping the door and there were plenty of ways to get inside without a key. Nevertheless he thanked her as she wished him well.

Not long after receiving Chelly's death certificate, the insurance company sent Doyle a lump-sum payment of a half-million dollars which he dumped into a market market account earning less than 2% interest. He'd been too emotionally distraught to even think about investing the money, and had parked it in the safest, easiest place he could think of. He hadn't touched the money or even thought about it until he decided to buy the farmhouse.

As it turned out, 2% on $500,000 for 18 months was a pretty fair chunk of cash. He'd have more than enough to rebuild the place from soup to nuts with perhaps fifty or maybe even seventy-five grand left over. The truth was he also needed a decent car so there might not be much of anything remaining, but that made no difference to him. For now, he had a purpose in life again and found himself actually looking forward to getting started.

Dora nearly cried when her son thanked her for pushing him to get off his rear end and find something to do. It had nothing to do with her being right and everything to do with seeing her son busy again and occasionally even smiling.

He spent dozens of hours in front of a computer designing the home from the bottom up as he decided on exactly what he wanted to do and estimating how much it would cost.

If he hired a crew to help him, he'd get done a lot faster. Then again, the whole point of doing this was to give him time to retrain his brain to stop thinking about the accident as well as blaming himself for it. He decided he'd work alone except for those things which one man simply couldn't do. In that case, he'd find someone or maybe a couple of guys to help him out until the task was done then go back to working alone. Finding help was easy, and on any given day he could grab up to a half dozen guys to go with him for a day, a week, or as much time as he needed.

With the plans complete and no city or HOA to deal with to get them approved, he began ordering supplies which started arriving soon thereafter, and Doyle staged them in the order he'd need them. The weather was decent and expected to hold the rest of the week, but he had enough tarps to cover everything just in case the rain came. And eventually, it would come.

Kathy had assured him no one ever stole anything out there, and while he wanted to believe her, he installed a couple of security cameras for peace of mind just in case. He could check them on his smart phone anytime he wanted, and he'd be alerted if anyone came looking around. Of course, deer or even a stray dog could trip the alarm, but that was better than his stuff getting up and walking away while he slept.

That first night the alarm went off around 2am and Doyle squinted at his phone then laughed when he saw a doe sniffing around a pile of 2 x 4s near the house. As he rolled over to go back to sleep he tried to remember the last time he'd laughed and realized it was in the car just moments before the end.

Demo was always a lot of fun, and Doyle was having a great time tearing out cabinets and sheet rock and the cheap vinyl flooring covering the only thing he thought he could keep—a very nice hardwood floor made of oak. It was in great shape except for a couple of places where water had blown in through a broken window and replacing a few boards was no problem. Feathering them in to look like the original wood would take some doing, but Doyle had the know-how and could easily blend them in.

On the fifth morning of his second week, Doyle was making the trek out to Carbonado when he saw an SUV on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere with its blinkers on. He pulled up behind it and shut off the engine.

As he did, the driver got out to greet him just as he walked toward her.

"Can I give you a hand with anything?" he asked her.

"Yes, please! I would be so grateful!" she said. "I have a flat tire. I do know how to change one, but my right arm was in a cast until two weeks ago and I can't turn a lug wrench or even lift the tire. I was just about to call a tow truck, but when I saw a car I held off hoping it might pull over."

"No worries," Doyle told her. "Well, if you have a spare, that is."

The woman laughed then said, "Fortunately, I do. It's one of those mini tires, but it'll get me into town so I can buy a new one."

Doyle saw it was the front left which made it a lot easier as the right side of the car was sitting on loose gravel and a very soft shoulder.

"Okay, we'll have you back on the road in no time," he told her as he grabbed the jack and the lug wrench.

"Didn't you buy that old farmhouse?" she said out of nowhere.

"I did," he told her.

"Sorry, this is just such a small town and everyone really does seem to know everyone else's business," she explained.

"Ah-hah! So you really didn't stage the flat tire just to get me to stop," he said very pleasantly.

"Well, I have to admit I didn't know you were so good looking or I might have actually done that," she teased back. "Oh, I'm Lori, by the way. Lori Collins."

"Hello, Ms. Collins. I'm Doyle Armstrong."

"My pleasure," she said with a bright, happy smile.

Doyle had kind of noticed she was an attractive woman but hadn't paid any attention until she smiled at him. She was obviously quite a bit older than him, but she was definitely very nice looking.

"So what does a beautiful woman like you do all the way out here in lovely Carbonado, Ms. Collins?" he asked as he broke the first lug nut.

He glanced back up at her and saw that she had very dark-brown hair that was kept short above her ears but was styled in a feminine way that not only worked for her face but that looked almost...sexy. It was soft and smooth and parted on the side with a shock of hair falling down close to her left eye.

Her face was also very smooth-looking, and Doyle found himself momentarily staring into her very pretty eyes. That is, until she smiled again. Then he found himself staring at her perfectly straight, very white teeth and the full lips surrounding them. She wasn't petite but she was a smaller woman who was probably about 5' 6" or so and couldn't weigh much more than maybe 110 pounds, if that.

She was also quite nicely proportioned, and Doyle had no idea he'd been staring until she said, "I live in the house just south of yours."

Doyle shook his head slightly then said, "Oh, okay. I saw both of the houses, but haven't driven by them yet. From what I saw yours looks very nice."

"Thank you. That's very kind. We really enjoyed fixing it up," she said.

He hadn't even looked, but big as life, there was a great big old diamond ring on her left hand. Then again, Doyle had no interest in dating, and with the different in age, it was a moot point anyway.

He continued breaking lug nuts then pulled off the flat tire and mounted the spare.

"I really can't thank you enough," she told him again as he tightened the last nut.

"No need. It was my pleasure," he told her as he put the spare in the back and replaced the tools.

He walked her back up front then said, "Okay. You're all set, Mrs. Collins."

"I should probably just turn around and head back into town, huh? I'd hate to pick up a nail in the spare. I don't think I'd be quite so lucky to have a knight in shining..."

She looked down at his jeans, smiled then said, "Denim...to rescue me next time."

"I can give you my number, just in case," he said without thinking. "Oh, sorry. That probably sounded pretty bad, huh?"

Lori laughed and said, "Out here, everyone is very friendly so no one tends to think like that. It took me quite a while to get over my city-girl upbringing, but I really love living out here now. So if you were being serious, we could exchange numbers."

"Yeah, sure. I just didn't know if that would be creepy or anything," he said as he got his phone out.

"If we were in downtown Seattle...yes. But out here? No way," she said as she exchanged numbers with him.

Then Lori said in a slightly more serious tone, "And just so you know, I'd never flirt with a married man anyway, so as they say, it's all good, right?"

Doyle hadn't even thought about how he always still wore his own ring, too, and just like him, she'd noticed his, as well.

He smiled back then opened her door for her.

"Please do call me if you ever need help again," he told her as he helped her get in.

"Thank you and same here. I'm pretty handy with a hammer. Well, when I can pick one up and swing it. Even so, I'd be glad to stop by and help. Sadly, I'm at the age where your wife won't have to worry if I help you put up some sheet rock," she said smiling that beautiful smile at him again.

"You can hang sheet rock?" he asked trying not to sound too surprised.

"Yep. I can do pretty much anything now after helping my husband build our place. I'm not really all that good at most things, but I'd say I'm good enough to help out someone who is."

"Well, okay. Maybe I will give you a holler one of these times," he told her as he closed the door.

She smiled and waved, and Doyle waited until she turned around and headed back into town before getting in his car and driving out to the farmhouse where he was due to have a county inspector come out and check the electrical now that the house had been completely rewired. Plumbing was nearly done and that would also require an inspection. Carbonado was too small to have its own inspectors, so for things like that, the county picked up the slack.

As he drove along, Doyle realized that for the first time since he'd lost his wife, he'd found another woman attractive. No, he wasn't interested, and she was definitely married, but this was a very good sign and boded well for the future. It was hard to imagine ever loving like that again, but just being able to admit a woman was pretty—or in Lori's case—beautiful—was a good thing. Again, he had to give his mom credit for pushing him off the couch and back into the real world.

Doyle realized around lunchtime he'd been humming a favorite song from 2009 when he was a senior in high school. He was a horrible singer, but he not only hummed but even sang some of the words as he worked. He'd never have admitted it back then, but he loved Taylor Swift's song You Belong With Me, and that's the one that had been on his mind all morning.

Not caring anymore he began singing loudly:

"But she wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts, she's cheer captain, and I'm on the bleachers, dreaming about the day when..."

He thought he heard a noise and stopped making noise.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is someone here?"

Doyle was pretty sure he heard something but then he'd been bellowing so loudly couldn't be certain so he headed toward the front of the house and nearly ran into her.

"I say go for the underdog," Lori said cheerfully.

"Oh, hey. I didn't hear you. Well, I thought I heard something, but..."

"Yes, you were really going to town back there! I'd recommend the girl who wears T-shirts," she said reminding him again she'd heard him...singing.

"Oh, that's embarrassing," he said with a wince.

"I've heard worse," she told him. "On second thought..."

Doyle actually laughed causing Lori to laugh, too.

"I was on my way back after getting a new tire, and saw your car so I ran to the house and made you a sandwich. But now that I'm here I feel a little silly, because you probably packed a lunch."

Doyle smelled something that smelled very good.

"It's corned beef on rye," she told him. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually," he admitted. "I got so busy I forgot about eating."

He smiled then said, "I guess I also forgot that someone might hear me singing which, as you noticed, is more rightly called screeching or maybe caterwauling."

"I'm not much of a singer, either," she told him with a laugh. "I'm one of those who only sings in the shower. And everyone else is grateful for that."

She handed him the sandwich which was stuffed with corned beef and provolone cheese with more than a hint of Russian dressing.

"Are you gonna eat?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I had a snack at the tire shop. Well, I grabbed a soft pretzel at the bakery across the street and ate that while I waited. And before I forget, thank you again for the help, kind sir," she said still smiling happily.

"I feel bad eating by myself," he said, "but this smells incredible."

"I hope you like it. It's my very modest way of thanking you for coming to my rescue."

"Do you have a few minutes to sit and talk?" Doyle asked.

"Sure. I'd like that," she said as they found a level spot to sit.

Doyle grabbed his thermos and asked if she'd like some coffee.

"I have bottled water, too, if you'd like."

"Water sounds nice," she said.

Doyle handed her a bottle, poured himself a cup of nearly-hot coffee, then sat down and took a first bite.

"Oh, my goodness! That is...delicious!" he said talking with his mouth full.

"Oh, good. I'm glad you like it. I usually make them with sauerkraut, but so many people don't care for it, I went with cheese."

"Not me. I love sauerkraut with corned beef," he said going in for a second huge bite.

"You were hungry!" she said without sounding accusatory.

"I only had toast for breakfast," he told her.

"That's not breakfast. You need to tell your wife to make you some bacon and eggs with that," Lori said still smiling brightly. Until she saw the look on Doyle's face.

"I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?" she asked with real concern.

"No. It's okay," Doyle said without conviction.

"No, I can tell what I said offended you. I'm very sorry," she said now getting quiet.

"No, you didn't offend me. My wife...my wife died a year and a half ago," he managed to say without choking up.

Without warning, Lori slid over and put her arms around him and held him tight.

"I am so sorry, Doyle."

Not knowing what to do, he kind of put one arm around her while he held the sandwich with the other.

"I lost my husband three years ago, and I just hurt for anyone else who's gone through that. Words seem so...hollow."

She let go then said, "I'm a hugger anyway, and sometimes a hug just seems like the only way to really show I understand. And I truly am sorry."

"I...I had no idea," Doyle said now feeling almost foolish for being so visibly hurt.

"Neither of us knew. I was just as surprised as you were," she told him.

They sat in silence for a minute or so as Doyle chewed quietly then Lori said, "It's a club no one wants to join."

"Wow, that is so true," he told her. "I'd give anything to get rid of my membership card."

"Same here," she told him.

"I don't think I've ever talked to anyone who lost their spouse," Doyle said.

"I joined a support group for widows and widowers not long after Gabe died, but I found it so depressing I stopped going."

"So it didn't help?"

"I don't know. I just remember feeling as sad for every person in the group as I did for myself. By the time I'd leave I always felt so wrung out I could barely make it home. Thank goodness for my daughter."

"Forgive me for asking, but are you old enough to have a daughter who can drive?"

Lori smiled and Doyle could tell she wanted to laugh.

"You just made my day!" she said. "My daughter, Sandy, is 22, so yes, even then she could drive."

Doyle was trying not to stare, but her face didn't match her words. She could have been 18 when she had her daughter, but that would make her 40, and Doyle was thinking 32 or possibly 35. But 40 seemed...impossible.

"Do you have children?" Lori asked.

"Oh, no. We we only married for two weeks when she was killed."

Lori didn't say anything and after a very long pause, Doyle said, "I was driving."

"Oh, my goodness. Doyle, I...I can't imagine," she said as she hugged him again.

This one lasted for over a minute, and the one thing he noticed was that the pain of just mentioning what happened faded away in her arms. Doyle couldn't help but think maybe there really was a kind of healing in another person's touch.

Because of that he opened up and told her things he'd never said out loud before. The rain, the kiss, the truck, how he'd swerved, then waking up in an ambulance and then the hospital. His mother telling him what happened to his beautiful, amazing, new wife.

Before Lori could offer any more sympathy, he kept going and shared the way he lost his father, too. She sat and patiently listened before responding.

"Life can be so unbelievably sweet and wonderful at times, and then without warning, it can turn around and beat the living daylights out of us. I often think of those who lived through World War II. In the US, that maybe meant losing a son, a husband, or a brother—which is terrible. In some cases the same family lost two or more sons. But think about Europe. The endless bombings. The street fighting. The hunger and the deprivation. Children being slaughtered and maimed day after day. How could anyone go on? So yes, we've had hard blows delivered to us, but when you put it in perspective, it doesn't seem quite so horrible."

Doyle had spent so long feeling sorry for himself, he'd never once stopped to think about how badly others had suffered; many of them far worse than he could even imagine.

"That really did put things in perspective," he told Lori.

"It's easy to get so wrapped around the axle of our own lives that we forget we're not alone or the only one hurting," Loris offered. "Knowing that doesn't make our pain go away, it just helps us remember we're but one tiny part of this big, indifferent, often-cruel universe."

Nearly two hours flew by as they talked openly about love and loss before Doyle realized how much time he'd had passed. One subject flowed into the next and by the time Doyle said he really needed to get back to work, he felt like he'd known Mrs. Lori Collins for years rather for a couple of hours.

"I can't remember the last time I enjoyed myself," Doyle told her as he walked h to the place where the front door should be.

"Hmmm. I was just about to say the same thing. I don't get out much or do a lot of talking."

She smiled then said, "I guess I'm kind of a recluse."

She paused then said, "I suppose that's mostly by choice. Since Gabe passed away I don't really care to spend time with other people. Other than Sandy, of course."