Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,30
to do her business in the flower garden before running after me and Gwen. “It’s not much yet,” I tell her. “But I have plans.”
“The bones look good,” she says while scanning my farmhouse. I stick my key in the lock only to have the door push open. Leaning my head in, I call out, “Hello? Who’s here?”
I hear Hank shout from upstairs, “I’m up here, boy!”
“How did you get in?”
“Everyone leaves a spare key under the front mat.”
“I’m not sure everyone does that,” I shout back, somewhat annoyed.
“Well, you do, and it’s a good thing because I started work early this morning. You better get you keister on up here. We’ve got a problem.”
I tell Gwen to make herself at home while I run upstairs. Hank doesn’t turn away from the plumbing he’s inspecting. He just asks, “Have you heard any knocking in your pipes lately?”
“They’ve been knocking since I bought the place.”
“And you didn’t think to call me sooner to check on the source of the problem?” He sounds irritated.
“I didn’t think it was a problem. This house is over a hundred years old. I assumed knocking pipes were part of the charm.” You know, like the ghost of the farmer who built the place. Yet, to my knowledge, he doesn’t stop by.
Hank shakes his shaggy gray head. “Boy, banging indicates loose pipes. Loose pipes suggest leaks, which is exactly what you have—leaking in the walls.”
“And that means what?” I ask nervously.
“That means your hundred-year-old pipes are calling it a day and you need to update them.”
“All of them?” A cold sweat suddenly pops up on my forehead. I don’t have the resources for a fix like that.
“Yes, all of them. You don’t want to attach new copper pipes to old cast iron ones,” he says in such a tone you’d think this was something they taught in elementary school along with multiplication and verb conjugation.
“Why?” I don’t care if he thinks I’m stupid. This sounds expensive.
Hank finally deigns to put his wrench down before turning to give me a withering look that says plain as day, What kind of moron are you? He answers, “Cast iron pipes rust from the inside out. That’s a hundred plus years of trouble.”
I have no words. I simply stand there with my mouth open like a sleeping fish. He practically yells, “Your pipes are paper thin, boy!” Then he clarifies, “Combine that with the fact that they’re loose and knocking, and you’re lucky they haven’t all given way on you.”
I nervously run my hands through my hair like a mad scientist lost in feverish contemplation. “How much are we talking, Hank?”
“Barring any unforeseen obstacles, which there always are some, you’re looking at about ten thousand, just for the plumbing.”
“Dollars?”
He just rolls his eyes at me. “Another thing you have to watch out for in these old houses are the waste pipes leading to your septic. Back in the old days, they used to make them out of clay. They tend to crack over time. You might want to consider updating your tank pipes.”
I shake my head. I need to find a cheaper short-term fix. “What if I just patch things up for now and address the situation later?”
Hank drops his wrench into his tool kit before answering, “Then you’d better budget replacing the sub-flooring and walls in the rest of the house. Once those pipes burst, you’re gonna have all holy hell to deal with.”
I can either move into the inn full time, which isn’t an option, or I can take out a home improvement loan and get the basics taken care of now. I need another bill like I need a whopping case of malaria, but I’m not sure I have a choice. “I need a little time,” I tell him before turning around and walking back downstairs.
Instead of looking for Gwen, I head toward the front door for some fresh air. I can’t think straight enough to be social right now. I need to look at my land and remember my dreams for the farm. I knew when I got this place below market value that I’d have to put some sweat equity into it. It looks like it’s time to pony up.
Instead of the fresh air and clarity I expected after stepping out of the front door, I walk right into a man snapping a photo of me with his phone. “Who the hell are you?” I demand.
Chapter Fifteen
Gwen
Gwen decides to give herself a tour of the downstairs