Slay Bells - Hildie McQueen Page 0,9
the steps.
He checked his watch. It was only nine at night. “Okay,” he replied.
Once on the porch, he pulled the collar of his jacket up and watched as the dogs chased each other, circling but not at all seeming inclined to do more.
Jeremy blew out a breath and once again looked toward the guest cabin. This was certainly going to be an interesting festival time. One thing he planned to do was to avoid the writer. He wasn’t about to jack his jaws and tell Christmas stories for her to put into an article. If anything, he’d ask his mother to tell her he preferred nothing more than perhaps a mention.
Between the set-up, activities, the people and the aftermath, she’d have more than enough to write about.
Finally, the dogs came up the steps, both with tongues hanging out and what looked to be wide grins. Labradors were goofy and always made him smile. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The dogs waited just inside for him to wipe their paws and then raced to find his father.
Some things never changed. Animals loved Rick Hawkins.
His father looked up from the recliner as he walked in. “Come here son, I want to talk to you about something.”
If it was the yearly, “it’s time to move home because you’re giving your mother grey hairs talk”, he was ready.
“Let me grab some coffee.” He grabbed his dad’s proffered cup to refill. A few moments later, he lowered to the couch, ignoring whatever played on the television. “What’s up Dad?”
Jeremy’s mother sat on the other end of the couch reading.
Finally, his father met Jeremy’s gaze. “This is going to be the last year that we will host the festival. We’re meeting with the Clarks to discuss them taking it over on their land next year. They’d been interested since I mentioned we may retire.”
This did catch him by surprise. “Are you serious this time?”
“Yep,” his father said, emphasizing it with a firm nod. “Your mother and I want to spend the winters away from here, maybe go to the Caribbean or Florida. You know, be snowbirds. Can’t do that while having this festival every year.”
His mother finally looked over. “We’ve already talked to Molly and now we’re going to ask you the same thing. The only way we’ll keep it here is if you two want to take it over. Otherwise, the festival will be moved to the Clark’s ranch starting next year. We want to announce it on opening night, so everyone knows it’s our last year.”
Jeremy blew out a breath. “What did Molly say?”
“That she wanted to know what you thought first. She did say it was a lot of work and with the kids and a new one on the way, she’d have a hard time doing much until the kids are older.”
That was understandable. Although, he’d always known he’d end up living on the ranch, retiring from police work and helping his father, Jeremy hadn’t considered the festival. It was a local tradition and an event many of the local people counted on yearly.
His father sipped his coffee and then met Jeremy’s gaze. “Take your time thinking about it. And don’t feel obligated to anyone but yourself. Your mother and I do it because it’s something we both love.”
Jeremy looked to his mother who’d put her book down and smiled at him. “I can’t believe you’d already met Gabriela at the airport. Isn’t that funny? She’s a doll. Make sure you plan time to show her around tomorrow afternoon. I have a hair appointment, and your father is meeting with the lights crew.”
The overly bright smile splitting his mother’s face made Jeremy narrow his eyes. “Mom, don’t go playing matchmaker. Yes, the woman is pretty, but she’s also from California. Montana is like a foreign country to her. Besides, she seems kind of accident prone.”
“I’m just asking for a favor. I’ll be around the rest of the time to take her off your hands.” She batted her lashes in pretend innocence. “Unless you decide to give her a tour of the town later.”
“Mom.”
“I’m just suggesting it. It would be nice for her to spend time with someone closer to her age.”
Jeremy rubbed his eyes. “I’ll probably have my hands full ensuring Henry keeps his clothes on.”
“Henry will be fine. I’m going to put him to work,” his father interjected.
His eyes threatened to close the moment he leaned back in the comfortable chair, some days he felt closer to his parents’ age than thirty-five.
Just