Granting katelyn, p.2
Granting Katelyn, page 2
“North Carolina?” Melissa Sullivan said over the phone. “But Katelyn, what do you even know about these people?”
“They’re from Pinedale. But I guess Jim used to work with Tennyson Stables, helping them get set up, and this Grant is a friend of theirs.”
Katelyn paced in the airport, as far as the payphone would let her. She’d gathered her things that morning and left for the Laramie airport to catch her economy flight out of Denver. She was a grown-ass woman, managing the Sullivan’s herd, working in her father’s vet clinic, and by all accounts grown up. Still no one could nag like her mom.
“Look, I talked it over with Dad.”
“When?”
“Before I left,” she scratched at her ponytail, “this morning.”
“Katelyn!”
“It’s just, this is a really interesting case, and I don’t think it will take me more than a couple of weeks, maybe a month, tops. I should still be home by the end of summer.” She shifted the olive-green canvas bag over her shoulder.
Melissa sighed, no doubt regretting that she’d ever fostered Katelyn’s independent nature. “Well, fine. Did you arrange for someone to cover your hours?”
“’Course I did, I wouldn’t leave without covering things. I already talked to Blake, and it’s not like the clinic is that busy, Mom.”
Her mother only sighed in response.
“I guess this horse is a real prizewinner. They think two of his sons have a chance at the Triple Crown.” She tried to put a spin on it that would make her mother more interested.
“Pomp and circumstance.” Melissa waved her off. “Probably only good for looking pretty and breeding. And who knows what kind of abuse they suffer.”
“I know,” Katelyn sighed. “Probably a lot more than they should. But the money is good and there’s a chance I can help this horse. He’s been through something awful Mom, and I just—well, you know I can’t not help a horse in need,” Katelyn said. She could see her mom shaking her head in her mind and already felt a twinge of homesickness.
“I know, Katie May,” her mother sniffed on the other end. “You could never stand by and watch an animal be hurt.”
“Just a few weeks,” Katie reassured.
“Okay. But you hurry home as soon as you can. And you’d better call your sisters.”
“Yes, ma’am. When I land.”
Katelyn dialed Elle first after she’d gotten off the plane. The response was the same. What in the hell did she mean she was in North Carolina? How long was she going to be there?
“It’s only for a few weeks! Holy shit, Elle, Mom already got on my case.” Katelyn had expected her middle sister, Eleanor, to be a bit more relaxed. Maybe motherhood turned you into a tyrant.
“When you left this morning you mean? With no warning except to tell Blake he was working the next few weeks for you?”
“Well, he said okay.” Katelyn argued.
“Katelyn. The last side job you took turned out to be over a month, and the one before that was almost two. What’s up with the wanderlust?”
“Maybe I just need to get the hell outta Sweet Valley once in a while.”
Elle sighed on the other end, knowing that as the younger sister, Katelyn had upheld the weight of the family ranch. “Okay. I’m just jealous, and besides, Laney needs someone else to boss around and Emilee is getting so big that you’re gonna miss out on it.” Elle’s guilt trips were a thing of beauty.
“Firstly, I took more than my fair share getting bossed around by Laney, and secondly, you can’t use the baby, that’s just not a fair fight.” Katelyn argued back.
“But we’ll miss you.” Elle’s voice softened.
“I miss you back, you crazy kitchen wench. But I think I may be able to earn enough from this thing to help with the hay shortage this year and the bum foaling Dad had last winter.”
“Katie May, it isn’t your responsibility to save the ranch single-handedly.”
“I know. But we all gotta do our part, don’t we? I still can’t believe you saved Gran’s place and the back forty with nothin’ but a goat herd and some pies.”
“Well, it took us a bit more than that,” Elle scoffed. “I suppose Blake helped, a little.”
“Blake’s a keeper, but don’t tell that little asshole I said so.” Katelyn smiled over the phone and Elle laughed.
“Little? He’s a good six inches taller than you.”
“He’ll always be a little asshole to me,” Katelyn said wryly while she looked out at the lush, green fields beyond the airport. “Listen, I should go, I’m supposed to be meeting the owner and the ranch manager this afternoon.”
“I thought you already knew them.”
“I’ve never actually met either of them. I’m contracted through an interested third party. The ranch belongs to Ian Tennyson, but his son, Grant, is supposed to be running the thing.”
Elle giggled. “Grant Tennyson sounds like somebody Laney would write about. Grant had a brutish manner and a chest like steel,” she added lowly before bursting into laughter. Katelyn’s heart sang to hear it. Only a couple of short years ago, it was a herculean effort just to get Elle to smile.
“I’m pretty sure he’s a portly, middle-aged accountant,” Katelyn said. “I don’t think it will take long, if I can get everyone on the same page about the recovery. I just need them to stay out of my way and let me work.”
“Well, I hope Steely-Chested Grant gets on the same page for you, but if not…”
“What?” Katelyn said after too long a pause.
“You know what can happen when handsome men start butting heads with us,” Elle said.
“He’s not handsome.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, shut up! Who are you? Laney?” Katelyn rolled her eyes.
“What if he isn’t a portly, middle-aged accountant?” Elle led. “What if you finally get to roll in the hay?” she giggled.
“Stop!” Katelyn could feel the blush spreading up her neck to the line of her golden hair. “I hardly think my virginity’s gonna be lost on this job.”
“Well, if you keep traipsing all over the world to exotic locales—”
“North Carolina isn’t exotic—”
“One of these times, you’ll find someone who’s gonna make your knees buckle and your panties fall.” Elle burst into a fit of giggles.
“You are a bona fide asshole sometimes, you know that?” Katelyn grouched, now glowing from embarrassment.
“Maybe that’s why Blake and I get along so well. We keep praying for you,” she sighed dramatically.
“Praying I’ll get laid?” Katelyn asked with an eye roll.
“Hallelujah and pass the wafers,” Elle giggled.
“Asshole.” Katelyn nodded to the Lyft driver, who pulled up alongside the airport curb and took her one bag up over her shoulder. “Listen, I gotta go, I’ll call you later. Take care of that baby and ol’ what’s-his-name,” she smiled.
“Alright, I’ll let what’s-his-name know you still think he’s a punk.”
“Thank you.”
“Love you, Katie May.”
“Love you too, Elle.” They hung up and Katelyn opened the car door herself when a subtle clearing of a throat sounded behind her.
“Ms. Sullivan?” Katelyn turned and her bag swung off of her shoulder. Behind her stood a small, gray-haired man, very dapper in his coat and driver’s cap. His tie was impeccable, his shoes shined and neat. He nodded and tipped his cap. “I am Jeffers, Mr. Tennyson sent me to fetch you.”
“Fetch me?” Katelyn asked, scowling. “Uh, I don’t need fetched. I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”
“Allow me to take your bags,” he nodded, ignoring her protest.
She tightened her hand on the strap and continued to stare at him suspiciously. “I appreciate that offer, Mr. Jeffers, but I was under the impression that I was an independent contractor. There’s no need to—”
“If you please, it is just Jeffers, and if the young miss would allow an old fool the honor, I would be most happy to take you to Tennyson Stables myself.”
“I hardly think you’re a fool, Jeffers. If anything, I think you’re the kind of man who knows how to get things done, by the look of you.”
“The young miss is too kind.”
“The young miss prefers to be called Katelyn, if it’s all the same.”
“Miss Katelyn, if you would permit, I will take care of the rest of your bags.”
She studied Jeffers. He was her height, slight in the shoulders, and getting on in his years; yet she could tell from his posture that he was wiry beneath his suit and probably stronger than men twice his size.
“I wouldn’t permit, and this is the only bag I have.”
Jeffers looked over the old, camo duffle bag with concern. “Surely, you have other items.”
“Nope, and don’t call me Shirley,” she said with an odd grin. Jeffers scowled in return. Katelyn cleared her throat awkwardly.
“We doing this or what?” the Lyft driver grunted between the two short but strong-willed characters staring at one another.
“Miss Katelyn,” Jeffers nodded.
Katelyn turned to the driver and smiled with a nod. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I had a ride arranged for me,” she said it with an air of annoyance. Jeffers nodded to the man and offered him a stack of bills.
“For the trouble, and any fare you may have missed.”
Katelyn stared at the money. “Did you just pay that guy for not doing anything?” The Lyft driver gave Jeffers a mock salute and left.
“You’ll find, Miss Katelyn, that greasing the wheels allows for less conflict.” Jeffers said and reached for her duffle once more, thinking her distracted. Katelyn turned her shoulder and stepped out of the way. Jeffers missed and scowled at her.
“I’m not a woman afraid of a little conflict. Or in need of greasing,” she said. Jeffers’s stoic mouth frowned. “I get the impression that’s new for you.”
“Please follow me.” He acquiesced to let her carry the bag and weaved through the crowded airport drop-off zone. Katelyn followed with a scowl.
What kind of circus had she signed up for?
Three
The drive to Tennyson Stables was smooth and quiet in the back of the upscale Lincoln Town Car. Katelyn sat uncomfortably, with her legs tucked close, in fear of getting her ‘simple’ all over. The leather was brushed soft, and it smelled like unlit pipe tobacco and money. She tried to shake the discomfort of a world so far removed from hers by staring out at the lush green that lined the road.
“I trust that your flight was comfortable,” Jeffers said from the front. She looked up at the rear-view mirror.
“I suppose. As comfortable as coach can be.”
“You flew—coach?” One might have thought she’d said she’d sprouted wings and flown in like a butterfly for the disbelief in his tone. Katelyn snorted.
“Uh, yeah? Don’t we all?” She watched his eyes dart to hers and then back to the road. “Okay, well maybe you don’t, and I’m sure the Tennysons don’t, but normal people do.”
“Surely you were offered better accommodations?”
“Surely I was not. I would have preferred to fly myself, but I don’t have enough to rent a plane for that long.”
Jeffers’ curious blue eyes darted to hers in the rear-view mirror. Looking like he knew he shouldn’t, he asked anyway. “Do you fly, Miss Katelyn?” Jeffers voice had changed and Katelyn detected something less cold. She leaned forward in her seat and stared at him in the mirror.
“I do. I had an uncle who was a crop duster back home, and he taught me the summer of my senior year.”
“And, are you still current?” he asked. Katelyn smiled.
“You talk like a guy who knows his way around a pre-flight check.”
“Her Majesty’s Royal Air Force, Miss Katelyn,” he said humbly. “Forty-third division, the Fighting Badgers.” The joy and pride in his voice seemed to come from a strange and distant place, as if he’d nearly forgotten that life all together.
“Well, I am impressed, Jeffers! You fellas must have had nerves of steel. I’m sure that’s come in handy with your current position,” Katelyn said with a twinkle in her eyes. Jeffers turned his gaze back on the road and his smile fell away.
“How often do you fly? What ratings do you have?” he asked as he turned right into a tree-lined county road.
“I’ve kept current. Though I can’t really afford to just go jetting around whenever I want. I usually work out some sort of trade to keep my training up. So far, I’ve gotten my single-engine, private, instrument rating, multi-engine rating, and some high-altitude training. I would love to work on a seaplane rating someday. It’s all for the fun of it really, I don’t think I’d ever make a living at it. I think it would take the joy out.”
“It would indeed,” Jeffers said. “Should you ever like to dust off the propellers, Mr. Tennyson has an extensive hangar and multiple aircraft that are in need of a good run up.”
“I would love to take you up on that offer, Jeffers.” Katelyn smiled at him in the mirror.
“I shall see what can be arranged, Miss Katelyn.”
Katelyn, feeling much more comfortable, looked out of the window and saw a worn woman, one leg-tugging kid on either side of her, walking down the dirt drive of a dilapidated farm. She was hauling jars of honey and sorry-looking bushels of corn and beans to a run-down overhang of a shed beside the road. A baby was tucked safely in a carrier at her chest. She looked crestfallen but determined, and as the Lincoln sped past, Katelyn noticed her threadbare clothing.
“Who’s that?”
“That is Mrs. Sutter, of Sutter Farm. It lies adjacent to Tennyson Stables.”
“Adjacent? She’s your neighbor?” Katelyn looked back and pulled her hand away from the posh wooden inlaid armrest. Jeffers cleared his throat as if he could read the direction her thoughts were taking them.
“Her husband has been out of work, and she’s been keeping up the tax payments on the land with sales from the farm.”
“Those baskets look pretty empty,” Katelyn said with a lump in her throat, understanding all too well the harshness of trying to live off of the fickle grace of the land.
“Indeed. It has been a hard year with the drought last spring and the rash of bee deaths in the valley.” Katelyn looked back over her shoulder.
“But Tennyson Stables hasn’t suffered?”
“Oh no. Mr. Tennyson has things somewhat tightly wound, around here,” Jeffers said, smirking.
“Tightly wound? Grant?” Katelyn asked.
Jeffers chuckled but hid his amusement in a cough.
“Mr. Tennyson prefers not to be called by his first name. Especially by the staff, Miss Katelyn.”
Katelyn lifted her eyes and a small, mischievous smile spread on her lips.
“Oh, he doesn’t, huh?”
Jeffers stared at her for a moment and something twinkled in his eyes so briefly that she couldn’t tell if she’d imagined it. He slowed the car as they approached a turn.
“Does Mr. Tennyson actually work with the horses at all, or just the bottom lines?” she asked as they turned down the packed gravel drive to the most ostentatious ‘ranch’ house she’d ever seen. “Holy horseshit,” she whispered. Jeffers cleared his throat. “Sorry, just, Jim didn’t really prepare me for—whoa!” she breathed again. The perfect green fields lay sprawled as far as she could see, partitioned into neat paddocks with white fencing. A large indoor arena sat in the middle of the fields, white with a kelly-green tin roof, and a thoroughbred weather vane cresting its highest spire.
The arena must have been a quarter mile round at least. Beside it, stretching out in front of the circular drive was a collection of stables in the same white and green combination, housing at least twenty individual stables and a second story for god knew what else. The main house was a ranch style, though not like any ranch house Katelyn had seen. Where the small house she’d grown up in had been cozy and a bramble of add-ons and bedrooms, Tennyson Manor was pristine white, with green shutters, partitioned into three main quarters, an office wing close to the stables, the main house that was a two-story colonial feel, and a third wing that, Jeffers explained, was Ian’s private quarters.
“The whole wing?”
“Yes, miss.”
“What the hell does one man do with so much space? Just live there with Grant?”
“Mr. Tennyson doesn’t live with his father. He rarely leaves the east wing.”
“So, he lives in his office?” She smirked as she opened her door before Jeffers could do it, bringing out a scowl in the old butler.
“One could say so.”
“Real party animal, huh?”
“Party? No, Miss Katelyn,” Jeffers said, unsuccessfully trying to wrestle the bag from her arm. Katelyn turned away, surveying the rest of the land and turned back to him.
“Just animal, huh?”
“The staff has been known to call him the—” Jeffers stopped and his eyes fell.
“Well, you can’t stop there. What do they call him?” Jeffers began walking to the main house, nodding for her to follow.
“Jeffers, come on now. You and I are buddies, I’m not going to rat you out.”
The old butler blushed over his shoulder. “Buddies?”
“Any man who can fly a Douglas Boston in the heat of gunfire is surely a friend of mine.” Jeffers stopped. The truth of his warm nature shone through as he looked at her. For a moment, Katelyn was reminded of her own father.
“They call him ‘the beast,’ Miss Katelyn. On account of his temperament and size.”
“Size?” Katelyn asked and resumed her path behind Jeffers.
“Grant, unlike his father, was blessed with a far more brutish constitution.”
“Huh,” Katelyn said, curiosity piqued. A big, grouchy number cruncher. As long as he didn’t have a chest of steel, she snorted.
