Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(92)

“I’m no professional, but they’ve come a long way since we bought ’em.”

He showed them a partially finished cabin—new baseboards, paint and appliances, but that was as far as he’d gotten. Then he showed them an unfinished cabin. The appliances sat in the middle of the room, uninstalled. Blinds that he ordered were still in long boxes, ready to be hung after painting, area rugs were rolled against the wall and cans of paint were stacked next to a couple of folded tarps.

“Looks simple enough,” Paul remarked. “Two days. Maybe four, if we need extra supplies.”

“Four days?” Luke repeated, stunned.

“It’s all moving and cosmetic. We’re kind of fast.” He grinned. “We do this a lot more than you do.”

“Since there have only been one or two painters here, there are only the two tarps,” Luke pointed out.

“Not a problem, we came prepared, even brought some baseboards in case you didn’t have enough. Now, if you’re not worried we’ll screw it up, this might be a good day for you to go over to Eureka and set up a pickup for that furniture and get anything else you might need for these cabins.”

“Leave you working?” he asked. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Wait till you see my family. And the Valenzuelas,” Jack said. “Go. Buy sheets and towels.”

Luke thought about this for a very short time—he had other important errands in Eureka. It was high time he plunged into an investigation of Art’s job and group home there. He had to know the man’s past in order to help with his future. Buying sheets, pillows, towels and dishes wouldn’t take any time at all. “You sure? Can you keep an eye on Art in case he gets a little excited with all the people? Sometimes he’s too much help, you know.”

“Sure, he’ll be fine. Where is the good man?”

“If he’s not here, he’s at the river.” Luke grinned. “I’m not getting so much help since I bought him that rod and reel, but the freezer’s full of fish. I have a feeling some of it’s going to be coming your way at the bar.”

“We never turn down handouts,” Jack said, hefting a ladder out of the truck.

As Luke stood and watched, they all started hauling tarps, ladders, toolboxes, brushes and rollers out of the truck beds. He wandered down to the river and found Art.

“Hey, Art,” he said. “How are they biting today?”

“Okay,” he said, throwing out a line and slowly reeling it in.

“Jack and Paul and some men have come to work on the cabins.” He laughed at the way Art’s head jerked toward him and his eyes lit up. “I’m sure they’d want you to help out if you feel like it.”

“Do they want me to?” he asked, pulling in his line.

“Sure, but you’ll have to let them tell you what they need the most help with. Huh?”

“Okay,” he said, grinning happily.

“I’m going to run over to Eureka to get some supplies. Need anything?”

He shook his head. “Maybe I’ll get a lot done with Jack and Paul,” he said.

“I bet you will. Come on, I’ll walk back with you.”

Art really enjoyed being around people, especially people who treated him with respect, and whenever there were men at work, he eagerly, though shyly, loved to pitch in. It sometimes made him a little clumsy.

Luke only needed an hour or two in some big box stores to load up a couple of carts with things for the cabins. What he really wanted to do was visit a certain little grocery store. He had tried not to dwell on what Art had gone through, but he had managed to have a couple of conversations with him that gave him enough information to figure out where it was. Griffin’s Grocery on Simmons Street.

It wasn’t a bad grocery store, if a little on the worn side. He glanced around and then grabbed a cart. It took him twenty seconds to pick out a bagger who had Down’s and in the produce section there was a woman he asked a few questions and by her slow and difficult answers, grappling for the right word, he suspected some kind of disability. Then he noticed her name tag—Netta. This was someone from the group home Art had said he missed. So Luke asked, “Who’s your manager here?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, Stan. That’s Stan.”

“And where would I find Stan?” Luke asked.

She shrugged and said, “Maybe in the back?”

Before Luke had a chance to search Stan out, there was a grocer beside him, asking, “Can I help you with something, sir?”

Luke smiled his most engaging smile. “I wanted to talk to the manager. This lady says that would be Stan.”

This was a guy in his late thirties, sharp and clean, articulate, wearing a green apron. He returned the smile. “I’m the assistant manager. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not sure,” he said with a shrug. “I just bought a small store in Clear River. Just a little neighborhood store, smaller than this. Thing is—I’m doing it on a shoestring. It’s a real good gamble, there’s no grocery in there right now,” he said, though he had absolutely no idea if there was a grocery store in Clear River. “I’m going to hire a couple of full-time people and a few part-time people. I’m going to have to stay low budget for a while when it comes to payroll. I’m interested in this store’s employees. They’re nice, they look productive, they’re challenged. I wondered how you go about finding employees like them.”