The Promise (Thunder Point #5)(8)

“Quaint,” she said.

He laughed. “Only on the surface. It’s a tough little town.”

“How is that?”

He thought for a second. “These people don’t have a lot of advantages. The cost of living here is low, but there’s one doctor, one lawyer, no dentists—it’s a working-class town, and a large percentage of the population holds second jobs. Our teenagers carry as many credits as the teens in upscale city schools, yet most of them also work part-time. And they do well in school. We get a fair number into college.”

And that would explain why Scott Grant ran on a tight budget. “Yet you like it here?”

“This was a good decision for me, coming here,” Spencer said. “My last high school had a lot. It was flush with money—supplies, equipment, tutors, special programs, you name it. If the school needed it, they found a way. It was a well-heeled district. Not very many of my students had to work to get by. There were plenty of kids who held jobs, but there were more who didn’t. The student parking lot was always full, and the cars weren’t wrecks.” He grinned again. “The Thunder Point High School lot looks very different. These people work hard to stay above water. I find it’s kind of inspiring to be around a bunch of kids who don’t have it that easy.”

This was something Peyton had devoted a great deal of time to thinking about lately. She’d grown up on a farm, and it was a very successful farm. But they’d never been spoiled; the kids each had tons of responsibility. Everyone had worked hard, and because Paco was always worried about next year’s growing season, which could be bad, no one had spent money frivolously. One early freeze could mean disaster for the pears; a terrible winter could stunt the sheep. If hand-me-downs worked, why buy new? And although her dad had hired hands on the farm, every last one of his children had had farm chores. “Work is good for the soul,” he’d said. “What are you gonna learn from sleeping late? You pick pears for a few weeks, you have time to think and you have a chance to learn.”

At the time, Peyton had not given her farmer father much credit for wisdom, but when she was in college she’d had classmates who’d gone out a lot or played cards in the student lounge all the time while she’d been at the library studying because she learned that you work first, then you play. She was not a recluse by any means—she had a great social life, just not a frivolous one. That beer with her friends had tasted a lot better after she’d gotten an A on a test rather than after a D. Hard training on the Lacoumette farm had served her well.

Ted’s kids were overindulged, there was no question. Peyton had taken the Ramsdales back to the farm where twenty or more people would squish around a long oak table and that wasn’t even the whole family. They’d yell and laugh and fight for space to say a word. It was a place where all those staying in the house would bang on the bathroom door to oust someone who seemed to be homesteading in there, where breakfast was at five in the morning. The Ramsdale kids had not been impressed. Nor had been Ted, for that matter. His oldest, fifteen-year-old Krissy, had said, “Smells kinda like shit, doesn’t it?” Peyton’s mother had gasped, and her father had scowled.

“That’s manure,” Peyton had snapped. “It’s cultivating time!” Her father always said, That smell? That’s the smell of money.

“Easy, Peyton,” Ted had said. “It’s not her fault she has no farm experience.”

Thinking about that, she realized it might help her get her mojo back to stay in a town where the kids weren’t spoiled. Her nieces and nephews were well mannered and had been taught to mind the feelings of others, but like all kids, they had their moments and got into their share of stand-offs with their parents. But they were so much better behaved than Ted’s kids.

The other thing she’d realized since leaving the Ramsdale household was that she’d been without friends while she was there. She’d lost touch with her friends; the demands of Ted’s practice and household had left no time. His ex-wife had never stuck to their schedule, causing changes to plans so often, requiring Peyton to take personal time to supervise the kids because Ted had to be at the hospital or on call to the ER It had seemed to Peyton it was deliberate, but Ted was insistent. “You can’t take joint custody issues personally. We have to be flexible.”

We? Ted didn’t have to be flexible. He lived at the practice or hospital. He played golf and tennis; he said they were important professional relationships. He went to meetings out of town—he was a much sought-after presenter, given his relative notoriety within the cardiology specialty. He spent so little time with his children, Peyton was surprised he could remember their names.

Maybe she could use a little time in a town that knew about hard work. It wouldn’t hurt to be around a few friendly people. She could have space again—her own bathroom, closet, TV, bookshelf. Her belongings would be safe. She could build up her armor once more so her feelings weren’t hurt all the time by callous remarks and disrespect. She could figure out how she’d gotten into that mess and how to never let that happen again.

Maybe working in a clinic that ran on a tight budget would be inspiring in a way that Ted’s rich practice hadn’t been.

This little Pacific Coast village was only three hours from her parents’ farm, a place she had long ago grown out of but still fled to in times of heartache or confusion. Maybe she could sit here for a little while and recover her lost mind and knit together her frayed emotions. But at the salary of forty-thousand per year, she wouldn’t live extravagantly. Her last salary had been ninety-five. But, because of her living arrangement and Ted’s veritable wealth, she had saved a lot of money. In fact, she had always been careful with money and saved quite a bit, but she didn’t want to spend it by volunteering in a little clinic. Unless, of course, there was a point to it.