“Finn—”
“Becki.”
“Finn…”
“Becki.”
She slaps a hand to her forehead. “I can see this isn’t getting anywhere.”
“No, it looks like you have no choice. You have to accept my very unwanted help.”
“It’s not unwanted,” she insists, but I can tell she knows what I mean. She swallows back the bitter taste that probably leaves her mouth at the moment and nudges a few rocks herself. “Okay, yes. Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
“I know. I know your hesitation has nothing to do with the truck and everything to do with what we did last night.”
“Argh! Can we not talk about that?”
“Sure, yes. I’ll rephrase that. I know your hesitation has nothing to do with the truck and everything to do with what positively, absolutely, totally, with the utmost certainty, did not happen last night.”
Becki can’t hold back, even as much as she tries to stay mad. She slaps her hands down on her thighs and giggles. “My god. It doesn’t work to stay angry with you, does it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
She gives me a more serious look, and I’m so relieved to see that the tension has left her face. Her eyes are clear and sparkling again. “I’ll call Dan Dawson and see if he can come to give me a tow, or if he can come to get it at some point. I can offer to pay him for it. And I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon brainstorming ideas on how to raise enough money to pay for those parts. Even with your help, I’m sure they’re expensive. Maybe we can do something different this year—calendars or Christmas cards. Except…except it’s August, and no one would buy those yet.”
“I’ll pay for them.”
Becki spins around so hard that her foot slips on the gravel. I lunge to catch her, but she rights herself just fine. She doesn’t give me one of those looks that say, see? I’m perfectly capable of being my own savior, thank you very much, but she does narrow her eyes and study me.
“What’s in it for you?”
“You mean, do you have to pay me back? Of course not.”
“Then I can’t let you do that.”
“So, you do want to pay me back?”
“No, I can’t. I can’t afford to.”
“Then you don’t have to.”
Becki’s nostrils flare. “I can’t let you do that. I’m not a charity case, and neither is the sanctuary. It’s a non-profit; I’ll have you know before you argue that point.”
I shrug, shut the hood, and give it a knock. Why? I’m not sure. It just seems like the right thing to do. It’s not knocking on wood, but maybe it will bring me some amount of luck. I could sure use it since Becki can apparently be stubborn as…as fuzzy bananas.
“Your sanctuary issues tax receipts, does it not?”
“Yes,” she admits cautiously. “I guess it does.”
“Then I’ll make a donation in the sum of the parts. You can use it to purchase them, and I’ll put them in, free of charge. Add it to my to-do list. I’d rather be working on vehicles than shoveling or weeding anyway, no offense. Though I don’t mind shoveling or weeding, of course.”
Becki shuts the driver’s door, takes a step back, and studies the truck thoughtfully again. “I get it.”
“Good. I do make quite a bit of money, and so does the company, so I’ll figure out who needs the tax break more.”
“You’re doing this out of pity, aren’t you?”
“Nope.”
“Spite?”
“Hell no.”
Becki sighs. Her shoulders dip, admitting defeat before the rest of her does. “Why then?”
“Well, because it’s the right thing to do. Because your truck is sitting on the side of the road and you need it, and because I’m here for six months to help you, to learn something, and to be useful. But I can’t learn how to fix this or be useful in doing the fixing unless I have the parts. I know you need the truck to get feed. If an animal’s in trouble, or more than one, how are you going to pull the livestock trailer and get them, even if you have to take them somewhere else because you’re full? And yes, I do listen, so I know. I know you need the truck. That’s why.”
“Argh!” Becki stalks off toward the car. “Fine, you win. I’ll let you make a donation just this once.”
I shake my head, but I’m grinning too. That was a hard-fought battle. I never met someone in my life who was so unwilling to accept the help she obviously desperately needs, and I’ve definitely never met someone who didn’t want to take my money. I don’t know if it’s just about what did not happen last night or if Becki’s like this with other people who want to give her a big donation. If that’s the case, how hard did my grandfather have to fight to get her the money to build the barn? That money also paid for my ass to be here. But maybe he didn’t have to fight hard at all. She was probably gentler with him. My grandfather was just like that. I never met a person who didn’t like him. If someone had held out against his big grin, easy-going ways, and kind smile, then dang, there must have been something seriously wrong with them.