18. Galen

Chapter 18

Galen

D uring lunch, Clay, a ranch hand up at Farthingdale Ranch, had brought down a bag of mail that had been misdirected and hadn't been delivered to the valley.

As he handed the letters out, it felt a little like mail call at camp, with everybody waiting till letters could be arranged so Clay could hand them out smoothly.

Galen, chomping on a potato chip, looked at the letter Clay placed next to his plate and, dismayed, saw the red stamp and the return address from the IRS.

Heart pounding, he opened the envelope and saw the warning about a late payment, the amount due, and the amount of the penalty if not paid by the end of July. Which wasn't that far away. He needed to get on this before it blew up in his face and he ended up losing the farm.

The other letter was from the hospital in Cheyenne, with a statement about how much he owed, with a lot of extra fees added on that he'd not known about.

He couldn't possibly pay both the IRS and the hospital, but it would make more sense to reach out to the IRS first, so he didn't get the farm taken away from him. The hospital, which kept finding new ways to charge him, could charge him interest, and he could manage that. But his heart was racing, just the same.

This was the first year he'd done taxes on his own, without Earl doing the most of it, and himself hanging around the edges of the process.

The question was, when was he supposed to call the IRS? First chance he got.

Mulling this over, he finished his lunch and then pulled his team together, leading them out to the path just across the river, where a stray crop of knapweed had sprung up seemingly overnight.

Crossing the simple wooden bridge to the other side, the river willows curved over the path gave them all a respite from the sun. It was still humid, and it was still rough going as they hacked at the dry earth with their hoes, and used the vinegar and soap in hand sprayers to douse the roots.

"How did it get up this far?" asked Toby, not bothering to hide his tone.

"On people's feet," said Galen.

It didn't look like the knapweed had gotten very far out this way, but far enough, so when Toby, Owen, and Bede moved along the trail, Galen stepped back and pulled out his phone, the desperation that he'd kept tucked down until he could get a private moment rose in his throat.

Pulling the letter out of his pocket, he dialed the number for the IRS, and was instantly put on hold. Within five minutes, to his surprise, he got someone named Larry, who gave his ID number and asked what the issue was.

Galen recited the information from the letter, then asked, "What am I supposed to do? I can't pay all of this."

"You have to pay by the end of the current month," said Larry in tones that indicated he simply did not care. "Otherwise you'll receive a penalty and interest will be incurred."

"I'm willing to pay, I just need extra time," said Galen, shock rolling through him as he pressed the cellphone to his ear, as if that would convey to Larry the urgency of the situation. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"Let me put you on hold while I talk to my supervisor," said Larry. And then the line went dead.

Hands shaking, Galen went through the process again, and got hold of a woman named Susan.

She didn't give her ID number, but when she heard what Galen wanted, she told him that she needed to get a supervisor. Galen was again put on hold, and again the line went dead.

Now, pacing beneath the arch of a line of river willows, the shade dappled and spicy smelling, Galen took a breath and gripped his phone, almost tight enough to make the plastic squeak. Hot sweat streaked down the back of his neck.

"Why don't you just ask your accountant to help you with that?" asked a voice from behind him.

Galen whirled to see Bede standing there, a bottle of water from the small ice chest they'd brought with them in one hand, a dusty hoe in the other.

"What?" asked Galen, blinking the sweat from his eyes as he reeled, not just from the dire situation over money owed, money that he simply did not have, but from Bede's presence. All rugged and manly, sweating beneath his arms, his smile bright and sudden, as if he knew that Galen was drooling over him and couldn't help himself.

"Get your accountant to help you," said Bede, seemingly patient, though there was a smirk around his mouth. "Or your bank manager."

"What am I, moneybags?" spat Galen, wishing he too had thought to grab one of the waters from the ice chest. "I don't have an accountant. I'm my accountant." He spread his fingers across his chest, irritation rising.

"What you need," said Bede, casually, leaning on the handle of the hoe as if he were a farmer of renowned repute who knew everything there was to know about any crop you might care to mention. "And no offense, but what you need is a woman over fifty. She might have a raspy voice from smoking too much and a hairdo that is twenty years out of date, but she knows everything—and I mean everything —there is to know about every form the IRS has ever come up with. Her name is probably Susan or Betty. Get her on the line. She can help you."

"I just spoke with a Susan," said Galen, waving that idea away with a little laugh that he couldn't quite help. "It's not her. Wait, were you listening to my call?"

"Yes," said Bede. "There's a solution to this, I assure you."

Galen almost sagged with a sense of relief. Bede knew his troubles and wanted to help. Maybe this was Bede's way of saying thank you for not turning him in for smoking pot in the valley.

Bede chuckled and reached out his hand.

"What?" asked Galen again.

"Give me your phone," he said.

"No, I will not." Galen clasped the phone to his chest. He really shouldn't be taking care of personal business on company time, but this was urgent, though not urgent enough to give Bede access to his phone.

"Property tax, right?" asked Bede.

When Galen nodded, Bede held out his hand and said, "There's a form for that. I'll find Susan or Betty for you. The right Susan or Betty. She'll know just what that form is, but you have to press the correct buttons first. Go ahead, dial the number, and then give it to me."

From the sounds of it, up ahead on the trail, Toby and Owen were goofing around. Galen probably needed to get on top of that situation before it exploded.

More importantly, really needed to get his money problem figured out and fast, so he could stop worrying about it and focus on his job.

So, with a sigh, he redialed the number and handed the phone to Bede, who took the phone as though it was his own.

At each prompt from the IRS's bot answering service, he pressed a number, quite a different sequence of numbers than what Galen had entered, and pretty soon, Bede had the phone to his ear.

"Yes, this is Galen—" Reaching out, Bede took the IRS letter and scanned it. "Galen Parnell. Who is this? Yvette? Thank you, Yvette. I'm looking for an extension for this tax payment. I've got other bills and am just trying to get them in order. Can you help me?"

Bede's voice was soft and flirty, but not, it seemed, entirely disingenuous. With the melty tone in each word, the softness around the masculine, he sounded like he really meant what he was saying, that he, personally, was in dire tax straits.

"So it's not you? Who does that? Oh, Clara? Can you connect me? Thank you."

"It's Clara, not Susan or Yvette," said Bede, pulling the phone away from his ear as he gave Galen a wink. "My mistake." He paused, and then, focused on the call, said, "Is this Clara? Thank goodness. I think you can help me. What's the form for an extension when the payment for property taxes is late? Or a payment plan, if there's no extension?"

Bede listened for a good two minutes straight, flicking his gaze up to meet Galen's, his eyebrows curved in what Galen could only interpret as a hopeful expression.

Then Bede read her some of the information from the letter, then said to her, "You can? Sure! Yes, just send the confirmation number to the email on file. That'd be great. Awesome. Yes, you too, have a fabulous day."

Bede ended the call with his thumb, then handed the phone back to Galen.

"You've got a three-month extension, boss," he said. "She just filled out the form for you."

"How the hell did you do that?" asked Galen, his jaw dropping, struggling to wrap his mind around how unbelievably grateful he was for Bede's help.

"She had the raspiest voice I ever did hear." Bede shrugged, his grin widening. "Must smoke two packs of unfiltered Camels a day."

"But how did you know you could do that?" asked Galen. "You talked to her like you already knew there was a way?—"

"I guess being a criminal comes in handy," said Bede with a laugh as he folded the letter from the IRS and handed it to Galen. "I worked with a lot of accountants, so I know a few loopholes, legal and otherwise. This one's totally legit. But really, people at the IRS are just people. They just want to file their papers, take all your money, and then go home." He shrugged again and then hefted the hoe in his hands, tapping the heel of it on the ground. "Let me know if you don't get that confirmation, okay?"

Open-mouthed, Galen watched Bede go up the trail and disappear around the bend, the leaves of the river willow folding dappled sunlight across his broad shoulders.

Galen's phone dinged, and he held it up, thumbing his email open and there, like a bright shiny star, was the email from the IRS.

He opened and scanned the email, seeing the confirmation number and the date, three months out, for the full payment. He could manage that. He had time. He could figure out his life.

By October, he'd have the bonus from the valley job and several months' payment from the tenants at the farm. There'd also be honey to harvest, which would bring in some ready cash. As for what would happen to the farm, that was future Galen's problem.

His only problem, at that moment, was catching up to his team and making sure Toby and Owen didn't bash each other's heads in as they fought over who got to go back to the compound to bring out more vinegar. And to keep his eyes on the task, and not on Bede's strength as he dug more knapweed than Toby and Owen combined. Not to mention how eye-catching he was, those shirt sleeves rolled up, the dark-eyed glances he sent Galen's way from beneath the brim of his straw cowboy hat.

The afternoon went by quickly, and right before dinner, while his team was busy getting into the buffet line in the mess tent, Galen paused at the bottom of the wooden steps, and dialed the number from the hospital bill.

Thinking hard about what Bede might say, how he might say it, Galen used his softest, most upbeat voice and explained what he needed from them.

"I can pay it," he said. "I sure want to pay it, but I need to break it up into smaller payments." He lowered his voice even more, making himself sound a little helpless and overwhelmed. "I just can't figure out how to make that happen."

The woman on the other end of the line, who might have been named Julie, sighed. He heard keys clicking and then she said, "Okay, you're all set. Your first payment is due end of August, and then every month for eleven more months after that."

"Will there be a late fee?" he asked, trying to mask his disbelief at how easily this was happening.

"No, you're all set up. I'll send you an email to confirm. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?"

"No, thank you," he said, and when she hung up, he hung up, and then stood there, grasping his phone and holding it out as if for someone to examine.

He climbed the wooden steps to the mess tent, stepping out of the conversation and into the bustle of the meal. He looked up to see Bede standing with a tray in his hands, fully loaded with what smelled like baked spaghetti with tons of cheese.

Bede grinned at him and then turned away, as if he was full of himself because he knew more about the ins and outs of the IRS as a criminal than Galen ever would as a law-abiding citizen, which was, quite simply, the icing on the cake.

He owed Bede a thank you, a hearty thank you. He should have said it at the moment when they'd been standing beneath the arched willow branches, and not waited till now. But he needed to say it now, even if he had an audience. It was the right thing to do.

Standing in line for his meal took only a moment or two, then he planted himself across from Bede like he'd been drawn there by some invisible magnet. How nice it was to have someone's support. How nice it was that, against all odds, Bede was his dashing rescuer.

Galen clattered his silverware to draw Bede's attention, as he seemed focused on his plate. But when Bede looked up, that smirk firmly in place, Galen knew that Bede had been aware of him all along.

"Everything all right?" asked Bede, casually eating, laughter in his eyes because now, as both of them knew, Galen owed him one.

"Yes," said Galen, quite clearly. "Thank you for your help earlier. Using your technique, I called the hospital too, and I've got an extension and a payment plan, so I'm all set."

"There's always a Susan or Betty at anyplace you might want to do business," said Bede, nodding like the wisest of sages. "Just be sweet and respectful and she will help you."

Galen should not be drawn into that smile, should not feel the gears in his mind shifting, as the idea that all criminals were idiots faded away to be replaced with the idea that some criminals were smart. And kind. And helpful.

Should he be so grateful? Could he have found Susan or Betty on his own? Maybe, but it would have taken ages and instead of eating his dinner, he could be standing in the woods, doing his best to find some shade while he waited on an endless hold with the worst music imaginable.

He let himself look at Bede for one more minute, at the way a lock of dark hair tumbled across Bede's forehead, the way his jaw firmed as he smiled. The way he always wore the sleeves of his snap button shirt rolled up, sweat gleaming along his neck, buttons open as far as possible without actually undoing his shirt all the way.

Then Galen looked away.

Smart guys always drew him in. Strong forearms were always a treat for his eyes.

Galen made himself focus on his meal, and made mental notes about how he still wanted to talk to Gabe about how he might better manage his team. Maybe along the way he'd figure out how to ignore that pull, that steady, steady pull, of Bede's brilliant smile and dark blue eyes.