Page 31 of A Hard Habit to Break
“Fancy words for ‘old building, new purpose,’” Noah translated, “but it’s marked for demolition in the plans.”
Rachel shot him a look. “Careful, your intelligence is showing. You’ll ruin your reputation.”
“I keep my smarts hidden, like emergency cash. Only use ’em when needed.”
Rachel’s eyes sparkled with mischief, a flash of the girl who’d once challenged him to climb Landing Waterfall with her at midnight. “I thought your entire strategy was ‘charge in, fight your way through, and if that didn’t work, charm your way out of trouble.’”
“It’s served me pretty well so far,” he countered.
“Then why am I here?” She winked.
Ouch, that hurt.
“Dad, what do you know about the mill and its owner?”
“Well, that resort developer over in Whynot expressed her interest in the place because of its location to the water,” Matt said, rubbing his chin. “There’s a lot of history in those old bricks. Folks forget West Virginia’s role in shaping America’s textile industry. In the late 1800s, wool, men’s hosiery, and silk made right here contributed to a thriving local and state economy.
Bethany turned to look at the mill. “I had no idea, Matt.”
“Yep.” He nodded, and Noah tried to see the ruins through Rachel’s skilled eyes. “In World War One, mills like this one produced cassimere fabric. Elizabeth Bradley’s operation supplied uniforms that kept our troops warm and dry.”
“Elizabeth?” Noah questioned. “A woman-owned business back then. Impressive.”
Rachel typed something into her iPad. “Sounds like we have more than one reason to rescue the mill from Petey’s demolition list and the developer. Can you find out if the county owns the land, Noah?”
“Consider it done. Old Man Wanakee purchased thetwenty acres beside the mill at auction a few years back. A phone call to the clerk’s office should tell us what you need.”
The next few outbuildings Rachel tagged were precisely what he’d expected—two vacant potential spaces for government use. He pointed them out with the enthusiasm of a man who knew his town and what it needed. They drove on, but Rachel kept quiet and took notes as if her tablet were sacred scripture. Every so often, she’d ask for grant guidelines, zoning details, or the preliminary plans Petey had earmarked for redevelopment. And every time she did, Noah felt another ember of his confidence burn brighter.
Then came the goats.
The roadside pasture leading to the old Boone Farm came into view, dotted with a dozen cattle and four goats in orange construction vests, each wearing a sandwich board sign.
HONK FORHEALTHCARE.
BUILD ACLINIC ORCATCH THESEHOOVES.
MAYORPETESMELLSLIKEGOATCHEESE.
A FERRISWHEEL IS A FUN-DAMENTALRIGHT.
Noah slowed the truck, staring. “Do you see what you started? These goat signs are infecting the town.”
“Don’t look at us,” Bethany proclaimed. “Billy, Jean, and Diana are at home. They don’t know these goats.”
Benji hooted from his post. “This is the kind of marketing genius Service needs. We should get these guys a social media page.”
Rachel laughed, genuinely, and for a second Noah felt like he was in on the joke. Then she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.
He kept driving. “It’s not funny.”
The laughter behind him faded as they neared the edge of town, where the roads turned to gravel and the landscape shifted from worn-out charm to quiet neglect. They passed alarge area of trailer homes, the old signage clinging to brick like forgotten memories, crumbling sidewalks in need of TLC.
“Whoa. That doesn’t look so good.”
Noah frowned at the condition of the town’s affordable housing. The trailer park, packed end-to-end with narrow, box-style dwellings, most of which had faded paint and sagging roofs.
“Agreed.” However, the town had no money for a massive housing overhaul, despite widespread complaints about the condition of the trailer park and the skyrocketing rental market in Whynot.
