5. Hailey
Hailey
I spin around, my heart leaping into my throat at the sound of the voice behind me.
Once I spot that it's Mr. Handsome Leader, my heart doesn't calm down. If anything, it accelerates even faster.
I clutch my shirt, realizing how close I came to undressing in front of him.
"How long have you been standing there?" I ask, trying to keep my composure.
"Long enough to know you were about to do something real brain-dead." He strides closer, bringing the scent of juniper berries with him. His arms cross over his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over his massive muscles.
Good Lord, he's huge. How does any shirt even contain that? It's clear his button-down is struggling, the fabric practically screaming across his broad shoulders and chest.
As he stares at me, my brain scrambles to find something clever to say.
"Oh no," I try, flustered. "Don't worry. I used to do this all the time. I'm a pretty strong swimmer."
"Swimmer?"
"Yes, it's called swimming. You take off your clothes, get in the water, and?—"
"Are you crazy? Didn't you see the bear?"
"What bear?" For a moment, I almost think he's messing with me. A practical joke, something the three of them would share a good laugh about, sniggering at the naivety of their stupid, city-girl neighbor. But the look on his face and the panic in his voice make me hesitate.
"Over there, in the trees," he says, pointing.
"It's gone now. But seriously, you need to take more care.
There's wolves and coyotes too. We generally don't go far outside the yard alone, and we always take a gun, just in case.
Getting this close to a bear is pretty rare, but they come down here to drink and fish.
The lake's got plenty of trout, perch, and bass. "
"Well, that's good to know. And thank you.
" I try to keep it light. "Maybe I should get a gun.
" Now he's mentioned it I am kicking myself.
Of course, I remember both Mommy and Daddy carrying rifles, and telling me never to go too far, and always to stay in sight when swimming or hiking or bird watching with them out in the forest or up in the mountains.
I'll sort it out as soon as I get into town.
"Yeah, maybe you should. There's a hunting and fishing store in Cedar Falls.
They'll sell you a rifle. Don't get a.22 though—tell them it's for bears.
A.22 might scare one off, but it sure as hell won't stop one if it's charging.
Also, get bear spray. It'll protect you from more than just animals. Keep it on you at all times."
His afterthought sticks with me as much as his warnings. Then he points at the berries I dropped by the side of the lake.
"You should know better than to pick those," he says. "Those are poisonous."
"Yeah, I know," I reply. "I wasn't going to eat them. I was experimenting."
"Experimenting?"
"My mother taught me how to make medicine with herbs and berries. I was seeing if I still remember what she taught me."
He looks at me like I'm genuinely stupid now.
"There's a doctor in Cedar Falls," he adds. "If you're sick, go there. Don't try dumb experiments with things you don't understand."
Now I'm getting annoyed. Irritation bubbles up because I don't like his tone one bit. But he doesn't stop there.
"This isn't the city, where people and systems save you from your own stupidity. Out here, if you're dumb, you get in trouble. You probably die. Painfully."
Okay, now he's not only implying it, he's outright calling me stupid.
It takes a lot to make me truly angry, but with everything that's been weighing on me—the grief from my aunt and uncle's sudden deaths, the frantic packing, the painful goodbyes to the friends I'd made in Sudan, the endless journey back to Aurora, and now standing at the lake I grew up by, all those memories flooding back—well, it's too much.
I can feel the pressure building inside me, a slow burn I can't stop.
Ice slithers through my veins, and I bite down on the rising anger.
I force my lips into a smile that I know doesn't reach my eyes.
"Noted," I snap, my voice tight. I don't care how gorgeous he is or how many muscles he's got.
I'm not putting up with him calling me dumb—not now, not after everything.
My hands ball into fists at my sides, but I force myself to take a breath. "Now, if you're done spying on me…" I add, the words biting sharper than I intended.
He doesn't seem offended, though. Instead, he surveys the area behind him with military-like precision, his focus entirely elsewhere.
"How long do you plan on staying here? In San Juan County?"
"I don't believe that's any of your business."
"It's not," he agrees, "but lucky for you, it might be. I'm interested in buying your land."
My eyebrows raise. "How is that lucky for me?"
"Because you won't have to worry about the hassle of selling it when you're done playing at being a farmer girl and ready to move on. I'm offering a fair price too. Thirty thousand for all twenty-two acres. I can go a little higher, but not by much."
"Hold on." I hold my hand out to stop him. "I'm confused. What makes you think I'm selling?"
"Well, you're not planning to live here forever, are you?"
"Says who?" Even though I'm not sure of my plans yet, I resent the fact that he's taken it upon himself to decide I can't stay here. Like he's the boss of me.
Whenever someone tells me I can't do something, it makes me want to dig my heels in and prove them wrong.
He gives me a wry look. "You plan on living in a cabin in the wilderness forever?"
"This is hardly a wilderness."
"The closest doctor is an hour away. So's the closest grocery store. No malls, no coffee stores. The hairdresser learned how to style hair in 1976, and the internet is crap."
"Who says I need all that?" I snap back. "Besides, you live here."
"I'm different."
"How?"
"I grew up on a farm. I know how the land works.
And all I need for my hair is a buzz cut with clippers, so I do it myself.
" He shrugs, almost dismissing me. "Look, I'm not here to argue.
I get that you're trying something new, but this is what I was talking about.
" His eyes dart to the trees where the bear had been, then back to me.
"You can't just run around out here without thinking.
" He stands a little taller, as if to make himself more imposing, but I see the tightness in his jaw.
"Look, the offer still stands. Sell the land and move on.
There's no shame in it, and you won't last long out here on your own.
When you're ready to sell, let me know. I'd appreciate a response before you put it on the market. "
With that, he turns and starts walking away, but then calls over his shoulder. "And even with bear spray, don't plan on going skinny-dipping anytime soon. My hands are out on the mountain all the time, working. Word gets around, and you might not see them, but trust me, they'll definitely see you."
For some reason, this last comment annoys me even more. I watch his back as he retreats, seething.
I mean, I'm sure part of him means well. Perhaps he is genuinely concerned for me. He doesn't have to be so condescending about it.
It seems like, apart from Reed, the other two men are total jerks. Reed might be too, but he hasn't shown it yet—after all, I hardly know him.
It's probably a good idea to stay away from all of them. A damn shame, but probably for the best. I don't need to get tangled up in a messy situation with my new neighbors.
As I stand by the edge of the lake, I think about the grumpy man's point. I don't know much about this land. I came here on a whim, without any real plan.
But what he doesn't know is that I'm determined to make it work.
Waking up to this morning’s sunrise with its shafts of light streaming through the bedroom window, caressing my face and gently stirring me from my slumbers has been one of the better moments of the past few weeks.
Walking through the forest this morning had given me peace of mind that I hadn't felt in a while.
Even wandering aimlessly felt more liberating than being stuck in the city.
Besides, this is my inheritance—my one and only tie to my past and to the parents who had loved me unconditionally. How could I possibly sell it?
The flame-filled sky at dawn, the tall trees looming darkly against the light, their reflections shimmering in the calm, still lake, broken only by a V-shaped ripple of a waterbird of some kind as it paddles through the water.
The fresh scent of pine and juniper fills the air, and the low-pitched hoot of a heron echoes in the distance.
Standing here, I realize this is home now. This is where I'm meant to be.
I know I can make something of this place—start a little family farm or homestead, grow my own food, buy some solar panels to generate my own electricity, and over time, become self-sufficient.
If I sell Aunt May and Uncle Roger's house, I'll have enough for an initial investment.
I can use that to buy whatever tools and equipment I need, and still have some left over to fall back on while I figure it out.
I need to meet the right people—people who know what they're doing—farmers, suppliers—and do some research on small scale farming techniques.
It sounds easier than no doubt it actually is, but years of roughing it in third-world countries have prepared me for tough work, and I'm ready for it.
I add this research to my to-do list for the day. I called AAA last night to coordinate getting my rental car towed, and the new vehicle should be delivered this afternoon.
I need to run errands, meet with realtors, call the lawyer, buy groceries, and finally eat. I haven't had a proper meal since breakfast yesterday, and I'm starting to get lightheaded.
I take a quick shower, and luckily the replacement rental car arrives just as I finish getting dressed. It's delivered by a cheerful man who drives back with the colleague who'd followed him in a second car.
I head into town for my errands, and I run into a few vaguely familiar faces. I even spot the vintage store where my mom used to buy jewelry. There's a Victorian-era dress in the window—something she would have adored.
I stand outside, staring at it, feeling a rush of nostalgia.
I only notice the tiny hand tugging at my skirt when it happens again.
I glance down to find a little girl in a fuchsia pink pinafore dress, her big blue eyes staring up at me.