Her Country Heart Read Online Free
Author: Reggi Allder
He’d remain on the property and get it ready for a quick sale. Amy had better be ready for that reality.
Yesterday he’d seen her long strawberry blonde hair blowing in the hot wind and noticed her nice ass. At that moment, he’d realized he’d been thinking of her the way Granny had as a little girl. But in the truck when Amy had adjusted her tank top he’d seen she was pure woman.
Years earlier, he’d laughed at the young red headed kid with the dark rimmed eye glasses who had a crush on him. But at the bus stop her hazel eyes were clear and bright, and unhidden by glasses. She’d looked disappointed when she thought he was Granny’s handyman. And when she’d heard he had inherited part of the estate, her eyes had blazed with not only hurt, but with anger.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to explain. He didn’t believe in explaining much to anyone and certainly not to a woman he hadn’t seen since high school and who meant nothing to him. If Granny wanted her to understand the reason for leaving part of the farm to him it would be in the letter she wrote to Amy.
As he got closer to the neglected cottage he saw the graying walls in need of paint and the sagging front steps.
Maintenance on the farm was costly and Granny hadn’t been able to keep it going. He’d do a small number of restorations to freshen-up the place. Then it wouldn’t have to be sold as a “fixer” with a below market price. Before he left town and went back on the rodeo circuit, he’d set the property up to get the highest price possible.
He’d already approached a company who was in the market for property near their Sacramento cannery. Granny’s farm fit the bill. Selling to them could be the easy answer for Amy and Bobby.
Last night he’d wondered if he should describe the ins and outs of organic farming. Tell Amy what she’d be up against if she had even the minutest idea of staying, drought and voracious worms, not to mention fluctuating apple prices and tons of apples, from all over the world, being dumped on the US market. And tell her the old irrigation system needed up dating, but since the farm was going to be sold there was no need to bother.
With her white porcelain skin protected by the San Francisco fog and untouched by harsh sun of the California foothills, he could imagine her wearing high heels and a tight fitting business suit to a job in the financial district of the city. She wasn’t a country girl anymore. She was metropolitan all the way. Soon she’d be back in San Francisco where she belonged.
He yanked open the cottage door. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling of the living room. Old tack and a weathered saddle sat on a broken down sofa, the couch’s rusted springs stuck out, the stuffing gone. An aged oak floor peeked out from a thick layer of dust. Old cardboard boxes lined the yellowing wallpaper covered walls and the slight fragrance of mildew floated in the stale air.
Granny and Grandpa had started their life together in this cottage. The only people he’d known who stayed together through good and bad times to complete their journey until death parted them.
He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and started the job of moving out the clutter. He’d work his way through the living room to the bedroom. The kitchen didn’t matter at this point. He wasn’t going to cook much. There were always sandwiches or he could drive into town and eat at Dan’s Café.
Hours later, covered in dust and his truck bed half full of stuff ready for the dump, he surveyed the cottage. The living room and bedroom were clear.
Coughing, he went to the main house for a bandana to cover his mouth and nose before he tackled the dusty oak floors. He grabbed a kerchief from the dresser in the downstairs bedroom and headed for the back door.
In the kitchen, Amy, barefooted and dressed in white shorts and a pink sleeveless shirt, stood with her back to him. On her tiptoes she reached for something on the top shelf of
Yesterday he’d seen her long strawberry blonde hair blowing in the hot wind and noticed her nice ass. At that moment, he’d realized he’d been thinking of her the way Granny had as a little girl. But in the truck when Amy had adjusted her tank top he’d seen she was pure woman.
Years earlier, he’d laughed at the young red headed kid with the dark rimmed eye glasses who had a crush on him. But at the bus stop her hazel eyes were clear and bright, and unhidden by glasses. She’d looked disappointed when she thought he was Granny’s handyman. And when she’d heard he had inherited part of the estate, her eyes had blazed with not only hurt, but with anger.
Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to explain. He didn’t believe in explaining much to anyone and certainly not to a woman he hadn’t seen since high school and who meant nothing to him. If Granny wanted her to understand the reason for leaving part of the farm to him it would be in the letter she wrote to Amy.
As he got closer to the neglected cottage he saw the graying walls in need of paint and the sagging front steps.
Maintenance on the farm was costly and Granny hadn’t been able to keep it going. He’d do a small number of restorations to freshen-up the place. Then it wouldn’t have to be sold as a “fixer” with a below market price. Before he left town and went back on the rodeo circuit, he’d set the property up to get the highest price possible.
He’d already approached a company who was in the market for property near their Sacramento cannery. Granny’s farm fit the bill. Selling to them could be the easy answer for Amy and Bobby.
Last night he’d wondered if he should describe the ins and outs of organic farming. Tell Amy what she’d be up against if she had even the minutest idea of staying, drought and voracious worms, not to mention fluctuating apple prices and tons of apples, from all over the world, being dumped on the US market. And tell her the old irrigation system needed up dating, but since the farm was going to be sold there was no need to bother.
With her white porcelain skin protected by the San Francisco fog and untouched by harsh sun of the California foothills, he could imagine her wearing high heels and a tight fitting business suit to a job in the financial district of the city. She wasn’t a country girl anymore. She was metropolitan all the way. Soon she’d be back in San Francisco where she belonged.
He yanked open the cottage door. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling of the living room. Old tack and a weathered saddle sat on a broken down sofa, the couch’s rusted springs stuck out, the stuffing gone. An aged oak floor peeked out from a thick layer of dust. Old cardboard boxes lined the yellowing wallpaper covered walls and the slight fragrance of mildew floated in the stale air.
Granny and Grandpa had started their life together in this cottage. The only people he’d known who stayed together through good and bad times to complete their journey until death parted them.
He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and started the job of moving out the clutter. He’d work his way through the living room to the bedroom. The kitchen didn’t matter at this point. He wasn’t going to cook much. There were always sandwiches or he could drive into town and eat at Dan’s Café.
Hours later, covered in dust and his truck bed half full of stuff ready for the dump, he surveyed the cottage. The living room and bedroom were clear.
Coughing, he went to the main house for a bandana to cover his mouth and nose before he tackled the dusty oak floors. He grabbed a kerchief from the dresser in the downstairs bedroom and headed for the back door.
In the kitchen, Amy, barefooted and dressed in white shorts and a pink sleeveless shirt, stood with her back to him. On her tiptoes she reached for something on the top shelf of
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