Page 8 of Anything for You
My squishy little heart was all keyed up from seeing my friends and their partners making eyes at each other, that was all.
You wish, dreamer.
I sighed and wandered back to the table, afraid of what I might’ve felt as I put the pieces together.
He wasn’t mean; he was overwhelmed. He wasn’t taciturn so much as he was naturally quiet. And, ugh, this was the one that got me, arrowed straight to the tenderest parts of me.
He had been trying so hard to stay here in this room and support his friends, and I’d ruined it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Stone
Hands on hips, I glared at the gigantic pile of black trash bags bursting and spilling over with garbage onto the edge of my property.
“Yo, this is nasty, man. What is this?” Connor asked, cringing away from the pile we stood a full twenty feet from.
“Communes don’t do this crap,” Pedro said, angry with the knowledge we’d likely be the ones to have to clean this up.
“I called the sheriff out. Said he’d be here soon.” I didn’t want to have to involve law enforcement, but these folks were pushing me.
The northeastern line of my property abutted a commune, which had supposedly caused zero issues for the Templetons in all their years owning the place. Apparently, something changed with the commune’s leadershipright about the time I bought this place two and a half years ago.
Richard Templeton, the former owner, had mentioned they were peaceful and sometimes visited the farm for their homeschool’s fieldtrips, which wasn’t uncommon in the area, and they always brought him baked goods on their holidays. Nothing like what I’d enjoyed, especially in recent months.
It started with hearing shooting of not just a rifle for hunting, but an assault weapon. Naturally, this alarmed me since I had people working all over the property and at Christmas, I had families. When I saw someone setting up a series of targets right up against my property with no backstop clearance, I approached and told them I didn’t give my consent for them to use my land for target practice. After a bit of back and forth, they moved their setup, and I assumed the issue was handled.
Pedro reported finding what he thought were small deposits of trash here and there, but we chalked it up to teens sneaking in and leaving picnic refuse or whatever. I didn’t mind people wandering around enjoying the trees as long as they were respectful. A section of fence brought down and a few trees chopped at the northeastern edge—these weren’t enough to get hostile about, but it merited a conversation. And now, trash. This was the second trash dump, and about three times as much—probably a whole neighborhood’s trash for a week right here in the back pasture that nestled right up to the property line we shared with Sego Lily Commune.
Connor hopped in a Gator and rumbled away to go grab some of our industrial trash containers and a few other supplies. I’d thrown a few shovels and such in the back of the farm truck but hadn’t expected it to be this bad.
“I just want to get this cleaned up. It’s foul,” Pedro said, upper lip rightfully curling in disgust.
“Yep. Can’t touch it until the sheriff comes.” He’d need to see the full scope of this mess, maybe take some photos. I already had, and I’d add them to the file I kept on issues we’d had with these folks, but who knew if it’d stop them.
The sheriff’s truck rumbled up the lane we used for skirting around the farm and came to a halt. He nodded at me, then grabbed his hat and slipped out, shaking his head at the pile as he settled the hat in place and approached me.
“Not great.”
“Nope,” I agreed.
“I’ll have a talk with them, get ’em to come clean it up. If it’s like last time, they won’t own up to it so we won’t be able to issue official warnings, but let me see what I can do.”
“I appreciate it. Figure we’ll go ahead and get it cleaned up, otherwise we’ll be waiting days, though I’d love to offer it right back to them over the line.” I tended toward the opposite of vengeance, and I could be very slow to anger or impatience, but this had frustration stirring in me. Mostly because it’d mean Pedro, Connor, and I would spend all day cleaning up this mess and we’d lose the progress we’d planned on making elsewhere on the property.
“I’d rather you not, if you can help it,” Sheriff Ryan said, lips twitching to indicate he’d rather I not but he couldn’t blame me if I did.
“Thanks for coming out so fast. I called it in to Whitacker, as well, but this whole section is technically yours, so you get the gig, I guess.”
Since Forrester Tree Farm sat on a large swath of land that extended out from Silverton and into what was unincorporated Juniper View, the law enforcement’s lines weren’t entirely clear. So far, Ryan had the pleasure.
“Lucky me.” He notched his chin up and stepped away to make a call, likely reporting into his station and soliciting whatever he needed.
Connor rumbled back up right as the sheriff got off the phone.
“Give me an hour before you start on this. I’ll see what I can do about taking it off your list.”
He held out a hand to me, and I took it. We shook hands briefly and then he moved to Pedro, then Connor.
