Page 1 of Picked By the Mountain Man
Chapter One
Becca
My heart plunges into my stomach as I reach the end of the gravel drive riddled with potholes. The optimism of my new start sinks faster than the Titanic after it hit the iceberg, while bile rises faster than the temperature in the Sahara at midday.
Tears prick while I gnaw on my thumbnail, already worn to a nub. Inhaling deeply, my eyes fall closed as I hold my breath for a count of five before blowing it out for a count of five as well.
When I lift my lids, the scene before me hasn’t changed. Not that I really expected it would, but a girl can always hope. Resigned to the fact the current situation isn’t what I expected, I climb from my little silver SUV with a sigh.
So much for a fabulous new start.
I study the surrounding property. Not much about it resembles the idyllic orchard I remember from summers spent here with my grandparents when I was younger. The apple trees are now overgrown, branches hanging precariously low with their heavy loads of fruit. The ground beneath them so chokedwith grass, weeds, and brush I doubt I could even walk through the tangled mess.
My gaze wanders to the farmhouse, which used to be so cute and cozy. The sagging porch and roof, peeling paint, and broken windows give the place a haunted house look instead of the former.
Apparently, the property withered away just like my grandfather.
I gingerly step up onto the porch, crossing my fingers it doesn’t collapse beneath me. The wooden planks creak under my weight but seem to be sturdier than they look. It’s hard to believe the disrepair of the once charming home.
I’m beginning to doubt my grand plans. Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on paying my parents for the property, but this is something I wanted to do on my own. For once in my life, I wanted to stand on my own two feet and have the satisfaction of knowing I accomplished something without having my parents pave the way, ready to catch me if things don’t go as planned.
I am grateful for the privileged upbringing they provided and the opportunities I had because of them, like attending a top university and graduating without working myself to death or student loan debt. But in order to do that, I was expected to follow in their footsteps and become an accountant at their firm.
It didn’t seem like a bad life, so I followed along like a lamb being led to slaughter without a clue as to the horrors awaiting me. My life became a tedious, mind-numbing, dull existence. Until one day the migraines became too much, and the thought of spending another day staring at numbers and spreadsheets left me with hives and never-ending nausea.
Nausea I attempted to quell with too many pastries and baked goods as baking became an outlet to escape the dreaded calculations. This led to me packing on the pounds and mycurves exploding out of my clothes. Which then led to my boyfriend dumping me.
Then, my estranged grandfather passed away, leaving my childhood getaway to my parents. Thinking about the summers spent in the orchard at the property gave me an idea for a new direction in my life. Something to get me out from behind a computer and let me breathe for the first time in way too long.
My parents weren’t exactly thrilled when I announced I wanted to quit working for their firm and buy the orchard. Knowing them, I prepared a well-researched business plan to help persuade them this was a viable idea and not just a whim. When they saw how much thought and groundwork I had already done, they reluctantly agreed to sell me the property.
Now, as I see the work it will take to get this place back into shape, I’m not so sure about my plan. I had hoped to fund the glamping tents I intended to have constructed with the harvest, but now it’s obvious that will be highly unlikely.
The door screeches as I pull it open. I’m assaulted with the damp, musty scent of a building which has long been abandoned. I’m overcome with memories as I walk through the old house. Making apple bars with my grandmother in the kitchen. Sneaking kittens into my room to sleep with me. Playing checkers with my grandfather when our relationship was good. Frolicking in the orchards and splashing in the creek running through the property.
The inside of the house isn’t quite as bad as I had feared, which is a relief because I have no other place to stay. It’s certainly not ideal, but with some elbow grease, it should be partially habitable. I’ll need to get a few windows replaced but can cover the holes in the meantime.
Somewhat encouraged by what I have found in the house, I proceed out to the orchard in hopes maybe it looks better than I thought at first glance. Fighting my way through the overgrownbrush, I quickly realize my mistake in not changing my clothes. My sundress and flip-flops are not going to cut it out here.
“Son of a bisquick,” I mutter as I stub my toe on a rock hidden in the weeds.
I turn to head back to my car to find more appropriate attire when a faint noise catches my attention. The rhythmic thwack repeats several more times, stopping briefly before starting again. It sure sounds like it’s coming from my property. All thought of changing flees my mind as I march in the direction of the sound to investigate.
Chapter Two
Keaton
The sharp blade of the axe slices through the rotten wood like a hot knife through butter. Repeatedly hacking away at the trunk helps to alleviate some of the frustration at having to clean up after another fallen tree from the neighboring property.
It’s become a regular occurrence as the land fell into disrepair with the demise of the previous owner. The crotchety old man refused to admit he could no longer take care of it and instead let the orchard become overgrown and worthless.
When he passed I thought I could finally get my hands on the acreage and expand my farm, but it’s been taking much longer than I anticipated. The realtor assured me it would be a quick and easy transaction, seeing how the man’s children wanted nothing to do with the place. It’s as good as mine, but it has been weeks and we still haven’t signed any paperwork.
I’ve been itching to get started on tearing out the old orchard so I can plow the ground. It’s going to take a while to get all the trees and stumps out of there on top of the workload I have already. Once the snow hits and the ground freezes, it’ll beimpossible, and I’ll never have time to get it done before next year’s growing season.
For now, I’m left cleaning up after messes wreaking havoc on the small portion of land I have available for my crops. Every time this happens, I lose a chunk of produce. It’s money down the drain, plus time wasted planting and tending to the crops as well as the cleanup required.
I’m working with a tight budget as it is and cannot afford to keep losing income. The bank has approved me for a loan to purchase the neighboring property. Now, I just need the current owners to sell.
