by Emily James
The other voicemail is from the agent. Irrational panic that the farm is sold already wraps around me like a suffocating blanket. The agent promised me Peaches Farm isn’t even on the market yet, and I’m one of only two buyers who know about it. But everyone knows you can’t trust estate agents when it comes to their commissions. A little of last night’s gin chaser makes an ugly reappearance and I swallow it back.
Hold it together, I tell myself, wiping my sweaty palms on my jacket.
You have this.
My hands shake as I hit Play on the message.
“Hi, Melinda. This is Ashley G, your charismatic agent.” I recognise his sickly voice straight away and picture his face, which is much like his hair, covered in grease. I practice my most courteous smile in the mirror and try to stay calm. “My BMW just got hit by some idiot on my way into work. I’m going to be late. I know it’s an inconvenience, but this yahoo swears it was my fault and it will take me time to prove he’s a senile old fool!”
Ashley must think I’m already at Peaches Farm because he continues by informing me he was expecting another viewing straight after mine. He asks if I could pass on this message to the other buyer–should they turn up–because he hasn’t been able to leave them a voicemail. He probably wants me and the other buyer to go head-to-head in a bidding war, earning him an even fatter commission. Annoyed that he wants me to compete against someone else, yet keen to have the opportunity for the unfettered time to view the farm, I put the car into Drive and make my way towards the village. I stop on the way out of town for a drive-through coffee with two espresso shots. If all goes well with the farm, I may need to get used to home-brewed coffee since the concept of convenience is lost on village life, but it’ll all be worth it if the children and I have a decent home and as little disruption in our lives as possible.
I KNOW FROM MY INTERNET research that the compact village of Little Haven is home to a population of 341 people–soon to be 346, if I get my way. The road into the village slopes alongside the picturesque Piddle River, and even though the sky is black and thunderous, the river looks still and tranquil. On the other side of the river are stone and thatched cottages dotted on a generous backdrop of sprawling, lush green fields. Farther into the village, the road narrows and the pavements disappear. The village is so small the drive through it takes only minutes, bringing with it the realisation the kids and I will be able to ditch the car and walk most places. Getting more fresh air and exercise for the kids is a huge bonus. A gothic, steepled church comes into view just shy of a sharp bend and the road winds up from the foot of an enormous hill. To the sides are a series of dirt lanes leading to other cottages and farm buildings. I can’t help note that Little Haven has an obvious texture and charm that’s apparent even without a filter or well-angled lens.
On the brow of the hill, down a bumpy, dirt lane lined by oak trees is the hand-painted sign for Peaches Farm. My car lurches left and right and up and down as it manoeuvres giant potholes usually only found on the surface of the moon. I hold on tight and pray the wheels of my car do too. I bounce the hundred metres down the driveway with the finesse of a cart horse on a space hopper. When the farm house and out buildings come into view, I brake and let the motor idle.
The property website noted the former dairy farm has been a domestic home for the past fourteen years and as such, many of the outbuildings are now derelict. The farmhouse has a quirky charm with its grey stone, sticky out angles and a high chimney that sits off-centre on the red-tiled roof. The adjoining fields surrounding the farm have been sold off over the years, and now the two-acre dirt paddock is the only unencumbered land that comes with the deed.
I accelerate slowly and bumble closer to the farm house, sipping my coffee but mostly spilling it across the handbrake. There’s a patch of concrete out front to park the car on and enough room for at least another dozen cars. I count four other stone buildings that come with the land and a huge, ugly, grey metal outbuilding that looks to be some sort of cowshed. It has a small stone building at the end nearest the farmhouse. I wonder what something like that might cost to knock down but discount the idea as way out of my budget.
Since mine is the only car here, I take out my notebook, ready to list the pros and cons but truth be told, I know it has four walls, a roof, and is within my budget. Assuming the buildings are structurally sound and with some work, I could make this a viable business by renovating the outbuildings and turning them into small, self-contained guesthouses. Having been a stay-at-home mum for the last twelve years, a property with business potential is exactly the kind of break I need. Melinda Spencer: single mum and business owner. The thought both thrills and terrifies me.
I get out of the car and move to tap on the farmhouse door. When there’s no answer I veer around the building to view inside as much as I can, knocking on the window with my forehead as I take in the wooden floors and fireplace. I imagine a brightly lit Christmas tree to the left of the open fire and a reading nook in the alcove under the double aspect window. I wonder if my chesterfield sofa would fit along the side wall or if it should be centred, opposite the fire. A pang of excitement flickers in my gut as I list the possibilities.
Maybe this can work. This can actually work!
The rain that’s been threatening since yesterday starts to fall in fat droplets and the sky lets out a low rumble. I hurry around the other buildings, dodging potholes filled with mud and admire the vast, open green spaces that surround me. Tegan and Sunny, my two daughters, would love running up and down the lanes between the buildings chased by Pipsqueak, our donkey-sized English Mastiff. I visualise a rope swing hanging proudly from one of the old oak trees, and perhaps later I can add a tree house. My youngest son Ed would love that. A beautiful picture enters my mind of him swinging, climbing, and shrieking in delight.
As the weather continues to deteriorate, conversely my mood lifts. There’s a bounce in my step as I turn and swing on my heel to go spy through the other windows. I need to take off my rose-tinted glasses and assess the land and outbuildings as a business opportunity. An investment that must pay its way. With my notebook flapping in the wind and ready for action, I create an inventory, noting which buildings need the most work.
I take the biggest strides my short little legs will allow, eager to get to the farthest building. In my excitement I don’t notice the change beneath my feet from dirt and gravel to cobbled stone. The heel of my shoe loses traction under the shiny humped smoothness and suddenly my left foot is wayward, sliding up and out in the opposite direction. My hip joint bursts into flames as I try to hold myself steady, but the rip of my pencil skirt confirms the worst, and I do an almost gymnastic frontal split no woman over thirty should ever try without a safety mat and an anaesthetic.
My vision blurs with the pain and I let out a shriek, drowning out the sound of the fabric as it splits even farther, right up to the base of my hip. Of all the knickers to be wearing at a time like this, I’m donning the least practical of garments—a satin red thong held together at the sides by ribbons. In my defence, it’s been a busy week and laundry day is not until tomorrow. It was these or an old pair of Steve’s boxer briefs. I knew I would rather go commando than wear that traitorous bastard’s underwear. Commando is basically what I have put myself through. One false move and the offending underwear will come undone. I’m precariously balanced. My butt just inches off the ground and about to touch mud. But instead of an ungraceful stain to my panties, there’s a strong clench to my waist and I’m hauled up into the air. My legs scissor and kick as they try to gain purchase on the ground as if a drunk Bambi on ice. More than a little confused my eyes appraise my torso. An enormous pair of hands have somehow become locked beneath my navel, securing me. I clear my throat in case I need to scream and jut my chin so I can look right in the eyes of the mountainous man that is either my saviour or soon to be captor.
The sight beholding me makes me gulp and almost choke on my own saliva. It’s at that moment my
crimson-red knickers, having given up any hope of remaining tied, unfasten themselves and slide down my left leg into a puddle on the ground.
Click here to download Ten Dares.
Also By Emily James
10 DARES - (MELINDA’S story - Book 2 in the Power of Ten Series)
Can 10 Dares help Melinda loosen up, conquer stress and find love? Or might they push her over the edge....
Melinda Spencer had everything but now her life has fallen apart.
Her two best friends, Mikey and Joanie are worried. Lately, Melinda’s been acting even more highly strung than usual. So, they decide to stage an intervention. Something to help her lighten up and take her mind off things: 10 crazy dares. After all, they say laughter is the best medicine...
Never one to squelch on a dare, Melinda accepts her challenge. The dares look simple enough: knock on a door and run away, tend one’s lady garden, flash a stranger... and if it gets Joanie and Mikey off her back about loosening up and moving on, it’ll be worth it. But with a sexy vet, a troublesome ex, and a village full of nutters hot on her trail, has Melinda finally bitten off more than she can chew?
Ten Dares is a hilarious romp about a strung-out single mum trying to hold everything together when life is throwing her lemons as curve balls. This standalone romantic comedy has a happy ending, no cliffhanger, and can also be enjoyed as part of The Power of Ten Series.
Click here to read more: http://mybook.to/TenDares
10 LIES (Katie’s story – Book 3 in the Power of Ten Series)
Katie Perkins lives a simple life. She takes care of her son, works hard, and doesn’t ask for anything from anybody. That is until she wins a fantastic five-star luxury holiday for one to Antigua. Throwing caution to the wind, Katie let’s down her hair and the holiday mood takes over.
Enter Jackson Quinn, a handsome doctor who is no stranger to the good life.
Katie has no experience of riches, and with only her bus fare home in her pocket she decides there’s no harm in a few white lies... Filthy rich. Check. Size ten. Check. Olympic Gymnast who can complete a Rubik’s Cube in under thirty seconds? Check. After all, it’s just a holiday romance. It’s not like she’s ever going to see Doctor Quinn again... Or will she?
Follow Katie’s hilarious journey as she learns that sometimes those little white lies really do come back and bite you on the butt.
This standalone romantic comedy has a happy ending, no cliffhanger, and can also be enjoyed as part of The Power of Ten Series.
Click here to read more: http://mybook.to/TenLies
The Mistakes of My Past – A Romantic Suspense Novel
What do you do when your relationship is so damaging that it destroys everything good in your life?
It’s simple, right? You escape, by any means necessary.
Twenty-one-year-old Amber knew that leaving Tommy was going to be hard and quite possible deadly. After all, she has things that he will stop at nothing to get.
When Amber flees England to start a fresh with her estranged father in Ohio, USA she starts the process of rebuilding her life.
Will is recovering from his own disastrous relationship, which has left him mistrusting of high maintenance women. And Amber, to begin with, seems just that.
Thrown together, Amber and Will get off to a rocky start. But as they get to know one another they realise they have more in common than they thought.
Can Amber ever really free herself from the mistakes of her past?
Or are they only ever one short step behind her.
Click here to read more: https://www.amazon.com/Mistakes-My-Past-Emily-James-ebook/dp/B01MTYV7WZ
About the Author
EMILY JAMES IS A BRITISH author who lives on the south coast of England. She loves to travel and enjoys nothing more than a great romance story. On the rare occasions that she hasn’t got her nose in a book, Emily likes to spend time with her beautiful family and friends.
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Acknowledgments
TO EVERYONE WHO READS my books, a heartfelt thank you.
To Randie my editor—[email protected]—who took a punt on the underdog and worked her socks off to make this novel better. You are an absolute professional and a total babe. I salute you (and probably owe you some wine and Sangria)!
To my cover designer, Daqri Combs @ Cover by Combs – your vision is incredible, your attention to detail kind of frightens me, but I absolutely adore your work.
To Gayle Williams, you championed me from the start, even when I lost belief in myself. You have become a true friend.
To Gina Putvain, who can spot a typo or misplace word from ten paces. More than that, you are beautiful inside and out. Can’t wait for the premiere with Channing ;0)
To Saleena Chamberlain, oh my God, I adore you. You were my baptism of fire into the book world and welcomed me with open arms. I always get excited when I see I have mail from you.
To Lucy, you are always my bestie.
To Christina Gamboa who worked tirelessly to support me and thankfully found more right than wrong with this novel. Thank you for your encouragement.
To Jodie Cook, who reads as fast as lightening and always has something important to say, thank you. Check out her blog: https://forthenovellovers.wordpress.com). To Jennifer Bradley, you make awesome effortless and I’m so thankful to have met you—I bloody adore you.
To Felicity Thornwall, who’s comments always made me laugh and were right on point (even if I do say so myself ;) you seriously ROCK as a beta and as a person! To Niki Roge @ Romance Filia (check out her blog too!). I love our time zone and pop culture chats. You just ‘get’ reading and writing. Never stop!
To Jackie Pinhorn, who just loves romance and spurred me on to get to the good bits already ;0)
To Ellen Montoya, I am so grateful you took the time to help me improve, thank you.
To Andree Schuler, who despite being the busiest lady I know, still found time to help a struggling author—you are a classy and yummy mummy :0)
To Julie Saunders, Nidhi Upadhyaya, Karen O’hara and Sasha Elle.
The kindness you have all shown in supporting and cheering on a new, Indie author like me blows my mind. I thank you for your time and grace, and I promise to always pay it forward. I truly hope that I haven’t forgotten anyone. I tend to go a little bonkers after I finish a new book and type those closing words, but please know—I send my absolute love and adoration.
To John Stephens, Tony Gad and John Legend for writing, producing and singing my all time favourite song.
XXX
