by Jeff Shelby
“I’d like to take a quick peek,” I said, referencing the outbuildings. “There’s a barn on this one, right?” It was tucked behind a thatch of sturdy oaks, but I thought I remembered seeing the red roof as we drove up the driveway.
She nodded. “Yes. A guesthouse, too. Small, just one bedroom, but perfect for guests who come for an extended period of time, or if the extra rooms in the main house are already spoken for.”
I made a mental note that having a guesthouse would be a good thing. I could stick Laura out there when she came to visit.
“There are a couple of other buildings, too,” Marcia continued. She tucked a stray blonde lock behind her ear and fiddled with the enormous gold knot earring that covered almost her entire lobe. “A bungalow—not sure what that looks like inside—and a couple of smaller sheds. A boathouse by the pond. Rustic, by the looks of it.” She held up a sheet containing photos of various buildings, but she wasn’t standing close enough and all I could see were rectangular shapes nestled among grass and water. “But we can certainly drive out there to take a quick peek. If you want.”
I did want.
I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to kiss the city goodbye, to wake up every morning and not think about the next client who would walk into Capitol Cases, to sleep in and have the time to read books and cook meals and learn how to knit and grow vegetables and raise chickens and maybe own a horse or two. Well, maybe not the horses. But everything else? I was all in.
I’d done my time. Raised my kids. Endured a loveless marriage for twenty years. Paid my dues as the office manager extraordinaire for Mack Mercy, the sole proprietor of Capitol Cases, a small investigative firm just inside the Beltway.
I needed me time.
I was entitled to it.
And starting fresh—a hundred miles away, chucking everything familiar for a new house, a new life, and new experiences—was exactly the way I was going to do it.
I followed Marcia out of the house and back into the late afternoon sunshine. It was March and the sun was bright but weak, like a diesel engine slowly warming up. The trees were budding, the grass a soft green, the daffodils planted in the flowerbeds like kids hiding at a surprise party, ready to burst.
I surveyed the scene around me. The white farmhouse with its stately columns and cheery green roof and shutters. The paved driveway that led further into the property, turning to a dusty gravel road that just begged for long walks. The trees that lined the drive and the fields that lay just beyond, fertile soil just waiting for my tomatoes and beans and pumpkins and watermelon. The pond that I knew was at the end of that gravel drive, stocked with fish and visited, no doubt, by frogs and turtles and dragonflies every summer, all summer long.
Marcia was walking slowly, waiting for me to catch up as I looked longingly back at the house we were leaving.
“Actually, I changed my mind.”
She looked at me, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Oh? You don’t want to see the rest of the property?”
“No,” I told her. I thought about Laura for one second before firmly pushing her out of my mind. “I don’t want to see the other properties. Because I want this one.”
BOUGHT THE FARM is available wherever ebooks are sold!
