Chapter One – Lynn

She wasn’t running away. It might feel like it, but she wasn’t. This was just a fresh start in a fresh town, and she deserved it. Even if her parents had tried to make her feel guilty. They were both grownups, so how could they say she was abandoning them?

“Damn it!” she shouted at the trees that lined the road, which curled lazily up the gentle, rolling hills guiding her to Black Bear Ford. Why did she always feel so guilty?

“You need to let it go, Lynn Hawkins, if you are ever going to make the most of this fresh start.”

As she finished her sentence, the sun broke through the clouds and shone down on her. It’s a sign, she thought, and smiled, a proper, true smile. “Here’s to a fresh start,” she yelled out of the window at the sun, and the trees, and to whatever else might be out there in this place she was determined to call home.

Her good mood lasted all the way to the house she was going to call home. It was a wreck.

“Don’t overreact,” she told herself. Lynn had developed quite the habit of talking to herself.

The large house and surrounding land had been left to her by her mom’s uncle, Frederick Hawkins. Not that they were close: in fact, Lynn hadn’t seen or spoken to the man she used to affectionately call Uncle Freddy for over fifteen years, not since he had fallen out with her parents. Lynn was ashamed to say that somewhere in amongst her teenage years, she’d completely forgotten about coming to Black Bear Ford during her long childhood summers. But then that was before her parents went into the hotel business and Lynn’s home became a small suite of rooms on the top floor, while her parents built up their empire.

An awful lot of Lynn’s childhood had changed the day her parents sold the family home and ended up with a mortgage so large they had no choice but to work all the hours they could. Lynn tried not to feel bitter about her lost childhood, or her lost parents. Oh, they’d been around, but never there.

School concerts, sports, you name, it, they never came to watch. The hotels were their life. A life they expected Lynn to pick up and carry on with. And she had, for the last ten years. Now a change had been offered her, and she had grabbed it with both hands. She had her own ideas for a business, one that did not involve other people living in her house.

Now here she was, standing outside an old house, with a few hazy memories of what it had been like when she was younger, and the house had been cared for. It appeared that as Uncle Freddy had grown old, the house had grown old with him. Now he was gone.

“I can put it back together.” However, as she took in the enormous amount of work needed to get the house habitable, she was beginning to think her parents might have been right when they advised her to sell. Was she simply being pigheaded? Going against their wishes for the sake of it, in some way trying to make them pay for what she felt was lacking from her life?

Yet this was her dream, to farm alpacas and make wool from their fleeces. She’d made a business plan, and she knew it would work. It was time to give herself a chance. To believe in herself, and let her dreams unfurl and grow, like a small seed planted in the spring, which, given the right nurturing, could blossom into a beautiful flower. There was something inspiring about the surrounding hills, and trees, which had stood and endured time, and weather. She needed to absorb some of that endurance, and take one small step after another until her dream was real.

Standing in the courtyard, and looking around, she shook off her worries and felt a small surge of inspiration, way down in the pit of her stomach. This was the right thing to do; she had made the right decision to take the house on, despite the more than generous offer she had received to sell. It had been a good offer, and her parents had begged her to take it and invest the cash in something certain, like their business. She could buy in, have a share of the business, and be a sure-fire success.

“This is a sure-fire success. I just have to work at it.” Lynn stood up straight, and breathed in the warm, heavy late afternoon air. This was her fresh start, and no one, not even herself, was going to take it away from her. This was the first time she had stepped out of her parents’ shadow, and it felt good, real good.

Free.

Lynn closed her eyes and immersed herself in that feeling. Relishing the word on her tongue. “Free.”

She opened her arms wide, turning around and around, lifting her face to the last rays of sun before it sank below the hills.

“Free,” she yelled at the top of her voice.

A smile spread across her face, one that she couldn’t rid herself of if she tried. This was a new sensation. Excitement, anticipation, and a need to prove to herself she could put the past behind her, and move on.

Going back to her car, she grabbed the box of groceries off the back seat, and walked across the courtyard—her courtyard—and balancing the box on one knee, she dug in her pocket for the front door key, and pushed it into the lock. Turning it, she opened the door, with some difficulty: its dilapidated state meant moisture had gotten in and swelled the wood, a good sand-down and a new coat of paint would make it as good as new. She shoved it hard and the door scraped along the floor, but it felt somehow ceremonious, as if she was opening the door into her new life, and her new home.

Inside was about what she expected. The agent who dealt with the transfer of the house into her name had come and inspected the property, and sent her photographs. He, along with her parents, had encouraged Lynn to sell. What does a woman like her want with living out in the sticks like this?

What her parents meant was, how would she cope, she wasn’t strong enough. They expected her to be back home within the month. More like wanted her home. They had pinned their hopes on their only daughter taking over the business. Afraid to let them down, Lynn had gone along with it, until Uncle Freddy died, and gave her the nudge to stand on her own two feet, and stand up for what she wanted, what she knew would make her happy.

“I am going to be happy here,” she said to the empty house. Standing in the hallway, it was as if the house was listening to her, waiting for her to make the first move. Waiting to be brought back to life.

Lynn stood in the hallway, assessing what needed to be done first. The whole house would need rewiring; the agent had put that in his report. When she had read the report, Lynn wondered if he had been exaggerating. He hadn’t, even to Lynn’s untrained eye, she could see the appalling state of the wiring. She’d hoped it might have been safe to use until she got the work done, but an exposed wire next to the light switch in the hall told her it wasn’t worth the risk. Not unless she wanted the insurance money after the place had burned down to the ground from an electrical fire.

Tomorrow she would call in a couple of electricians for quotes. Until then, she would make do with the solar-powered lantern she had brought with her to give her light. There was nothing else she needed electricity for in the short term. The agent listed a wood-fueled stove in his report, and that would have to do for cooking and heating until she had the renovations completed. Luckily, it was summer; she could eat cold food for a couple of weeks if she had to.

The worst thing was the lack of a fridge, but the house had a cool pantry, from what she remembered. Uncle Freddy used to pull a pitcher of lemonade from it on hot summer days, and it always amazed Lynn how cold the drink was. She used to think he could perform magic. How could a room stay so cool, when outside the flowers were wilting in the heat?

Walking along the hallway, the layout of the house came back to her; it had been a long time since she had visited the house. Opening the dining room door, she saw a single bed pushed against the wall. This was where Uncle Freddy must have slept when he was too ill to get up the stairs. A pang of guilt hit her. Was it right for her to inherit the ranch, when she hadn’t been here when he needed care?

The old man hadn’t contacted Lynn’s mom when he was ill, so he’d died here alone. There were no other living relatives. Uncle Freddy had no wife, no living siblings, only a niece who never spoke to him.

“Too late now,” she said, and vowed to hold on to the house, to keep it in the family, just as he had wished in the letter he’d left with his will. The letter that was the reason she hadn’t followed the good advice of her parents, and the agent, the reason she hadn’t taken the generous offer from Mr. Williams, the rancher who owned the next farm over.

Lynn closed the door on her guilt, and walked along the hallway to the next door. Opening it revealed a sitting room. It was spacious, with good light, but in need of stripping and redecorating. Lynn was certain that was going to be true for every room. However, she was going to have to be patient a little longer before she began any work.

“You have to get some contractors in first. Strip it all back before you put in the new.” She’d reached the kitchen and reached for the faucet that hung over the old sink, at a peculiar angle. Carefully, afraid it would come off in her hand, she turned the faucet, grateful she had brought bottled water with her, although the agent had assured her the water was clean, fed from an underground spring.

After a lot of spluttering, and gurgling, in which Lynn found herself taking one, and then two steps back, anticipating that a jet of water was about to erupt like a geyser and flood the kitchen, the water settled down into a hard jet.

“That is some water pressure,” she said, and made a mental note to find the shut-off for the water before she went to bed. “Always be prepared.”

Placing her box of groceries on the wooden countertop, which appeared to be solid, she took the brand-new kettle out, and placed it on the old stove. It looked so out of place, just like Lynn, but soon they would settle in and look as if they belonged. The house would be cleaner, and updated, and Lynn and the kettle would look more worn, as if they earned their place here. She couldn’t wait.

“Tea,” she announced. “To celebrate.”

Fetching some wood from the pile outside the door, Lynn lit the stove, and stood, leaning back on the counter, arms folded, making a mental list of where she would start.

By the time the tea was made, there was a notepad out on the counter, with a long list of what she had to buy, and contractors she had to call. Then she explored the house, making more lists, a sense of accomplishment washing over her. The house would be wonderful when it was finished; it awakened a creative side in her that her parents’ business had quashed.

Now it was alive, with color wheels circling her head, and mingling with textures, and fabrics, until as she walked, she could picture each room, totally renovated and filled with color and fresh air. The faded wallpaper, peeling paint, and sense of neglect would be chased away. The house would have a new life.

So, too, would Lynn Hawkins. They would both be reborn. Not quite a phoenix from the ashes, but that didn’t matter.