Chapter Three – Lynn

Lynn had cleaned and scrubbed through the night, and well into the early hours of the morning. Where she’d gotten the energy from, she had no idea, but she put it down to the nervous excitement of the huge task ahead.

Then she’d slept, too exhausted to do anything other than fall onto the lumpy sofa in the sitting room, which she’d covered with a couple of blankets and a pillow. There was no bed upstairs, and she couldn’t face the dining room and the bare single bed her Uncle Freddy had died in.

Her furniture would be arriving in a couple of days, although now she was wondering if she should have sold it all instead of moving it halfway across the country. Except for her bed, and a couple of other pieces of furniture, she intended to buy everything new to fit in with the character of the farmhouse.

Thoughts of lumpy sofas had soon slipped away as sleep her took her; they were replaced by images of mountains and trees. The house cocooned her, the sounds of the wind outside lulled her, and the animal noises in the distance—cattle lowing, a wolf howling, and the roar of a bear somewhere in the distance—soothed her. A sense of belonging crept over her, like a warm blanket that she wanted to tuck underneath her so no one could ever pull it off.

When she woke, she lay on her side, resting her head on her pillow, watching the clouds flow across the sky, big, white, fluffy, an endless stream to who knew where. How many times she had wished she could float away on such a cloud, to a place where she was free to be herself.

She had tried to fit into the mold her parents created for her, but she simply didn’t. Neither her looks nor personality were suited to the hotel trade. Lynn hated the formal suits she was expected to wear for work; she hated the fact she was at work, even when she was at home, and she hated having to smile and be nice when guests were being unreasonable.

She shifted her weight. Her body was a snug fit on the sofa, and she had some kinks she needed to iron out. She also had some curvy bits that needed ironing too. Lynn giggled. The only thing that was going to shift her extra pounds was hard work and exercise. Not that she hadn’t tried that already, using the stairs instead of the elevator in the hotel business meant she should have been stick-thin, but it was never happening. Ever. Her curves were a part of who she was and always would be.

With voluptuous breasts, which she’d had to grow into—an early developer, was her mom’s excuse for her daughter at age thirteen, when the rest of her friends were still flat-chested, with only dreams of having the breasts men would take notice of—and curvy thighs, along with a stomach that was never going to be flat, no matter how many crunches she did, Lynn was the opposite of her mom. Sometimes Lynn thought she must have been swapped at birth, that her parents could never be Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, voted independent hoteliers of the year four times in a row. But that was her past.

“And now I’m here,” she said, and sat up, excited to go out and explore the outside of the house. The agent, after trying to put her off keeping the house, had furnished her with a map of the property boundaries. Lynn wanted to familiarize herself with them, check her fences were sound, and behave like a responsible landowner. She also need to think about dealing with the overgrown pasture. Since there were no animals, she would have to find a local farmer to cut the grass for her, and guide her in getting it back into good condition before she could purchase her alpacas. Not a farmer at heart, she did understand that grass needed to be grazed, or at least cut for hay, or the land would turn sour.

There was to be nothing sour about this life.

“Tea. And toast. I brought some jam. Didn’t I?” she asked herself, rummaging in the box of groceries she hadn’t finished unpacking. Last night she had scrubbed out all of the cupboards, and left the doors open for them to air. The whole place was starting to smell fresher already. And Lynn was feeling more confident about her decision.

Managing to get her toast sort of toastlike, she buttered the two slices, and spread it with a thick layer of jam. Lynn was confident she would burn the calories off during the day, and so she refused to feel guilty. Difficult when she constantly heard her mom’s voice in her head, as if she were seated on Lynn’s shoulder, whispering in her ear about how she shouldn’t be eating carbs, and definitely not smothering anything in jam. Did she know the sugar content of jam?

“Yes. I do, Mom,” Lynn said, and balanced the toast in her hand with a cup of tea in the other, and went to sit down outside on the back step. Tilting her face up, she let the sun warm her, and relished the breeze on her face. It ruffled her hair, and set her arms to goosebumps, but it excited her, bringing the scent of grass, and the lavender in the overgrown garden, and mixing it with the honeysuckle, which grew rampant over the garden wall.

Toast was followed by a banana, and then she ate an orange for good measure. She would have to go into town in the next couple of days. It would be good to make some friends. Lynn had no intention of having a lonely, secluded life here; she wanted to get out and be part of the community. As long as she fit in.

“Am I out of place here?” she asked the birds that flew down to drink from the small stream which meandered through the garden, feeding a small pond, before flowing away down to a meadow that looked filled with wild flowers.

“Only one way to find out,” she said, emptying her mug of tea and getting up to stretch out a couple more kinks. Returning to the kitchen, she switched on the hot faucet to wash up. The water gushed out, a little too fast. Turning the faucet, in an attempt to reduce the flow, something broke, or disintegrated—she couldn’t tell specifically. However, whatever it was, well, it was an integral part of how you stopped water coming out of a faucet. Water shot out of the broken faucet, the pressure so intense it bounced off the enamel sink and sprayed all over the kitchen.

“No!” she said, trying to stem the water as it filled the old sink, so fast, there was no way it wasn’t going to flood the kitchen. “Shut-off valve.”

Lynn stood, not letting panic get the better of her. She had found the shut-off valve last night, all she had to do was turn it off, and the water would stop. Pulling open a door in the hallway, she knelt down in the dust, and wrapped her hand around the valve, panicking when it didn’t budge. Pushing down her panic, she placed her other hand around it too, and then twisted it, ignoring the pain in her hand as the handle of the valve dug into her palm. It moved, and an overwhelming sense of achievement coursed through her as she twisted her hand around and around, until the sound of water coming from the kitchen slowed, and then stopped.

“I did it,” she said triumphantly. “But now I have no water.”

Getting up, she ignored the dirty state of her clothes; they could always be washed. “If I ever get the water back on.” She dug her phone out of her pocket. “No signal.”

Sitting back on her heels, she thought it through. The signal was blocked by the hills surrounding the house. Two choices: either get in the car and drive higher, or lower down the valley, until she picked up the signal, or go up to the top of the house, and see if that would give her enough bars on her phone to call a plumber.

“I can’t always drive to get a signal, so let’s try upstairs.” She walked up the stairs, making a mental note to add new stair carpet to her long list of items she needed to buy.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she stopped, big mistake. The enormity of the situation came crashing down on her. What was she thinking?

The agent’s words came back to her, his words of advice about what a large undertaking the house would be, how it would take all of the generous reserve of money she’d managed to save while working for her parents. Tears threatened, but she beat them back, pushing air down into her lungs. She needed to see this through; she needed to prove to herself that she could do something for herself, by herself.

A sob welled up inside her, and she let it erupt, but then she looked down at her phone, swiping the tears away as they misted her eyes, making the screen on her phone blurry.

“One bar. I can work with that.”

Lynn held her phone out in front of her, and went from room to room, until eventually, in the corner of the smallest bedroom, she got three bars. Google had landed. Or connected.

Quickly keying in the words plumber and Black Bear Ford, she mentally noted the number, and then typed it in, hitting dial, and listening to the magic of her phone connecting to the outside world.

“Hello, this is Pete the Plumber,” a jovial voice said on the other end.

“Great, voicemail. Better than nothing.”

“Leave your message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Hi, Pete. This is Lynn Hawkins, I’ve just move into Hawkins Ranch, over by Black Bear Ford. I have a leak, and I’ve had to turn the water off. I’d be grateful if you could come over sometime today and fix it for me. I think the kitchen faucet needs replacing. Thanks.” She hung up. That was the best she could do.

Feeling drained, she went back out of the room, her eye catching the open door of her bedroom. It was a good thing her furniture hadn’t been delivered yet. Because if her bed was here, it would be so easy to climb into it, pull the covers up over her head and pretend like none of this was happening. She could not do that; she was a fighter.

Once more the sense that she was out of her depth played around in her head. Her mom’s words, just sell the place, don’t let it bankrupt you financially and emotionally, echoed in her head. Lynn knew they cared about her, knew they worried about her, but she had to stand on her own two feet. Had to.

“I have a flood to clean up.” Resolutely going downstairs, she went to the kitchen and began to clean. At least the water that had escaped over the sides of the sink made it easier to wash the floor.

“Ugh, this linoleum is ruined.” Lynn pulled it up, piece by piece as it fell apart in her hands, revealing dirty tiles that at least held the promise of color, all she had to do was clean them.

“Always look on the bright side.” Lynn stopped scrubbing the floor. She’d added some detergent to the water, and had been scrubbing it with an old brush, gradually uncovering the pattern on the sky-blue tiles. “Where have I heard those words before?”

“Your uncle used to say them,” a voice said from the doorway.

Lynn yelped, gripping the brush firmly, ready to throw at the stranger, dressed like a cowboy, from his hat to his boots, who had entered her house unannounced and uninvited. No, not uninvited. She got up and held out her hand. “Hello, Pete, thanks for coming over so quickly.”

He looked surprised. Maybe handshaking wasn’t done around here. But then he placed his large, warm hand around hers, and squeezed it just hard enough to send shivers down her spine. He didn’t speak, but held her eyes with his, a deep knowing buried there. The handshake lasted too long, she knew it did, but she didn’t pull back from him. Something about his eyes mesmerized her, drew her in—offered her untold pleasures. She jumped back from him, and he reluctantly let her go.

Pete’s face broke into a smile and he looked past her, to the water still pooled on the floor. He said, “I told your uncle to get that fixed ages ago.”

“I switched it on, and when I tried to turn it off, it … well, you can see.”

“I can.” He surveyed the damage. “It’s a good thing I came in my truck. Give me a minute, and I’ll grab my tools, and give you a hand. Oh, first, my mom sent over this pie.”

“Thanks,” Lynn said, smiling at him, and accepting the pie, which was still warm and smelled delicious. “That is so kind of her.”

“My pleasure.” His voice spoke of hidden, inappropriate thoughts. She should tell him to leave, he could be a sexual predator, but there was something about the way he looked at her, that made her think he would do anything not to hurt her, that he would do anything to make her happy.

Damn it. First man she met, and she was going to let her defenses down. Lynn had come here to be her own person. But Pete looked at her possessively, as if she belonged to him. Were men like that around here? Old-fashioned? If she married a local man, would she be expected to be a housewife, and nothing more? That was not for her. She’d gotten away from her parents telling her what to do, she was not going to fall for a man that wanted to pick up where they’d left off.

She should not encourage him, she should ask him to leave. What kind of crazy was she, to let him fix her faucet?

“Calm down,” she told herself as he left the kitchen to go get his tools.

She needed water: she would let him fix the faucet and then send him on his way. If he dropped by unannounced, or began calling her, she’d tell him right away to back off. And if he didn’t, she’d call the sheriff.

She was in control. OK, so maybe that wasn’t true. There were parts of her body that were no longer in her control. Those parts were still tingling from the way Pete the Plumber awakened her body.