There’s a stirring in my pants that has very little to do with it being morning and more to do with the woman sleeping almost within arm’s reach.
The woman who is my daughter’s teacher.
The thought of Dana has me crashing back to reality. If she knew what I almost did with her teacher while the students werein their cabins, she’d never speak to me again. No matter the attraction I feel towards Brooke, I can’t act on it. Not yet.
Instead, I silently slip out of bed. My sweatpants catch on my erect cock, and I push it down painfully. I slip out of the cabin, but not even the cool mountain air tames it.
The rain stopped sometime in the night, and I set off through the woods, pushing myself hard and trying not to think about the woman sleeping in the cabin.
We take the bus thirty minutes up the road to Willow Farm. I offer to drive, giving Bruce a chance to help clear up the storm damage. And it gives me a reason to put some distance between myself and Brooke. I don’t trust myself not to touch her if we sit together.
The road winds through the mountains, and I pass small slips, evidence of last week’s storms. I pull onto a gravel road, and a few minutes later we reach a cluster of buildings. I skirt the bus around the potholes in the driveway and park on a flat area away from the mud.
An elderly woman in homespun clothing meets us as the students climb off the bus.
We use their communal room as a base, and I lug the equipment in there. There’s a coffee station in the corner, and I put a pot on to brew.
While I wait for the coffee to filter, I watch Brooke. Strands of hair have escaped from her ponytail, and they dangle over her cheeks. I clasp my hands together to stop from going over there and sweeping them off her face.
She competently pulls camera gear out of boxes and distributes it to the students. She helps a small boy with dark hair set up a light stand in the corner, ready to interview someone.
Dana chooses a small DSLR camera and grabs a smaller case. She slings an audio kit over her shoulder and sets off on her own.
I pour my coffee into a takeout cup and follow her down the steps.
“Let me give you a hand.”
She turns slowly, her movements made awkward by the gear she’s carrying.
“It’s okay, Dad, I got it.”
I back off a step and watch her, a one-woman team. She has got it, carrying the gear she needs and heading confidently across the grounds.
“Where you headed?” I catch up with her and fall into step, not offering to help again.
“I set up an interview with Marge and Dave. They live off-grid in one of the community buildings.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
She eyes me skeptically, and I hold my free hand up. “Just to watch. I’m curious to see what you do.”
She nods once. “Okay. But don’t interfere. I want to do this on my own in my own way.”
“Got it.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Being invited to watch my daughter do the thing she loves feels like a small victory.
I glance back at the other students setting off in ones and twos. Brooke told me they each have interviews set up and their own schedules. They have free range of the farm and the community area here. The residents have been generous and welcoming to them. I won’t be missed by spending an hour with my daughter. Then I’ll make the rounds and check in on the other groups.
There’s a cluster of buildings set away from the farm, and that’s where we head.
“Why did you choose this couple?” I ask Dana.
She pulls her lips together, thinking. “They seemed interesting. They arrived here separately as seasonal workers on the farm, met, fell in love, and never left. He left a corporate job in New York for this life. I want to find out what they saw here, why they stayed, why they put down roots here.”
She’s done her research, and I’m impressed. My sassy daughter, who spends half her life online, seems to have an instinct for people and their stories.
There’s a wooden gate, and I hold it open for Dana so she can get through with her equipment. A middle-aged woman wearing soft linen trousers, a plain gray t-shirt, and a worn straw sunhat comes out of a wooden cabin with a tin roof.
“Lock the gate behind you so the chickens don’t get out.” She smiles, and it makes her eyes twinkle. “Damn things will escape any chance they get.”
