Page 1 of A Simple Life

1

JOHN

Iheard Laura’s truck pull up outside, the sound of her squealing brakes announcing her arrival. I rolled my eyes as I reached for another coffee mug. I needed to look at her brakes. Maybe her husband, Bob, and I could work on them this weekend. Now that the planting was done and the crops in, I had a little more time on my hands.

I snorted with amusement as I added cream to Laura’s coffee. More time.

I wish.

The screen door banged open, and my nephew Cody rushed in. “Uncle J!”

“Hey, big man, careful with that door. It’s old.”

He laughed, not caring. “Can I get the eggs?”

I nodded. “You know where the basket is. And the deal. Every one you get and clean, you can sell and keep the money.”

He grinned. “I know. But I have to save you six.”

“Yep. Breakfast.”

“Got it!”

He rushed past his mother, who was walking in, juggling her purse, a laptop bag, and a sack of groceries. I hurried forward, grabbing the sack and the laptop bag about to slip off her shoulder. “Stop being so stubborn and ask for help,” I demanded, leaning down to buss her cheek. “And stop buying me groceries. I’m a grown man and can look after myself.”

She chuckled and set down her purse, taking the bag from me. “I’m aware you can, but you don’t. I saw the empty fridge when I was here on the weekend.”

“I’ve been busy in the fields. Restocking is on the list.”

“Well, I bought you a few days. And stop spoiling Cody. You don’t have to pay him for chores.”

“He’s working toward a goal. I’m not going to miss some egg income,” I chuckled dryly. “It teaches him.”

She sighed. “You have always spoiled him.”

“He’s a good kid. He deserves it.”

I watched affectionately as Laura unpacked and filled the fridge with the basics. My freezer was full, but during planting time, I did tend to forget to keep up with incidentals. I had lots of food, but most of it was frozen. It was a good thing the microwave and I were fast friends. In the winter months, I stocked up on premade meals so when I came in from the fields, tired, hot, and sweaty, I could pop in a bowl of stew or chili and let it heat as I showered.

But I had to admit, I appreciated the lunch meat, bread, cheese, and assortment of fruit and vegetables she placed on the shelves. I didn’t need eggs or milk since my chickens and dairy cows supplied me with both. I bought my meat from local farmers, often trading my goods for theirs. During harvest, we all worked together in the community. Everything, down to the cheese I bought, was local and handmade.

I sat down as she finished, tucking her burlap sack into her laptop bag and pulling out her computer. “Down to business.”

“Not a social call, then?” I asked dryly.

“I finished the tax files and the year-end.” She slid a file my way. “Look them over, sign, and I’ll submit.”

“Got it.”

“And I got an inquiry on 221. They’re sending the application today.”

“Oh, great. No viewing?”

“A friend of theirs—Cathy Rawlings from Mitchell—came and saw it. Said it would work well. I told her if they wanted to see it, they could tomorrow.”

I scratched my chin. “The name is familiar.”

“Used to be Cathy Jones. She married Bart and moved to Mitchell. The applicant is a friend of hers.”