Romance Stories (4 Books in 1)

"I'll get a venti skinny caramel macchiato with one pump of hazelnut, double whip, and chocolate drizzle. Can you make it without sugar? Let's make it two!"

When John Wyatt heard the command, he couldn't help but sigh. The guy who placed it, who was probably three people ahead of him in line, didn't seem to mind that the queue at the coffee shop was already out the door. He just needed a big coffee, but he realized that he'd have to wait a long time to get to the counter with this long line of people requesting expensive orders.

He was accustomed to it. When you lived in New York, it was an unavoidable reality that wherever you went was crowded. In the Big Apple, there was no such thing as personal space, which grew more difficult to comprehend as time passed.

When John arrived at the counter ten minutes later, Mr. Fancy had already had his venti macchiato or whatever it was already. However, he came to work around two minutes after his scheduled start time due to the time lag.

"John, you're late," his employer, Jerry Levenstein, a ruthless older man who dreamed in cash signs, stated.

John held up his cup of coffee. "The line was too long," he said as he slipped behind his desk. "This will not happen again, Jerry."

"It best not," Jerry grumbled before returning to his job.

John let out a defeated sigh as he turned on his computer. He'd only been working for Jerry for three weeks, yet it seemed like three weeks had already passed. Jerry was a recent recruit to their department, a financial whiz who outwitted John's previous supervisor and fired him for not being a team player (whatever that means). It meant a total breakdown of John's work-life balance, and John's ruthless new employer revealed in hammering his employees to the bone.

That shouldn't have shocked him. Only the administrative personnel at the big shot law firm he works for the left at five o'clock. John didn't leave the house until almost ten o'clock yesterday night. The company's productivity was at an all-time high, but morale was low.

Particularly John's.

It hadn't always been this way, but he felt it now more than ever. It was his third job since graduating from high school four years ago, and they all seemed practically similar. John was utterly disillusioned with his job path due to power-hungry supervisors, browbeaten coworkers, and a steadily rising quantity of work for a mediocre income. Part of him wanted simpler times, like the ones he had before moving to New York.

Around midday, his phone buzzed with a new alert, and John groaned again when he saw the post. Renee, his ex-girlfriend, had just abandoned him two weeks previously because she wanted to pursue a career as an Instagram model. John wasn't sure how it all worked, but being in a relationship and pursuing her new internet profession appeared to be mutually incompatible. Renee's post was a provocative piece in which she wore as little as possible while lounging in the backseat of a fancy automobile. John had no clue whose automobile it was, and he didn't care at this moment. He unfollowed her and went about his business, wanting that portion of his life to remain securely buried.

John returned to his shoebox apartment after a packed subway journey in which he was nearly literally nose-to-armpit with someone who didn't use enough deodorant after another long day. He was able to clock out early and go home at eight-thirty. This evening, the couple next door was already bickering, and the noises could be heard through the thin walls. John climbed into bed and glanced at the ceiling, knowing he had to get up early the next day.

There has to be something more to life than this.

It was a concept that had been on his thoughts nearly too often recently. Even though it was the end of spring, John's head was still stuck in the doldrums of winter. In the concrete jungle, every day looked the same. And although other individuals appeared to revel in turmoil, he felt like it was destroying a portion of his soul.

It wasn't always like this. When he first moved to the city eight years ago to start college, he was wide-eyed and hopeful about the city's possibilities. It was the polar opposite of how he had lived his first eighteen years of life, locked in a one-stoplight town and working on a nearby farm during the summers. His adolescent self believed there was something to be said about leaving the tiny village and creating a name for himself in the big metropolis, but the longer he stayed, the less that promise remained true.

In the darkest depths of his mind, he could acknowledge that he wished to return home, to his origins. He yearned to return to the lush meadows and attend the local county fairs. It was becoming clear that his heart had never left that small ancient village.

That phrase, I suppose, is accurate. He reasoned that you couldn't take the boy's country out of him before falling asleep.

He walked into the law office for the final time the following day, even though he had no way of knowing. Since Jerry took over as his employer, a troubling tendency offended his instincts. Jerry likes to cut shortcuts and manipulate figures that jeopardize the finance department's trust with their colleagues. They'd been called out for it only last week with the CFO, and John knew they were under greater scrutiny than ever.

When Jerry contacted him about inserting purposefully incorrect material in a report, John snapped.

"What do you mean you won't do it?" Jerry yelled his fists on his hips.

"You know those figures are nonsense," John answered. "I'm not going to put them in."

"How come no one in this department understands working as a team?"

John sighed and rolled his eyes. "We aren't team players because we aren't going to lie on these reports for you?"

"John, be on the lookout. You're skating on thin ice right now, "Jerry responded, lifting an eyebrow.

John eventually snapped. It was one bridge too far, the outcome of being mistreated one too many times. The contact wouldn't have been too horrible on its own, but when combined with all the others during the three weeks, he finally got what he'd been secretly looking for.

His exit strategy.

"I'm done," John said, reaching for his personal belongings. "You may fudge the figures, but I'm out. I resigned."

Jerry looked at him with a stunning face, not knowing what to say for a few seconds. Several of John's coworkers did as well, most of them pausing their work to observe the heated exchange.

Jerry's acidity has finally returned. "Excellent, excellent. It's all for the best. I can't have someone here who doesn't understand how business works."

John didn't even bother to respond to it. Instead, he discreetly packed his belongings and exited via the main entrance, but not before tossing his ID badge.

John conducted some significant soul-searching that day. The most obvious solution to his position was to begin looking for work. He felt sure he could find another job with his degree and expertise.

And answer to another jerk boss while working much too long hours? While also losing my soul in the process?

The more he thought about it, the less appealing that alternative seemed. He'd been circling the answer for weeks, and now he stared it in the eyes.

This was not the city for him. He didn't want to live this kind of life.

The essential thing was that he felt homesick. He wanted to return to his origins.

At the very least, money would not be an issue in this circumstance. His work had paid well, and he had a sizable savings account. He couldn't afford to take a year off work, but he could take some time off to heal psychologically without worrying about money.

The dilemma was whether he could genuinely pack his belongings, leave home, and realistically hope to return to the city at some point. It was a question he couldn't answer and didn't want to answer just now. But one thing was sure: he was prepared to give it a go.

After breaking his lease on the shoebox, he loaded his minimal stuff in his old vehicle and traveled back to his birthplace that weekend. It was strange to see the city fade into the distance in the rearview mirror, only to be replaced by miles of open highway. His destination, a tiny rural village in southern Pennsylvania, was eight hours away. It was a spot he hadn't been in years.

That explains his Aunt Cheryl's stunned expression when she opened the door and saw him standing there.

"What? John! What exactly are you doing here?" She shouted as she threw her arms around him.

"Hey, Aunt Cheryl," John replied, a little hesitantly. "Surprise!"

She took a step back to look at him. "You've got some serious explaining to do, so get started!"

It took him about a half-hour to explain his decision to leave New York. It took his aunt less than thirty seconds to give him a place to stay. Despite her surprise at seeing him appear out of nowhere, Aunt Cheryl was thrilled to have her only nephew back in town.

She did, after all, virtually raise him. John's parents had died a long time ago, and he had spent most of his formative years with his aunt, who had become like a surrogate mother to him. His cousin Lisa, his only daughter, had moved away years ago with her army spouse, and they were presently stationed in Texas. It meant that Aunt Cheryl was alone in her home much of the time, and he got the idea that she appreciated the company.

Things went quite smoothly throughout the first week. He took a long breath of the sweet-smelling rural air the first day he walked out of his aunt's home, finding it soothing. It lacked the staleness and rancidity that the city was known for. Even as he drove about town, he wasn't shocked that everything looked like he had left it eight years before. Of course, there was a new petrol station, and John observed a new set of homes not far from the local school, but everything was still locked in time, which he enjoyed.

John pulled down the window, attempting to diffuse some of her rages. "Hello, Carly. It's been a long time."

"Not long enough," she answered immediately. "Does that mean I have to kick your a$$ before answering my question?"

He may have laughed if he didn't believe she meant it. Carly was a spitfire when she wanted to be, despite being over five and a half feet tall and weighing hardly more than a hundred and twenty pounds. Logan often claimed that her fiery personality was due to her red hair, and John was always pleased to concur. Her striking red mane had faded to strawberry blonde over the years, and her adolescent acne had healed.

Carly had become a knockout somewhere during his absence.

Even when she was dressed for work, she could turn heads. Her boots were caked in what he assumed was manure, and she donned a red baseball cap to hide the bulk of her strawberry blonde hair. Even so, it took all he had not to look.

John returned his gaze to her as he struggled to regain control. "Your father requested that I come by. He said that he could have a job for me."

Carly's scowl worsened if that's possible. "The post has been filled. You may go at this time."

John's jaw fell open, but the sight of someone else spared him before he could even respond.

Paul Nichols was the man.

He seemed to be a bit older than John recalled, and his blond hair was a lot grayer than it used to be, but the farm patriarch appeared to be in excellent health.

"Carly, please be kind to our visitor. Is that how you treat an old friend?" Paul came to a halt alongside John's automobile.

"No buddy of mine," Carly mumbled as she turned away. She dashed out the door, quickly vanishing inside the milk house.

"I'm sorry about that, John!" Paul said, his face flushed with embarrassment. "She's probably as fiery as you remember, huh?"

"If not more so," John said, chuckling nervously. He stepped out of the car and extended his hand to shake Paul's. "Paul, it's good to see you again. It's been a while."

Paul began to nod. "That has been the case. I'm delighted I happened to run across your aunt the other day. She was the one who informed me that you had returned to town. How long do you intend to stay?"

John shook his head. "That's something I'm not sure about right now. I'm not sure how long I'll be here, and all I wanted was a new start."

"Are you looking for work if that's the case? I could use some assistance around here. The last man was injured last week, and I'd want to hire someone who knows their way here."

John inhaled deeply. "That's correct, Paul. I'm simply not sure whether it's a good idea."

"Oh," Paul said, visibly shaken. "It's okay with me, John."

"Don't get me wrong, there are a couple of too many memories surrounding this place," John swiftly said. "I don't believe there's anything further to say about it."

"You realize what occurred ten years ago wasn't your fault," Paul sympathized. "I know that's one of the reasons you left town, but you don't have to worry about it here. Not right now."

John grinned and returned his thumb to the milk house. "I believe Carly still believes it was."

Paul motioned with his hand. "Don't be concerned about Carly. She, like her mother, is a jerk. She'll change her mind. John, I'm sure I could put you to good use. There aren't many other trustworthy folks around town anymore. To be honest, I'm beginning to wonder whether I wouldn't be better off selling the property. It's simply not the same as it used to be."

John could see genuine emotion in Paul's eyes. The type that implied the work was wearing him down. He knew this wasn't an easy life, but he'd made it seem such for as long as he'd known Paul. It was upsetting to see the anguish in his eyes after just being back for five minutes.

Even yet, it made little difference to his response. John opened his lips to answer, but both men were interrupted by the arrival of a vast pickup vehicle in the driveway. One of the giant trucks John had ever seen was an F-250 with a massive lift package that raised it far above the ground.

Paul quickly switched his gaze to it and glared. "Cooper," he hissed, raising a palm to John. "Give me a minute, and I'll get this jerk off my land."

John saw a greasy grin as the guy in the vehicle pulled down the window. The guy was almost the same age as Paul, but he lacked the gray and wore too much gel. It reminded John of some of the individuals he'd seen in the city, and he disliked the guy right once.

"Paul, Paul, Paul, how are we today?" the driver said, looking out the window.

"We're busy," Paul responded quickly. "So, unless you have anything for me, this isn't a social call."

"What do you think you know? I have a gift for you, "The driver responded quickly. He was holding a manila envelope. "A proposal for your farm."

"How often do I have to tell you, Mike Cooper?" Paul snarled. "I'm not selling my farm."

Mike Cooper shrugged, but the grin on his face remained. "I assumed you'd had some time to think about it. Maybe you'll come around to my point of view?"

"That's a long shot. Now go out! We have a lot of work to do."

"This property will be mine one day, Paul," Mike stated as he slid the window back up. "Consider it." Mike's attention shifted to John for a brief moment. He grinned at him before going into reverse and backing out of the driveway.

"No-good, worthless piece of trash," Paul remarked as he went back over. "That guy isn't going to accept no for an answer."

"How come that name seems familiar to me?" John wondered. "Who is Mike Cooper?"

"You've been gone long, son," Paul replied. "He owns half of the county. His property is over three thousand acres in size. I'm not sure why he wants mine so badly, but I'm not going to sell it to him."

John clenched his teeth. "I don't intend to get you stirred up, but weren't you just mentioning that it could be time to sell the farm? Why not just give it to Mike Cooper?"

"Because he'd simply convert it into the open pasture," Paul replied dismissively. "With its present size, this farm can sustain a decent family. It has sustained my family for over five generations. I owe it to my family to keep it operating, and if I sell it to Mike Cooper, I'll be damned." Paul shook his head. "No, I'll retire sometime. I'm going to sell it to Neal. Don't you remember Neal?"

John cracked a grin. "Sure do," he said, remembering the middle-aged farmhand with a friendly grin who worked so hard on the farm that Paul offered him a tiny home to live in. "How is he getting along?"

"Same as usual, yet that guy is a farmer at heart. I'll sell it to him if I can't keep it in my family. Maybe then he'll be able to get the real assistance we need to mend all that's wrong around here."

"How about Carly?" John inquired.

"I'm not sure," Paul replied a bit too hastily. "I'm not sure she wants to do this forever. She may simply be assisting me. I don't want to bother her with it if that's the case. It's better to go to someone like Neal who can handle it and truly wants to do it. He's probably the only other person I have left that I can trust."

The man's plight moved John at the time. His remorse prickled at him, reminding him that Paul no longer had Logan to take over as the sixth generation. Now he had a virtually broken guy in front of him, surrounded by larger farms and unable to keep the farm going.

Despite his skepticism, John was starting to change his mind.

Paul took a big breath and exhaled. "Anyway, John, it was lovely to see you again. I appreciate your visit. Could you please refer me to anybody you know seeking honest work?" Paul gave him a fatherly slap on the shoulder and then began to walk away.

John yelled out, "Hey, Paul."

The older guy came to a halt and turned around.

"When can I begin?"

Paul's face took time to adjust before he broke a grin. "Really?"

"Yes, indeed. I see you have a genuine need, and heck, I'm not doing much these days. "John shrugged, smiling. "What's the harm?"

Paul stepped back and rested his hand on his shoulder. "I'd appreciate that if you could."

"You may need to keep Carly and me apart for a while, but I'm prepared to give it a chance. When do you want me to arrive tomorrow?"

"Why not make it five? You still know how to milk, don't you? I'm doing the milking in the morning, and we have hay to do after that, "Paul said. "The weather should be beautiful for the next several days, so it may be exactly what we need."

John extended his hand. "I'll see you at five."

John groaned loudly when his alarm went off at four-fifteen a.m. the following morning. It took him a mere second to recall why he was awake at such an ungodly hour, but he quickly pulled himself out of bed to begin getting ready.

John examined himself in the mirror before putting on his clothes. He now had an excellent five o'clock shadow on his face, which had been rare in recent years. He enjoyed how his black hair looked along his chin and cheekbones and decided to keep it that way. The rest of him was the same as it had always been: short, black hair on his head, bright green eyes, and a square jaw. He wouldn't be winning any modeling contests anytime soon, but none of the ladies he'd dated had ever complained about his appearance.

Fortunately for him, he could locate some old clothing that he didn't mind getting ripped and stinky, and as he drove the short distance to the farm, he pondered what he'd gotten himself into.

"John, there you are. Hello and good morning, "As soon as John walked inside the milk house, Paul smiled.

"Morning," mumbled John slowly, still half sleeping.

Paul began to laugh. "You're going to wake up quickly, son. Why don't you begin bringing in the cows? You remember how to do it, don't you?"

John, on the other hand, recalled everything. It was one of the phases of the morning milking that he always found difficult. Because the cows were constantly out in the pasture at night, they had to be collected up and brought back to the barn to begin the procedure. That included hiking over thirty acres of property to gather them up when the sun hadn't yet risen.

Thankfully, it was as easy as riding a bike, and John had all the cows brought into the barn, secured into their stalls, and ready to begin the morning milking in no time.

"You remember how to connect the milkers, don't you?" Paul questioned as he raised one of the twelve distinct milking machines.

"I'm sure it hasn't altered in 10 years," John speculated.

"You are correct. Simply inspect the teats before attaching them. The last thing we need is for mastitis to enter the tank, "Paul said while giving over one of the devices. "Why don't you start with that row over there, and we'll work our way down? Just keep an eye out for that cow. She's a screamer."

Paul was correct, as the cow he mentioned, one with a diamond-shaped mark on her side, attempted to kick him as soon as he connected the milker. John effortlessly avoided it owing to his foresight, and he could activate the machine.

She was drained empty in approximately 10 minutes, allowing him to go to the next cow. They continued to round up the whole herd over the following two hours. The procedure required more labor and speed than it looked, and although he quickly fell behind Paul, John eventually achieved an excellent cadence.

"John, you did a fantastic job. That's not awful at all. Just as in the past, "Paul smiled as they let the final cow return to pasture.

"I'd nearly forgotten about the scent," John replied, annoyed. "There is no scent like a dairy farm in the world."

Paul inhaled deeply and exaggeratedly. "It smells like hard labor; that's what it is."

"It still smells like trash to me," a woman's voice from behind them said.

Carly had crept up behind them as John looked around. Her face was tense when she spotted him, and her arms crossed over her chest. Even in the early morning hours, she looked beautiful in her tight blue jeans and baseball hat, which occurred to have her strawberry blonde hair in a ponytail falling out from the back.

"Never mind her, John," Paul chuckled as Carly continued going. "You did a fantastic job this morning. Now that we've finished in here let's get cleaned up before I present you to the rest of the men."

The remainder of the Nichols' farm employees arrived shortly after the milking was finished. John was the first to see an old face.

"I'll pay the price! Is that you, John?" Neal, who had been around for a long time, inquired. Neal was approximately forty years old, and he'd worked with Paul for as long as anybody could remember.

"Neal, fantastic to see you again," John remarked, shaking the man's hand excitedly.

"You, too, you. Returning to give it another go, eh?"

"For the time being, I suppose," John responded. "I figured Paul could use some assistance, so here I am."

"So, I'm glad you're back. Please let me know if you need anything. "As the next truck arrived, Neal responded.

A younger man, roughly John's age, stepped out of the vehicle and began to examine him. He appeared to look at John with a combination of interest and hostility.

"Tate, come over here and meet John," Paul remarked, motioning to the newcomer.

"So, he is the city lad, isn't he?" Tate inquired as he came to a halt close to John. The farmhand had sandy blond hair and wore an outdated Van Halen shirt with too many holes.

John pursed his lips and reached out a hand. "My name is John."

"No, you're a 'City Boy' until you show yourself helpful," Tate remarked, spitting some chewing tobacco on the ground. "Let's see how you handle the hay today."

"Tate, John used to work for me ten years ago," Paul stated as he moved between the two. "He understands what he's doing here."

Tate shook his head. "We'll see what happens then, won't we?"

Neal approached Tate as he went away. "Don't worry about him, John. Tate is a little sluggish to warm up to strangers."

"And we've got a lot of newcomers recently," Paul said. "In my perspective, Tate ends up frightening them away."

"It's not a big deal. In New York, he'd be called friendly, "John said. "I've gotten accustomed to it."

"At least you don't have to worry about anything with this new arrival," Neal replied, indicating toward another man approaching. According to his attire, this one was a few years younger than John. He had a strange expression in his eyes that John couldn't determine whether it was malice or simply sluggishness.

Neal seems to believe the latter. "Rory, your boots are undone once again. Do you even know how to knot them properly?"

Rory cursed under his breath as he glanced down at his laces. He knelt to solve the issue immediately quickly, making Neal giggle. "He's not the smartest tool in the shed, but he does the job. Meet Rory, John."

"Hey, guy," John replied, extending his hand.

"You smoke?" Rory said, tapping a carton of cigarettes from his front pocket.

John's head trembled. "I don't think so."

Rory shook his head. "Well, anything." He then began to walk away.

"He's not entirely there, but he's at least harmless," Neal added.

"Well, that's the whole crew," Paul remarked. "I'm going to start baling the hay right now, and then we'll cut another field and bag it in a few days. If you have any questions, simply ask Neal, and he'll get you set up. Deal?"

"Deal," John said emphatically.

Neal smiled and stroked his shoulder. "John, it'll be exactly like old times. I'm glad you're back! Let's get started since we have a wagon to unload."

John watched as Carly raced past with a load of square hay bales in a cart tied to the back of her tractor as the two of them started to trek up the hill to the next barn.

"So, how long are you going to be in town? Several weeks?" Neal inquired as they went up together.

"That's a great question, Neal. I'm not sure I can answer that right now."

"Paul said that you had just relocated from the city. Are you insane or what? "With a smile, Neal inquired. "What compelled you to return here of all places?"

"Honestly? The nagging feeling that the city wasn't for me. I'm more at ease here than ever, "John said. "Right now, I have no notion what a long-term strategy looks like. I simply sort of stumbled into it, and I'm going to take it one day at a time."

"That's fair," Neal remarked. "Even if you aren't missing anything back home. Things are becoming tough here. I'm not sure whether Paul told you, but he's recently had a run of terrible luck."

"He didn't say anything explicit, but I got that feeling when I spoke to him yesterday," John said.

Neal gave the nod. "Yeah, it's simply a series of terrible luck. There have been a few injuries and some broken equipment, but Paul believes the writing is on the wall. Maybe it's time for him to let go of everything, and that's simply God's way of telling him."

"Do you believe he will? Will you be giving it up anytime soon?"

Neal smiled as he shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps if his terrible luck continues. But now that you're here let's see if we can make a difference." Neal gave him a lighthearted smack as they approached the barn. "I hope your muscles feel well today. You will be stacking hay bales."

If you've never seen hay bales before, it's crucial to understand that there are two types. Square hay bales and round hay bales. The circular kind is probably more frequent, which most people notice when thinking of hay bales. They can only be carried by tractor and need a large baler to roll them into shape and spit them out the rear.

The square bales were unique. They were far lighter than round bales and could be transported by hand. However, the square bales remained heavy, and the only feasible method to move them was to lift them by two bundles of twine tied around the center. They might be much richer if the hay was still damp from a recent cut.

Both guys quickly joined Tate and Rory, waiting for Carly to back the wagon closer to the barn. Inside the barn, there were two elevators for moving the bales to higher levels, and she quickly positioned the cart so that it was directly between them.

"All right, here's what we're going to do," Carly stated as she turned off the tractor's motor and got down. "Rory and Neal will unload this wagon. I'll grab another wagon for us to use once this one is empty. Tate, I need you to be on the lowest level, retrieving bales from the elevator." Carly then turned to face John and gave him a sneer. "You may take them up to the top and stack them there."

John peered up to the barn's highest point. With the sun already up and things heating up, he knew it was the last place anybody wanted to be. Still, he didn't want to raise his voice on his first day and give them more cause to treat him like the city lad they assumed he was, so he nodded and went to work.

Sure enough, he was drenched in sweat within minutes of reaching that peak level. His shirt was quickly soaked, and he would have thrown it away if the hay hadn't been so uncomfortable when it touched his skin. Instead, he sat quietly while Carly brought five wagons around for them to unload.

It took them the remainder of the morning to stack and wrapped the bales. John was looking forward to a break as lunchtime approached. His hands were hot and torn up from lifting the bales with the twine, and they hurt terribly whenever he attempted to squeeze them.

"Hey there, City Boy," Tate remarked, seeing his hands. "That's very different from stacking papers in a tower, isn't it?"

"I just need to get my hands acclimated to it," John said, trying to grip them again.

"You should get accustomed to it. We'll be doing this all week, City Boy."

"Tate, leave the guy alone," Neal yelled, hitting the farmhand on the back of the head with his hat before returning his attention to John. "John, you did an excellent job! You can tell you haven't stacked in a long time, but overall, not terrible for not doing it for ten years."

John couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Thank you, Neal." He recalled why he admired the old farmhand so much. Neal had a knack for making everyone feel at ease.

"Well, I believe he did a piss-poor job," Carly complained. "That hay might have been piled better by a teenager girl." She walked away, folding her arms and glaring at him.

"Wowee, I'd say you've already done it, City Boy. I've never seen somebody get so fast on Carly's bad side!" Tate exclaimed, laughing heartily. "What did you do to irritate her so quickly?"

"Carly and I have a history," John said gently.

"What does this imply? You two used to date, right?"

Rory spoke out for the first time. "I'm sure he desires. With a lady who resembles her."

"No, that was something that occurred a very long time ago. History of the past, "John said.

Tate laughed. "She doesn't think he's that old."