The Farmer's Daughter: The Dragon Dream: Book One

by Robin Janney

  The

  Farmer’s

  Daughter

  The Dragon Dream: Book One

  Robin Janney

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: www.brosedesignz.com

  The Farmer’s Daughter

  Copyright © 2019/2013 Robin Janney

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781719965088

  In memory of Audrey A. Allen

  Author’s foreword

  This is more or less the same book it was when it was published as just “Farmer’s Daughter”. I reread it to refresh my memory for the third book in the series and found a few continuity errors the perfectionist in me just HAD to fix. So, I decided that if I was going to fix those things, I would go ahead and fix a few typos I found and clean a few things up. I’ve added some scenes and deleted some scenes. Hopefully, it will be easier reading, and more enjoyable. There are several significant plot changes, so I encourage you to give it a reread. If not, the plot changes will be listed at the beginning of Book 3, ‘Bigger than the Beetles’.

  I just want to thank all of you for reading this and for sticking with me through the past few years.

  acknowledgments:

  There really are too many people for me to thank.

  First, Audrey Allen who suffered through my writing in my younger years. She always found something to praise and encouraged me to keep writing even when she knew her time on this earth was short. My Indiana Jones novelette must have had her in tears!

  My husband Justin, for loving me enough to tolerate the long hours I’ve been on the computer putting this together. For looking over my shoulder and going, “Oh really?”

  My mother Rosemary Slater, for always believing she’d be able to one day stop referring to me as her starving writer.

  Jacqueline K. Brown and Graham Seager, both of whom read the original rough draft and wanted more!

  Paige Van Ryn: you know why! :)

  Jaime Wilson, for helping me catch typos in the very beginning Kindle version.

  A new a shout out here for my mother-in-law Sue Janney who gave the rewrites the thumbs up!

  And of course, Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing for making this dream a reality.

  Books by Robin Janney

  Dragon Dream Series

  1 – The Farmer’s Daughter

  2 – Ring of Fire

  “He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into the kingdom of the Son of His love,” Colossians 1:13 (NKJV)

  Prologue

  H igh atop the mountain called Sawyer’s Peak, a gleeful creature of darkness crouched and stretched his wide leathery wings in the light of the full moon. His given name didn’t matter, he barely remembered it any more. He was content with being called the Beast by those who feared him most.

  All around the Peak, as far as his eyes could see, was his little kingdom. It wasn’t much compared to what other demons ruled over, but it was his to tend, or to tear apart, as he saw fit.

  And the season in this little backwards corner of the world was about to change. There was a scent of chaos riding in the midsummer’s breeze. Something wild was about to be let loose in these towns. Or at least that’s what he was planning.

  The best part – humans were so predictable he wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. Oh, he might poke his nose in here and there; maybe prod this one or that one. But really, all he had to do was watch.

  He smiled in anticipation, fangs glistening in the moonlight. Dawn was a long way off.

  Darkness reigned.

  1

  S immons Crossroads.

  A seemingly ordinary intersection five miles out from the proper little town of Tyler’s Grove. Life and death had met here once; death had won, stealing youthful innocence without a second thought. Rough pavement on the main stretch between towns, and brown dirt roads leading deeper into farm country intersecting on the other. No one obeyed the stop signs because the straightness of the roads led to the illusion of good visibility.

  Even now, despite the early hour, a disheartened young woman had to hop into the field to avoid being struck by a beat-up pickup truck drifting through the intersection.

  “Sorry!” hollered the teen boy. His passengers laughed.

  Angela Carman waved idly at the dust cloud she was now enveloped in. Another day she would have called back, threatened to tell the teen’s parents. But not today. This field had been part of her morning mission.

  The day had dawned hazy and hot just as it had twelve years ago. The sun blazed mercilessly in a cloudless sky. The barren fields proved to be a challenge, but it didn’t stop Angela from finding and gathering late summer daisies.

  Once she had collected twelve, she stood by the side of the dirt road for several minutes. Not much had changed. It was still a dirt road, though patches of pavement jutted out in spots making traveling difficult both to drivers and walkers. The trees some yards back from the road were taller, somewhat thicker. The verge was neatly trimmed. The paved road, scant yards away from where she stood was in better condition. In many ways, it was a forgotten corner of Jackson County. Cars continued to speed through the intersection like nothing had ever happened.

  But Angela remembered.

  Unable to stand the heat and humidity any longer, or the memories, she turned and walked the mile back to her family’s farm. She wasn’t dressed for a job hunt, faded denim shorts and an old t-shirt weren’t very professional, so she’d grab a quick shower and a change of clothes at the farm. She was pretty sure she had something left in her closet there suitable enough. No doubt her mother would scold her and remind Angela how she no longer lived there, even as she made sure there were towels for her oldest daughter in the upstairs bathroom.

  The normally pleasant thought wasn’t quite enough to bring a smile to her face.

  Once at the farm, the young woman bypassed the large white farmhouse with its long porch, the roof of which needed mild repair. The family cemetery was just beyond the pond and barn. Some gravestones dated back to the early 1900s, but she walked through without seeing them. Her heart was focused on only one grave here, the path to which she could find in her sleep.

  Kneeling in front of this gravestone, Angela placed the small bouquet of daisies at its base. They had never learned who had paid for this ornate stone, or the funeral, but she had never stopped being grateful for the stranger’s generosity. Refusing to shed the tears blurring her vision, she ran her fingers over the stone’s face, reading the inscription by memory.

  RANDALL PHILIP CARMAN

  APRIL 22, 1981—AUGUST 12, 1993

  OUR SON AND BROTHER

  HE DIED BEFORE HE COULD LIVE

  WE SHALL SEE HIM AGAIN IN GLORY

  The twelve short years inscribed mocked Angela as they always had.

  Drawing a deep breath, she spoke to the brother whose name she still couldn’t say. “Daddy told me today how he’s going to lose our farm. He missed some payments and if he doesn’t catch up soon, the bank will take it. I can’t let that happen. I promise you, they won’t take our farm. Daddy tried arguing with me when I said I’d help him with the payments, but I wouldn’t budge. He cried…our Daddy cried.” Angela’s own tears were starting to leak down her cheeks. She wiped them away mercilessly. “This farm was our dream come true.”

  Unable to go on, she stood and walked away without a backwards glance.

  Un
beknownst to Angela, she had not been alone. Her father Philip stepped away from the tree he had been hiding behind and watched his daughter walk briskly away. He had no fear of being spotted because in all the years she had never once looked back when walking away from her brother’s grave.

  Philip glanced down at the ornate headstone and felt a fresh wave of despair wash over him. Like Angela, he too still grieved. With a burdened heart, the farmer took to a different path, intent on staying outdoors until after his daughter left. No matter how much he loved her, Philip didn’t think he’d be able to face her right now.

  C raig Moore sat on the back deck of his modest general store in the early evening as was his habit. His long jean covered legs were propped up on the railing and his sketchbook rested on his knees. The sudden loud sound of a car door shutting caused him to look up from his sketching. Frowning at the sight of one of his employees approaching, the store owner checked his watch.

  “You’re late, Harry,” he said without preamble.

  “No, sir, I’m not.” Harry Flynn halted on the top step of the deck stairs to have his say. “I quit.”

  With a tired sigh, Craig set his sketchbook to the side and rose to his feet. Wondering what excuse the wiry man would use this time, he asked, “What do you mean you’re quitting?”

  Flynn looked up at the tall man who was his boss and swallowed hard. He almost took his words back. Craig Moore was not a man you angered, and not just because of his height. No, the man had a quicksilver temper and God have mercy on the poor soul who angered him.

  Attempting futilely to lessen the height gap, Flynn stepped up to the deck floor. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the speech he’d made. “I’m sorry Mr. Moore, but I just don’t feel appreciated around here. I’m overworked and underpaid. I’m your jack-of-all-trades and I’m tired of it!”

  “Not appreciated? Are you out of your mind?” Craig took a step toward the smaller man. Possibly because a small part of him enjoyed seeing the other take a step back. But this never-ending drama was exasperating, and his voice began to rise in pitch. “You’re one of the most valuable employees I have, and you know it! The Cupboard wouldn’t be able to run smoothly without you!”

  Across the narrow street, Widow Florence Jamenson was pruning her side of the evergreen bushes which made the hedge between two lawns and looked up at the sound of Craig’s raised voice. “Lucy! Lucy!” she said to her neighbor on the other side of the hedge. “Stop what you’re doing and take a look at this!”

  Lucy did as her friend bade, lowering her own hedge shears. Her silver tresses bounced just above her shoulders. “Looks like Flynn’s quitting again.”

  The two women forgot about their yard work to watch the events unfold.

  “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Moore,” Flynn continued, a muscle in his thin cheek twitching. “You know as well as I do that anyone could do the things I do!”

  Craig worked on lowering his voice. “Anyone could, I suppose, but there aren’t employees to spare. That’s why I have you. It doesn’t make you any less important.”

  “No employees to spare?” Flynn forgot himself and began to show his own anger, his voice raising. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to manage your employees! If you’d rotate them instead of keeping them stationary, there’d be plenty to spare! Both Dave and Miranda could run the store in your absence, but you keep them on too short a leash.” By now, he was the one shouting. “Everyone else has a specific job, but I’m your goddamned Girl Friday! I fetch your coffee one day and mop the floors the next! I’m done!”

  “Oh, that was a good one,” Flo commented, her voice hushed even though there was no chance of the two men overhearing.

  Lucy nodded, her voice hushed as well. “Next comes the part where Craig’s a control freak.”

  “You don’t mop hardwood floors,” pointed out Craig, his brown eyes narrowing. He probably shouldn’t aggravate his employee, but he was growing tired of this routine.

  “No, you wax them!” Flynn gritted his teeth, spittle frothing at the corners of his mouth. “It doesn’t change my point. I’ve waxed them plenty of times. My point is: if you weren’t such a control freak you wouldn’t even need my position.”

  “Your position existed when I bought the store.” Still, he also didn’t want the hassle of replacing him. Even though it was an old argument, Craig tried reasoning with him. “You were already here, Harry. You’re good at your job. Why change what’s working?”

  “You’re still not hearing me!” Disgusted, Flynn spat on the wooden floor. “You never have. I’m through, Mr. Moore. You won’t talk me out of it this time. My mind is made up.”

  Craig went silent for a moment and stepped back. “Fine. Are you sticking to the two-week policy or just finishing the night out?”

  “Neither! I’m done now!” Decision made, Flynn flew down the step and stormed away.

  The two women across the street applauded.

  Craig watched the other man climb into his beat-up pickup truck and drive out of the parking lot quick enough to cause the teens he allowed to skateboard on this side to scatter. Angry, he punched one of the nearby support posts and instantly regretted it.

  Rubbing his knuckles, he glanced across the street and saw the town gossips busy watching him. They quickly returned to their yardwork, but the store owner knew it would be all over Tyler’s Grove before nightfall how Harry had quit once again.

  He returned to his seat, a wooden lawn chair, and took a long draught of his coffee, which he had never sent Harry for, and then returned the stainless-steel thermos back to the little plastic table next to the chair. What was he going to do now? No doubt it had been Harry’s wife who’d convinced him to quit again, either that or he’d been drinking again. Or both.

  It would be a difficult position to fill. Already his mind was turning to the shelves Harry was supposed to stock, the weekly inventory, and the summer display taken down to be replaced by the back to school display. He’d even planned on Harry whitewashing the deck floor soon…

  A quiet “Excuse me,” interrupted Craig’s thoughts. He turned his head to see a girl standing a short distance away. Where had she come from? She was on the tall side of average with fiery auburn hair pulled away from her face although a few wisps escaped to frame her serious expression. She looked vaguely familiar, but he was certain he’d never seen her before because he couldn’t immediately place her.

  “Yes? May I help you?” To his practiced eyes, she had the look of a job hunter. Her white blouse had a bit of lace at the collar and the hems of the short sleeves, and the tan colored skirt she wore ended just below her knees. Her low healed tan sandals were the only thing slightly unprofessional as they showed the tips of pink polished toenails.

  “I hope so,” she said in response to his question. “Your manager said I could find you out here, Mr. Moore.” She stepped forward and extended her right hand. “My name is Angela Carman and David seemed to think you have an opening. I’m hoping you’d consider me for the position.”

  Craig ignored her hand. “Forget it, kid. Yes, there’s an opening, but I hardly think you’d be the right one to fill it.”

  Realizing he wasn’t going to shake her hand, the young woman let it drop. “Why not?”

  Wondering how to answer without getting a discrimination lawsuit slapped against him, he sighed. “First of all, it’s not an easy position. There’s heavy lifting. Secondly, there are some odd hours which aren’t up for argument. I’m not going to change hours around for you to accommodate school when it starts back up in a few weeks. It’s not a summer position.”

  The only sign of temper he could see was a slight clenching of the girl’s fists. There wasn’t even a hitch in her breathing, but something in those mesmerizing blue eyes told him this wasn’t the first time she’d been told no today and this time she wasn’t going to take it as a final answer. Great, just what he needed.

  “First of all,” she said in an even tone, th
at almost but not quite mocked him. “I’m not interested in a summer job. And secondly, I’m a farm girl used to heavy lifting and weird hours. I can still heave hay bales faster than any teen in the area. And as for school…” She drew a piece of paper from her denim handbag and handed it to him. “These are the hours I can work after the start of the semester.”

  Craig looked the paper over, appreciating how she hadn’t lost any steam in her argument from start to finish. He frowned at the hours though as they were somewhat near to what Harry had been working. Close enough to adjust half an hour here and there. And they weren’t the hours of a high school student, which is what he’d taken her for. A junior, maybe a senior. “Faster than any teen, huh?”

  “We’ve had contests and I can produce losers,” she admitted with more than a hint of pride. “And I can keep that pace up all afternoon, even in the worst weather. I realize it’s an odd schedule. So far, no one’s been willing to work around it. No one seems to understand college’s work on their own schedules.”

  College? Craig appraised her again. It looked like a college schedule, but she didn’t look old enough. But at second glance, she didn’t look like the teen he’d taken her for either. Surprising even himself with his boldness, he asked, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two. I’ll be twenty-three in November.”

  His gut instinct told him she was telling the truth even though his eyes were telling him a different story. Certainly, no girl, no woman who looked as youthful as she did would try to pass herself off as older and expect to be believed unless it was the truth. She certainly didn’t carry herself as a teen. Besides, it was easy enough to do a background check. Looking her in the eye, he thought she’d be far more pleasant to work with than Harry.