Home for Love (An Adult Contemporary Romance) by Aneesa Price

for
them, couriering from Fairbanks and other towns that have supplies.”
     “It’s a good business,” Todd continued,
“we can only do the well-paying adventure tours in summer when the tourists
throng here but in winter, this is our staple. And we provide a much needed
service so that feels good too. An added benefit you could say.”
    “Thanks for helping out, Bree.”
    “My pleasure,” she smiled back at him.
“Now, I gotta get home. They must be worried.”
    “They’re okay,” reassured Todd. “I
called them just before night hit. I remember how your granddad fretted when
you drove to the farm in the dark. I reassured him that I’d follow you back. In
fact, I’ll spend some time with Amber and if it’s okay with you, bunk there for
the night.”
    “Uh, sure,” Bree responded
automatically, good manners having been ingrained into her DNA. “Amber will
love that.”
    “I doubt we’ll get any more calls as it
is way after closing time.” Todd got up to go around the office and began to
prepare to call it a night. “Let me just grab my stuff and we can be off.”
    “Darn it,” Bree said in exasperation. “I
forgot about Gran’s order from Paula.”
    “No hassles,” Todd waved her concerns
away. “I’ll grab it tomorrow and bring it around after work. I’ll be coming to
see Amber anyway.”
    “Great,” Bree smiled. “Thank you.”
    “No problem,” Todd smiled back. “Now
let’s go.”
     

Chapter
7
     
    A few days later Bree found herself
heading for the local hardware store. Her grandfather had begun preparing the
soil in his hothouses to be ready for spring planting. It was still a while
away but he swore that the soil needed to be nurtured and treated so that it
could yield a better harvest. Not having much of a green thumb, she was happy
to leave those details to him. Amber on the other hand, was looking forward to
digging in the dirt and of course, having a license to look dirty went down
pretty fine too. Fortunately, the local hardware store carried just about
anything needed on a farm in small quantities and knowing her grandfather and
his habits, they would’ve pre-ordered what he needed in time.
    The musty smell of wood hit her first, then
the sharp smell of paint and the unique iron-tinged smell of metal. Sitting
behind the counter was Mrs. Stewart, a constant in the community that went back
to when her grandparents were kids. Mrs. Stewart claimed that the pure,
unpolluted Alaskan air contributed to her amazing ninety-odd years on the
earth.
    “Hi Mrs. Stewart,” she called out,
although she was right at the counter, Mrs. Stewart on the other side. The tiny
woman sporting an unmoving cap of grey hair and hand-woven cardigan, sat
knitting and grumbling to herself about winter bugs. “Mrs. Stewart,” Bree
repeated, louder.
    Mrs. Stewart looked up with a start
before her face split into a broad smile. “Bree, how nice to see you, dear.”
    After exchanging some pleasantries, Bree
inquired, “Is Mr. Stewart around? I’ve come to pick up the hothouse supplies
for my granddad.”
    “Oh, no dear,” Mrs. Stewart answered,
baffled. “I’m afraid that John’s down with a bug. I sent him home when I called
this morning and he was barking like a dog. He wouldn’t hear of closing the
shop so I said that I’d sit here. Everyone knows the shop and us so they can
just get what they want when they come in. It took some arm-twisting, but he
gave in. He didn’t listen to me when he was sick as a boy and he doesn’t listen
as a grown man. But, you know what kids are like.”
    “I sure do, Mrs. Stewart. My Amber’s the
same. But, she just loves the outdoors here.”
    “Yes,” nodded Mrs. Stewart, needles
clicking between syllables. “The Alaskan air is the purest you’ll find
anywhere. It keeps you younger and living longer.”
    “Sure is,” nodded Bree. Bree stood a
moment, her head tilted in contemplation. “Would you happen to know where Mr.
Stewart keeps the hothouse