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Harvest of Dreams

Harvest of Dreams

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Harvest of Dreams

5/5 (3 Bewertungen)
71 Seiten
55 Minuten
Apr 28, 2020


About Harvest of Dreams

As Hannah defies her parents’ wishes and follows her heart into the career she loves, she is distracted by Thomas, an intriguing young novelist who arrives on the scene. His help at a crucial time makes Hannah feel that that there might be something more than friendship afoot, but the unexpected arrival of someone from his past puts her dream out of reach. When thousands of miles and a “clean break” separate her from Thomas, Hannah struggles forward against unexpected setbacks. His reappearance promises the chance to put things right again… but have his feelings for Hannah disappeared?

About Bryant Street Shorts

Bryant Street Shorts is a new publisher specializing in exciting short-form fiction from talented and emerging writers. We’re passionate about creating immersive works that represent our readers and celebrate what matters to them, which is why our catalog of stories reflects a wide range of experiences and voices.

Many Bryant Street Shorts are collections of stories that follow ensembles of characters across multiple storylines. We suggest reading or listening to these stories in order to get the most out of your experience. Simply scroll down to “Titles In This Series,” located just below the description of every Bryant Street Short, to find the stories in their correct order.

To find more Bryant Street Short audiobooks on Scribd, simply search for “Bryant Street Shorts.”

Apr 28, 2020

Über den Autor

Iris Forester is never happier than when she’s tossed everything aside to follow one of the story threads that cross her path. She shares her home place with eagles, ravens and owls — but also makes time every year to spend in New York City. When she’s not writing, Iris works with paint, clay, and various difficult creatures.

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Harvest of Dreams - Iris Forester

Chapter One

Hannah straightened and arched her back to ease her tired muscles. She turned her face into the late afternoon sun, relishing its flicker of spring warmth, and suddenly realized she’s hungry. The day had been long, but she’d accomplished a lot, and she’d barely noticed her body at all until she finally stopped working.

Fondly, Hannah looked over the rows of tender lettuce and spinach seedlings she’d transplanted and the fresh beds she had tilled. Her new tiller was a wonder. She had saved up for it all through the previous year, setting aside money each week from her job as an assistant chef in town. Now, with its help, she was beginning to realize a dream she’d had for years: to run her own farm.

As she headed across the field to her truck, she noticed a car parked by the red cottage near her land. The cottage door was open, and someone was carrying something inside. Hannah was surprised. When she’d signed the lease on this five-acre field, her landlord, Ora May, had mentioned the empty little house that stood near the field.

You could live in the cottage, Ora May told her. Then, you’d be close to your work.

But when Hannah had taken a good look inside the structure, she noticed two puddles where rain had come in through the deteriorating roof shingles. There was a nasty smell underneath the kitchen sink, and the bathtub spigot spun freely, producing no water. Hannah had thanked Ora May but declined the offer, and the old woman had chuckled.

You’re a smart cookie. Houses fall apart if nobody lives in them, and that place has been empty for the last eight years. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.

Now, Hannah stared at the distant cottage. But with the sun in her eyes, all she could see was that the person was a man, and he was carrying things from his car into the small house.

He must be moving in, she thought.

She felt a pang of jealousy; she’d liked the solitude of her field and the coziness of being Ora May’s only tenant. But maybe he was a builder, just moving tools inside so he could repair the place. Surely, nobody would want to live in it in its present condition.

Too hungry now to care, Hannah turned up the truck radio and headed home to her apartment to put together a quick, hot dinner.

The next day was grayed out in typical Pacific Northwest mist, but Hannah didn’t mind. All the delicate new transplants would thrive in the moisture, and Hannah was used to being muddy. The tendrils of her thick, brown hair curled in the wetness despite her efforts to keep it skimmed back in a ponytail, and the knees of her jeans turned damp and black from kneeling. No matter the weather, her body was strong and healthy, and it always made her feel good to be outside.

Today, Hannah decided to work in the part of her land that was nearest to the red cottage, because she could see a light on inside. Was someone actually living there? Now that she had a long-term lease on these five acres of earth, she was becoming possessive of the neighborhood. So, she was curious about who might be moving in.

Nobody emerged from the cottage, and before long, Hannah stopped paying attention to it. She had to lay irrigation tape in the newly tilled beds, which was a finicky process at best. She was crouched over a tangle of the stuff many yards long when she heard an angry shout.

Looking up, she saw a man outside the cottage, shouting No! GO HOME!

Jumping around excitedly in front of the man was Max, the jumbo Airedale terrier who dominated Ora May’s household. Max had rushed up to the man and jumped on him in exuberant greeting, leaving muddy paw prints all over his beige slacks and pale blue shirt. Max was told no so often that the word had merely become background noise. Now, the dog redoubled his greeting efforts, eluding the man’s efforts to fend him off.

Hannah stopped her work and stood to watch the interaction. It was her first glimpse of the person who seemed to be living in the cottage, and from his appearance, she surmised that he was probably not a construction worker. The man was tall, with a slim, wiry build. But what Hannah noticed most was citified clothing. Why was he out in a rural cabin dressed like someone who belonged in a Seattle tech office?

The man noticed her watching and shouted to her, Is this your dog?

No. He belongs to Ora May.

Well, why is he loose? The guy seemed seriously upset that the dog had gotten mud on him, and his question just added to the absurdity.

He lives here, she answered.

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