Page 5 of The Billionaire and the Runaway

“Just a second,” a voice calls out from somewhere behind shelves of medicine.

A second later, a woman maybe ten years older than me, pops her head out from behind a shelf of antibiotics. “Hey there. What can I do for you?”

“Are you Clyde?” I ask because she doesn’t look like a Clyde.

She laughs as she walks over to me. “No. Clyde would be my grandfather. But he’s retired now. I’m Sylvie. What can I do for you?” she asks as she leans on the counter.

“Oh, uh, I’m sort of lost and my navi is not being helpful. Do you happen to know how to get to Windsor Family Farm from here?” I ask.

“Yeah. Of course. Hold on, this will be easier,” she says as she grabs a sheet of paper and draws me a map. “So, go down Main Street, hook a right on Tower Road, then follow that past the big purple Victorian house, make a left onto Clearview Drive. Now, that forks, so stay to the left, and then about, maybe a mile down that road, you should see a small road, the sign’s down, but it’s Farm Lane and you turn right on that. There’s, like, this massive oak tree right there. And the farm is about a half mile down on the right. There’s a sign. And you’ll see the big red barn where they have the little farmstand shop. Just park there. Are you shopping at the farmstand? Because this time of year I don’t think Kingsley opens it until noon.” She pauses and looks at me.

“No. I, uh, I’m going to see Eric Windsor about a job,” I say as I take the sheet of paper.

She frowns as she looks at me. “To…work on the farm?” she questions as she looks me up and down in confusion. Yeah, I don’t exactly scream farm worker.

I shake my head. “No, no. He’s hiring a social media marketing manager,” I explain.

“Right. Well, good luck,” Sylvie says.

“Thanks,” I reply but my attention is drawn to some awesome postcards.

“These are great. Are these all Storyview Falls?” I ask as I pick up a few.

“Yep. I made them myself. Not that we get tons of tourists, but I think they’re good,” Sylvie says proudly.

“They are very good. You took these photos?” I turn the card over and find her name just as she answers me.

“Yep. Me and my trusty Nikon,” she replies. “Take one. On the house.”

“You sure?” I ask. Because in the city, nothing is for free.

“Yeah. Consider it a good luck postcard.”

I laugh. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”

She nods as I take a postcard of some fishing boats along a cliffy shoreline.

When I get back to my car, I place the paper on the dashboard and begin following the map. Eight minutes later, I’m pulling up to the red barn just as Sylvie described it. “Wow! A farm and a gazebo. This place is unreal,” I mutter as I get out. I realize then that I’ve not exactly worn the best shoes. My boots have heels, and they keep sinking in the mud. The barn door is closed, which means that…what did Sylvie say the person’s name was…Kingsley isn’t here yet. I don’t see an office. So I start around the back side of the barn. There’s another smaller barn-looking building around the back and a fenced-in area.

There are some stepping stones inside the fenced-in area. I can hear something inside. Maybe it’s a person? I open the gate and walk carefully on the round cement stones.

“Hello?” I call out as I approach. I start to peek inside the barn when all of a sudden a snort comes from behind me. I turn just in time to see a giant pig barreling toward me. Can pigs even run? I don’t have time to contemplate that as it whips past me and I go tumbling straight into the mud.

“Oh my God!” I cry as I try to stand, only to start sliding again. This time when I lose my balance, I reach out to brace myself, squeezing my eyes shut. But I never hit the ground. Instead, I’m pulled back against something…or someone.

“I got you,” a deep voice says in my ear.

I jump and the arms let go slowly.

“I…uh…I…” I’m at a loss for words as I spin around and come face-to-face with Eric Windsor. I recognize him immediately from his photo on the website. I swallow because all I see is his handsome face. My eyes go from his eyes to his arms where his biceps bulge under his long-sleeved shirt. Then, I look down at myself and I’m overcome with horror.

I’m covered in mud. And I don’t mean some streaks here and there, I mean full-on doused in earth like I’ve been rolling around with that monster pig.

“Oh my God!” I whisper. I’m completely mortified. Are these boots salvageable? I loved these boots. What do I do? Do I run away and never look back? I’ve come all this way. I can’t believe this happened. Tears threaten and I take a deep breath trying to keep them from pouring over my eyelids. I can’t cry. Not like this.

“Are you alright?” he asks as his eyes survey my body.

“Y-yes,” I stammer, quickly looking away from him again.

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