The Farmer and Her Daughter

TellMeAStoryGuy

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Looking for a female writer to write 2 characters.

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Parker Dane dropped his bag onto the sidewalk and sat back into the rickety old bench in front of the barber shop. He'd been on the road for almost two years, hitch hiking his way along the back roads of America, eager to see some of what he'd missed the first six times he'd crossed the county, usually at 70 mph or more.

He sunk his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the remains of his spending cash. He grimaced: a five and three ones ... plus coins. He'd been supplementing the cash he'd begun his adventure with by doing odd jobs, sometimes for pay, sometimes for food and a dry place to sleep; he'd driven shuttle at an outdoor concert, cooked hotdogs at a county fair, hung dry wall for Habitat for Humanity, and more.

He looked up and down the street. The "burg" was small, maybe a couple hundred residents, "tops", which might make most people think there would be no work to be had. But places like this always had some old codger who needed chores done, or a small business with a project that needed an extra hand to get it done on time.

He snagged his bag and crossed to a public bulletin board on the wall of the post office. It was covered in notes, new and old, hand written and typed; but one stood out for both its vagueness and specificity was an old, worn section of ruled paper in the bottom corner, practically hid by a larger flyer advertising an art festival that was six months dead and gone:
"Help Wanted. Handy man with strong back. Room, board, $100/wk. See Mabel in diner."​

Parker snatched the ad off the board, looked around to spot the diner, and headed for it. The place was almost empty, with a trio of old ranch types sitting in the corner booth sipping coffee and a kindergarten-aged girl in a boost seat at the counter, coloring hand created images of animals with stubby little crayons.

All eyes set on Parker as he entered, including those of the waitress standing at the coffee counter. "Choose a seat, cowboy. I'll be right with you."

"I'm looking for Mabel...?" he responded, more as a question than a statement. He waggled the scrap of paper as he approached the counter and took the stool next to the little girl. They exchanged smiles and, glancing down to see the impossibly colored animals, he said, "I like my horses pink, too."

The little girl laughed and, shyly, went back to coloring. Parker, always the friendly type, watched her for a moment before looking up to the waitress ... to find her watching him intently with a knowing smile. She came closer to him, her eyes walking over him, admiring the muscular chest and arms that his tight tee shirt emphasized.

After looking toward the men in the corner -- who Parker realized were quietly whispering amongst one another and chuckling -- she waggled her fingers toward the note. After he surrendered it and she read it, she stared at him for another long moment. She glanced once more toward the men, then looked back to Parker, waggled her fingers at him again, and commanded, "ID."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Mabel," she informed him. "Question is ... who the hell are you?"

Parker smiled, amused at the woman's brusqueness. He pulled his wallet out and was about to pull his driver's license out when Mabel snatched the entire wallet. He laughed, saying, "Feel free."

"I'm not," she said, arching her back just a bit to push her ample breasts out, garnering Parker's quick ogle. "Free, that is."

Parker laughed as he watched the woman begin poking through his wallet. She looked at his driver's license, then -- finding his emergency fund -- pulled the corner of a fifty up just enough to see the denomination. She looked at each of the pieces of plastic inside plastic windows. The credit cards were emergency use only as well, and in his two years on the road he hadn't used them once.

"Library card, movie stub..." she reported with interest, digging into another pocket. "...two-fer-one pizza coupon ... 'L' train ticket, unused ... jaywalking ticket." She looked up to Parker. "You keep some strange stuff, Parker Dane."

"Memories," he said cryptically, not wanting to explain what each of those items made him think of when he looked at them. "One must remember from where he came to truly know where he is going."

"Profound," she said, her smile returning as she handed the wallet back. "Some philosopher...? Historical figure...?"

"Sesame Street," Parker said, his smile widening. "Kermit if I remember correctly."

"Little deep for a frog, don'cha think?"

They shared a smile for a long moment. Then, after again looking to the three men in the corner -- who Parker realized had gone silent, likely listening intently to the pair -- Mabel reached up to her big hair and pulled out a pen hidden there. On the back of the note, she drew a simple map -- a mark for the cafe, the street heading north out of town, a crossroads, a turn, and an "X" presumably for his destination -- and pushed it across to him.

"By the time you get there," she said, lifting the driver's license she'd inconspicuously lifted from his wallet and looking at it, "My boyfriend ... the Sheriff"... will have completed a background check on you." She waggle his ID at him, adding, "You'll get this back tomorrow when one of 'em comes to town for supplies, which they always do on Thursdays. Okay...?"

Parker contemplated for a short moment, nodded, and stood. He snatched up the map, looked out the cafe's windows to orient himself, then looked back to the waitress and said simply, "Thank you, Mabel."

"Wait," she said, turning and heading back into the kitchen. She returned with a paper sack, offering it out. "Something for the road."



The map Mabel had drawn turned out to be a bit misleading and he was thankful she had given him the sack lunch that had included two small bottles of water. Parker had pictured a walk of a mile or two, yet six miles later he was still a good mile from the hill that was presumably the cause for the turn in the road the waitress had drawn on the napkin. The old paved road had given way to an even older gravel road, which near the base of the hill gave way to what was barely a dirt path. The parallel ruts were more of a collection of pot holes than a navigable road, and as Parker curled around the hill and the road began to climb, ditches of water running down the slope eroded the road to the point that only a tractor or solidly built four wheel drive truck could even traverse it.

And then, there it was, a vast ranch. There was a multitude of buildings: a two story home from the early 20th century with a blue tarp covering a portion of the peak; a decrepit barn that looked ready to fall over on the chickens and goats milling about it; a half dozen other smaller structures, also old, from chicken coops to rabbit hutches to pump sheds; and, the only new looking building on the property, a tube and corrugated sheet car port with an older Ford pickup truck and an ATV under it. Parker couldn't help but laugh, seeing the pickup on jack stands with one of the wheels removed and sitting nearby, it's tire presumably flat; while the ATV -- a 1980's era three wheel type -- sat low in the front, also suffering a flat.

The homestead sat amid a couple of dozen huge maple and oak trees, beyond which were fields of rye and corn, each growing well in the late summer sun and heat. Parker stopped and studied the view for a moment. He was conflicted. The property showed signs of desperately needing a handy man; yet the fields of grain crops were well tended, with large automated wheel lines irrigating them. Parker couldn't know, of course, that despite their proximity to the ranch, the fields either never had been or were no longer part of the ranch he was on his way to. The family had leased out or sold what land they'd owned, parcel by parcel, as hard times demanded cash in pocket for ... for everything.

Parker continued onward, descending the slowly dropping road until he was amid the structures, with the only life in sight being the goats, chickens, and an old black lab under a big shade tree that lifted its head, checked out Parker, then went back to sleep without so much as a whimper.

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Looking for a female writer to write both the lonely, widowed mother and the horny, 18 year old daughter (or step daughter, in case you want to get really kinky with the plot later ... and I bet you know what I mean!). PM me with interest; please don't simply post.
 
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