The Inn: Findlay Farm, page 1
THE INN AT FINDLAY FARMS
STUCK TOGETHER RANCHER ROMANCE
FINDLAY FARMS
ELSIE JAMES
Copyright © 2023 by Elsie James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Portions of this book are works of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Contact: authorelsiejames.com
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Summer
2. Jameson
3. Jameson
4. Jameson
5. Summer
6. Jameson
7. Jameson
8. Summer
9. Jameson
10. Summer
11. Summer
12. Jameson
13. Summer
Epilogue: Jameson
Prologue: Olivia
About the Author
PROLOGUE
I slow my car as I wind around the bend. These damn potholes are going to be the death of this car. Yes, technically it's a Jeep. But it’s my Jeep and that means it was never intended to see an actual off-road adventure. My Jeep is more of the holds many shopping bags in a single trip type. Yet here I am, officially in the outdoors.
Ugh, the things I do for my job.
Spending time in nature has never been my thing, but it sure is nice to look at. I come around the bend and as far as the eye can see an endless sea of grass sways lightly in the breeze. The sunshine pokes through the clouds, streaming down over the trees like golden light shining through a stained glass window. You don’t get views like this in the city.
I take a deep breath and grip the wheel tighter as I make my way to the infamous Findlay Farm. I can't help but feel a thrill when I think of the article I'm about to write. Of course, I don’t care about the farm itself. In fact, every time I think of spending time there my city-girl heart pounds with a mantra of get back in your lane.
My excitement comes from the fact that this is my last domestic assignment. Pending everything goes well, my lifelong dream of international reporting is just a few days away. So far on this road trip, my anxiety has stayed at bay which is a nice change.
When the ranch comes into view, it doesn’t disappoint. The iron gate attached to a split rail fence is wide with Findlay Farms scrawled in the iron. I pull in with caution. It’s a total stunner of a property.
The main house is an old farmhouse two stories high with large windows and a wrap-around front porch that looks like it was built to sit and drink sweet tea. To which I say, yes, please. I’m more of a coffee girl under normal circumstances, but I hope that I’ll get the chance to watch the sunrise over the rolling hills on the edge of the ranch tomorrow morning before I leave.
I have a vision of myself fully in my cottage-core Instagram era. I can picture it already, the soft golden light will hit the fields at just the right angle so it looks like something straight out of a fairytale. It’s surprisingly cold out now, so I imagine tomorrow morning might be jacket weather. But maybe I'll find some sort of floral dress in my bag, I have about twenty outfits packed for the occasion.
Maybe tonight I’ll take a picture of myself with the sun setting behind me in the distance and oh, maybe a cow just for good measure! Yes. The final picture of me in the United States will be a Summer Bradley cottage-core girl. And then when I get my new assignment in Europe I will reinvent myself like the goddess herself Taylor Swift. This is my personal Evermore moment right before I start my Eras tour.
Before I can make any decisions on costume and lighting for my photoshoot an older woman with graying hair pulled into a loose bun on the back of her head comes toward me. Her face is soft and wrinkled with a grin that stretches from ear to ear. There's no doubt in my mind that this must be Maisie Finley.
I walk toward the house hauling my suitcase behind me. “Hi, you must be Maisie. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
“Summer, hello dear. I’m glad to meet you too, we feel like regular penpals at this point. I was worried you might not be able to find the place but you have. Oh and you’re beautiful, aren’t you?” Maisie skips the handshake and goes in for a hug pressing her bony body against my round curves.
In the city, I’d be sketched out by a stranger pulling me in for a hug. But in the cottage-core context of Findlay Farm, I give her a pass. I love this woman already. “I didn’t have any trouble.”
Maisie looks me up and down then gives a sharp nod of her head. “Yes, this is wonderful. You’re going to help us share the Findlay story. Preserving our narrative for years to come in writing means everything to me. It’s been a long time coming I’ve been pushing my son Jameson to let me do this. He runs things around here these days. But if you ask me, the gates need to be open.” She holds my gaze for a moment and I try to read between the lines.
I squint, tilting my head. I’m not picking up anything other than very much an Elsa vibe. This is odd for me, I’ve made a career of decoding the unsaid. But I’m drawing a blank. I move past it with a shrug and a smile. It must be the farm air and my thoughts of Europe clouding my judgment. “I appreciate you letting me into your world. Our readers will love to get the inside scoop on all things Findlay Farm. This place is famous around here.” I reach into my bag and pull out my notebook. “If I remember correctly, this was your grandparent's farm.”
Maisie shakes her head. “Not my grandparents, but my late husband’s parents. Frank and Fanny Findlay.”
“Right, I love alliteration.” I punch the names into a notes tab on my phone then slide it back into my purse. “It’s a beautiful farmhouse. I assume the big one is all yours.” I gesture to the glorious farmhouse behind her that has pride of place in the center of the property.
“That, oh no. It’s beautiful but it’s too much work for my taste. I have a small place on the back half of the land behind the stables. Three of my children live on the farm, but my eldest son Jameson gets the big house and all the work that comes with it. You will be out and about with him most of the day. I thought it might be nice for you to experience some parts of farm life first hand. But only if you promise not to let him scare you off.” Maisie lets out a gentle chuckle. “He can be particular about things at times. But he’s a sweetheart deep down. Now, let me show you to the guest inn so you can get comfortable. We only have one up and running, so he’ll know just where to find you.”
“Thank you, that sounds lovely.” And it sounds fast which means me hopping a plane for Europe is a closer reality than ever. Besides, how hard could it be to work with Jameson Findlay? If he’s anything like his mother, I’ll have this piece written and be on the road to my new life in twenty-four short hours.
CHAPTER 1
SUMMER
With a quick nod of her head, Maisie leads me on a path away from the main house. We walk several yards into the fields behind a line of oak trees. Their branches form an impressive canopy. I walk in their shade, but it doesn’t keep me from sweating through my clothes even with the off-season cold front that’s rolled in.
I don’t know if it’s the impromptu exercise, the wide open spaces, or the heat that has me off kilter, but my chest grows tight. It isn’t a total surprise, my anxiety follows me around like an unwanted party guest. But usually, I can keep it at bay. I swallow back my nerves and inhale.
You’re fine Summer, it’s just a new place with wide open spaces. No one is trying to kill you. Take another breath. Notice the smell of hay.
When an inn with a thatched roof dotted with succulents comes into view, it’s something straight from a storybook. My breath catches for a whole new reason. Ivy climbs up the swaying white picket fence and the small garden in front is alive with every color. My racing heartbeat slows.
I follow Maisie up the cobblestone path toward the door and a sense of calm washes over me. The distant sound of a babbling brook is soothing. My chest loosens and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can breathe.
Ha! Take that, panic attack. Nature one, anxiety zero.
We step onto the quaint front porch adorned with a creaky wooden rocking chair and it’s like time stands still here. I think I’m in love. The front windows are draped with antique, lace curtains and underneath the massive flower box bursts with wildflowers in full bloom.
“Here we go.” Maisie opens the front door. “I’ll let you get settled in but do call if you need anything.”
“Thank you, this is perfect.” I step inside.
I’m surprised to find that the inn really is perfect on the inside too. The great room has a warm, green, kitchenette, a sitting area with a brown tweed couch, and a bright white bathroom. The door to the bedroom is already open and when I step inside, my breath catches in my throat.
The room is pure tranquility. The window overlooks a small flower garden and is draped with white, gauzy curtains. In the center of the bedroom is a hand-carved queen bed with an intricately detailed frame and matching nightstand. On top of it rests a handmade quilt with floral patterns. The walls are covered in wooden shiplap and oak beams vault to form a ceiling.
Knock. Knock.
The knock comes as soon as I get changed and without a moment to spare. My excitement propels me toward the door. I’m ready for farm life. But when I open it, I'm met with a stunningly attractive man. I don’t just mean hot for a city boy, I mean rancher hot. This guy is gorgeous.
He’s tall, with dark eyes and broad shoulders. His body is solid in a way that only someone who bales hay all day can be. Plus he’s wearing real-life cowboy boots and a hat. His shirt is tucked into his tight jeans and I can tell by his backside that this dude has been putting in some squats. His whole look is held together by a leather belt with a massive buckle. I can see the outline of his rock-hard abs through his long sleeve shirt and it makes my mouth water.
Okay Summer, do not drool. Keep your shit together. You’re at work. I blow out a breath and pull my shoulders back because I am a professional. “Hello. You must be Jameson Findlay. I’m Summer.”
“Hey.” Jameson takes my hand in his. His grip is firm and his hands are enormous.
Heat bubbles between us and it makes my knees go weak. I wonder if he feels it too because Jameson pulls his hand away just as quickly. He tilts his head, looks up, and raises one eyebrow. I feel his eyes rake up and down my body.
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk and he shakes his head. “You do realize that we’re going to be doing actual farm work today. We aren’t Robinson Ranch, this isn’t just some kind of vacation.”
“Of course, that’s what I’m here for. I need to learn about life on Findlay Farms firsthand.” I nod my head but Jameson doesn’t return my smile.
Instead, I feel his eyes running the length of my body again and it has the same effect as earlier. I swallow hard. “Is there a problem?”
“It ain’t clean work out here.” A sarcastic chuckle forces its way through his lips. “We’ve got animals to feed and seeds to sow, that sort of thing.” He cuts his eyes at me.
I fire back. “Thank you, I’m aware. The word farm in the title of your ranch gave it away. Besides, I always do my research before I take on an assignment.”
From the look on his face, I’d say that Jameson is not at all impressed. I cross my arms and tilt my chin up in his direction. So what if he’s the world's hottest rancher, I am not intimidated.
“But you’ve never been on a working farm before.” He comments almost under his breath, eyebrows raised.
Of course, I’ve never actually been on a farm before, but he doesn’t know that.
If I was writing a piece on my look, I’d call it a whimsical expression of simplicity and nature. My dress is cinched at the waist with a fantastic woven belt I found at a local thrift store. It accentuates my curves all while practically oozing relaxed charm.
My outfit isn’t an accident. Over preparing is a part of my coping strategy to combat anxiety. I curated it especially for this interview and is exactly the look I was going for down to the footwear.
Originally I was on the hunt for cowboy boots, but when I put them on with the dress it was a bit too on the nose for the first day. So I ended up with lace-up ankle boots in weathered brown leather. To top off the look, I added a dainty floral crown. This man has no idea what he’s talking about. My look is spot-on farm chic.
“So you did your research and here you are, dressed up like some kind of woodland fairy.”
“It’s cottage-core,” I blurt as I swipe the flower crown off my head. “But thank you, woodland fairy isn’t a terrible vibe. I could see how you’d get the two confused.”
He lets out a strangled chuckle. “It isn’t a compliment.”
“Yeah, I got that.” I cut my eyes at him. “But I’m choosing to take it as one anyway.”
Jameson might be hot, but I’m starting to think he might also be a real asshole. But somehow, on him, it’s an intoxicating combination. His gruff attitude and no-nonsense demeanor stir something within me. I like a challenge.
I take a step away from him and the heel of my boot knocks into a massive potted plant on the corner of the porch. The jolt sends me off balance and I stumble. I brace myself for the impact, but before I know what’s happening, Jameson’s massive hands are on my waist, holding me firmly in place.
My mouth falls open. More from shock than to thank him, but no words come out either way. I can’t think over the heat cracking through me from his touch. For a moment, Jameson seems frozen too.
Then he steps back with a shake of his head. But he can’t hide the ghost of a smile that plays on his lips. I collect myself, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. He stares right back at me. Something tells me that Jameson might like a challenge too.
His stare on mine sets my heart racing and has my mind running wild. Something about Jameson Findlay draws me in. From the perfect symmetry of his facial features to the squareness of his jawline, the man is breathtaking. But it’s his eyes that really draw me in. They glimmer with a depth that has me desperate to learn more about him.
Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t my type. I doubt he’ll be joining me for an impromptu photo shoot anytime soon. But there’s a feeling of security radiating from his rough edges. The man is as grounded as they come and that is captivating.
“Be more careful.” Jameson breaks our stare. He reaches down and lifts the offending potted plant, moving it out of the way. If my life was a rom-com, Jameson’s biceps would definitely make the movie poster. “I’ll be back in a half hour so we can get this over with, and don’t be late CC.”
“It’s Summer.”
“I know what your name is, but I can’t see past the um… cottage-core of it all. So until you put on something reasonable, you’re CC to me.” He is words are a bark as he turns and heads down the path.
The air around us crackles with energy that pulls me closer to him like a magnet. I make a point of ignoring my better judgment which is screaming for me to stay away.
“What’s your problem?” I blurt again and this time it’s got to be the world's least professional question ever asked by any journalist.
Jameson turns, taking two massive steps back toward me. “I’ll be honest with you CC, I’m not crazy about this interview. I like my alone time and I’m not interested in having our business shared for the world to see. I live in the country for a reason and I don’t give two shits what people think of me, my family, or Findlay Farms. I don’t like getting to know people.” His voice sends goosebumps rippling across my arms.
“Understood, but it means the world to your mother and you’re willing to do it for her. It’s all very sweet of you. But I’ll have you know that believe it or not, being here wasn’t my first choice either. So what do you say we make this as quick as possible? I will ask you what I need to learn about life out here on the Findlay Farms that will have Maisie jumping for joy. All you need to do is answer my questions and then I’ll be out of your hair and back to my real clothing.”
A knowing smirk plays at the corners of Jameson's lips and I’m mesmerized. It’s like he's daring me to try and find out what lies beneath his composed exterior. There is something undeniably sexy about him. I battle against myself, desperately trying to convince myself to look away from his too-good-to-be-true body.
“Okay, you’ve got twenty-two hours and forty-eight minutes left. But there won’t be any shame in you deciding that you want to leave before then if the work gets too farm-like for you.”
“That won’t be necessary, I love hard work.” I meet his scowl with my most enchanting smile.
“Whatever you say, CC.”
All of a sudden, I’m not interested in speeding through this final stateside assignment. Instead, I’m utterly fascinated. Jameson is a contradiction. He’s equal parts unsettling and pure comfort. He’s grumpy and yet somehow charming enough that my cheeks are flushing with heat. The tension has me craving more.
