"Are you sure he's going to work the farm? He'll probably sell the property for some condominium resort."
"Oh, no! Joey has seen the plans for renovating the barn and the cider mill."
"We'll see." She was not willing to give this man the benefit of the doubt. Although she was only going to meet him for the first time tonight, she had already convinced herself she wasn't going to like him. She felt sorry for him, his story was sad, but she certainly didn't need to get involved with some tragic figure. She needed someone who could bring a little excitement into her life, someone who could jolt her out of this state of limbo and get back to the land of the living.
While Sara was busy peeling potatoes, the object of her disdain was turning off the pavement of Old Telegraph Road, onto the dusty driveway of the farm he had just purchased. The tires of the big black Lincoln scrunched the gravel as the car made its way up the long drive. Suddenly, a cat darted across the road. David slammed on the breaks, and the car came to an abrupt halt in a cloud of dust and gravel. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he had stopped in time.
She was a black cat with just a spot of white on the top of her head, and now she stood at attention on the side of the road, studying the monster that had almost run her down. David got out of the car and approached her. She glared suspiciously at him, but allowed him to pet her.
"Sorry, Cat. I didn't mean to scare you."
She purred, as if accepting his apology then blinked and scampered away, disappearing into the shadows of the barn. She had quickly lost interest in the man, though if she had been a human female, she probably would have paid more attention.
David Wilson was a handsome man. His features were rugged and well defined. His strong square chin had just a hint of a cleft to relieve the sharp angles of his face. His hawkish nose was long, but fit well under his deep set eyes. And those eyes; so blue and alert, though weariness and perhaps a touch of sadness or regret showed in the new lines that had formed at the corners. His thick, black hair, cut short, and neatly combed, was just beginning to show signs of gray at the temples. He had kept his body in good shape by working out at the club and playing squash with Randall, a junior partner at his old law firm. The exercise, combined with his good genes, all contributed to the impression that he was younger than his forty-two years.