Cole Goodsell had come recommended to Liesel by way of her editor, Rick. Rick drove a Hummer a distance of 2 miles from home to work and back every day but prided himself on eating only organic, and this included his weekly trip to the local farmers market.
"I reached out to some of my contacts, and I was given his name. He'd be happy to speak with you." Rick slipped her a number from across the desk. Liesel presumed by "reaching out to his contacts," he meant that he'd chatted up some of the good old boys while buying summer squash. She stared at the little scrap of paper and fidgeted in her seat. Rick's office reeked of cigarette smoke, even though he claimed to have quit months ago, and it made her itch.
"Have you spoken to him at all yet? Do you know what his deal is? What kind of farm he runs or...?"
"Nope. It's all on you, Liesel." And in a heartbeat, Rick had turned her off, his focus back to the computer screen in front of him. Online poker, she figured. She grimaced involuntarily, took the number, and left.
Back at home in her own office, Liesel massaged her temples, then leaned over to let her forehead rest on a pile of paperwork on the desk in front of her. Her dark hair tumbled down around her, blissfully hiding her eyes from the sun shining in through the window, which had started to seem a touch too bright. Her features were delicate and pale, with big dark eyes and the faintest freckles at each wing of cheekbone. She was a slim woman, and petite at 5'2", but her breasts were C-cup. She treated this as though it were her secret, though, and liked to dress modestly. On this day, she was wearing trousers with a little pink blouse that tied at the neck and a dark gray cardigan over it.
To say that she wasn't looking forward to the assignment was an understatement. She was curious about her subject but she wanted to write meatier pieces, something to do with global politics maybe. It didn't make her feel any better that she hated using the phone or that she had a good feeling this farmer wouldn't be of much help to her. Regardless, she hoisted herself up, took a swig of cold coffee, and started dialing.
"Hello, this is Cole."
"Hi, Mr. Goodsell. This is Liesel Lang with the Times."
"Oh, right. Liesel. That's a very unusual name." Liesel was caught off guard. He spoke it as if he were looking at some little bauble, studying it, turning it over in his palm.
She paused, and then replied, "That's true. It was my grandmother's name."
"It's a beautiful name."
"Well, thank you." She paused and nervously, purposelessly rustled some papers. "Um, is this a good time?"
"Actually, I am a little busy right now. Is tomorrow too late for us to have a chat?" Liesel expected to hear cows lowing or horses neighing or corn cracking in the background, but apparently a farm was a little quieter than she'd imagined.
"I think that should be fine. What time should I call?"
"I was thinking maybe you could come over here, out to my little ranch. Don't you think that would be better?" Liesel bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a groan.
"All right, okay, sure."
"Great. Just stop by whenever, afternoon is usually a good time. I'll give you the address, if you have a pen handy."
Riverside was a three-hour drive, as it turned out. So Liesel was on her way to farm country. She passed through electric green hills with patches of pale desert between, saw cows grazing. The landscape was familiar for a long time but then pavement became gravel and that gave way to dirt roads. The buildings she passed by took her back to Anne of Green Gables. There were churches, tiny houses, non-descript shops made of brick or dark wood. She could tell that this was a town where people still square-danced in gingham and bonnets or gossiped about a married woman being seen alone with another man. She passed by billboards about the Lord, printed with short passages from the Bible. Somehow, it was worse than she thought it'd be.
Cole was standing out front when she arrived. She pulled up, parked, and watched for a moment. His back was to her, but she could already tell he was young. He had that hard look of youth, the broad high shoulders, a modestly muscled back, and jeans that fit his ass perfectly. A full head of wavy dark blonde hair. When she stepped out of the car and slammed the door, he turned toward her, and she felt her face get hot despite herself. He was forty at most, with clear eyes and a crooked nose that kept his face from being just a little too pretty.
"Liesel," he announced as she approached. He took a long look at her.
"Mr. Goodsell." They shook hands.
"Cole. Why don't you come inside?" She nodded and followed.
The inside of his house smelled like citrus and smoked wood. The décor was minimal without being unwelcoming, that trademark look of a bachelor pad. A giant hammered-silver silhouette of wild horses hung on the wall near her and glinted blindingly in the light. Liesel admired it for a moment, until Cole directed her to a big leather couch.
"Would you like something to drink? I just fixed myself some tea."
"Tea would be great, thanks." Cole left, and Liesel took a moment to breathe deeply. She wriggled out of her coat and set her purse gingerly on the floor. She took out a pen and her notepad and set them on her knee, double-checked whether she had everything she needed. It had been hard for her to figure out what to wear on a farm, so she'd gone with jeans and a tailored plaid button-up and little brown leather boots. She could hear the familiar clink of china and tried to peer into the kitchen just as Cole emerged, pushing the door open with a tea tray. He set it down onto the coffee table and handed her a mug, then glanced at her.
"Why don't you let me take your things?" Before she answered, he had leaned over to pick up her coat. But as Liesel reached down for her purse to hand to him, she felt one of her blouse buttons unsnap. For a split second, she froze, panicked, looked wildly at the floor as though the answer was written there. She exhaled sharply and grabbed the purse handle. His hand touched hers for a moment, and he straightened up. She peered up and noticed him looking down at her.
"Ah, excuse me," she said, clumsily snapping the top of her shirt shut. He smiled and turned and walked into the hall. She held her face with her hands for a moment but tried to look composed when she heard a door in the hall close.
Cole sat down in the chair across from her and took the other mug into his hands. He took a drink, then spoke. "So I've been told this article is some kind of farming for city folk 101."
"That's a good way to put it. You know, teaching people who live out in the suburbs or even in an apartment how to live sustainably. 'City hens' are big these days. Growing tomato plants out on the fire escape. People miss feeling connected to something more than just concrete."
"So is this what you do for a living? You're a journalist?" Liesel cocked her head at his question.
"Well, I write freelance. I'm doing this newspaper job right now, I've done a little technical writing. And I do fiction, too."
"Who do you submit to?"
Liesel choked on her tea, and their eyes met. It seemed like he was smirking, but she wrote it off as her imagination. "I mean, ah, mostly small publications. Local lit magazines."
"I just submitted to the New Yorker last week. Pipe dream, but you never know."
Her eyes widened at this. "What do you usually like to write?"
"Satire, mostly." He stopped and swirled his mug, looked at his hands thoughtfully, then looked at her. "You seem surprised."
Liesel blushed. "Well, you definitely weren't what I expected. I mean, is that surprising to you?"
"No, not at all," he laughed disarmingly. "I used to live in the city myself. Came from a pretty well-off family. Went to college, even, owned a business. Given my history, I've been told it's an unorthodox choice."
"So why did you make the choice?"
"At first, I did it on a whim. In the district where I lived, there were rules about how many dogs you could own. Two maximum or else, you know. I wanted at least four or five. And who doesn't love the idea of wide open spaces? So I bought up this land, but my wife at the time hated it here, and she ended up leaving me for a younger man who lives in a condo in the city with cats. So I stayed, took a mental health leave you could say, which then became a permanent leave. Farming became a kind of therapy for me."
Liesel was taken aback by Cole's openness and uncertain as to what she should say next. She shifted against the leather, which she was slowly realizing was making her uncomfortably warm, and tried to read something in his face. But Cole had lowered his head and seemed to be studying the hardwood floor. "A man with cats? Cats, plural? That isn't a red flag?"
Cole looked up at her and laughed, and she felt instantaneous relief. "You'd think so. Anyway, sorry to unload that on you. But, that's the story."
"So what do you grow here?" She relaxed a little into her seat and watched his face, which was slowly brightening again.
"I dabbled in livestock for a while, but now it's oranges and grapefruit. We sell a lot of them at a stand in town and then distribute to local grocers."
Talking to Cole was easy, and it wasn't until nightfall that either of them took note of the time. "You know, I should probably be going. I have a three-hour drive to look forward to. I'm sorry if I've overstayed."
"No, of course not. It's been a pleasure. I'll get your things." Cole came back from the hall closet and held up her coat. It took her a moment to realize that he meant to help her into it. She slid each arm into the sleeves, one at a time. She could feel his hands up at her shoulders where he gripped the coat. Then his hands at her waist, smoothing it at the belt. And finally he lifted her hair up from underneath the coat and arranged it over her collar. When she turned to look at him, he was holding her purse out. "Let me walk you to your car," he offered, and opened the door for her before she responded.
They were a few steps away from her car when she saw her front left tire. She stopped. It suddenly felt as though she had deflated, too. Cole bumped into her, stopped, and followed her line of vision.
"Oh," he blurted.
Liesel was already rummaging through her purse and grabbing for her cell.
"It's these old terrible roads, you know." He looked over at her, saw her dialing. "Now, wait. You should just stay the night, and I'll call someone in the morning."
"Oh, but I..."
