Weekends in Carolina

Wishing the weekend would never end!

Trey Harris wants nothing to do with his late father’s farm. In fact, he can’t get rid of it fast enough so he can enjoy his city life. Then he meets Maxine “Max” Backstrom—the gorgeous woman leasing the land. Between her passion for his family’s farm and her determination to show him its beauty…well, Trey can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss her!

Still, their lives are worlds apart. If he sells, her livelihood vanishes. But his interests aren’t here. And no matter how magical their weekends together are, this can’t lead to anything…can it?

He watched her watch the game...and couldn’t look away

“I don’t think I’ve seen a college basketball game since, well, since college,” Max said, before a forkful of corn pudding disappeared into her mouth.

“Where did you go to college?” Trey asked, suddenly interested in everything about her.

She held up her fork and he waited until she swallowed. “Illinois, so I know a thing or two about college basketball.”

Trey scoffed. “Big Ten basketball is fine, so long as you’re in the Midwest.” He turned on the accent he’d turned off for most of his adult life. “Y’all down South now, ya hear.” When he turned to smile at her, she had an unabashed grin on her face. Her white teeth against her pale lips, her speckled skin, and the wild mass of orange hair were a shining counterpart to the flashes from the oversize television.

He wrenched his face back to watch the game. Right now he controlled her livelihood. Even if he wanted to know just how much of her body was covered in freckles, he was leaving in a week.

Dear Reader,

I grew up in southern Idaho with parents who gardened. And they didn’t just have a small, “square foot” garden; our garden was about an eighth of an acre and included raspberries, strawberries, apples, apricots, pears and plums, along with vegetables. Between tilling in the manure, laying the drip lines, organic pest control, et cetera, this garden was a huge operation for one family. It provided all of our summer produce, along with produce to give away, and to preserve. No one ever had to tell me to “eat my vegetables” because fruits and vegetables made up the bulk of what I ate—although I did have to be told to eat my zucchini.

Now I live on a shaded plot of land and I am a terrible gardener.

Farmers’ markets and community-supported agriculture saved me. While agriculture has always been an important part of North Carolina’s economy, I have been blessed to live in Durham at a time when “eating local” really started to gain hold. One of the benefits of writing Weekends in Carolina is that I had an excuse—obligation—to get to know my farmers better. The amount of care, both for the land and for the vegetable, put into a single cucumber humbles me.

If this book inspires you to go to your local farmer’s market and buy a pound of spring carrots, then I also suggest that you visit the bookstore for a copy of World Vegetarian by Madhur Jaffrey and make her stir-fried carrots with ginger and mustard seeds. You won’t regret either purchase and you’ll have the bonus of a delicious side dish.

Enjoy!

Jennifer Lohmann

Weekends in Carolina

Jennifer Lohmann

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer Lohmann is a Rocky Mountain girl at heart, having grown up in southern Idaho and Salt Lake City. When she’s not writing or working as a public librarian, she wrangles two cats and five backyard chickens; the dog is better behaved. She lives in Durham, North Carolina, and has received a weekly box of vegetables from the same farm for eight years.

To Elise from Elysian Fields Farm and all the small farmers selling week after week at farmers’ markets across the country; thank you for growing delicious food for me to cook with and eat.

To all the people who helped me weather a rough year. This space is too small to thank each of you individually, but you know who you are. May life bless you as much as you have blessed me.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

TREY WOULD HAVE bet substantial amounts of money that he would never have found a woman shooting tin cans with a .22 attractive. Or, for that matter, any woman standing behind his father’s house. This woman was evidence that he would have lost both wagers.

He couldn’t see her face, but she had a ferocity to her stance, legs set apart and knees slightly bent, elbows sharp and dangerous, and he could describe the pinch in her facial features without her having to turn around. Her mass of curly, carrot-colored hair was barely contained by the knot she’d tied it in, and the baseball cap it was shoved under was doing nothing to help lash the masses together. She must be keeping it out of her eyes by sheer force of will, as the wind blew wisps of curls everywhere but in front of her face.