Monthly.
Now, the man was trying to start a motorcycle manufacturing company. She didn’t know why this man would care about her tiny farm. The motorcycle club president claimed that he wanted to legitimize his business and give back to the community. It was a line she had heard from every politician and businessman who wanted to make money at the expense of the poor, including her financially strapped family.
Nevertheless, she was curious to why the bad boy biker was in her neighborhood.
Harold seemed pleased with the man. The young man was enthusiastic about the mini-tour he was conducting. “This is Ms. Kaplan. She owns the place. She’s the one you should be talking to if you’re placing that big of an order.”
Trisha’s ears perked up at the last word. “Hello, I am Beatrix Kaplan, owner of Foxtail Farms. And you are?”
“Pleased to meet you, Beatrix,” he replied, his eyes fixated on the woman. “My name is Dante Alastair. I was just discussing a business to business deal with Harold just now.”
Trisha fought and failed to keep from blushing. The biker was even more handsome and charming in person than he was in magazines. His face was proud and sculpted like that of a Renaissance statue. His windswept hair was of medium length and looked incapable of being combed properly. The man was gorgeous and he knew it. He had the tall, well-muscled build of a man and the boyish swagger of troublemaking teenager.
“Likewise, Mr. Alastair.”
“Please, call me Dante,” he laughed, causing her to turn flush again. “Mr. Alastair was my late father’s name. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called that.”
“Dante said he wanted to place an order,” Harold chimed in. “Actually, he wanted to place a lot of orders. He wants everything from turnips to strawberries. He even wants some of the wool we have left over from shearing!”
“I’ll take it from here, Harold,” Trisha said, dismissing the kid. She led Dante to her house as she probed him for answers. “I’ll take you inside to fill out your order.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a long drive here from the city. This place is beautiful. I should have made the trip earlier.”
“What brings you to Foxtail Farms, Dante?” Trisha asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “From the looks of it, you’re placing a very big order from an admittedly small farm. In fact, I would say that this sounds like a recurring supply order.”
“Well, I enjoy… perusing smaller providers when selecting suppliers,” he answered, reaching the door to Trisha’s house. “The bigger farms can’t give the same attention to detail or natural quality as the smaller farms. I want to make sure we’re getting our money’s worth when supplying my business. That’s why I’ve come here.”
“Is that so?” Trisha answered, suspecting that something wasn’t right. “Do club presidents, or CEOs or whatever they call you do the grocery shopping?”
The man had to have an agenda. The biker was born into money and power. He never had to live paycheck to paycheck. He never had to worry if he had enough money to keep a roof over his head.
Trisha wondered why the man had come here. He couldn’t be sick and twisted enough to see her failing farm as some sort of entertainment. He also couldn’t possibly interested in buying her land considering the money he had.
Nevertheless, the man looked impressed at her line of questioning. “I learned of this place from my mother. I would always pass it when I would go out riding in this area. I figured I should finally drop by.”
“Your mother?”
“Whenever she was around here, my mother used to buy from Foxtail Farms,” he answered, looking somewhat nostalgic. “She always hated the city and preferred these parts. I remembered she would buy fresh
Now, the man was trying to start a motorcycle manufacturing company. She didn’t know why this man would care about her tiny farm. The motorcycle club president claimed that he wanted to legitimize his business and give back to the community. It was a line she had heard from every politician and businessman who wanted to make money at the expense of the poor, including her financially strapped family.
Nevertheless, she was curious to why the bad boy biker was in her neighborhood.
Harold seemed pleased with the man. The young man was enthusiastic about the mini-tour he was conducting. “This is Ms. Kaplan. She owns the place. She’s the one you should be talking to if you’re placing that big of an order.”
Trisha’s ears perked up at the last word. “Hello, I am Beatrix Kaplan, owner of Foxtail Farms. And you are?”
“Pleased to meet you, Beatrix,” he replied, his eyes fixated on the woman. “My name is Dante Alastair. I was just discussing a business to business deal with Harold just now.”
Trisha fought and failed to keep from blushing. The biker was even more handsome and charming in person than he was in magazines. His face was proud and sculpted like that of a Renaissance statue. His windswept hair was of medium length and looked incapable of being combed properly. The man was gorgeous and he knew it. He had the tall, well-muscled build of a man and the boyish swagger of troublemaking teenager.
“Likewise, Mr. Alastair.”
“Please, call me Dante,” he laughed, causing her to turn flush again. “Mr. Alastair was my late father’s name. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called that.”
“Dante said he wanted to place an order,” Harold chimed in. “Actually, he wanted to place a lot of orders. He wants everything from turnips to strawberries. He even wants some of the wool we have left over from shearing!”
“I’ll take it from here, Harold,” Trisha said, dismissing the kid. She led Dante to her house as she probed him for answers. “I’ll take you inside to fill out your order.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a long drive here from the city. This place is beautiful. I should have made the trip earlier.”
“What brings you to Foxtail Farms, Dante?” Trisha asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “From the looks of it, you’re placing a very big order from an admittedly small farm. In fact, I would say that this sounds like a recurring supply order.”
“Well, I enjoy… perusing smaller providers when selecting suppliers,” he answered, reaching the door to Trisha’s house. “The bigger farms can’t give the same attention to detail or natural quality as the smaller farms. I want to make sure we’re getting our money’s worth when supplying my business. That’s why I’ve come here.”
“Is that so?” Trisha answered, suspecting that something wasn’t right. “Do club presidents, or CEOs or whatever they call you do the grocery shopping?”
The man had to have an agenda. The biker was born into money and power. He never had to live paycheck to paycheck. He never had to worry if he had enough money to keep a roof over his head.
Trisha wondered why the man had come here. He couldn’t be sick and twisted enough to see her failing farm as some sort of entertainment. He also couldn’t possibly interested in buying her land considering the money he had.
Nevertheless, the man looked impressed at her line of questioning. “I learned of this place from my mother. I would always pass it when I would go out riding in this area. I figured I should finally drop by.”
“Your mother?”
“Whenever she was around here, my mother used to buy from Foxtail Farms,” he answered, looking somewhat nostalgic. “She always hated the city and preferred these parts. I remembered she would buy fresh
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