The Farmer's New Wife

Chapter 1

The air was thick with the scent of freshly turned earth as John Miller stepped off his tractor, wiping the sweat from his brow. His fields stretched endlessly in all directions, a patchwork of gold and green under the late afternoon sun. It was the kind of quiet that had grown comfortable to him, the kind that came with long days and longer nights alone. He'd gotten used to it, even preferred it, in the years since his daughter Lorraine had passed. Noise felt like an intrusion now.

He crouched down to check the soil near the newly planted rows, letting his fingers dig into the cool, damp earth. The rhythmic clucking of the chickens behind him and the distant barking of his old dog, Scout, were the only things breaking the silence. It was peaceful, or as close to it as John allowed himself to feel these days.

That was until the sound of a truck pulling up the long, gravel driveway caught his attention. John glanced over his shoulder, frowning as a black Ford truck came into view. Not many people came out here uninvited. He stood, dusting off his hands on his worn jeans, and waited as the truck rolled to a stop in front of his house.

The door creaked open, and out stepped Reverend William Hargrove. John's frown deepened. He hadn't seen the reverend since his little Lorraine's funeral. The man had changed since then—his once well-groomed hair had gone gray, and there were deeper lines etched into his face. But his eyes still held that same fire, a flame that had burned even hotter since he'd found God and sworn off the drink. Hargrove shut the door and walked towards him, his steps heavy with purpose.

"John," the reverend greeted, tipping his hat. His voice was rough, but there was an undercurrent of something that made John's gut twist.

"Reverend," John replied, keeping his tone neutral. "Didn't expect to see you out here."

Hargrove nodded, looking around the farm before turning his gaze back to John. "Got a proposition for you. Something... out of the ordinary."

John crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the tractor. "Go on."

The reverend hesitated, then sighed deeply. "It's about my daughter, Dorothy."

John's brow furrowed. He hadn't seen Dot in years, not since she'd left town to chase a life beyond this small, dusty place. "What about her?"

"She's come back home," Hargrove said, his voice dropping. "And she's pregnant."

The words hung in the air like a curse. John didn't say anything, just stared at the man in front of him, waiting for the rest of it.

"The father... he's gone," Hargrove continued, clearing his throat. "Naval officer. She won't say much about him, but it doesn't matter. She's alone, John. And this town... well, you know how folks talk."

John did know. This place thrived on whispers and judgment. A woman like Dot, unmarried and pregnant, would be torn apart by the gossip. But that wasn't his problem.

"What's this got to do with me?" John asked, though he already had a sinking feeling he knew the answer.

Hargrove shifted on his feet, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting John's eyes again. "I need a man to marry her. To give her and that baby a name, protection. And you need someone to take care of your home while you work this land."

John pushed off the tractor, pacing a few steps away. He didn't need this. Didn't need someone coming into his life, stirring things up. But the reverend's words echoed in his mind—protection. He knew what it was like to be alone, to feel like the world had turned its back on you. He'd been living that reality every day since Lorraine died.

"She doesn't know you're here, does she?" John asked, turning back to face Hargrove.

The reverend shook his head. "No. But she's desperate, John. I know it's a lot to ask, but she needs help. And maybe... maybe you do too."

John clenched his jaw. It wasn't that simple, nothing ever was. But there was a part of him, buried deep under the weight of grief and loneliness, that considered it. He could offer her a place to stay, a way to survive this town's judgment. Maybe, in return, she could offer him something too—someone to come home to, even if it was just a formality.

"How soon are you talking?" John asked, his voice low.

"Soon," Hargrove replied. "Before anyone can start asking too many questions."

John nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. He didn't know what possessed him to agree, but before he could stop himself, he said, "Alright. I'll do it."

The reverend let out a breath of relief, stepping forward to shake John's hand. "Thank you, John. You've done a good thing today. We'll make the arrangements quickly."

John nodded again, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him like a heavy coat. As he watched the reverend get back into his truck and drive away, he couldn't help but wonder what the hell he'd just gotten himself into.