― Bert McCoy
Flora Franklin
I guess the reason why I'm so protective of my land is because I know what it's like to be a stranger in a strange land.
I lost my youthful innocence in the mountains of Afghanistan. I don't want to hear the sound of guns or explosives again―actually, I don't want to hear any loud sounds that come anywhere near reminding me of that part of my history.
And yes, I don't want hunters shooting on my property―my ball, my game, my territory. I think I'm entitled to a little privacy.
I've abandoned my high place and made the arduous descent to the bottom of the cliff only to find there's no one in sight.
What the hell! Last thing I want to do now is risk getting shot prowling through the woods to root out trespassers on my own property.
Lovely, just lovely.
I approach the Land Rover and stare at the flag decal on the back window―yeah, it's the Loyalist flag alright―just the kind of people I don't want bearing arms on my property.
"Liking what you see?"
A chill wave passes through me and settles in my limbs as the voice behind me has the drop on me.
"You must be Scott―I went looking for you at your tent."
It's a woman's voice―elegant, educated and definitely not a threat.
I turn around and stare into the face of a blonde beautiful woman―definitely not what I was expecting, but perhaps a threat in a different way.
She's bemused by my reaction―she probably gets that fall the time from men and although she's middle-aged, she's still incredibly attractive and ultra sophisticated.
"I'm Flora―you met my husband, Harold Franklin. I'm in charge of the Welcome Wagon in town and since you're now a resident I came out to greet you and present you with our hospitality kit."
"Oh, I'm sorry, forgive my manners―I thought you were someone else."
"If you're worried about hunters, you can relax. Locals here respect each others' land."
"Good to know," I smiled.
I'm probably staring a bit too long―I wasn't expecting visitors and certainly not someone this alluring.
She notices and suppresses a smirk, "So, I guess you liked the view?"
"Excuse me?" I parry defensively.
"The Loyalist flag on my rear window," she explains, pointing at the decal.
"Oh that...yeah, it's interesting―a blend of the Canadian flag and the Union Jack."
"Not quite," she laughed, "I'll explain it to you sometime, but for now, I'm dying for a coffee."
I wasn't sure what she meant―was she asking me to join her at a restaurant? I didn't want to overstep my bounds.
"I've got a pot of coffee brewing on the fire―it's not anything fancy but it's full-bodied."
She glances at me knowingly. "Sure, that sounds good. I prefer full-bodied."
She said it as if she were describing her taste in men.
I felt the colour creeping up my neck. If I didn't know better I'd think she was flirting with me.
One thing for certain, this Welcome Wagon offered more than the usual hospitality.