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Morris raises the jar. “You created this crap for yourself, didn’t you?” he asks.
Weston snatches the product from his hand. “You’re damn right I did. Gotta protect this pretty face. You’d better start using it too, little bro.”
“Yeah, or no one will ever marry you,” Tucker mutters.
Both of them turn to him.
“Say what?” Morris asks.
“You guys are starting to get all old and wrinkly. You need to hurry up and find someone to marry you, or it’s going to be too late. Dad barely made it.”
Morris looks at Weston. “Did he just call us old?”
“No burger for him,” Weston gripes.
A giggle escapes me.
“You too?” Weston scoffs.
A shrill sound rings through the office.
“Sounds like someone’s ready for lunch,” I say and skip off to get Kaela.
“Come on, kid,” Weston says as he hooks Tucker around the neck and leads him to the door.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “I’ll bring you back lunch. Burger sound good to you?”
“Sounds good.”
I settle into my desk chair and nurse Kaela while they drive to town.
“I think this just might work out, kiddo,” I whisper.
Weston
The last two weeks have been a whirlwind. The farm is in full swing, preparing for the April planting season, which will be here before we know it.
A crew arrived Monday with backhoes and excavators to start clearing another twenty acres on the property. The plan is to plant an additional ten acres of hemp seed to sustain the growth of the business and another ten acres for paper production starting next year.
It’ll take at least one growing cycle to get the soil just right and another to bring forth a viable crop.
We can grow approximately three thousand plants per acre, and one acre of hemp can produce as much paper as ten acres of trees. The wider use of hemp for paper production can help sustainability and reduce deforestation in the long run.
Bonus: one acre of hemp can provide as much oxygen as twenty-five acres of mature trees.
It’ll entail hiring additional farmhands, building another storehouse, and probably years for the new crops to make any dent in the industry, but the time to start planning is now.
“It takes money to make money, son.”I hear my father’s voice in my head as I crunch the numbers.
I have an appointment with my accountant and the business loan manager at the bank tomorrow. I’ve never been a man who is a fan of debt, but in order to expand, the farm needs capital. So, I’m taking a leap of faith and going all in.
On top of the clearing work and meetings, Graham dropped the keys to my house off yesterday, which means I’m no longer a vagabond, living off the kindness of my parents and brothers.
Most of my belongings were lost in the fire, so other than the few personal items and a small collection of clothing I’ve obtained over the past year and a half, I don’t have a lot to move. The place has been outfitted with all new appliances and furniture, so I’ll pack my duffel bag tonight and take Mom for one big shopping trip to pick up new linens, towels, dishes, pots and pans, utensils, and other necessities this weekend, and I’ll be set.
I can’t wait to spread out, naked, in my new custom king-size bed for the first time.
However, tonight is a night for love. So, I have plans. Not with a lucky young lady. No, I plan to scoop Morris up, and the two of us are going to park our asses at Barbecue and Brews and spend the evening consoling all the lonely women who are out, buying themselves dinner—or worse, participating in the dreaded Galentine’s Day alternative tradition.
