>It's been a long while since you've seen your children
>All you really know is that they've been being looked after by their great-gram
>Wasn't your first choice
>But you were far too young when you had your first
>You really should have stopped at your second
>And then years later you slipped up and had a third
>That was the final straw, really
>You and Scrumpy both tried your hardest
>But you were too young to properly look after your kids
>Life was hard
>And things started being said that ought never have been said
>You heard she was married now
>Living in the big city
>Changed her name to Marmalade or something
>And while it had been a long time
>You never could quite forget your kids the way she had
>Having missed so much of their lives already
>You didn't want to miss any more
>So one day you sent a letter out to the farm
>Asking granny if maybe they had a spare room you could stay in
>Practically begging to help out around the place if it meant you could spend time with your family
>And to your surprise
>They said you'd be welcome
 
>So with a couple of bags packed with the bare necessities you took the train out to their small town
>Followed a few simple directions to find the farm
>And there it was
>A picture of idyllic rural beauty
>The house, the barn, the fields of crops and the famous apple trees
>Sweet Apple Acres
>And as if stepping out of your memory, leaning against the gate was your teenage love
>Long blonde hair
>Thighs to die for
>Tanned skin speckled with freckles
>And a rough-and-tumble country-girl demeanour
>She smiles as you approach, and your stomach does somersaults
>But as you draw closer you recognise your mistake
>Her skin looks just a touch darker
>Her hair just that little bit more blonde
>And of course, most obviously, eyes that are green and not blue
>"Hi there, sugar!" comes the call
>"We've been expectin' a visitor to roll up our drive any moment,"
>"I'm guessin' you're the sweetheart that wrote Granny askin' to help out around here?"
>"Real nice a' ya'll, given how growin' season's just endin' and we always bite off more'n' we can chew getting every crop in on time."
>"You must be beat carryin' your bags all this way. C'mon, give 'em here and i'll show you where you'll be stayin'."
>She doesn't quite give you the chance to get a word in
>Simply hops the fence, strides straight for you and grabs your bags, oozing confidence in every motion
>And while your eyes tell you this has to be a girl in her late teens, she seems to have the world right where she wants it
>That self assurance makes her seem like she must be early twenties at least
>This can't be your daughter
>Can it?
>Those glances you steal at her firm, denim-clad buttocks as she leads you up to the farmhouse can't be that horribly wrong
>... can they?
>Your gaze lingers on those ample hips as they sway up the path to the front door
>Perhaps just a slight bit too long
>Because when she turns back to you, she has the suggestion of a coy grin playing about the corners of her mouth
>Not to mention the knowing look in her eye
>It could just be your imagination
>Maybe you snapped your gaze up in time
>"Don't speak much, do ya'?"
>Desperate to break the ice, you chuckle like a nervous teenager
"Might be I would if you let me get a word in edgeways, darlin'"
>For a moment, she looks at you with a blank look in her eyes
>And then her mouth explodes into an infectious smile, a musical laugh of her own
>"Ain't I just been the most overbearin' hostess?"
>"Dragged you all the way up the garden path without even lettin' you answer all the questions i've been firin' your way!"
>"So, have I got it wrong? Don't tell me, you're just a lost tourist whose bags i've made off with?"
>For a moment you're tempted to play along
>Make up some reason why you were wandering a country lane looking for your hotel
>But you decide against it
"No, you've got the right of it. I wrote to granny asking if I could help out this harvest, and she said the house had room for me."
>Your guide is still all smiles at that, opening the door into a cozy kitchen and leading you to a set of narrow stairs
>"Shoot, Sweet Apple Acres always has room for a hand that wants to work, sugarcube."
>She talks away as you ascend to a corridor with a number of doors along it
>As far as you can make out, this floor has six rooms
>Your irrepressible guide knocks on the one closest to the top of the stairs
>"This here is the bathroom. The rule is knock before entering, easiest thing in the world to remember."
>"That over there-"
>She points to the door furthest from the stairs
>"-is the guest room where you'll be staying."
>"Every other door is somebody else's room, so just be considerate."
>"Now, unless your journey was really exhausting we already have work for you to be doing."
>"So whaddaya' say, pops, need an afternoon nap to recover, or are you raring to go?"
>At 'pops,' your stomach gives another, slightly more unpleasant lurch
>You realise that you've been suppressing your suspicion that this might be your daughter
>You worry that she might already know
>Might have caught you out
>Might hate you
>But at the same time, if she's not...
>Well, getting to know your kids is the real reason you're out there
>Better men than you have been tempted by less
>So you ought to try and make a good impression, just on that chance
>You're still in your early thirties for chrissakes
>And not in bad shape at that
>Can't let her think you're ancient
"Just give me a second to set my bags down, and i'll be ready to go."
>She beams
>"Knew we'd snagged a hard worker," she says, handing you your bags. "I'll be waiting down by the door in the kitchen."
>You smile, nodding your thanks as you move to squeeze past her on the stairs
>When suddenly she's right against you
>You can feel her breasts, barely constrained by her button-up blouse pressing against your chest
>Your back is right up against the bannister
>Her hair tickles your nose and her warm breath reaches your ear as she leans in to whisper
>"Take your time and hit the shower first, eh sweetheart? I don't mind, but if you're distracted all afternoon we won't get half the work done."
>And with that, she slips downstairs, and you can breathe again
>Holy fuck
 
>You need that shower
>You cross the landing in a few short steps
>Crack open the guest room door
>See a simple double bed, a couple of low tables, a stout desk, wardrobe and a set of shelves with some tasteful knick-knacks on
>It's pretty tasteful, actually
>Comfy
>But you have something else on your mind
>Quickly rifling through your bags, you snatch up your towel and nip back across to the bathroom
>Hanging up your rag, you slip out of your shirt and pants
>You catch a quick look at yourself in the little face-mirror
>Broad shoulders
>A respectable amount of definition
>And green eyes burning in a square-jawed face
>Your thoughts immediately go to the country beauty that met you
>Those fine, tanned legs
>That powerful frame
>And those full, firm C-cups she pressed right against you to whisper confidentially in your ear
>As you jump in the shower and the water starts to run, you imagine what they must be like to squeeze
>How they must taste
>What their nips must look like
>And your mind racing for inspiration, you think back to another country girl
>It's been almost two decades
>But you still remember how hard she rode you on your parents' bed
>They were away for the weekend and you had the place to yourself
>You still remember how hormonal teenage lust drove you to pump her fit, flat belly full of your seed
>Is it the shampoo, or can you still smell her?
>She smelled of apples
>And when you kissed you could taste the cider she'd lifted from her family's stores
>You can see her right in front of you
>Her mouth lolling open
>Her gasps and moans filling the room
>Her lively green eyes meeting yours as she comes in for another kiss against the bannister
>And you're done
 
>You take a moment to clean off
>Switch off the water
>And as you dry off, you fancy you hear a stair creak
>These old houses always sort of gave you the creeps
>You throw your clothes back on, and slip out of the bathroom
>Heading down the creaking stairs, you see your guide at the kitchen table
>Still waiting
>Is it your imagination, or does she look a little flustered?
>Probably your imagination
>It's running pretty wild today
"Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?"
>Her lips purse, and for the briefest moment looks about as if expecting to see someone peeping in through a window
>And before you really even have time to analyse this shift in tone, she's back to her cheerful self
>"Not at all, buckaroo. Ready to head out? Still not too late to reconsider if you're too feeble for it."
>She teases you with a grin, and you return it with a smirk of your own
"So long as you carry me to wherever we'll be working, sweetheart, i'll be fine."
>She snorts
>"Not a chance, darlin'. You got legs, time to use 'em."
>With that, she leads you out of the house and towards the apple orchards
>You banter back and forth as she points out landmarks to help you find your way during your stay
>And at one point, she even mimes carrying you
>Though you're pretty sure that was just her excuse to cop a feel
>And after maybe twenty minutes walk, you come to a grove of trees with a cart already half-full of apple bushels
>You aren't wondering who filled it long
>Because when your partner calls; "Hey Mac! I brought the hand out!" a tall young man lumbers into view
>There's no mistaking him
>With his broad shoulders
>His square jaw
>Those green eyes
>And even his name
>That's your son
>He drops his cargo of apples down in the cart
>Looks you up and down with a shocking intensity
>Stares right into your face
>And turns away, back to his work
 
>The sweet country girl elbows you in the ribs, jostling you amicably
>"Don't mind Mac," she says
>"He doesn't take to anybody right away."
>"Let me show you how we bring in the crop."
>She walks you up to a tree with low-hanging fruit
>"Now, just ta' demonstrate, a'fore we take any apples from a tree we got to check they're ripe."
>Standing behind you and pressing her chest against your back, she guides your hand to one of the lowest sitting apples
>"To test, you've got to cup the fruit gently," she murmurs, posing your hand beneath the apple
>"Lift it just a touch," she breathes, and you know there's no way she doesn't know what she's doing, "And just give it the slightest lil' twist."
>"It should come pretty easily," she says huskily, "But if it's not ready we gotta' keep from using so much force that we damage the poor things."
>And sure enough, having been led through those simple movements, you now have an apple in your hands
>She pulls away, and is instantly businesslike
>"Just pull down as many as you can for now, if any are bruised store 'em away from the others. We can eat those, but they don't store."
 
>It's long hours of hard work in the hot early-autumn afternoon
>Little Mac isn't so little any more
>And even though he seems to be giving you the cold shoulder, you can't help but be proud
>He's an obvious hard worker, and looks fitter and healthier than pretty much anyone else you've ever seen
>And no amount of sullen silence can take that feeling from you
 
>Just as the evening starts to draw in, darkening the sky, the three of you finish filling the cart
>You're about to ask how it moves when Big Mac heads to the front to grab one of two jutting handles
>Your sweet country lass moves up to the other, and you follow behind curiously
>She turns to you
>"Now, seeing as how it's your first day, sugarcube, why don't you ride up there with the ap-"
>Big Mac interrupted her by placing one of his large hands on her shoulder
>He shakes his head emphatically, nods at her, and jerks his thumb back to the applecart
>He looks straight at you, points, and then indicates the other handle
>She gives him a look of real bafflement for a moment, as if this kind of action is uncharacteristic
>Almost as if he almost never exerts his will like this
>But after a moment, she shrugs
>"Well, if you say so."
>"Mac says he thinks you two big strong men oughta' give me a ride back to the barn, and who am I to complain?"
>She gives you a half apologetic and half provocative look
>"So long as you're up for it?"
>With such a challenge issued, you can't back down
"'course i'm up for it."
>You take up your half of the cart, and set off towards the barn
>Mac handles the cart like it's nothing, barely breaking a sweat
>While you, not being used to this kind of farm work, have to live with your muscles screaming at you every step of the way
>It takes every single ounce of your will not to make a sound as you push yourself to keep up with your son
>And when you reach the homestead and stow the cart, he looks straight at you one more time before retreating into the house
>As soon as he's gone, you allow yourself to collapse onto the straw-covered barn floor, chest heaving as you pant to recover your breath
>Your pretty cargo hops out of the cart and is at your side in seconds
>"Lord sakes, pops, if you were this beat you oughta' just said you weren't up to it,"
>It hurts to laugh, but you do anyway
"Couldn't let him embarrass me,"
"Besides, we had to deliver the princess to her castle."
>You chuckle painfully, and she looks down at you as if she can't quite believe you would dare to be that corny
>And then bends down to give you a quick kiss on the lips
>It's short, but sweet - even if her long hair does tumble down into your face
>"There you are then, brave knight. One lady's favour."
>"But get up off the floor for chrissake. It's filthy"
>Having had a few moments, your breath is well and truly back
>You're still reeling a touch from the kiss
>Even if it was only given in jest, she seems to be signalling her interest pretty hard
>God, you really hope she's just another helper like yourself
>Could it be your boy was hoping she and Mac could be a thing, and that's why he's been giving you the third degree?
>No
>Your flirting can't have been that obvious, surely
>But if not that, did he recognise you?
>He was far and away the oldest when you had to give them all up
>He'd have the best, clearest and most current picture of you in his head
>The girls' memories would be patchier
>Whatever the case, you'd have to clear the air with him at some point
>"Y'alright down there, pardner?"
>Your companion nudges you in the side with one of her big boots
>Not quite a kick, but not quite... not
>"Look like you're wrestlin' with the meanin' of life or somethin'."
>"I weren't kiddin' about the floor being twenty shades of awful."
"Yeah, sorry, was being a bit of a drama queen, wasn't I?"
>She grins as you stagger to your feet, mostly recovered from your ordeal
>"Drama king, maybe, but I know worse examples. Just wanted to remind you you've got a nice bed upstairs, don't have to rest in the stables like some head of cattle."
>"Get some rest, sugar, you've earned it, but keep an ear out for the dinner bell. Shouldn't be long."
>She borderline-pushes you over towards the house, sending you on your way with a slap on the rump
>At this point, you're too tired to argue
>You clamber up the stairs and hear water going in the bathroom
>It's probably Mac making the best of it after a long day's work
>Fine by you
>You could do with a lie down more than a shower, right this minute
>Opening your room's door, you go to collapse on the bed
>-only to find that somebody's already in it
>Three persons, to be exact
>A gang of girls in their early teens are going through your things
>And for a moment you're not sure exactly how to respond
>More than just a moment, actually
"What's this about? Why are you guys going through my stuff?"
>They all look at you like deer in the headlights
>And for almost ten whole seconds, none of them have an answer
>Not the tanned one with a bright purple dye-job
>Not the pale one with the platinum-blonde mop
>Or the middle-ground with bright red hair and a bow
>The dye-disaster is the first to speak up
>"Well, mister, we were just checking to see you weren't bringing anything dangerous into the house."
>The pale one rushes to collaborate, voice twanging adorably
>"Yeah! You can't be too careful, you know? What if your bag had been tampered with?"
>You're not quite sure, but you reckon there's some irony there
>But the bow-clad ringleader speaks up eventually
>"'sides, it's a project for school. We awl gawtta find an unexpected talent, and baggage handling is as unexpected as we could think'a!"
>You groan
>It's really not worth fighting them over
>And you're a guest here
"Look, whatever, just... leave my stuff alone, hey? Respect of people's privacy is a two-way street, and i'm not about to barge into any of your rooms."
>The three sort of just look relieved that you're not shouting
>With a muted look amongst themselves for consensus, they dash for the door
>Possibly worried that you might consider them for more significant reprimands if they stick around
>"Sorry, mister!"
>"Sorry mister."
>"Sorry, mister."
>Just like that, they're gone
>And you're free to crash onto your rumpled bedding