FIVE WEB SERIES BROADCASTING CLASSIC BOOKS FOR A NEW ERA
Classic books are so named for a reason. These books offer more […]
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Simon Adams winced as he lost concentration yet again. Turning from the pair of boots he'd been working on for the last three hours, Simon grunted. That famous country singer in Nashville would just have to wait a while longer to get his handmade boots.
Right now Simon had to go outside and find out what was going on across the fence in what used to be a vacant vacation cabin. A cabin nestled in the riotous spring beauty of the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Georgia near the little river town of Knotwood.
There it went again. The banging and knocking, the giggling and shouting.
Simon didn't like people.
His brother's dog, Shiloh--he really didn't like the dog either--followed Simon out the double doors of his workshop, barking at the unusual noises echoing over the woods and trees. Obviously Shiloh was more excited about this intrusion than Simon. They both enjoyed the quiet of the countryside, but the dog craved company.
"Quit your whining," Simon said to the big golden retriever. "We don't need company today."
Stalking up to the fence line, he couldn't believe his eyes. Someone was moving into the big, sprawling cabin next to his. Okay, maybe a hundred yards from his, but still too close for comfort.
Shiloh barked again, a friendly let's-go-see-who-it-is kind of bark.
"No," Simon told the dog. "Why didn't you go into town with Rick anyway?"
Shiloh appeared sheepish then turned to stare at what looked like an army of people in all kinds of sizes and shapes lining up in front of the house to unload a big passenger van. Small people.
"Great. Kids." Just what he needed. He didn't really like kids, either.
Shifting on his old work boots, Simon ignored the fresh spring air filled with the scent of honeysuckle and the sound of birds chirping in a church choir harmony. He pushed thoughts of
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