We published a new book, called The Black Gardener. As with all our books we take our time to build up the characters. Sometimes my husband would love to rush things, but I'm a girl and I like a real story. I think it makes the kinky parts so much hotter!
The Black Gardener by K.C. Harding - (86 pages in paperback)
Born and raised in a small village, Jane has always led a sheltered life. As a child she sang in the church choir and when she was eighteen her parents introduced her to Father George, with whom she got married. Now Jane is thirty-seven and a mother of two children. Until recently not much had changed in her village, but with the new road unlocking the valley, the outside world is suddenly coming closer.
When three asylum seekers volunteer to restore the church Jane is delighted, but when one of them turns out to be a gorgeous black man from the Congo, she is not so sure anymore. Why is it, she worries, that every time he looks at her unacceptable images pass through her mind?
An excerpt:
Father Alan’s wife Catherine dropped the men off at half past eight on Monday morning. Jane and her husband saw them coming and went out to meet them. Naturally they had seen foreigners before, but Jane couldn’t help wondering if she had ever actually talked to one. The first thing she noticed was that one of the Syrians had a beard and for a moment she wondered if he could be a terrorist, but then she remembered that they were Christians. The other Syrian was a stocky man with a hard face, but he walked over to them straight away and when he spoke, Jane was struck by the softness of his voice. He introduced himself and thanked them for this opportunity. He also told them that back in Syria he had owned a construction company. Jane saw the relief on her husband’s face as he said: ‘So very nice to meet you, Joseph. And you too, Rohan.’
Catherine joined them and said: ‘Good morning, may I also introduce you to Nelson?’
Behind Joseph, towering above him, Jane saw the third man who had just got out of the car. The African, she thought. Joseph stepped aside and there he was now. Dear God, she thought, he was huge! Probably six foot five with wide shoulders and muscular arms. He had a toothpick in the corner of his mouth and he didn’t take it out when he extended his hand to shake George’s hand and then hers. Bad manners, she thought and she knew that George would be thinking the same. Then he did take out the toothpick and said in a very deep voice that he too was pleased to meet them. He smiled and looked them straight in the eye. Now Jane didn’t know what George was making of him, this time she could only speak for herself. Something about the man unsettled her. Not because he was a Muslim, though she was certain that George would bring that up at some point. No, it was the relaxed way in which he seemed to carry himself. That and his whole appearance really. He was so big and his teeth were so white, so much in contrast with his dark skin. She told herself that she wouldn’t be the only one who would be in awe of him. Probably everybody in the village was going to stare at this man. They had never had a visitor who even remotely looked like him. Having said that, George was already talking to Joseph and Rohan about Christianity in Syria, so perhaps he wasn’t as blown away by the black man as she was.
Obviously Catherine didn’t want Nelson to feel left out, so she stepped forward and told Jane that this very brave man had fled his country and traveled all the way through the Sahara to make it to Europe.
She made it sound as if he had made the journey on foot and for a second that’s what Jane imagined. She could see him do it too, walk thousands of miles through the sand and not even get tired. Look at him, look at that massive, muscular body. She had thought of one of the Syrians as stocky, but compared to this man Joseph had the body of a boy. And now the black man was smiling at her too, the toothpick back in its place, a spark in his eyes that made her wonder if he knew what she was thinking.
‘It’s so nice to meet you, Nelson,’ she said, but now Catherine and Nelson glanced at each other, clearly amused by her and then she realized that she had said the same thing just thirty seconds ago. God, she was nervous. This man was making her nervous. It annoyed her too, because hadn’t she been the courageous one in this household? If it weren’t for her, these men wouldn’t be here now. But now that they were, she was the one acting weird, while her husband was nodding in agreement with the Syrians and began to quote from the Bible:
‘Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.’
The Syrians shook his hand again, saying thank you Father, for understanding the trouble our country is in.
Jane looked back at Catherine, who was clearly happy that Father George and the Syrians were hitting it off. The African man however seemed less interested in Bible quotes. He wasn’t looking at George and the Syrians, no, he was looking straight at her with those big, brown eyes. It gave her such a funny feeling that she clapped her hands way too hard and asked in a shrill voice: ‘Tea anyone?
She had imagined it all differently. When Father Alan and Catherine had brought up the idea of asylum seekers restoring the church and the vicarage, she had seen herself getting involved. Not by doing any physical labor herself, but by making them coffee and sandwiches and having work related conversations with them. Hear them say things like, this wall needs extra support, but we need different tools for that, and then she would tell them how to get to Dan’s Hardware Store. Things like that, getting to know these exotic people in a work setting.
Reality was different though. Meeting the black man, Nelson, had unnerved her and when they had gone to work after tea, she had basically fled the scene. First she had gone to the supermarket, where she spent more time than usual. Then she’d had coffee with her parents. They had of course enquired about the workers. Her dad had made it clear all along that he agreed with George, that it was a bad idea to invite foreigners in your home, whether they were Muslims or Christians. Jane knew that just a day ago she would have argued with her father. She would have defended these poor people and accused her dad of not loving his neighbors. Now though she was saying that perhaps he’d been right. She heard the words coming out of her mouth and despised herself, because deep in her heart she knew that she only said this because of how intimidated she had felt by the African man. And not intimidated in the sense that she was afraid he would harm her or her family, no, intimidated in a different way, in a way that probably said more about her than about him.
She was back in time for lunch. She had thought the men would have brought sandwiches, but to her surprise George had set the table in the kitchen. Eating together wasn’t as bad as she feared though. This time she was the one who talked to the Syrians, while her husband was asking Nelson about the Christian majority in his country. She wondered briefly if he was going to ask him about his own religion too, but then Joseph was telling her how his brother’s entire family had died in the attack on Aleppo. She could hardly worry about Nelson when someone was telling her something like that, right?
After lunch Jane stayed in and did chores around the house. She couldn’t help keeping an eye on the workers through the window though. She was so accustomed to this view and now all of a sudden foreign men were there, coming and going and making noise with their tools too. She saw Rohan with the beard on a ladder, his fellow countryman handing him a machine. Apparently they were sanding the window frames. Nelson, in the meantime, was further back, in the garden, clearing out an overgrown area. He was hacking away with a machete. Wasn’t he getting tired? Wasn’t he scared to have his beautiful skin sliced open by the thorns of the brambles? If he continued like this, he would have done in a day what George had talked about for years. But wait, had she just thought of his skin as ‘beautiful’? She had and the realization made her blush, even though she was all by herself. Was it a bad thing though, to say, no, think, that his skin was beautiful? She honestly didn’t know anymore.
If you're curious about the book, here is a link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07PF57B53
The Black Gardener by K.C. Harding - (86 pages in paperback)
Born and raised in a small village, Jane has always led a sheltered life. As a child she sang in the church choir and when she was eighteen her parents introduced her to Father George, with whom she got married. Now Jane is thirty-seven and a mother of two children. Until recently not much had changed in her village, but with the new road unlocking the valley, the outside world is suddenly coming closer.
When three asylum seekers volunteer to restore the church Jane is delighted, but when one of them turns out to be a gorgeous black man from the Congo, she is not so sure anymore. Why is it, she worries, that every time he looks at her unacceptable images pass through her mind?
An excerpt:
Father Alan’s wife Catherine dropped the men off at half past eight on Monday morning. Jane and her husband saw them coming and went out to meet them. Naturally they had seen foreigners before, but Jane couldn’t help wondering if she had ever actually talked to one. The first thing she noticed was that one of the Syrians had a beard and for a moment she wondered if he could be a terrorist, but then she remembered that they were Christians. The other Syrian was a stocky man with a hard face, but he walked over to them straight away and when he spoke, Jane was struck by the softness of his voice. He introduced himself and thanked them for this opportunity. He also told them that back in Syria he had owned a construction company. Jane saw the relief on her husband’s face as he said: ‘So very nice to meet you, Joseph. And you too, Rohan.’
Catherine joined them and said: ‘Good morning, may I also introduce you to Nelson?’
Behind Joseph, towering above him, Jane saw the third man who had just got out of the car. The African, she thought. Joseph stepped aside and there he was now. Dear God, she thought, he was huge! Probably six foot five with wide shoulders and muscular arms. He had a toothpick in the corner of his mouth and he didn’t take it out when he extended his hand to shake George’s hand and then hers. Bad manners, she thought and she knew that George would be thinking the same. Then he did take out the toothpick and said in a very deep voice that he too was pleased to meet them. He smiled and looked them straight in the eye. Now Jane didn’t know what George was making of him, this time she could only speak for herself. Something about the man unsettled her. Not because he was a Muslim, though she was certain that George would bring that up at some point. No, it was the relaxed way in which he seemed to carry himself. That and his whole appearance really. He was so big and his teeth were so white, so much in contrast with his dark skin. She told herself that she wouldn’t be the only one who would be in awe of him. Probably everybody in the village was going to stare at this man. They had never had a visitor who even remotely looked like him. Having said that, George was already talking to Joseph and Rohan about Christianity in Syria, so perhaps he wasn’t as blown away by the black man as she was.
Obviously Catherine didn’t want Nelson to feel left out, so she stepped forward and told Jane that this very brave man had fled his country and traveled all the way through the Sahara to make it to Europe.
She made it sound as if he had made the journey on foot and for a second that’s what Jane imagined. She could see him do it too, walk thousands of miles through the sand and not even get tired. Look at him, look at that massive, muscular body. She had thought of one of the Syrians as stocky, but compared to this man Joseph had the body of a boy. And now the black man was smiling at her too, the toothpick back in its place, a spark in his eyes that made her wonder if he knew what she was thinking.
‘It’s so nice to meet you, Nelson,’ she said, but now Catherine and Nelson glanced at each other, clearly amused by her and then she realized that she had said the same thing just thirty seconds ago. God, she was nervous. This man was making her nervous. It annoyed her too, because hadn’t she been the courageous one in this household? If it weren’t for her, these men wouldn’t be here now. But now that they were, she was the one acting weird, while her husband was nodding in agreement with the Syrians and began to quote from the Bible:
‘Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise. Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light.’
The Syrians shook his hand again, saying thank you Father, for understanding the trouble our country is in.
Jane looked back at Catherine, who was clearly happy that Father George and the Syrians were hitting it off. The African man however seemed less interested in Bible quotes. He wasn’t looking at George and the Syrians, no, he was looking straight at her with those big, brown eyes. It gave her such a funny feeling that she clapped her hands way too hard and asked in a shrill voice: ‘Tea anyone?
She had imagined it all differently. When Father Alan and Catherine had brought up the idea of asylum seekers restoring the church and the vicarage, she had seen herself getting involved. Not by doing any physical labor herself, but by making them coffee and sandwiches and having work related conversations with them. Hear them say things like, this wall needs extra support, but we need different tools for that, and then she would tell them how to get to Dan’s Hardware Store. Things like that, getting to know these exotic people in a work setting.
Reality was different though. Meeting the black man, Nelson, had unnerved her and when they had gone to work after tea, she had basically fled the scene. First she had gone to the supermarket, where she spent more time than usual. Then she’d had coffee with her parents. They had of course enquired about the workers. Her dad had made it clear all along that he agreed with George, that it was a bad idea to invite foreigners in your home, whether they were Muslims or Christians. Jane knew that just a day ago she would have argued with her father. She would have defended these poor people and accused her dad of not loving his neighbors. Now though she was saying that perhaps he’d been right. She heard the words coming out of her mouth and despised herself, because deep in her heart she knew that she only said this because of how intimidated she had felt by the African man. And not intimidated in the sense that she was afraid he would harm her or her family, no, intimidated in a different way, in a way that probably said more about her than about him.
She was back in time for lunch. She had thought the men would have brought sandwiches, but to her surprise George had set the table in the kitchen. Eating together wasn’t as bad as she feared though. This time she was the one who talked to the Syrians, while her husband was asking Nelson about the Christian majority in his country. She wondered briefly if he was going to ask him about his own religion too, but then Joseph was telling her how his brother’s entire family had died in the attack on Aleppo. She could hardly worry about Nelson when someone was telling her something like that, right?
After lunch Jane stayed in and did chores around the house. She couldn’t help keeping an eye on the workers through the window though. She was so accustomed to this view and now all of a sudden foreign men were there, coming and going and making noise with their tools too. She saw Rohan with the beard on a ladder, his fellow countryman handing him a machine. Apparently they were sanding the window frames. Nelson, in the meantime, was further back, in the garden, clearing out an overgrown area. He was hacking away with a machete. Wasn’t he getting tired? Wasn’t he scared to have his beautiful skin sliced open by the thorns of the brambles? If he continued like this, he would have done in a day what George had talked about for years. But wait, had she just thought of his skin as ‘beautiful’? She had and the realization made her blush, even though she was all by herself. Was it a bad thing though, to say, no, think, that his skin was beautiful? She honestly didn’t know anymore.
If you're curious about the book, here is a link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07PF57B53
