In Minnesota, my peaches and zone-marginal sweet cherries are in bloom. It's 71 today. Of course, that doesn't mean it won't snow yet in April. Or May.
In no particular style other than perfectly-dreadful-hardboiled:
The old guy was a swindler and I knew it, but when you're on the run from a hunter you take work where you can find it. Seven years is a long time but he had a dark-haired daughter who was plenty friendly, which didn't hurt the deal any. The older sister was another story, a dame on the lookout for the main chance, and the three of 'em conned me good. Even the youngest was in on the bait and switch. They figured they'd stick me with paternity but good. It was twenty years before I made it out of that hell hole.
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