FOUR
Vivian stumbled down the stairs in her stocking feet, her eyes still bleary, feeling as if she’d been run over by a train. The rooster. The bastard started squawking the instant the sun came over the horizon, shocking her awake. She was used to hearing car horns and siren wails in the distance, not giant birds screaming their heads off in the backyard.
As her feet carried her through the downstairs, she became increasingly aware of the rich aroma tantalizing her nose, until it was her other senses and a grumbling stomach that were leading the way instead.
She found Gretta in the kitchen in front of the stove, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon.
“Good morning,” Gretta greeted her without turning to look in her direction. She’d either heard her coming, or she had that keen motherly sixth sense. Or eyes in the back of her head, like Vivian’s nanny, who was the closest thing to a mother than her actual mother, used to tell her.
“Morning,” Vivian croaked.
“Breakfast is almost ready. Have a seat.” She pointed the steaming spoon at the rectangular farm table behind her.
Vivian’s eyes widened as she slung a leg over the bench seat and sat down. The table was covered in a spread the size of a Thanksgiving dinner. There were biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs piled high in a serving bowl, a mountain of toast on a platter, what had to be a couple of pounds of bacon beside it, and then there was whatever she was working on.
“Are you expecting company?” Vivian asked curiously as she reached for the pitcher of what appeared to be freshly squeezed orange juice and poured herself a glass. She wasn’t in the mood to meet more strangers so early in the morning, but she also knew the two of them alone couldn’t eat this much food. Impossible!
“The boys come by every morning to fill up. They’ll be in and out. Nothing formal. But you’ll meet a few.” Turning off the burner, Gretta carried the pan over to the table and scraped its contents into a waiting ceramic bowl. Grits. She’d made grits.
Despite how good everything looked and tasted and her mounting hunger, Vivian’s thoughts were drawn elsewhere—her appearance.
“I should go get dressed then.”
“And show me up with your youth and beauty?” Gretta scoffed. “You stay put and eat your breakfast. I don’t need any more help looking older than I already do.”
Vivian was stunned, unsure what to say. Should she agree? Adamantly disagree? Talk about awkward.
“Don’t worry, I’m not looking for sympathies. I know I’m a wrinkled-up prune,” Gretta teased and took the seat across from her. She grabbed a few slices of bacon first as she began loading her plate.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Vivian argued, even though she did look as if she’d spent a lot of years soaking up too much sun.
“I would! Hell, I own mirrors, and I’m not vain enough to think I can turn an eye like you will when my boys arrive. Now they’ll be downright stupid when they get a look at ya.”
Which only made Vivian itch even more to retrieve her bags and make herself presentable. A houseful of…what, ranch hands seeing her in her rumpled, day-old clothes with her hair and makeup a mess? She hadn’t showered in over twenty-four hours either. She felt…grimy.
“Oh go on then. Get yourself cleaned up,” Gretta dismissed, taking pity on her. Her distress much have shown. “Just don’t get too fancy. Let an old woman keep some of her shine, eh?”
Vivian was already getting to her feet. “Don’t worry, Gretta, I could never steal your shine. It’s too bright. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here stuffing my face,” Gretta called after her.
Vivian rushed out to the car to collect the things she’d need for the day ahead, keeping Gretta’s insecurities in mind as she went back to her room to ready herself. There was only one bathroom on the second floor, and it was just as nice and cozy as the rest of the house with its circa twenties subway tiled walls and black-and-white honeycombed floors. She was instantly in love with the old-world charm.
By the time she’d finished blowing her hair dry and slapping on a little foundation and blush, Vivian could hear the commotion downstairs of men traipsing in and out, laughter and conversation, and dishes clanking as if the house had come alive in her absence.
Used to parties and social gatherings, Vivian wasn’t exactly shy, but as she approached the top of the staircase and listened to the chatter below, she smoothed her hand down the simplest outfit she owned—a basic navy T-shirt and white cotton capris from Nordstrom. She was nervous. Completely out of her element, every face was unfamiliar, and she was painfully aware that she was out of place here.
Vivian was high-society, and these people were rural farmers and small business owners. They had nothing in common, and yet here she was, on their turf. Even though no one had outwardly judged her and everyone had been exceptionally friendly to her so far, she was still fearful that they’d dislike her in some way.
But she couldn’t hide away upstairs all morning. Gretta was expecting her at the table, and she still had a hell of a drive ahead of her.
Sucking in a huge breath, Vivian descended the stairs. A weak and ready smile played on her lips as she followed the sound of the voices, which had dimmed considerably since her moment of crisis upstairs, and by the time she reached the kitchen, only Gretta and two men remained.
Gretta moved around the table, making sure both men who were seated had plenty to eat on their plates. The one with his back toward Vivian dug into his breakfast with enthusiasm, while the man across from him held up a hand to hold Gretta off from another pile of eggs. He wiped his mouth on a checkered cloth napkin and said, “No more for me, ma’am. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you out there getting hungry before lunch.”
“I’m sure.” He chuckled as he rose from the table, embraced her quickly, and said, “How am I ever gonna find me a wife if you keep trying to fatten me up?” He winked at her, then started for the door, toward Vivian. He didn’t seem surprised to see her standing there, a stranger in his friend’s home. Instead, he just sized her up as he approached, tipped his head slightly, and brushed by her as if she was of no consequence.
Vivian wasn’t sure if she should take offense or not. But if he’d been a woman, she definitely would have. Men were different, though, so she simply couldn’t tell.
“There ya are,” Gretta called. “Grab a seat. The boys have laid waste, but there’s still plenty left for the both of us.”
Feigning confidence, Vivian entered the kitchen fully and sat down a ways from the last remaining man, close to where she’d been before, but not close enough to invade his personal space or hers. He was still actively shoveling food into his mouth and didn’t appear to notice her arrival, which was fine. Gretta smiling widely across from her was enough company to make her happy and comfortable.
“So what are your plans today, dear?” Vivian held out her plate as Gretta loaded it up with a little bit of everything at the table.
“Well, I don’t have a plan, exactly…” she hedged.
Gretta frowned. “No plan? Then where the heck are you headed?”
Clearing her throat, Vivian admitted, “I don’t know that yet. But I was thinking I’d see the ocean.”
“That’s a few hours’ drive yet. But if you don’t know where you’re going in general, how will you know when you get there?”
Shrugging, she said, “Well, I guess when the gas runs out, that’s where I’ll settle in.”
Gretta pinned her with a look. “From what I’ve been hearin’, seems to me that’s already happened.”
Vivian opened her mouth to say something, but she didn’t know what to say. The plan had been to stick where she stopped when the tank ran empty. She was right; it had happened. Did that mean she had already reached her destination?
She still had some money to keep her going for a little while, but not for much longer. Surely, Andrew would cut her out of the joint account once he realized his oversight, which should be soon. The idea of traveling no longer held its appeal either. But what did this little two-stoplight town have to offer her when she was used to bigger places where she could blend in and lose herself in a crowd?
Did she want to lose herself though? Around here, everyone had been so nice to her—welcoming and accommodating. Helpful. Trusting. She’d never met people like these before. It was…kind of nice. Even though she’d never met any of them before, they almost felt like old friends.
Glancing around the kitchen, she reflected on the last twelve hours. There was such warmth here. The pace felt slower, too. Relaxed. She didn’t feel the pressure to move and do and entertain and be so perfect. She didn’t have to constantly strive to impress. The people around here didn’t seem to focus on the material, but the connection with each other.
As Vivian ate, she started questioning whether she could settle down here, make a home for herself. She was surprised to find the idea wasn’t entirely distasteful.
“You’re that city girl from the road.”
The gruff male voice captured Vivian’s attention, and she whipped her head up to look at the formerly quiet farmhand sitting at the opposite end of the table.
She didn’t recognize him right away without the hat, but she’d know that voice anywhere. Which was absurd, since she’d only met the guy one time, but for some reason, he’d stuck with her.
Probably because he was a thief. And super hot. Oh Lord, why was she always attracted to the bad boys? She wouldn’t be the only woman in history to say that, so at least she wasn’t alone.
“And you’re the man with the five-finger discount,” she replied with a fake smile. Nash. That was his name, and it suited him. She refused to admit that she liked it.
Those baby blues were filled with humor that she didn’t understand. Was he proud of himself, or did he just like pissing people off?
“Just so you know, I told Jack what you did.”
Both of his eyebrows rose. Setting his fork down beside his plate, he picked up the cloth napkin he’d laid in his lap—as if he were some kind of gentleman—and wiped his already clean face clean. “And what did old Jack have to say about that?”
Vivian clammed up, lost for words. As if she was going to tell Discount Nash that there was no justice, as far as he was concerned. She was sure he knew it anyway, considering he was habitual.
He nodded as if she’d just confirmed something. “I trust you got your gas,” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. More of a cocky observation of sorts. Her car was clearly outside, so of course, she’d gotten gas.
“No thanks to you,” she said snidely. So the guy was hot. Didn’t mean she liked him.
“What am I missing?” Gretta asked, a curious look on her face. She chewed on a slice of bacon, her attention rapt on them and their not-so-private conversation.
Vivian flushed and looked down at her plate of food, barely eaten. Maybe sticking around wasn’t such a good idea after all. Not with this Nash character hanging around. He just screamed trouble. In a downhome, farm boy kind of way.
“Not much,” Nash offered. “We ran into each other yesterday on her way into town. She blew a tire on that fancy car out front. And then our girl went and ran out of gas not soon after pulling away.” He chuckled, and Gretta followed suit.
Vivian didn’t see the humor in any of it. She’d had a rough day!
And where did he get off calling her “our girl.” She wasn’t anyone’s anything anymore. It was at once lonely and liberating.
“No wonder you looked like someone had dragged you through the wringer!” Gretta whooped.
Whatever that meant. Vivian figured it was country slang that meant she looked like hell warmed over, which wasn’t news to her. She had been completely run into the ground by the time she’d reached the house. It was a wonder she hadn’t been dead on her feet. But as always, she persevered.
“I’ve been trying to talk this one into hanging around for a while,” Gretta continued.
Nash glanced at her in surprise. Vivian plaintively ignored him and sipped her orange juice. He didn’t need to know her plans or lack thereof. Besides, she hadn’t fully decided what she was going to do yet. Everything was up in the air.
“That’s a good idea,” he agreed, shocking her. “The strawberry festival is tonight. You should check it out.”
“What’s a strawberry festival?” Vivian asked, looking back and forth between Nash and their host. In her mind, she was picturing a huge field of strawberries and the entire town out there picking them one by one. That was hardly her idea of a good time.
“As the name suggests, it’s all about strawberries. The sheriff closes down the main street for the evening, and the locals gather for music and dancing and sample the different treats a few of us make with our homegrown crops.”
“Ms. Gretta makes a mean strawberry pie,” Nash said fondly and winked at Gretta, who waved him off as if he was speaking utter nonsense. But Vivian could tell the old woman secretly loved the doting.
“It’s my ma’s recipe. And her ma’s before that. Nothin’ special, but people love it, so I make it.”
Nash stood and picked up the cowboy hat he’d worn when she’d first met him the day before from the bench beside him. “That’s a bold-faced lie if ever I heard one,” he accused. “If there’s anything worth sticking around an extra day for, it’s those pies,” he told Vivian. “I gotta get going,” he directed his attention back on Gretta. “You let me know when you’re headin’ over and I’ll swing by to help you load the pies.”
“Thank you, sweet pea. I’ll give you a call when I’m ready.”
He tipped his head and slipped the hat on, and when he caught Vivian’s eye on his way out, she had to repress the shiver of awareness that rippled through her. Even if he was a klepto, he was a damn fine one. Her gaze trailed after him, enjoying the view of that tight rump in Levi’s. Mmm. There was just something about a man with a fine butt and well-worn blue jeans. She was so used to seeing men in tailored suits, she’d forgotten how delightful the view from the other end of the spectrum could be.
“He’s a good-looking man, isn’t he?”
Vivian jerked her head around and felt the blush burning her cheeks as she met Gretta’s knowing gaze.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she chided. “I might have one foot in the grave, but I’ m still alive and have two semi-working eyes. That man is downright sinful. Hell, a woman would have to be dead not to appreciate what the good Lord gave him.”
At first, Vivian was shocked, but after a moment, she felt a genuine smile creep across her face and continue to grow until laughter burst out of her. Gretta joined in. After a couple of minutes, when they began to sober, Gretta wiped her eyes and shook her head.
“I can tell you’re itching to get out of here, but I do wish ya’d stay a bit. It’s not often I get company. Well, not of the female variety, anyway. It’s nice to have another woman around. Even if ya don’t talk much.” She grinned. “It would be nice to have another woman to chat with at the festival tonight, and I just know you would have a blast.”
Vivian felt the pressure to stay weighing on her. More so because she was already struggling with the decision to stay or go. She didn’t want to get too close to these people, but she was already starting to like a couple of them. Not to mention, the festival did sound fun. She wouldn’t mind trying something new to add to her short list of adventures.
Holding Gretta’s gaze, she thought, What’s one more day?
“Okay, sure. Another day won’t hurt.”
Gretta couldn’t stop smiling.