SEVEN
“What just happened?” Vivian asked Nash, following him as he rushed down the steps with purpose toward a forest green Ford pickup truck that was at once old and new in appearance.
“The old woman has lost her mind. No sense arguin’. Go on. Get in,” he barked. Nash threw himself behind the wheel, all huffy and puffy. Because he was forced to spend time with her? Well, she didn’t like it any more than him.
Taking her time, Vivian made her way to the passenger side and climbed in, noting the pristine interior. Everything was old, but it was mint. “What year is this?”
“Forty-eight,” he said, distracted as he slammed the truck into reverse and turned them toward the road.
She inspected the interior, noting the expected lack of CD changer, aux input…she doubted it had Bluetooth capability either. “Yours?”
He shot her a cutting look. “What, you think I stole it?”
Remaining calm, she said, “I didn’t say that, but…” The thought hadn’t occurred to her, but she knew it would piss him off to suggest it, so of course, she had.
“It’s mine. Gretta passed it down to me after Pete passed on.”
Surprise colored her expression. “That was nice of her.”
“Yes, but I spent a lot of time on the farm growing up. Pete was the father I never had, and we restored it together.”
So by all rights, it was his all along. Running her hand over the polished silver window crank, she imagined what that must have been like as a young boy. “There must be a lot of memories in here.”
“You have no idea.”
Had she imagined it, or had his tone softened a little? Glancing over, Vivian studied Nash’s profile. He was focused, stiff. The only sign of movement was the jumping of the muscle in his jaw. He was upset. At her…or life?
She wasn’t going to bother asking. It wasn’t her business.
The truck bumped along the country roads, kicking up dust until they reached the two-lane highway that, as far as she could tell, cut right through the center of town.
“You can drop me off at the grocery store and come back for me,” she offered, thinking of it as a kind of olive branch. Gretta may have forced them out the door together, but she couldn’t force them to remain that way.
“That’s exactly what I planned on doin’.”
“Oh really?” There was a touch of irritation in her voice that Vivian didn’t bother trying to hide. He was just one step ahead of her, and it killed her inside to admit that whether he liked her or not mattered.
“Why do I detect anger from you?” Nash asked, throwing attitude right back. “First, you don’t wanna be around me, and now you’re complaining because I agree to keep my distance?” He shook his head. “I can’t figure you women out.”
He began muttering something Vivian couldn’t make out, so instead of arguing with him, she turned her gaze toward the scenery outside her window. It was all valleys and plains, as far as the eye could see. Town was still a mile away, meaning she was stuck with the jerk for at least ten more minutes, which would feel like an eternity.
Thinking back to when she was a kid, she decided to play I-spy with herself like she used to do whenever she had to go to one of those boring business functions her parents made her endure. She hated those but much less than she hated this car ride with the prickly cowboy.
Her first spy was, predictably, a pasture filled with cows grazing. Her second spy was more cows and a couple of sable horses. Her third, roadkill, which she guessed might have been a possum—opossum?—but she couldn’t be sure. Her fourth, however, made her sit at attention.
“Look, a crow! I love crows,” she divulged. They’d always been a source of comfort for her whenever things were going wrong in her life. Nordic belief dictated that a crow was a sign from Odin, which was good. While some chose to view crows as a bad omen, she chose to see them in an optimistic light. Whenever they made an appearance, good things tended to follow.
Since Vivian had been having a hell of a time lately, she was thrilled to see the beautiful bird.
Of course, Nash had to go and burst her bubble. “That’s a vulture, darlin’, not a crow.”
Vivian’s lip curled up, and she squinted to see the crow better as they cruised by. “Are you sure?” Even as she asked the question, she realized he may be right. The bird was bigger than the crows she was familiar with, and it had a weird looking head, all bumpy like it was diseased. Not at all sleek and shiny like her favorite bird.
“I’ve seen them all my life. I’m sure.”
The wind went out of her sails like air from a balloon. “Are they….like…vulture vultures?”
“If by that you mean do they eat dead things? Yep.”
She peered down the road through the truck’s side mirror. Despite the small print claiming objects were closer than they appeared, the vulture was long gone from view. “Gross.”
“But necessary,” he drawled. “They’re the sharks of land animals. Eating up all the waste the living leave behind.”
He was right, of course. It was clear that, while Nash might talk slow, he wasn’t stupid.
The rest of the ride was met in silence. By the time they pulled into the grocery store’s gravel lot, Vivian’s mood had only marginally improved. One crow, that’s all she asked, but it seemed God wasn’t listening today.
“I’ll be back ‘round an hour,” Nash informed her as she climbed out of the truck.
Vivian nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
He passed her a skeptical look before driving off. What, did he think she would take forever just because she was a woman? Put her in a Nordstrom’s, and yeah, she could be there for hours. At a place that could fit inside her former apartment? She would be in and out in half an hour, tops.
With a deep sigh, Vivian headed inside to fulfill Gretta’s list.
***
Shopping in the countryside might sound like a leisurely, uneventful stroll, but Vivian now knew better. Nearly two hours had passed since she walked through the glass door, and she was just now reaching that same door—not without a great deal of trouble.
Each foot she placed in front of her was met with another question, another smile, another invitation, and a promise from her to try to make it.
The food was getting warm, and Vivian could clearly see Nash standing beside the truck outside, smirking each time he glanced up from his phone and caught her pleading eyes. He simply refused to help her.
“…And then there’s the barbeque cook-off next month. You can’t miss that. Betsy Jean makes the best spare ribs in the county,” a woman named Maryanne said. They’d met about ten minutes into her shopping trip, between the bread and the Twinkies. Vivian now knew there was a multitude of ways to turn a simple Twinkie into a gourmet dessert, as well as five different ways to prepare “the perfect potato salad.”
“Oh, and we’re throwing a pool party this weekend for Bobby Michael’s birthday. It’s his seventh. I don’t know where the time goes!” she laugh/shouted, waving her hand in the air as if it were the funniest thing. “You are more than welcome. I hope you come. Everyone’s been talkin’ about the new girl, and it would be the perfect time to meet everyone officially. I’ll make my famous Twinkie pie!”
Good Lord, she was never going to get out of here… “Sounds great!” she said, trying to match Maryanne’s energy. “I’ll do my best.” It was a half-truth. Although she’d decided to stay a while longer, she wasn’t sure how long. She might very well be gone by then.
“Wonderful, I’ll see you there!”
Vivian’s brows rose. “Well, I’d better get going.”
“Oh yes, go, go! I’ve talked your ear off long enough. Gretta would simply kill me if her eggs went bad.”
Smiling, Vivian pushed her shoulder into the door and backed the cart out. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Oh you, too, sweetie! We’ll catch up later!” Maryanne called after her.
Later? Hoping she didn’t mean later that day, Vivian pushed the cart toward the truck and a waiting Nash, glaring at him all the way.
“Need help?”
“I needed help an hour ago,” she snapped.
He raised his hands and chuckled, then started pulling bags from the cart and putting them into the truck bed. “Looked like you made a new friend. Who am I to come between that?”
“Gretta thinks you’re a gentleman. I still say you’re a jerk.” She huffed. “What is all that?”
Busy loading the bags, Nash cast her a quick glance then followed the direction she was looking. “You never seen hay bales before?”
Instantly feeling stupid, Vivian replied, “Of course. Do I look like I just fell off the back of a truck? What I meant was why so many?”
“Darlin’, if you think that’s a lot, then you ain’t seen how much a horse can put away in a day.”
“City girl, remember?”
“Right.” He tossed the last of the groceries into the back and shoved the cart away, not bothering with a corral because apparently, they didn’t believe in them around here. Surprising her, he reached past her and opened the passenger door. “With all your charms and gentle ways, I forget sometimes you ain’t from around here.”
Moving past him, careful not to get too close, Vivian ignored the warm and enticing scent of leather and musk and those sparkling blue eyes and climbed into the truck. “And sometimes it’s easy to forget that you’re a jerk, with that pretty smile and opening doors and all.”
Pushing the door closed, he gripped the window frame and leaned in. “Why, darlin’, was that a compliment, or do my ears deceive me?”
“Deception. Definitely deception.” He lingered there, giving that damning smile that she liked too much and staring with eyes that felt as if they were seeing right through her. Vivian clicked her seat belt into place. “Shake a leg, cowboy. Groceries are getting warm.”
After a moment, he patted the door and said, “Yes’m, Miss Daisy,” then tipped his hat and pushed away.
As he strolled around the front of the truck, Vivian pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. How could any part of her like him when he irritated her every fiber?
Because he’s a good guy, the little voice inside her head spoke up.
Yeah, well, she thought the same about Andrew, and look how that turned out. The best thing she could do for herself now was to keep her head on straight and her heart guarded because the last thing she needed was a rebound that promised to screw with her head even more.