NINE
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
Nash grunted under the weight of the hay bale as he hefted it onto his shoulder and carried it over to the stack he’d created beside the split fence.
“Nope. I said I got it.”
He was shirtless and sweaty, his skin reddened by both the sun and the coarse texture of the hay. Vivian couldn’t tear her eyes away from the man, and she blamed Gretta. If the woman hadn’t put that idea in her head of him being a good match, she was certain she never would have given Nash a second glance.
Okay, that was a lie, but sometimes a girl had to live in denial if she wanted to survive. Leaping from one impossible relationship to another in a single bound was a disaster in the making.
“You look like you could use a hand—”
“Why don’t you go inside and help Gretta get breakfast ready?” he said, cutting her off.
Vivian jerked back, offended by both his tone and the suggestion. “You’d better be asking that because you’d rather work alone and not because you think my place is in the kitchen because I have boobs.”
Dropping another bale down, Nash stopped, breathing heavily, to stare at her. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those feminist types.”
Vivian fisted her hips. “Maybe I am.” She wasn’t, not in the strictest sense, but she didn’t like his attitude one bit. Besides, she resented being dismissed just because of her gender. She could swing a bale of hay. How hard could it be? Women were tough. Hell, women had babies. She’d like to see a man try that!
“Christ. A city girl and a feminist,” he muttered as if both were such egregious offenses. Vivian was about to argue when he continued. “If you really want an answer, yes, I prefer working alone. I don’t care if you have a beard or a set of legs that could bring a man to tears, the answer is still gonna be the same.”
Wait. He thought she had great legs?
“And I’ll have you know, I’ve seen all shapes and sizes of boobs, and most of them belong to the men in this town, so that holds no bearing on what I said.”
Vivian’s head was spinning trying to sort this new information. “So…”
“So, please, for the love of all that’s holy, leave me to my thoughts. I appreciate the offer, but I won’t be takin’ ya up on it.”
Wow, from a verbal slap in the face to a stern refusal for help. Vivian wasn’t sure how to feel. She still bore the sting of rejection and a tinge of anger from assuming wrong, but she could tell he wasn’t trying to be rude. Nash was just…blunt. His lack of finesse was something she was going to have to get used to.
As she stepped back and gave him some space, Vivian was keenly aware that her thoughts had nearly completely transitioned from the idea of moving on and exploring more of what the country had to offer to setting up shop and getting cozy with the locals.
A thought for another time, though. Gretta was cooking for a bunch of hungry men, and she’d bet the woman would appreciate a helping hand or two. Even if Vivian had absolutely no idea what she was doing in the kitchen.
“I’ll leave you to your thoughts then,” she told Nash.
Tipping his head, he continued right on working.
“See you at breakfast.” Turning, Vivian cut a path through the wild grass that was in desperate need of a trim and across the packed-gravel drive to the wide, wooden steps that carried her into the house and the kitchen proper where she found Gretta toiling away.
“Well, I’m not needed or wanted outside, so I thought I’d offer to help in here,” she announced. “What can I do?”
Gretta, beating batter for what would probably turn out to be her delicious buttermilk pancakes, glanced at her and then the stove. “You can take care of the bacon. When that’s done, those oranges could use a firm squeeze, too.”
Vivian observed the mountain of citrus and the small glass dish with a point standing up in the middle that was intended to grind them on and gave an internal groan. She’d be lucky if she didn’t end up with carpal tunnel by the afternoon. Putting on a cheery smile, she picked up the spatula resting on the stove beside the sizzling hot frying pan and said, “I’ll get right on it.”
***
Scrunched noses, curled lips, curious looks cast her way. The way they looked at the bacon wasn’t unwarranted. Vivian had burned the hell out of nearly all four pounds of meat. It wasn’t her fault. There was something wrong with the pan. It didn’t cook evenly, and every time she tried to flip those flimsy little strips, the pan spat on her. Her arms were still dotted with tiny red spots from all the grease that leaped out and attacked her.
She’d question why anyone even ate the stuff if she didn’t already know how good it was.
Well, how good it could be. As it stood now, there wasn’t much enjoyment going on. In fact, everyone appeared to be trying to choke down at least a piece each just to be nice. At least they were trying. Vivian lowered her eyes to her plate and focused on the pancakes in front of her. They were delicious. She didn’t know how Gretta pulled it off each and every time, but the woman knew how to cook.
Maybe she could teach her. No one had ever taken the time. Back home, growing up and up until the day she jumped in the car and ran away from her problems, she’d always had someone who cooked for her. When she was hungry, she merely made a request, and in a short time, food was in front of her. There was enough money that there was never any need to learn the mundane aspects of life. Now, she found she was sorely lacking in basic life skills. It was humiliating to know that she couldn’t even manage to feed herself, let alone a dozen hungry men.
To her credit, Gretta hadn’t gotten mad or even lifted her voice. Even after she moved on to the next pound of bacon and burned that one, too. She just continued issuing words of encouragement and little tips, reminding her when to flip and turn down the heat when needed. By the time she started on the fourth package, she only mildly burned them. The lack of char was a monumental success for Vivian. A small accomplishment with big rewards. That load of bacon was long gone. It seemed the guys only continued to eat it to be polite, out of pure hunger, or because they were taught never to leave food on the table.
As embarrassing as it was, Vivian vowed to herself that she’d keep trying until she got it right. Gretta made it look so easy. Surely, there was a trick to it, a secret that she could bestow that would catch Vivian up and make her a star in the kitchen.
Chewing her food slowly, Vivian looked down the long table and caught Nash’s blue-blue eyes. He was holding a piece of blackened bacon level with his mouth, and holding her gaze, he smirked before biting into it.
He was teasing her, she realized, as he crinkled his nose and took a big drink of orange juice and swished it around. Having found that the juice was at least okay, he tilted his head and, with raised brows, gave her a nod of approval.
Smiling to herself, Vivian looked away and continued eating her meal in silence. Their earlier discussion had been on her mind since she left Nash outside with his hay, and she hated to admit that part of her desire to learn the art of cooking was inspired by that tiny smirk and nod just now. She wanted his approval. She wanted to earn more of those smiles. As fleeting as it was, she found herself wanting more of his attention.
“Well, I’m stuffed,” Dave, a slim but tall man who always wore a set of denim overalls with no shirt underneath announced and patted his flat stomach. “Couldn’t eat another bite.”
“I second that,” Kenny said and wiped his patchy red beard on a napkin before standing from the table.
One by one, each of the men rose and thanked Gretta for the food, each complimenting her on a particular item they enjoyed most. It was no surprise that they favored the pancakes, just as it wasn’t a surprise that no one mentioned the bacon.
“Great job on the hash browns again, Ms. Gretta,” Nash said as he approached her from behind and dropped a kiss on the top of her gray head. “And um, the orange juice was good, too,” he told Vivian with laughter in his eyes.
She grinned back. “Thank you, Nash. I’m glad you liked it.”
“And the bacon was only half bad,” Gretta chimed in, making them all laugh.
“Hey, you said it,” Nash guffawed. “Maybe you should give us a hand in the field,” he told Vivian.
“No, our Vivian here is going to be right here with me every morning until she gets her cooking legs beneath her. Isn’t that right?”
“Um…yes?” Suddenly, Vivian felt shy, unsure of herself.
Nash openly balked at the idea. “You mean to say we’re going to have to choke down more extra-extra-extra crispy bacon?”
“And pancakes and eggs and hash browns, too.” Gretta nodded sagely.
Backing toward the doorway and shaking his head, Nash made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Lord help us all.”
A dishrag promptly hit him in the face, courtesy of Gretta’s surprisingly accurate throwing arm. “You get on out of here, you troublemaker!” she said, laughing. “Before you make my girl here start thinkin’ better of it. I could use the help in here, with all you big mouths.”
Nash was already gone, her words hitting empty air as he ran for the exit. Still chuckling, Gretta turned to Vivian, her eyes bright. “He’s in a mood today. I swear, those boys didn’t get enough paddlins when they were growing up.”
“I think I could agree with you there.”
“Yeah, well, for all their faults, ya gotta love ‘em.” Picking up a clean dishcloth, Gretta ran it under the faucet and handed it to Vivian. “How about I clear the dishes, and you wipe the mess?”
“Sounds good to me.”
While they set to work putting the kitchen back in order, Vivian and Gretta chatted about everything from the mundane to the exciting, and Vivian learned fast that Gretta was a bit of a gossip, dishing about all the women in town—some she’d already met, and others she still hadn’t had the pleasure. It was interesting, knowing that so-and-so ran a not-so-secret sex toy business online, while another lady thought her penchant for dressing up in Victorian gowns every Sunday evening and listening to music on an old Victrola had gone unnoticed. It seemed everyone knew everyone’s business, yet they only spoke about it in hushed tones.
It was nice to know they weren’t a bunch of bullies, yet at the same time, Vivian thought she’d do well to keep her business as close to the vest as possible unless she wanted everyone else to know about it.
Eventually, that gossip turned back around to her.
“I noticed that you and Nash seemed to be getting closer.”
Vivian paused what she was doing and looked up at Gretta. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.” They hadn’t spent any real time together, aside from running into town the other day, at Gretta’s behest. And she’d only spoken to him briefly a couple of times since.
“I would. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you two kept looking at each other over breakfast today.”
“Oh that?” Vivian scoffed and resumed wiping the crumbs off the table and onto the floor so they could be swept up. “That was nothing. We just happened to catch each other’s eye.”
“Mm-hmm,” Gretta hummed, sounding skeptical. “It looked like a lot more than that to me. Nash was watching you just the same as you were watching him when neither of you thought the other one was looking.”
Vivian met her eyes, unsure of what to say. She had been more than a little aware of Nash today. She just hadn’t thought she’d been so obvious. Of course, if someone was actively looking for signs, they were sure to find any that existed. “Maybe you’re just a little too nosey for your own good,” she suggested, winking playfully at her host.
Gretta lifted her chin proudly. “I am, and everyone knows it. How do you think I know all that stuff about everyone? I make it my duty to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Vivian belted out a laugh, the first genuine one in ages. “Ms. Gretta, you are something else!”
“I know I’m a handful, and I ain’t ever tried to pretend to be anything less. People still love me, though.”
Vivian was still shaking her head as she reached for the broom hanging on the wall inside the pantry. “What’s not to love?”
“Oh, please, I know I can be a royal pain in the ass. You don’t have to kiss it just ‘cause you’re afraid of offending me.”
“I’m not!” Vivian was shocked she’d say such a thing, but she understood why she’d think that. “All I meant was that you’re a good person, and it’s plain even to me, an outsider, that you’re as honest as they come. Honesty is such a rare thing these days, so when you come across it, it stands out. I think people can appreciate that.”
“Well, I might could agree with you there. But, in the interest of being honest, I want you to tell me something.”
Leaning against the broom handle, Vivian said, “Sure, what would you like to know?”
“Why are you here? I already know how you came in. Nash told me all about the flat tire, and I know pretty much every step from there to my door since, but what brings a city girl like you all the way out to the boonies? And don’t give me that goin’ wherever the wind takes ya business. Are ya hiding from something? Is the mafia after ya? Tax evasion?”
“You’ve been reading too many books.” Vivian couldn’t help but laugh again, but this time it was much more subdued. The topic of her sad life wasn’t something she wanted to discuss, but she recognized that she had an obligation, showing up on her doorstep out of the blue needing a place to stay, to offer some kind of explanation.
“I just got over a nasty divorce and needed a change,” she summed up.
“Ah, men.” She nodded as if she knew the struggle. Judging from her fondness over her late husband, Vivian doubted she fully understood, but empathy was nice all the same. “Did he step out on ya?”
Snorting, Vivian said, “Boy, did he ever.”
“Let me guess. Tall, skinny blonde with fake tits.” Those cloudy eyes rolled over Vivian. “No offense, of course.”
Vivian’s eyes widened briefly at the unexpected colorful language, and of course, because she was a skinny blonde, but then she quickly got over it. “Actually, tall, dark, and with a small penis. I’m guessing on that last one. I had neither the mind nor desire to inspect his package.”
Greta gasped, scandalized by the admission. “Queer?”
“Apparently.” The reminder that her husband had cheated on her with another man put a sneer on her face, but Vivian was determined to let it go. She couldn’t spend her future living in the past.
“Oh, my. For once, I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. We divorced. I left. Now I just have to find a place to start fresh.”
That sparkle returned to Gretta’s eyes. “Well, why not right here? I have the space until you find a place of your own. People like ya. Especially the men.” She winked a couple of times. “It’s a good place to raise kids, too.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I want kids,” Vivian told her. “Even if I did, I think the boat is about to leave the harbor.”
“Girl, if that was your way of calling yourself old, I might just have half a mind to slap ya.”
While Vivian stood stunned, Gretta walked away from her task and approached her. Placing her hands on both of Vivian’s shoulders, the short, stout woman peered up into her eyes. “You are not old. You are not past your prime in any way. It sounds to me like you’ve had a rough go of it, and you’re feeling down. But don’t let that sway you from your path. Everyone needs a fresh start at least once in their life, and it means you get to reshape your whole world to look how you want it to. Just remember, words have power. Make sure you’re giving voice to the right ones.” She gave her a couple of pats and returned to cleaning. “Don’t stand in your own damn way, dear.”
Gretta’s words struck Vivian right in the chest. She hadn’t realized until that very moment that she had, in fact, been standing in her own way. Or at least attempting to. It was so easy to adopt a defeatist attitude and make it your mantra, but in the end, she would only hurt herself more than Andrew had, wouldn’t she?
With misty eyes, Vivian helped finish the kitchen before retreating to her room on the second floor for a much-needed timeout.