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She certainly had, and Vivian couldn’t help smiling. They were teasing one another, rather than arguing or throwing insults or the hint of one. “Yeah, well, keep it up, and I’ll tell Ms. Gretta on you.”
“Oh!” Nash jeered. “Bringin’ out the big guns, I see. You play dirty.”
Vivian’s mind nose-dived straight into the gutter. “You got that right, cowboy.”
Nash had been in the process of guiding Maxine toward the barn when he stopped cold and stared at her as if in shock. Shocked with herself, Vivian forced herself to remain strong under the weight of his penetrating stare, allowing her fears and insecurities to filter out through the hand she used to pet the horse’s flank.
Maxine, however, didn’t seem to appreciate being used as a buffer and snorted her disgust. Or maybe it was impatience. It’d been a while since she’d gotten one of those apples she seemed to like so much.
Shaking his head as if to clear it, Nash said, “I’m going to put her in her stable. When I’m done, you feel like joining me for a cup of tea?”
Putting her hands in her short’s pockets, Vivian rocked on her heels, feeling a touch shy. “Sure, that sounds nice.”
His grin was wide. “Stay here. I’ll be but a minute.”
Vivian didn’t dare move an inch.
***
When Nash had suggested tea, Vivian just assumed he would be serving it hot and in a mug. Not a tall, clear glass filled with iced sweet tea.
“So…you don’t have Earl Grey either?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Nash said as he poured them both another cup. They were sitting in wicker rockers, the white paint faded and peeling in places, on his front porch. He’d dragged them out from the parlor inside, sighting he usually kept them there now because he didn’t want the weather to beat them to death. Now that he had company over, he had an excuse to bring them out.
Vivian felt a touch special.
“What is your preoccupation with tea?” Nash asked, genuinely curious.
“Nothing. I just assumed you meant hot tea, not iced.”
“It’s summer. Why in Hades would I serve it hot? Hell, ‘round here we have iced tea even on the coldest winters.”
“In the winter, too?” Vivian asked, shocked. The idea of being surrounded by snow and below zero temps with a cup of ice cold anything in her hand made goose bumps erupt down her arms.
“Vivian, sweetheart,” Nash condescended, “sweet tea is the nectar of the Southern gods. One simply does not drink anything else.”
A laugh bubbled past her lips as Vivian started back at him. “My god, you are really serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
She shook her head. “Well, at least it’s good tea.”
“Have you become a believer? Have I swayed you to our way of thinking?”
“I like it cold, but no one will ever take my hot tea away from me unless they pry it from my cold, dead fingers.”
“Morbid.” Setting his half-empty glass on the floorboard beside his rocker, Nash looked out over the dark expanse of yard before them. Rather, what they could see of it beyond the half-moon swath of light cast by the porch light. Vivian had no idea, so far from the city lights, what pitch-black truly meant, until she arrived in the country.
If she stepped off the porch, she doubted she’d be able to see her own hand in front of her face.
Which reminded her…
“Well, if it wasn’t late before, it sure is now.” She scooted to the edge of her chair and waited to see if Nash would pick up her meaning.
“Yep, it sure is. Well, be careful walkin’ home.” He stood and stretched those long arms to the ceiling and yawned.
Dismayed, Vivian stared at him in disbelief. “You’re just going to let me walk off into the night? I could get lost out there! No, scratch that. Iwouldget lost out there. And probably eaten by a bear.”
