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Vivian laughed. “I haven’t been up with the sun since…well, never.”
“Good. I beat that old rooster to the punch every day so you wouldn’t have stood a chance. At least I won’t have to stand guard.” She winked playfully then got on her way. “Good night, dear. Sleep well.”
“You too.” Once she was alone, Vivian sat down on the bed and slipped her heels off. Exhaustion came crashing down on her like a two-ton boulder, and even if she wanted to, she didn’t have enough energy to go out to her car for her luggage, which sucked, because it was hotter than Hades with the only source of relief coming from the lukewarm breeze blowing through the two open windows. Of course, a house this old wouldn’t have central air. She groaned. It was going to be a long night.
Having never slept in anything but pajamas before, it looked like tonight was going to be yet another new experience in a long line of them. As she laid down on top of the covers and closed her eyes, she replayed the events of the day, thinking of how much her life had changed, how far away from home she was… She was without a plan, the future unmapped for the first time in her life.
And she was terrified.
That was the first and only time she’d admit it. She was afraid of the road ahead. There’d always been someone at her side or behind her, pushing and guiding, designing the next step, and the next. Now she was in freefall, with little money and resources, no friends, no family. It was just her and the car she’d packed with everything she could manage.
I can consider this an exciting new chapter in my life, one I can do whatever I want with…or I can be weak and wallow in misery over everything I’ve lost and will never have again.
So she’d been a kept woman all her life, part of the privileged upper class from the day she was brought into this world, but one thing she’d never been was weak. In moments, yes, but to live in her world, a person had to develop a thick skin. They had to be tough, resilient, or the world would chew them up and spit them out.
Vivian was a survivor. If she could overcome anything, it would be this. She was a city girl, and if that hadn’t broken her, then a little open countryside sure as hell wasn’t going to either.
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.
