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“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.”
