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I see how wrong it is when Nina’s eyes cloud over, making me want to take it back and stop being so damn defensive all the time. I let my guard down for one second this morning in the kitchen, and it didn’t kill me. I let Nina pet the sheep, which is my thing. Didn’t kill me, either. Plus, they liked it. It also felt good to come out here and share this with her. I’d call that a problem, but for goodness fucking sake, I can handle it. I’m not so emotionally fragile that I can’t get through a week. I can interact. I can be nice.
Petunia, who, like most of the other animals and birds, was inherited together with the farm and isn’t actually named after my granny, struts by the fence, cooing and clucking and pecking at the ground like she might be taking care of some ticks as we speak. But probably not, though. Probably other bugs.
Nina watches her carefully, and thankfully, her smile comes back. “I’m not sure. But right now, I do know I’m going to go make breakfast.” She glances at Petunia, then back at me, before she whispers, “Eggs-free breakfast. In case anyone is traumatized from yesterday morning.”
“The only ones traumatized are us. I’m sorry again about my mom and granny dropping in like that, waking you up, and then going on and on about marriage.”
“It’s alright. We figured it out, so I’m hopeful we’ll figure out the rest.” She strokes a few sheep heads from the ones edging closer, then heads out of the pen. She lets herself out, not struggling one bit with the gate.
I watch her go, even though I tell myself not to. It gives me a lost puppy dog feeling to watch her leave, but I can’t tear my eyes off the subtle sway of her hips in that frilly yellow abomination of a skirt. On Nina, though? It looks good.Shemakes it look good. She makes up the whole outfit. I’m sure she’d naturally make any place brighter just by walking into it. Just because she’sher.
I might have found that perky niceness annoying as hell when I first met her, but now? Not so much. Which is a problem. Because I suggested marriage in a fit of craziness just because I wanted to dig us out of the big hole we’ve both been thrust into, and yeah, okay, maybe I wanted to make her happy, and I’m all about finding creative solutions when and where they can be found.
Even if I always vowed to myself that Nina, being my family’s first and only choice, was the last woman I would ever marry.
CHAPTER 12
Nina
By late afternoon, I learned there was a new meaning to the wordroasting. I didn’t think it got this hot out here. We aren’t in the South, after all. Maybe it’s the house trapping the heat in. The small farmhouse feels more like a sauna at the moment.
I tried venturing outside twice, but the shimmering sun out there chased me back in. Even if inside is stifling, at least it won’t sizzle me to a crisp in literally ahotminute.
I have my phone turned off, and I’m trying to concentrate on one of the books I found in the office, one door down from the bedroom. There are only those two rooms besides the bathroom, the living room, and the kitchen. The house is small, but even still, it’s a far cry from the one-room farmhouse a lot of these places used to be. The second room is pretty tiny for a bedroom, and it was a good choice to make it into an office. I felt weird and snoopy about going in, but the door had been open since I first, um,bargedmy way in here, asking for a shower, and I doubt the room would be unlocked and inviting if something was off limits in there.
My choices were mostly books about finance, and the English major in me cried out in protest. I might soon be on my own, living in the real world, and then I might have wished I’d read those books, but I just couldn’t do it. I chose one on alternative medicines instead, something about healing the mind, soul, and heart, along with the body. I was surprised Thaddius had something like this in his collection of no-nonsense business tomes. Yes, tomes. All business books should be called tomes. Oh, and law books too. Definitely tomes.
The writing is good, and I can follow all the concepts even though I know nothing about doctoring, but it’s just sohotin here. I can feel beads of sweat racing down my temples, tickling the back of my neck, and prickling under my T-shirt in the backandthe front. I have pretty perky boobs, but this day is so hot that it’s proving to me that boob sweat can be a thing, even for me. My legs feel clammy, and my thighs keep sticking together under my skirt, even though I have them pulled up under me on the couch.
Tap, tap, tap.
I look up from the book. I haven’t been able to concentrate. It sounds like someone is pecking at the glass in the kitchen.
When I remembered how a chicken flew in through the window yesterday, I set the book aside and rushed into the other room.
Lo and freaking behold, thereisa chicken out there, though I don’t know which one it is. It’s brown and speckled, and it looksvery, veryhot. The poor thing probably needs a drink. How do chickens drink water? Well, I know how, but out of what? Should I fill up a bowl of water and bring it outside?
Thaddius probably has food and water out for everyone. He seems like he truly cares about his animals. He surprised me by considering what I said about knocking the balls off the male sheep.
But not as badly as he surprised me by offering marriage as a way to thwart our families and save them at the same time.
Or when he laughed about his super expensive blender biting the dust due to my own dunderheadedness.
As soon as I open the window, the chicken flutters its way inside. There’s a sill on the outside that it was standing on, which probably makes getting into the house so much easier. Well, that and the house isn’t tall. It’s all just one level.
I try and get the chicken to drink out of a bowl of water and then out of a plate, but it’s not interested in the water at all. She—I believe it’s a girl because Thaddius said there aren’t any male chickens here to fertilize the eggs—struts around the place. She doesn’t peck the floor or flutter about. She’s walking in circles, then looking at me.
I know it’s crazy, but I swear this bird is trying to tell me something.
I lean out the window, trying to see if I can see Thaddius to call him over to talk to him about the chicken’s weird behavior. Maybe there’s something wrong with it. If it’s crying out for help, I’m not just going to ignore it.
I don’t see Thaddius, but I do notice the sky has turned an ominous yellow. I think it’s just the sun above the clouds, which have moved in without me even knowing it. The last time I stepped outside, it was just full-on sun, blue skies, and not a single cloud out there, but the sudden clouds would explain the wet feeling in the air.
Maybe it’s going to rain. Maybe that’s what the chicken is so upset about.
“Do you want to go back to your coop?” I close the window and turn around to ask the chicken. “I can take you back there.” I’m not sure how I will catch it or hold it, but I will try.
The chicken looks at me, puffs its feathers out, gives itself a shake, and makes a little cooing noise at me. Then she goes back to pacing the kitchen, and I swear she’s agitated. Or maybe I’ve finally been pushed off into the deep end. First, it was blundering the spoon I forgot all about, and now it’s thinking I’m some kind of chicken whisperer.
