“Seriously?” she muttered as she poked her head out of the bedroom door and listened to Gretta’s little feet patter across the first floor to answer the front door.
“Good morning, boys,” she greeted, sounding like her chipper self.
A series of “Mornin’, Ms. Gretta,” and “What’s for breakfast?” followed as heavy boots made their way inside. Vivian sighed, wondering how long she could hide away in her room before someone noticed she was missing.
“Breakfast is on!” Gretta called up from the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll be expectin’ ya at the table in five!”
Well, that answered that.
“Crap.” Going through her bags, Vivian changed into a pair of jean shorts and a white tank top to combat the heat she could already feel climbing through the open windows. It was nearly fall. Why was it still so sweltering? Making it worse was the humidity the rain had left behind. As she pulled up her long, blonde hair into a high ponytail, she decided it was going to be a terrible day.
That decision was reinforced when she made her way down to the kitchen and ran smack into a hard male body as he turned from the table and practically mowed her down.
“Sorry,” he apologized, and then looked down as she looked up, and Vivian watched as that friendly demeanor morphed into disgust. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yep, it is,” she replied snidely and stepped back, brushing her hands over her shirt as if he’d dirtied them.
“I thought you’d left.”
“No such luck,” she said with a stiff smile. Knowing her mere presence irked him pleased her. What didn’t was having to his see jerk face so early in the morning. “Gretta, I think you have a pest problem.”
“Oh no! Are the mice back?” she asked, panicked as she spun away from the stove to check the floor around her feet.
“She’s pullin’ your leg,” Nash said, and he and Vivian exchanged heated stares.
It was clear with that one look that the two were going to be arch enemies. The question was, who was going to kill whom first? Okay, maybe Vivian was being a little dramatic in her thought process today.
“Oh, you’re such a kidder,” Gretta told Vivian as she brought over a pitcher and some glasses. “Orange juice?”
“Do you have anything stronger?” Vivian asked as she moved past Nash, eager to put some distance between them before she “accidentally” acted on her impulses.
“Coffee?”
“Perfect.”
“I sure do. Hot or cold?”
The thought of ice-cold coffee made Vivian’s mouth water. “I would love iced, please.”
Gretta got right on it while she and Nash seated themselves at the table, putting a couple of the farmhands who cast questioning looks between them. They didn’t need to know the drama that had unfolded. Having spent much of her time at parties and business dinners, Vivian had honed her skills at keeping her animosity toward others masked.
Nash, however, was an open book. He practically broadcasted his dislike for her in flashing neon signs.
“You two lovebirds having a spat or what?” a man with a thick, full-faced beard asked between shoveled bites of cornmeal mash, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“Mind your business, Foster,” Nash growled.
“Hey, you two brought it to the table. I’m just an observer.”
“Observe your own business then,” Nash snapped this time, catching a disapproving look from Gretta.
“Hey now,” she scolded lightly as she set the coffeepot down in front of Vivian along with a mug that said “Life is better with coffee” in light-pink scrolling letters. “Be nice to your friends, or you won’t only be a bachelor forever, but a lonely one at that!”
“Who said I was lonely?” Nash asked, taking offense.
“Who said you weren’t?” Vivian challenged, and when he glared down the table at her, she gave him a helpful smile that he didn’t appear to appreciate.
“No one asked you.”