Finding Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 1)

by J.C. Valentine

  “That’s perfect. Take our girl here with ya. She’s overdue for a break.”

  Nash and Vivian both looked at the woman as if she’d lost her mind. “She doesn’t really look like a beer girl to me.”

  “I don’t really like beer,” Vivian confirmed.

  “Nancy makes an amazin’ strawberry-flavored wine cooler that’ll suit ya then,” Gretta decided and shooed them away. As much as Vivian wanted to protest, the way the woman shuffled after them and those shooing motions all said one thing: they didn’t have a choice.

  Vivian would just ditch him as soon as they were out of eyesight.

  “She’s a pushy old broad,” Nash muttered as they fell into step with one another.

  “Seems like it,” Vivian said with a small laugh.

  “She’s matchmaking, you know,” he informed her, not shocking Vivian one bit. She wasn’t born yesterday.

  “I got that impression.”

  “You did?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. But I’m not interested.”

  “Me either,” he said with a scowl, then pushed his hands deep into his pants pockets. They wove their way through the crowds of people in silence for a minute, and then he said, sounding somewhat offended, “Why aren’t you interested?”

  Glancing sideways at him, Vivian said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I just got out of a marriage.” She paused then added, “And you have issues.”

  Stopping dead in his tracks, Nash looked at her as if she was crazy. “I have issues? You’ve known me for all of a day, and you think I have issues?”

  “I’ve seen enough to know you do,” she asserted.

  “This is about the store thing,” he guessed, and she shrugged her confirmation. She didn’t have to spell it out for him. He knew what he’d done. He laughed. Laughed! “Lady, you can’t just walk into this town and assume you know how it works. You don’t know a damn thing.”

  He turned and walked off. Glaring at his back, Vivian thought, I can’t stand that arrogant jerk! Then she stomped after him. People moved out of their way, giving the two a wide berth as if sensing the tension between them and wanting nothing to do with it.

  They shouldn’t. For some reason she couldn’t explain, Vivian was ready for a fight. Nash didn’t mean anything to her, yet she was irritated that he’d turned his back on her. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but she couldn’t stop herself from chasing after him.

  Catching up with him, she snapped, “Hey, just because I’m from the city doesn’t mean you can treat me like a second-class citizen.”

  He refused to look at her. “If that’s the way you feel, it ain’t because of me, lady.”

  “My name isn’t lady. It’s Vivian. Use it,” she demanded. That shouldn’t matter to her either, but the way he called her lady made all of her nerves prickle.

  “You know,” he said with a chuckle, “I thought you were sweet out on the side of that road. Man, how wrong first impressions can be.”

  “I am nice! You’re the one who’s acting like a jerk. Actually,” she amended, “I don’t think you’re acting at all. You are a jerk!”

  “Sticks and stones,” he responded, refusing to argue with her.

  Why did that piss her off so much? It shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t. Vivian was steaming, and she didn’t understand why. He was nobody to her. He was nothing. But she couldn’t shake the need for his approval. Or…something.

  When they reached the structure that was selling handcrafted alcohol, he finally stopped, giving Vivian time to catch up and think. She wedged herself in between him and another man, jabbing her elbow into Nash’s side to make room for herself.

  A friendly faced woman, who Vivian assumed was Nancy, approached them. “Hey, y’all. What can I get ya this afternoon?”

  “Whatever you got on tap, Nance,” Nash said, and even though he’d meant it in a friendly way, his tone broadcasted his irritation. Nancy, poor woman, assumed it was against her, because how could she know it wasn’t, and wrinkled her brows as she turned her eyes to Vivian and let a cocked brow and half-smile speak for itself.

  “Ms. Gretta said you have a strawberry wine?”

  Her expression brightening, she said, “I sure do! It’s something new I’ve been working on for a couple summers. Finally got the recipe right. You’re gonna love it! Brb.”

  Some of Vivian’s anger slipped. Brb? She’d only ever heard teenagers in the city talk in abbreviations. She’d always thought it was annoying, but the way Nancy used it was somehow endearing.

  “You should leave tomorrow,” Nash said under his breath so only she could hear. “You don’t belong here.”

  There was a pang in her chest that Vivian didn’t understand or want to. It was a sensation that she’d felt many times in the past for various reasons, and she dealt with it now the same way she did then: she balled it up and shoved it down deep until it twisted into something else. Resistance, maybe.

  Nancy was heading back their way. With a false smile, Vivian said through clenched teeth, “Actually, I think I’m fitting in just fine. Maybe I’ll stay a while.”

  “Here you are!” Nancy said, her bubbly personality making up for the animosity that must have been coloring the air around them. “Now make sure to savor that,” she said, pointing at the clear plastic tumbler she’d placed in front of Vivian. “It’s more of a hint of strawberry, so you really need to roll it around to get the full effect. I didn’t want it to be like those tacky wine coolers, ya know? Not that I have anything against them. Lord knows I’ve had a few dozen or ten in my day.” She whooped and slapped the table with her hand, startling a laugh out of Vivian that turned real in the next instant.

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  “And you,” Nancy said, directing an accusing finger at Nash. “Be nice to this pretty lady.”

  “But—”

  “I can see that attitude a mile away,” she cut him off. “How are ya ever gonna get yourself a wife when you’re always bein’ a butt?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply but walked away to start serving other customers.

  “Unbelievable,” Nash protested, except no one was paying him any mind anymore. Vivian looked up just as he was looking down. Smiling, she stuck her tongue out at him then, ignoring his open-mouthed silent protest, she sipped her wine.

  Wow, strawberry was better than she’d expected!

  SIX

  Gretta and Vivian didn’t arrive back at the homestead until nearly midnight, which, she supposed, meant that she was staying another night. If she didn’t know better, she’d guess the old woman had designed it that way. She seemed very pleased with herself.

  “I’ll go get ya fresh sheets,” she said as her old body bounded up the steps and into the house. Vivian had been surprised that they didn’t even lock their doors around here. Something like that was unheard of in the city. Heck, they might as well paint a welcome sign for ax murderers.

  It said a lot about the area. Either the town was full of crazies, or they were hoping to gain some. As Vivian followed Gretta into the house, she stopped to lock up. It just didn’t sit well with her to go to bed knowing anyone could walk inside without them knowing. Too much trust, she thought to herself yet again.

  Case in point, here she was, a perfect stranger that Gretta, a single, elderly woman had put her up in her home without knowing who the heck she was or where she hailed from. That was crazypants, but she seemed perfectly comfortable with the arrangement. Even wanted her to stay longer.

  Or maybe it said something about Vivian. Maybe she just came off as approachable and kind, not a crazed serial killer or thief, which was kind of sweet when she thought about it.

  The house was cast in darkness, filled with shadows—another thing she wasn’t used to. While her gracious and far too generous host was upstairs getting her fresh linens, Vivian went through the first floor turning on the occasional light to make sure Gretta didn’t bump into anything when she
came back down. Her room was on the first floor, located just off the kitchen at the back of the house. From what Vivian could tell, it was an old back porch converted long ago into a bonus room. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just four walls with a window overlooking the back of the property, but it was functional, complete with a tiny bathroom.

  Her late husband probably built it for her. Or one of the many men who frequented the estate, helping her out with the day-to-day stuff. The whole town seemed to like her a lot, considering they each made a special stop to check in after her, make sure she had everything she needed. Vivian had been more than amazed observing the kindness offered by so many of the town’s residents. The fair had been quite a lesson and something so unique to her own experiences, she would never forget it.

  “Hungry, dear?”

  Turning at the sound of Gretta’s voice, Vivian smiled from the bedroom doorway. “Nope. Just turning on some lights.”

  “Afraid of the dark or that I might fall and break a hip?”

  The woman was feisty. She loved that about her. “A hip,” Vivian teased, although that’s exactly what she’d been thinking.

  Moving past her, Gretta ambled over to the armoire situated between the bed and the bathroom and selected a green and cream plaid housedress from the top drawer of the bottom half of the piece of heavy furniture.

  “I’m a farmer’s wife. I’m not that fragile.” She tossed her a wink. “I’ll head to bed shortly. You should, too. The boys will be by first thing to tend the animals ‘n such, and you know how much of a ruckus they can make.”

  Boy, did they. Wishing each other a good night, Vivian retreated to her designated room, and, rather than remake the entire bed that she hadn’t even dirtied yet, she set aside the stack of sheets Gretta had loving placed at the foot then went about readying herself for bed. In less than six hours, the house would be alive once again.

  But sleep didn’t come easily. Or at all.

  Two hours later, Vivian stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows from the tree branches outside the window dance in the wind. A storm had blown in, and way out here, it was stronger than she was used to. It occurred to her, as she listened to the wind howl and the rain pelt the sill, that there were a ton of things she had never experienced before coming out here. It was as if she’d left behind one life and entered a whole new one.

  In a way, she guessed she kind of had. Divorced, no job, limited funds… She was wading through uncharted territory without a life preserver.

  Or maybe this is my life preserver… The thought came on so suddenly, it caught her off guard. All the nights she’d stayed up worrying, wondering what would happen to her once the papers were signed. The future she pictured had been bleak, but in a matter of a day, she’d found herself surrounded by some pretty great people—helpful, kind, and generous. She’d been so overwhelmed, and now, when she did a gut check, that feeling wasn’t entirely gone, but it had dimmed. She felt calmer now, in a stranger’s home and bed, than she had in months.

  The longer she laid there, listening to the storm, the more Vivian started to think maybe it would be okay to hang around for a while. Despite what mean old Nash had told her. Gretta enjoyed her company, and the people around there were friendly. She’d bet she could find a job in the snap of a finger, which would give her a chance to save up some money for when she did decide to move on. It was almost scary when she realized just how quickly she’d become comfortable here.

  Giving up the chase for sleep, Vivian threw back the blankets and padded quietly across the room to the closet. What treasures would she find inside?

  Turns out, not a lot, unless dust bunnies and empty wooden hangars had suddenly gained value.

  Mindful that Gretta was downstairs sleeping, she stepped lightly out of the room and down the hallway, exploring each of the empty rooms, careful to avoid the creaky wood planks as much as possible. She didn’t find much beyond the sparsely decorated rooms that had clearly been used for boarding at one time or another, just as Gretta had said.

  Until she reached the last one.

  The metal hinges protested as she pushed the door open. Instantly, Vivian had the sense she didn’t belong in there, but that didn’t deter her. Curiosity had her in its grip, and she went inside, closing the door lightly behind her.

  The room looked as if it’d been preserved. Bigger than all the rest, it was clearly the master bedroom. The original master, and as Vivian looked around at all the pictures, she realized the real reason Gretta lived downstairs.

  It wasn’t age or the risk of getting hurt. It was to escape the memories.

  Although sparkling clean, no hint of dust anywhere, the room was a time capsule. Photos of Gretta and her husband, from youth through marriage and all the way up to just before he passed, were represented here. It explained the lack of photos in the rest of the house. She must have put them all here after he died. Her heart lurched when she spotted the indent in the pillow and wrinkles in the sheets on one side of the bed. Despite the room being exceptionally clean and fresh flowers on the nightstands, that one detail had been left untouched.

  It was his side of the bed.

  Oh, how much she must have loved him. Obviously, she still frequented the room, keeping it clean and tidy, but she preserved his memory. No wonder she wanted her to stick around. Gretta was lonely. Even with so many people popping by to check on her and lend helping hands, at the end of the day, she was always alone. Vivian felt a pang in her chest, a profound sense of sadness for the woman who she was quickly starting to think of as a friend.

  Her gaze landed on one particular photo situated on top of the vanity dresser. Dressed up in a silver frame, it sat on a cream-colored crocheted doily surrounded by vintage perfume decanters, some with the little puffers and tassels. Her curious fingers longed to touch and explore fully, but Vivian resisted. She’d already invaded Gretta’s personal space; she didn’t want to disrespect it any further by disturbing what she so lovingly looked after.

  Backing out of the room, Vivian closed the door softly and returned to her room, having decided: she was staying. It seemed doubly important that she remain there, as if she had a purpose that went beyond herself. Maybe she’d been guided there, or maybe it was just happenstance, but she felt like, at least for the moment, it was where she needed to be.

  Cock-a-doodle-doo!

  Hearing the sound of the rooster, Vivian cringed. She hated that thing. It was worse than an alarm clock, which she’d never been one for waking up to. Who needed an alarm when they didn’t work? That thought was wiped away moments later when the sound of trucks pulling up to the house reached her ears.

  “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.”