“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your space. This is quite a mess, isn’t it?” The woman gestured to the mix of snow and sleet outside.
Rhea forced a light smile, but fear had her heart racing like a trapped rabbit.
“Looks like you could use a little help here. Do you mind?”
Rhea shook her head.
“Okay. Let’s start by taking your foot off that brake.”
Rhea looked down at her foot mashed against the brake pedal. She shifted her foot and it hit the floor with a thud.
The woman reached across the cab and turned off the engine. When she looked back at Rhea she was so close Rhea could smell the lingering hint of orange blossoms mingled with fire and ash. Her dark hair was covered by a knitted cap and strands of wet hair were plastered against her face, but that didn’t hide the strong line of her jaw or the soft, pale skin of her face. There was tenderness in her eyes that calmed the storm of fear raging inside Rhea.
“You can let out the clutch now.”
The woman smiled at her. The smile was calm and gentle and Rhea wondered if she was real or if this was one of those stories she read about where people insisted they had been rescued by angels. The woman placed her hand on Rhea’s shoulder. The touch was soft and tentative but not threatening.
“Lean back and try the release again.”
Rhea did as instructed and to her surprise the seat belt snapped open. The relief was instant and she fought back the flood of tears that threatened. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
The woman pulled away allowing some space between them. “My name’s Morgan Scott and this is my farm. Let’s get you out of here and up to the house so we can dry out.”
Rhea let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t lost after all. “You’re Morgan Scott?”
“That’s what I said.”
Rhea extended her hand. It didn’t matter how scared she was, politeness had been ingrained in her since the day she was born. “I’m Rhea Daniels.”
Rhea didn’t miss the hesitation or the brief frown that creased Morgan’s brow.
Morgan took Rhea’s hand. “You picked a heck of a time to show up. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
Rhea didn’t miss the disapproval in Morgan’s voice or the lines that formed around the corners of her eyes as if she was trying to predict the sudden move of a snake. Morgan reminded her of the guards at the prison who challenged her every time she was moved to a new section or a new pod. It was a familiar language Rhea understood very well, and the protective defenses she’d developed over the years fell effortlessly into place.
“I said I’d be here. I’m here. You got a problem with that?”
Morgan appeared to consider this for a moment and then shrugged. “No. I guess you didn’t order the weather. I’m just surprised to see you. I didn’t expect you for a couple more weeks.”
“Yeah, well, my last place wasn’t working out and I was ready to move on.”
Morgan dropped her gaze and slid out of the Jeep, her boots smacking against the muddy road with a squish. “Well, you’re here now, so let’s get out of here before we freeze to death. I’m tired of being wet.”
“What about my Jeep?” Rhea asked.
Morgan glanced back at her. “Grab what you’ll need for now. We’ll come back down tomorrow and clear this tree out. There’s nothing we can do tonight without making a mess and freezing our butts off.”
Rhea considered her options and finally conceded that Morgan was right. At least Morgan hadn’t turned her away. But she wasn’t blind and she hadn’t missed the distrust in Morgan’s eyes. This wouldn’t be much different than staying at her mother’s. She’d been convicted on people’s opinions before, not the facts. That was the thing with opinions, everyone had one.
*
Morgan’s house was warm and cozy, and despite her earlier distance and disapproval, she invited Rhea inside. Rhea glanced around the big open room. She might have traded one farm for another, but this was nothing like her mother’s house. Her mother surrounded herself with expensive furniture, crystal, silver, and lace, all the things she thought made her look important. Morgan’s house was the complete opposite. The room was comfortable with few furnishings and the decor was functional and somewhat industrial.
Rhea put her bag down and was drawn to the large hearth where the heat of the fire was strongest. She turned back to Morgan and noticed the footprints she’d left across the hardwood floor. She looked down at her feet and, to her horror, saw the mud clinging to her boots. She quickly took them off and brought them back to the mat by the door where Morgan had stored her own.
“I’m sorry. Do you have something I could use to clean this up?”
Morgan glanced at the footprints marking her floor and nodded to her right. “The kitchen’s in there—I have paper towels by the sink.”
Rhea hesitated. She was uncertain what to do. She was in a stranger’s home and suddenly she didn’t know how to behave and the fear was quickly rising again.
“It’s okay, I’ll get them,” Morgan said with a pat to Rhea’s shoulder. “Go get warm.”
Rhea still hadn’t moved when Morgan came back into the room carrying paper towels and spray cleaner.
Morgan handed half the towels to Rhea and began cleaning up the mess. Rhea was stunned. Morgan hadn’t been angry or ordered her to clean up, and she was even helping. Rhea got down on all fours and went to work.
Morgan sat back on her heels and inspected the floor. “See, good as new.” She tossed the paper towels on the fire. “Would you like some coffee to help shake off that chill?”
Rhea was shaking, but it wasn’t from the cold. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. She hadn’t thought about anything beyond getting out of prison and then getting away from her mother. It hadn’t occurred to her that she had no idea what to do next. She’d spent almost half her life locked away like an animal in a zoo being told what to do every hour of every day. She didn’t know how to be normal.
“Do you have any sweet tea?” Rhea asked.
Morgan smiled. “This is the South, isn’t it?”
Rhea smiled this time and some of the fear slipped away.
“Come on, how about something to eat with that tea?” Morgan turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Rhea followed and tried to ignore the tension settling in knots between her shoulder blades as Morgan pulled a pot out of the refrigerator and put it on the stove.
“I’m afraid leftovers will have to do tonight.”
The air quickly filled with the aroma of real food and Rhea’s mouth watered. She’d eaten little more than bologna-and-cheese sandwiches for days and the smell of real cooked food almost made her weep. She shrugged her shoulders.
“If there’s enough, I don’t want to put you out or anything.”
Morgan pulled two bowls from the cupboard and retrieved two spoons from a drawer. “It’s no trouble and there’s plenty.” Morgan pointed to the island in the center of the room. “Sit. I’ll only need a minute.”
Rhea sat down and propped her elbows on the edge of the cold stone surface and watched Morgan. It was strange to be sitting in someone’s kitchen, sipping sweet tea, and anticipating a hot cooked meal. She kept expecting to wake up and this would all be a dream, and she would still be locked up behind heavy stone walls.
She could tell by Morgan’s initial reaction to her name that Morgan knew about her past, but since then, Morgan had been polite, kind, and welcoming. What was Morgan’s game? Her polite hospitality reminded Rhea of how her mother used to host dinner parties when she was young, and how her mother always talked sweetly to the women who belonged to the Catholic Church although in private she condemned them for not being Baptist. Was Morgan simply being kind to the enemy? Whatever her game, Rhea was grateful for the warmth of the room, the refreshing drink in her hand, and a chance to be on her own.
Morgan filled the bowls, placed them on the island, and took her sea
t across from Rhea. The girl looked like she wanted to jump on the bowl of stew as if she hadn’t eaten in days. A cold knot formed in Morgan’s throat when she realized there was a chance that this was true. J.J. had said Rhea had been in prison for murder, but the woman sitting across from her didn’t look like a killer. She tried to look tough, but Morgan guessed that was mostly distrust and fear. Rhea had a petite build and feminine features that softened her otherwise lean, toned physique that made her seem hard. Her dark hair had been cut close to the scalp in a buzz cut, but that didn’t take away from the sloping line of her face and the glow of her piercing blue eyes. Morgan noted the almost perfect symmetry of her face, with a narrow straight nose and prominent cheekbones punctuated by a perfect dimple in each cheek. Rhea was beautiful.
Rhea finished her stew quickly and glanced toward Morgan’s half-eaten portion. Morgan wiped her mouth with her napkin and picked up her coffee. “There’s more on the stove if you want it, otherwise it’ll be thrown out. I don’t keep leftovers for more than two days.”
Rhea looked down at her bowl and then to the pot across the room. She looked back up at Morgan and swallowed as if she was trying to figure something out. “Can I get you some more too?”
Morgan smiled. “Sure, just a little though.”
Rhea filled Morgan’s bowl and returned to her seat. This time she ate more slowly and Morgan was glad the ice had been broken. She didn’t like Rhea’s past, but she had agreed to take her in, and that meant she had to find a way to accept that there were some things she would never understand. So far Rhea hadn’t turned out to be anything like what she’d expected, and Morgan had the feeling she shouldn’t make any more assumptions without giving Rhea the chance to prove herself. Rhea had a hungry look in her eyes that said she shouldn’t be underestimated. Morgan just hoped J.J. was right and she wouldn’t end up regretting this.
Chapter Three
The cabin was small but had everything Rhea needed. She could tell Morgan had done some recent work on the place by the smell of new paint and sawdust that still lingered in the air. The bed was bigger than she was used to and the old-fashioned quilts were soft and heavy. Morgan showed her how to use the woodstove. She was warm, but the silence was too much and grated on her nerves like an itch in her brain. She lay awake listening through the silence. She hadn’t made friends in prison and there was no one to miss, but at least she hadn’t been alone there.
In the beginning, the night sounds had kept her awake, holding her in a tight fist of fear. Over time she had found a connection to the broken sobs, bargains made with God or the devil, the sounds of sex and violence, and plots and plans made under cover of night. She had stayed quiet and that had kept her alive. She knew drug dealers, mules, gang members, thieves, and murderers like her. Desperation was the one thing she found they all had in common. She rarely met anyone who hadn’t made hard decisions in the face of what seemed like no choice or when the choice made was the lesser evil.
The women she’d met were hard because they had to be to survive. For most, prison was no different than living on the streets. They’d just traded one set of captors for another. But Rhea hadn’t fit in there any more than she had on the outside. Her survival had hinged on her ability to figure out the game being played and the part she had to play in it. As a child she had learned to do her best to be perfect. She got good grades, did as she was told, even appeared popular with the other kids in her school. But none of it had been real. At least it hadn’t felt real to her. Once in prison she quickly learned to be hard, to face a challenge head-on, and to never turn her back. Weakness wasn’t a quality you could afford when everyone was seeking their own pound of your flesh.
This was the first time in her life that she didn’t have to pretend. But without pretending, who was she? Rhea slid out of bed, pulled on her jeans and boots, and went outside. The snow had stopped late in the night. A thick layer covered the ground like icing on a cake and gave the air a luminescent glow. The first rays of sun glistened across the surface like diamonds scattered across the ground.
Rhea was restless without some direction or someone telling her where to go next. Routine was the one thing she could count on in prison and she felt lost and anxious without it. She needed to shake it off. She opened the door and closed it. Then opened the door and closed it again and thrilled at the freedom the small gesture represented. Would she ever get used to not having locks and bars dictating her every movement? She pulled on her coat and stepped outside. The crisp air stung her face and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh, clean air. Her boots crunched with each step through the fresh snow, which seemed oddly loud in the surrounding silence. She looked around at the open space before her and felt overwhelmed by the breadth of the world. The only boundary was the split-rail fence and the cobblestone wall that outlined the property. There was no chain link or razor wire, no one with guns preventing her from going where she pleased. She had the sudden urge to run, a surge of power so strong she was certain her heart would burst. So she ran.
The cold air burned through her lungs and her legs ached from the pounding of her boots on the frozen ground. Out of breath, she stopped at the top of a hill that overlooked the farm. She imagined what the fields would look like in summer when the wildflowers danced on the breeze. Rhea wiped her face and was surprised that her cheeks were moist with tears. The idea of crying now was absurd. She hadn’t cried in years. She began to laugh and was convinced she was losing her mind. Her laughter died slowly, replaced again by the silence and crushing knowledge that she was alone.
She turned in a circle and took in the world around her, longing for something to connect to, something she could hold on to that would give her a place in the world. A flicker of movement to her right drew her attention to the small barn at the edge of the field closest to the main house. Morgan walked out with two large bottles under her arm, and a young calf trailed behind her. Morgan sat on a stump and began to bottle-feed the calf.
This small act of tenderness struck a chord and Rhea watched Morgan closely. There was something about Morgan that was different. She didn’t carry the hard edge of pain that most showed in the depths of their eyes and the line of their lips. Morgan lived by different rules. Her eyes were soft and caring, her voice firm but guiding, her body strong but gentle.
The last thought shocked her. What was she doing thinking about Morgan’s body? When had she even noticed something like that? Morgan was certainly unusual and there was no doubt she was the only person Rhea had to rely on right now, but since when did she care what someone looked like? Morgan was her boss and there was nothing else to it. Rhea sighed. It was time to go to work.
*
Morgan looked up from the calf she was feeding to see Rhea walking toward her. Rhea smiled sheepishly and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat. She looked nervous. Morgan wasn’t ready to start sharing her space or her animals with someone and she resented the intrusion. But she had to admit she was curious about the girl. Rhea carried herself with confidence as if daring the world to challenge her, but when her guard was down uncertainty and fear lingered in her eyes like a haunted soul. What kind of pain could put such a tortured look in the eyes of someone so young? She had no idea what prison was like or what things had happened in Rhea’s life to send her there.
“Good morning, I didn’t expect to see you so early. Is everything okay with the cabin?”
Rhea nodded. “The cabin’s perfect, I just wanted to go for a walk. Do you need any help?”
“Thanks, but I’m pretty much done here.”
Rhea shifted from foot to foot and Morgan wondered what she wasn’t saying. Rhea looked like she could jump out of her skin at any moment, but Morgan waited her out. She gathered up the bottles and spread hay for the calf.
Rhea finally broke. “So what do you want me to do around here?”
Morgan took a deep breath and looked around before meeting Rhea’s gaze. Her eyes looked questioning…unc
ertain…nervous.
Morgan shrugged. “What do you want to do?”
Rhea frowned and considered the question. “I don’t know. You’re the boss. You get to tell me what to do.”
Morgan smiled. She guessed Rhea was used to people telling her what to do, and it would be easy to dump the chores she didn’t like on her, but something told Morgan that wasn’t the way to go.
“Well, I guess I could, but I’d still like to know what you want to do. This will work out better for both of us if you aren’t miserable, and I know I prefer to do what I like. When I do what I like, I get more done. I figure you’re no different.”
Rhea shrugged. “The thing is, I don’t really know what I like. What are my choices?”
Morgan grimaced. “That’s a long list.” Maybe if she played her cards right she wouldn’t have to see much of Rhea and she could get on with her work. Maybe this could work out for both of them. “Why don’t I just show you around and point out things as we go. There’s the farmwork, some small-engine work, the farrier work, and the gallery. I’m sure you’ll find something along the way.”
Rhea pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. “So you just want me to tag along and then I get to choose?”
Morgan shrugged. “Yep, that’s the plan.” She paused to reconsider. “Of course whatever’s left over, we’ll have to split.”
Rhea smiled. “I can do that.” Morgan had surprised her again and some of her defenses fell. Morgan wasn’t like most people she had encountered, and this was the first time someone hadn’t tried to control her. Everyone always had a game they were running, some kind of manipulation to get something from you. But Morgan was different and Rhea couldn’t find the hook. When she looked into Morgan’s eyes she couldn’t find the tell, some shift of the eye that would alert her to Morgan’s game. Morgan’s eyes were sincere and Rhea wasn’t sure what that meant. Maybe all this open air was getting to her. No one was that good. But if Morgan was going to give her a chance, she was going to take it.
Love’s Redemption Page 3