Taryn didn’t have time to dwell on it because her alarm went off seconds later and she needed to get up and get moving if she was going to make it to breakfast.
She slipped on a bathrobe and a pair of socks and didn’t bother running a brush through her hair or putting on any makeup as she headed down to the B&B’s dining room. As the only guest, she could afford to be lazy. There was a time when she would’ve applied her makeup evenly, curled her hair, matched her shoes with her outfit. It wouldn’t have mattered if there weren’t many people there to see her; it just would’ve made her feel good.
Those days were gone.
Now, she felt more comfortable with her hair loose, allowing it to fall where it would, or in a ponytail. She still wore skirts and dresses but they tended to be peasant ones that fell down around her ankles or prairie skirts with cowboy boots. Her cheap sandals from Target were getting so old they flapped when she walked but her toes had worn perfect grooves in them and she hated to see them go.
Delphina had already set up the breakfast bar with donuts, eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and cereal. Cursing herself for not bringing a purse or something to stash some extra donuts in for later, Taryn loaded up her plate and sat down at the table. It was slightly awkward to sit at a table meant for ten people when you were by yourself, but at least she didn’t have to make conversation with people she didn’t know. Her dream had worn her out.
“I’m trying out a new recipe on the donuts,” Delphina called from the kitchen. Her voice was brittle and an onlooker might think her wiry seventy-five year-old body was frail, but Taryn had seen her gardening, cleaning, and even moving furniture around with the gusto of someone half her age. “I’m attempting to make yeast instead of cake.”
“They’re really good,” Taryn replied, her mouth full of eggs. “I took three.”
Delphina entered the dining room carrying a pitcher of orange juice and refilled Taryn’s glass. “Honey, take them all. I’ll bring you a plate you can take up to your room. If you don’t eat them I will and I don’t need the sugar.”
“Thank you,” Taryn replied, grateful. She was still short on cash and could use all the extra help she could get in the food department.
“I don’t have diabetes yet, but they say I have ‘pre-diabetes,’” she continued sociably. This was the most she’d spoken. “I’m not sure what that means. It’s not enough to give us actual diagnoses anymore? Now we have to diagnose it in advance? They seem to have a name for everything these days.”
“I guess I know what you mean,” Taryn chuckled. “My grandmother told her doctor once that unless it was going to kill her she didn’t want to know what it was.”
“Did you hear the storm last night?” Delphina moved around the room, straightening knickknacks and removing invisible dust with a rag. She was almost always cleaning something when Taryn saw her. Taryn had never seen her relax. “It rained something awful.”
“I must have slept through it,” Taryn answered.
“We don’t get too many here at the end of summer. Mostly in the fall or early spring. Sometimes we get a doozy though. Good for the garden and grass,” Delphina shrugged. “I just don’t sleep like I used to.”
“Neither do I,” Taryn agreed. Had she just incorporated the sounds of the storm into her sleep and created a dream around it? She didn’t think so, but it definitely seemed possible and she couldn’t rule it out.
“Are you getting a lot of work done up there at the tavern?”
Taryn nodded. “It’s going well. It’s pretty. I’ve only been there a few days and I’m already dreaming about the place, the people who lived there. Occupational hazard I guess. It’s not the first time. I get pretty involved. I hope the kids get their money so they can buy it. I’d hate to see it torn down.”
“Oh, Lordy; me too honey. Me too. I can remember, back when I was a little girl, it was a house. They held meetings there for the Kiwanis. And my daddy went there for men’s business,” Delphina added primly. “The owner was mayor here for awhile,”
Taryn smiled at this reference to drinking. “Was it a nice place back then?”
“Oh, just beautiful. They’d get it all decorated for Christmas and at Halloween the owners would hand out the best candy. But then the money dried up and the poor old place has just been empty; goodness, I don’t know how many years it’s been now. People just don’t have the money to keep a place like that up anymore and then it gets handed down to another generation who don’t know what to do with it.”
“It’s the first stagecoach station I’ve been to,” Taryn admitted. “I’ve been reading about it in your books here.”
“My daddy could’ve told you some stories about it, my granddaddy too. They would remember it when it was open as an inn. They used to have all sorts of parties there, weddings, and all kinds of guests.” Delphina pulled out a chair and sat down across from Taryn. As the sunlight streamed in through one of the windows, it landed on top of her curly gray head and gave it an almost bluish tint. Her fingers tapped on the embroidered tablecloth, a set of rings sparkling. “My family has been here since the beginning of the town. This house here? My great grandparents built it. Been in the family ever since.”
“It’s a beautiful place. I love the tavern, too. It must have been something,” Taryn prodded. “And run by a woman for a long time?”
“Oh yes. Mrs. Permelia. Shame about her husband passing when she was so young, and she not from here, but she ran that tavern well. She’s buried on up the road here.”
“I guess it wasn’t easy running a business by yourself back in those days if you were a woman,” Taryn mused. Then, realizing who she was talking to, she blushed. “It’s not easy now either, or I’m guessing.”
Delphina laughed merrily. “Oh, I can’t say I wouldn’t mind more help but I manage. My husband left almost ten years ago. Not a day goes by I don’t miss him. Mostly in the evenings when it’s quiet and everyone’s gone or in bed. I’d like someone to talk to. I reckon that’s the way Mrs. Permelia felt, too, running that place alone. And you! You’re by yourself, too, and a working girl!”
“I don’t mind it most of the time, being alone, but you’re right about the evenings. And the early mornings…” She let her voice trail off and ran her finger around the rim of her orange juice glass. “Sometimes I want to tell someone about my day or something interesting that happened and then I remember I can’t.”
Delphina smiled, a soft one that lit up her face. “I’m sorry, dear, I didn’t realize you’d lost someone too. I should have seen it on your face. We women, we usually know these things.”
“My husband,” Taryn conceded. “He’s been on my mind a lot lately. The anniversary of his…passing…is coming up soon. In a few weeks. It gets a little harder this time of the year.”
“It was sudden then?”
Taryn grimaced. “A car crash. It will be six years this year. Sometimes I still feel like he’s out there, working, and just hasn’t come home yet. We worked together and spent most of our time together. It’s been hard to…adjust.”
“My husband and I also worked together. It was his idea to open this place. This was my family’s home and I’ve lived here all my life. Jerry, my husband, worked for the railroad. When he retired his pension didn’t go far. I didn’t work, you see, but we did alright. Then, with prices gone up on everything from food to gas, we needed the money. So any rooms in this house we thought we might make good innkeepers. We always liked having company!”
“I’m sorry, what happened to him?” Taryn asked. “Did he pass away?”
“Oh no,” Delphina sighed. “Something that makes me look much more foolish than the average woman. Jerry left me to have his adventures. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he left; for years he’d talked about going out west or down south. Maybe getting one of those big RVs and selling the place. He could talk a good talk! I could never see myself selling, though. It was my home. It was hard enough for me to go on vacation for a week
and leave it behind. So, one day, he went off on his own adventure. With him gone it’s hard but I manage.” Delphina’s face grew a little darker, her smile tighter. “I manage.”
“It’s all we can do, right?”
Despite her full breakfast, and the fruit and donuts she’d hoarded, Taryn was still hungry and stopped at the Frosty Freeze on the way to the tavern. A turkey and cheese sandwich would keep in her cooler and a Coke on ice would get her motor running. She was dragging more and more. She tried to tell herself she was still recovering from being poisoned, maybe more than once, and a concussion but part of her was still worried. Shouldn’t she be feeling a lot better by now? The exhaustion never really went away and the headaches were getting worse, if anything; they were definitely not getting better.
The little building was crowded when she pulled up. Half a dozen people wandered around, waiting for their orders. A small group of teenagers sat on the red picnic table, looking at one boy’s smart phone and laughing. They ignored her.
Taryn smiled to herself. Some things didn’t change. Technology might get better, teenagers might feel wiser, but the lure of milkshakes and hamburgers would always be strong.
After she placed her order, Taryn walked back to her car and perched on the hood. She replied to a text from Matt (just asking her how her morning was going) and checked her email. After that, there wasn’t anything to do but wait. She didn’t have a smart phone and could only perform basic functions on hers. The glare made it too bright to read. Still, it was a nice, warm day and the beat of the sun on her bare arms and legs was soothing. The lull of conversation around her, everyone seemed to know each other, was comforting. She could almost take a nap.
“Don’t fall asleep there.” The low male voice made her open her eyes and she raised her hand to shield the sun to get a better look. The man stood near her, close but not hovering, and smiled. He was tall with dark blond hair and a slight stubble of a beard laced with red. He wore dusty jeans, a blue stained T-shirt, and cowboy boots caked with mud (or something). He appeared to be in his early thirties and was attractive, if a little battered.
Because he seemed friendly and harmless enough, she smiled back. “I could go to sleep. That sun’s about to do me in. And it’s still early.”
Taking that as a welcome, he moved forward and leaned against her car. “It’s a nice one today. The rain last night cleared the air. Supposed to rain some more the next few days. I came up here for lunch, take some back with me.”
“That’s more or less what I’m doing, too. You work nearby?”
“I work up at Jenson Stables. You know it?”
Taryn shook her head. “I’m not from around here. I’m just in town for business.”
“Ah, well, I manage the horses up there. Show horses. Some riding lessons, too. A few boarders. Mostly show, though. You ride?”
“Not for a long time,” she answered. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a horse. She liked them well enough, though.
“How long you here for? Maybe I could take you riding sometime,” he offered with a smile.
Taryn could feel the warning signs, signs he was hitting on her. They prickled at her skin and made her tense up. She immediately went into defense mode. “”Well, I’m pretty busy. Lots of work to do.”
Before she could say anything more, her order was called and she had to go to the window. When she walked back to her car, though, he was still leaning against it.
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous or anything,” he said, this time a little shyly. “I’m not real good in these situations. If you decide you’d like to ride, though, here’s my business card. And I’m Jamie, by the way. I promise I won’t kidnap you, come on too strong, or send you a friend request until you get to know me more.”
She took it and tried to smile as she thanked him. She felt like a moron. “How can I resist an offer like that?”
“I have a sister. If she was out of town traveling on her own and a dude asked her out, I’d warn her to stay away–far away. You can’t be too careful these days. And now I‘ve gone and done it myself. I have references, though,” he laughed. “See the woman standing over there by the silver Cadillac?”
The woman in question appeared to be in her late seventies and was delicately nipping at a twist cone. Taryn acknowledged her.
“She was my high school art teacher. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“How do I know you’re not just picking out some random stranger and pulling my leg?” Taryn teased.
“Hey, Mrs. Meade!” Jamie shouted. The older woman turned, looked at him, and smiled.
“Hello Jamie!” she called back.
Jamie looked back at Taryn with a smug grin.
“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “I’ll think about it…”
On the drive to the tavern, she replayed the scene. There was no reason why she should’ve been standoffish to him. He seemed okay and he was nice-looking. As a woman traveling alone, and without a wedding ring, she got hit on a lot. At least this time the guy was easy on the eyes, and close to her age. She felt a little ashamed at herself for not talking to him more. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that she was awkward.
She wasn’t a stranger to dating since Andrew’s death. In fact, it was her past experiences with dating that made her hesitant to pursue anything. About five months after Andrew died Taryn found herself going out on a date. A client set her up with a man whose fiancée had recently called off their wedding. Taryn knew it was a bad idea the moment she agreed to it, but she was lonely and everyone kept telling her to “move on” and that Andrew would want her to see other people and be happy.
The date was average at best: dinner and a movie. She couldn’t even remember what they’d seen. Afterwards, they’d gone for a walk around a lake. He was charming in a simple kind of way and had complimented Taryn a lot over the course of the evening. Somewhere between skipping rocks and talking about music, she found herself making out with him. She had no idea how it happened, but they ended up on the ground, her jeans pushed down around her ankles. It was nothing but sex, and not even very good sex when it came right down to it, and it was over before she could catch her breath. In fact, during the whole time she found herself singing Kelly Willis’ version of “Don’t Come the Cowboy with me, Sonny Jim” the whole time–especially the part about counting cracks on the wall. AS she’d stared at the sky and watched the stars she couldn’t help but think, this is the same lake Andrew and I had a picnic at a year ago.
She didn’t see the guy, Craig, again.
That didn’t stop her from seeing other people, though.
She’d repeated the same scenario at least three more times.
Finally, one night as she was sitting in a rocking chair in her living room she received a text message from the latest man. It was full of sexual innuendo–some of it badly misspelled. She figured it was supposed to be sexy and turn her on. Instead, it made her angry.
She knew she meant nothing to these men. But worse, they meant nothing to her. She’d turned something she’d once thought sacred and magic into something base and crude.
“It’s normal,” her therapist had told her. “Many people react to the loss of a loved one in this way. It’s as if you’re proving you’re alive by engaging in intimacy. And, because you know you’re going to feel guilty afterwards, you might also be punishing yourself for the accident.”
Taryn hadn’t seen the therapist again.
There were no more dates for Taryn after that, though. Still, she made the mistake of telling Matt what was going on, and instead of being supportive or at least listening to her, he’d lectured her.
She’d cut him off, too.
Once completely alone, she’d gone on a tear through her house, removing pictures, bagging up clothes, and pushing most of the furniture that reminded her of Andrew into one room. After several months, when even that hadn’t helped, she’d put it in storage and found a new place to live.
>
Taryn had been single for almost five years without even a casual date. She and Matt made up. But she still couldn’t trust herself. Maybe she was punishing herself. Maybe all of her wires were just crossed.
Maybe she didn’t know how she felt anymore.
Her turkey sandwich all but forgotten, she attacked her canvas with aggression. The lighting was good, despite the threat of rain and the storm clouds looming overhead, and Griffith Tavern rose before her, bleak and naked in the field. It was more imposing today and Taryn used this to her advantage. She was feeling dark and impassive herself. The paintbrush was light in her hand as she mixed colors, blended on her palette, and painted lines in firm, aggressive strokes.
I’m going to tell a story, she announced to herself, about a tavern that was owned and run by a woman. It’s a male building, but it was female command that kept it going. That’s what I’m going to paint.
In most aspects of her life she felt awkward, uneasy with herself. In college her clothes had been too bright, too colorful, for the young professionals already walking around in their black sweaters and business suits. Even in a town known for its country music she’d been embarrassed about her love of George Strait, Dwight Yoakam, and Patty Loveless, especially considering everyone she knew were all into grunge and alternative. Nobody had understood her friendship with Matt.
But when she painted…that’s when she felt like herself. Even in high school art class when she hadn’t been very good and only her art teacher encouraged her, she’d been happy.
Stoically, the tavern observed her in much the same manner she scrutinized it. Her sundress (she was down to her dresses since she couldn’t afford to do laundry at the moment) clung to her legs and ants scuttled over her feet. Her hair hung limply to her shoulders, matted in some places where the sweat gathered and dried. Thick, gooey mud was smeared across one cheek. A strap fell down to her shoulder, revealing the hint of a beige bra underneath.
Griffith Tavern (Taryn's Camera Book 2) Page 5