“As you can see, I’m not,” Nash drawled. Although, she wasn’t far from the truth. He may or may not have been ruminating on some things regarding a certain blonde who’d decided to pop up again.
Gretta glanced around at the tractor parts and tools littering the floor and nodded. “And you wouldn’t happen to be hidin’ behind chores either, would ya? Because that’s what my Pete used ta do, too.”
“I know.” Nash remembered. Whenever Pete had been bothered by anything, Nash could always find him around the farm tinkering with something or other. Maybe, in some way, he’d picked up the habit from him. The thought made him smile a little.
“Well, when you’re done not hidin’,” Gretta pressed on, “I’ll be expectin’ ya for dinner.”
Nash was ready to claim that he wasn’t hungry and wouldn’t be later, but Ms. Gretta was already shushing him, her weathered, arthritic fingers pinching his lips closed.
“I don’t have ta remind ya what time, but I will, ‘cause I won’t have ya comin’ up with excuses. 6:00 PM sharp, and not a moment later. I’ll be savin’ ya a place at the table.”
Nash sighed as she let go of his mouth and turned to shuffle on home. There was no fighting that woman. She was a ruthless dictator!
“Well, damn,” Nash cursed under his breath. His fists found his hips and his shoulders sagged as he looked at the mountain of work spread out before him. He was beginning to feel like he may never get that damn machine running again.
Just then his stomach rumbled, the first signs that Gretta was right and he’d have to eat soon. As much as he wanted to deny himself the fine art of her cooking, he hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day. Longer, really. And he was hungry.
But she would be there.
How was he going to get around that doozy of a detail?
“I’ll just pretend she doesn’t exist,” he muttered to himself, pleased with his solution. Just like she’d hightailed it out of town without a goodbye, explanation, or backward glance, he would pretend that she simply did not exist.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she realized that he, too, could play games with a person’s head.
***
Nash realized his error almost immediately. It was mighty difficult to pretend that someone wasn’t there when they kept staring and trying to talk to you.
“Ms. Gretta said you almost got the tractor running again. That’s really impressive. I’ve never been very handy, especially with tools.”
Nash combed his mashed potatoes with his fork. He wanted to try the candied sweet potatoes, as they were his favorite, but she-who-would-not-be-named had helped make them, and now he couldn’t. Figured she would find a way to ruin all the things he enjoyed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Ms. Gretta complained. “Would you stop bein’ such a doofus and answer the girl? You behave as if she killed your dog.”
Nash flicked an annoyed glance at the old woman but held his tongue. No sense in deepening her ire. She might start hitting him again.
“It’s okay, Ms. Gretta,” the woman he refused to acknowledge said amicably, “he has a right to be upset with me. I understand.”
“Well, he’s being a doofus.”
How was it that she’d left them both, and Ms. Gretta, the hardheaded old bat that she was, was so forgiving and accommodating when he’d seen her give men a literal boot in their behind for less?
“Nash,” came her sweet, melodic voice that he hoped never to hear again. “If you’d let me, I’d really like a moment to explain.”
Nash, setting down his fork and picking up his napkin folded in his lap, wiped his mouth and stood. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Ms. Gretta. You outdid yourself, as always.”
“You’re leaving?” Gretta asked, disapproval weighing down her words.
“It’s been a long day, and I have a longer day ahead tomorrow. I’d best turn in.”
He bent to drop a quick kiss on the top of her gray head…and made the fatal error of glancing up. He caught Vivian’s eye, glimpsed the flash of hurt and disappointment in them, and turned away.
“Good night,” he said softly, mostly to Ms. Gretta, but admittedly a little to the woman who just wouldn’t leave his thoughts and, apparently, his life.
He was out the door nearly as fast as the last time, the need to get home and behind closed doors where it was safe bubbling up inside like a volcano ready to erupt. He just couldn’t be around her without too many emotions rising to the surface.
Nash had been very careful to guard himself from such things, and somehow, he’d discovered, he hadn’t protected part of himself well enough. Now he was faced with the overwhelming…stuff that he’d just didn’t want to—couldn’t—face right now. He didn’t have it in him to deal with it all at once, and maybe never.
Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.
The day he’d put his Carlene in the ground was the day he’d vowed never to let someone get that close again. She was his one and only, and the vows he’d taken had been for life.
This…whatever this was between him and Vivian wasn’t something he was allowed to feel or entertain. He’d been weak for a moment there, but she’d proven exactly why he needed to stay away from women and love and dating and romance and just focus on the time when he and his wife would reunite on the other side.
Besides, she’d want it that way.
As God as my witness…forever and always.
THREE
“You can’t stay stuck in idle forever,” Big Steve criticized, his giant, meaty sausage fingers scratching the curly hair on his chest that stuck out at all angles above the collar of his grease-stained T-shirt.
“Don’t ya think I know that?” Nash barked, irritated as ever with the whole damn day. Or morning, rather. The clock hadn’t even reached noon yet, and he was beyond over it.
He’d come out this morning with a fresh, go-get-‘em attitude, determined that he was going to fix that tractor come hell or high water, but now it was stuck in idle and he was cursing the day he ever agreed to fix it.
But worst case scenario here was he never fixed the damn thing, Gretta would have to scrape up the money for a new one, and Nash would be dead from frustration.
He threw in the towel. Literally. “I’m done,” he announced, and got to his feet.
“Aw, come on now,” Big Steve balked. “You can’t give up that easy.”
“I didn’t say forever,” Nash corrected him. “Just for now. If I keep at it all day, I’m liable to lose my mind.”
“Ah, well, I thought you’d already done that.”
Nash caught the smirk on his friend’s face and scowled. “Watch yourself, bucko. I just might pretend to lose it and dig me up a couple of wax strips for that carpet on your chest.”
Big Steve’s fingers paused their continuous scratching. “Well, if you wanted me ta leave, you shoulda just said so.”
The men chuckled. They’d been friends for years, since freshman year of high school when Steve transferred in from Louisiana. He’d always been tall, but back then, he was heads taller than the rest of the school kids, so he’d bore the brunt of the teasing. Nash had never been one for singling folks out on account of their differences, so he’d felt bad for the poor guy and taken him under his wing.
Nobody messed with him anymore.
Guess that’s what happened when you had yourself a reputation for being a nice but no-nonsense kinda guy. People showed some respect, and apparently, it extended to those around you.
Steve had always seemed to appreciate that, and Nash was glad to be of service.
Plus, the man was just plain good people.
“Hey, you wanna grab a beer?” Steve suggested. That’s what they did when faced with an uphill problem. Sometimes it just helped to take a load off and come back to it later.
“Not today,” Nash declined, but he didn’t know why. Lord knew, he needed all the distractions he could get.
“You got somethin’ on you
r mind, boss?”
Nash perked up. “What makes you say that?”
A smile grew on Big Steve’s broad face. “Oh, nothin’. ‘Cept you’ve been staring at Ms. Gretta’s place, or the general direction of it, all mornin’.”
He had not. “I have not.”
“I can’t blame ya,” Big Steve went on. “I’ve been thinkin’ about goin’ over to get me some pancakes for the last hour. ‘Course, that ain’t the only reason.” He grinned and winked.
Nash pretended he didn’t know what he was getting at. But his mind went straight to one thing—or person. She was there. At that table, in that house. She’d wanted to talk to him. What did she want to say? What could she say? Did he even want to hear it?
“Well, if you don’t wanna grab a drink, what do you say we grab somethin’ to eat,” Steve suggested, cutting into Nash’s thoughts. “I could go for somethin’ sweet and savory right about now.” He rubbed his somewhat round belly, which had been growing steadily the past couple of years, due to both age and Ms. Gretta’s giant meals.
Nash’s jaw clenched as he stared—consciously—toward Gretta’s home, invisible through the thicket of trees but right where he’d left it all the same.
He didn’t know how to answer that question. Did he want to go there, subject himself to more lies? No. But was he curious about…everything? Yes.
“Look, I’ll level with ya,” Big Steve said, growing serious as he watched the war Nash was waging with himself play out on his face. “You got some issue with that little lady, Vivian. That’s obvious. But I know for a fact Ms. Gretta ain’t done nothin’ to ya and she’s goin’ to be real hurt if you keep stayin’ away.”
Nash bowed his head, knowing he was right. He couldn’t keep punishing his friend and the woman who’d practically raised him and seen him through some of the hardest times in his life because he was going through some stuff. She didn’t deserve that.
“Yeah.”
While Nash was always coming up short on words, Big Steve had known him long enough to read between the lines the ones he didn’t give voice to.
“Then let’s go get some grub,” he said, pushing off the side of the tractor he’d been leaning on and heading for the door.
Nash could have declined, just like he had the beer. He could have dug in his heels and said the words that kept jumping to the forefront of his mind, just for the sake of argument. He could have done a lot of things, but instead, he zipped his lips and followed after his friend.
As they crossed through the open field and cut through the stretch of trees that acted as a natural property line, Nash told himself that he wasn’t doing this for himself. His friend was hungry, Ms. Gretta missed him, and he just plain wasn’t intimidated by someone who meant nothing to him anymore.
There had been a spark between Vivian and him once, but that was long gone now, so there was no reason for her to be able to ruffle his feathers or for him to allow it.
Nash simply would not be moved.
That notion was blown to bits the instant he stepped inside Ms. Gretta’s house and caught Vivian’s melodic voice in the air.
One thing became clear in that moment, as he stood in the kitchen doorway, and listened to her carry on a conversation about apple pies as she bent over the open oven, her mitted hands giving the dishes a little turn: he was moved.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Ms. Gretta said with a giant smile as she shuffled over and gave both men a kiss on the cheek.
“I smelled pancakes and came runnin’,” Big Steve claimed, to which Ms. Gretta laughed.
“Boy, breakfast was hours ago. Viv and I are startin’ the pies for dinner.” Big Steve’s expression fell, and hers quickly followed. “Well, hell, when ya go lookin’ at me like that—fine! I’ll whip up a batch.” She stepped back, full of attitude now, and gave them a once-over. “You two look like you’ve been rollin’ in a ditch. Go git washed”—she pronounced it worshed—"up and have a seat.”
Vivian had long since stopped to stand and stare, shocked at their arrival, and as Nash followed Big Steve over to the sink to clean up, he dutifully ignored her presence. He flat out refused to give her the time of day. Refused to look at her.
His eyes darted, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of her blonde hair, floating around one slender shoulder in loose curls where it’d been swept aside to keep it out of the way. He definitely didn’t take any notice of the way those blue jeans skimmed all her gentle curves, highlighting a perfect hourglass figure.
Nope. He didn’t notice her one whit.
When it was his turn, Nash scrubbed the grease from under his nails, listening as Miss Gretta tried to talk up her houseguest.
And he knew that’s what she was doing, and for his benefit, because she was really laying it on thick.
“The apples are perfectly sliced. I swear Vivian here has the steadiest, most skilled hands I ain’t ever seen! Even better than my own when I was young, and I never got no complaints about anything these hands could do, if you get my meanin’.”
Nash could hear the suggestive wink in her voice. “Everyone knows your meanin’, Miss Gretta,” he called over his shoulder.
“Well, I just want to make sure I’m bein’ clear.”
He dried his hands on a dish towel as he turned her way. “Trust me, we all know ya well enough to know your meanin’.”
She got that sly smirk she always wore when she was up to no good, and then lifted her chin as if to say, “Well, I never.”
“Well, I never.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” Nash countered, and winked.
“Nash! You rotten—I should throw you out this instant,” she spluttered.
“For what?”
“For…for…tryin’ to sully my good name.” Her chin rose again. If she kept that up, her nose might actually touch the ceiling.
“You done did that a long time ago and all on your own, Miss Gretta,” he teased as he walked over and took a seat opposite Big Steve, who’d opted to sit right next to Vivian. Nash would have chosen to sit next to him so he wouldn’t have to look at her, but men didn’t do such things when there was plenty of room available. Besides, she simply didn’t exist, right? So, no problem. He could sit wherever and not be bothered in the least.
“He’s the worst,” Miss Gretta was saying as she made her way back to the kitchen proper and stacked enough glasses together to serve them all. “It’s elder abuse, I tell ya. And y’all are my witnesses.”
“If you keep that amazin’ sweet tea comin’,” Big Steve piped up, “I can vouch to seein’ some abuse goin’ on ‘round here. But I can’t say as to it bein’ elder, ‘cause all I see are two lovely ladies here today.”
Miss Gretta reached the table, her eyes glittering, as she was surely drunk on lies. “Oh, my darlin’ boy, you are the sweetest. I’ll be sure to put fresh blueberries in your cakes. Would you like strawberries on top too?”
“I sure would, Miss Gretta,” he replied smoothly, and Nash, in response to his ass kissing, gave him a swift kick to the shin under the table. Big Steve only grunted and stiffened a moment before letting it pass.
Just another thing the two of them had been doing since they were kids. When one of them got a little too cocky or corny, or a bit too much of anything, really, they always knew they could count on the other to give ‘em a good bruising to help straighten them out.
After mouthing suck up at him, Nash redirected his attention. “I wouldn’t mind some blueberries in mine, too, while you’re at it.”
“I wouldn’t mind havin’ a nice meal without havin’ to look at your moody mug all the time, but we can’t all get what we want,” she quipped.
Nash’s gaze flashed on Vivian, who dropped her head and covered her smile with her hand. Yeah, they all knew who that comment was directed at. Nash scowled deeply, despite knowing it would only reinforce Ms. Gretta’s perception of him.
“I don’t scowl all the time,” he grumbled. Only half the time. Maybe a
touch more than half. It depended on who crossed his path that day and irritated him. It just happened to fact that a lot of people had a habit of pulling that particular reaction out of him, and whose fault was that?
Gretta scoffed and went about whipping up their breakfast-slash-lunch—brunch?—while Nash listened to Big Steve and Vivian chat about nothing that interested him.
It was good to know that her divorce was over though. Too many roosters in the hen house, as his mother used to say.
Of course, Vivian wasn’t the type to entertain too many roosters. He didn’t think… Hell, it wasn’t any of his business who she entertained, since he wasn’t looking to be entertained.
He must have been thinking a while because the next thing Nash knew, pancakes were being served and everyone was eating and laughing together and Nash forgot he was supposed to be brooding and ended up having a nice time.
FOUR
Vivian cornered him in the den, where Gretta had sent him to start a fire to chase away the chill in the house that he didn’t feel. Despite the early fall and the crisp air outside, the old houses tended to the warmth a while longer than expected, just as they held the cold when the temps outside climbed higher than was comfortable.
“I don’t think we have anythin’ left to talk about,” Nash stated bluntly as he closed the iron screen around the hearth.
“Well, I think we do,” Vivian asserted.
Well, well, well. It seemed she hadn’t lost any of that city girl bite. He’d begun to think her quiet, mousy stance since she’d arrived back on the farm was going to be a welcomed change, that maybe she’d been cowed by her own questionable behavior and newfound humility, but no. Once she had him alone, the claws made their appearance.
Nash rose to his full height and turned to take his first full look at her, meeting her eyes as he approached and spoke directly. “And I don’t.” His words were delivered as harshly as he’d intended and garnered the exact response he’d hoped for.
Staying Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 2) Page 2
