A/N: Yay, new chapter! Please let me know what you guys think. I'd really like to explore this story, but only if people are interested. Thank you so much to those of you that read, reviewed, favorited, and followed! :)
Blearily, Beth rolled over in her bed, fumbling blindly in the dark for the squawking piece of crap that was determined to rouse her from her soft, comfy blankets. Her head shoved beneath a goose down pillow, she slapped her palm on the top of her nightstand, using the vibrations reverberating through her fingers to guide her. Viciously, she slammed her fist down on top of the clock, rendering the room blissfully silent.
Ah, she sighed, that was better.
She gave herself about five minutes to savor it, rolling over and pulling the pillow off her face, her eyes closed as she basked in cool sheets. Then, with a heartfelt groan, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing her grandmother's baby blue and pink quilt towards the footboard. She glanced at the clock. 5:30 on the nose. Running a hand through her hair, she winced when her fingers caught in a snarl. Well, that's what you got when you went to bed with wet hair. How many times had that been drilled into her head? Carefully disentangling her hand from her head, she reached for her toothbrush and glanced up at her reflection over the bathroom sink. The lines around her mouth and eyes were less apparent this morning, but her irises were glassy and red-rimmed. She'd slept fitfully, flopping around like a fish as her mind twisted and turned. These days, she couldn't seem to find the switch to turn it off.
The taste of cinnamon flooded her mouth as she started scrubbing her teeth vigorously, eager to get the cotton feeling out. Her tongue felt like it was coated in an entire layer of yuck, she thought with a wince. When she'd finished, she sat on the toilet seat and bent forward, snatching up the thick brush she kept on the sink. It took longer than she would have liked, but she eventually worked out the knots before pulling the weight of her blonde strands into a high ponytail. She kept the light on as she left the bathroom and jerked open the stubborn door to her closet. Groping for a pair of jeans and a shirt, she flung them on the bed as she stripped out of the threadbare t-shirt she'd slept in. It was one of Shawn's, the hem almost reaching her knees, a testament to her brother's ridiculous height.
And a reminder that she missed him.
Groaning, Beth shoved her legs into the denim, scrubbing a hand down her face as she visualized the coffee pot downstairs in the kitchen. She'd set it last night, didn't she? God, she hoped so. She shut the door to her room quietly, then rounded the bannister. As she descended the staircase, she passed by dozens of pictures of her family. Awards, certificates, knickknacks, and her siblings' high school diplomas were all neatly framed among the fading photographs. Absently, she ran her fingertips over some of them as she moved, blinking blearily as her feet landed on the first floor.
She made a beeline for the counter on the far side of the sink, snagging the mug and spoon she'd left out for herself the night before. Dumping several large helpings of sugar into the bottom of it, she then gratefully heaved the half full pot up and poured. She shivered in pleasure at how good it smelled. Placing the pot back in the coffee maker, she tugged open the fridge and dug out a glass bottle of milk. Unscrewing the top, she tipped a small amount into her cup before replacing the bottle back. As she took her first tentative sip, she shut the door, letting her eyes fall closed as the sweet heat rolled over her tongue.
"Oh, God, that's good."
Carefully avoiding burning her mouth, she drained the cup within a couple of minutes and put it face down in the sink to wash out when she came back in. Snatching an apple out of the bowl on the kitchen table, she threw open the screen door that lead onto the porch and sank her teeth into the ruby red skin. It wasn't as tasty as coffee, but she needed something on her stomach. Fog laid thick and damp beyond the fence line, mingling with the steam that was starting to rise from the dew already drying in the muggy Georgia air. Beth snatched up her boots as she stepped out onto the porch, tugging them on and stamping her feet. Down from the porch itself, her mama's garden ran along the side of the house. She'd tend it in a bit. For now, she reached into the earth and pulled out a couple of ripe carrots, holding her breakfast clenched in her teeth.
Brushing away the dirt, she turned on the spigot near the porch steps and washed off the vegetables. Turning it back off, she strode easily across the yard, cradling her apple in the palm of her free hand and munching noisily. Moon and Nelly happily took the offered treats as she let them out of the barn, walking them to the pasture. She split the apple core between them before heading back to clean out their stalls and spreading fresh hay from the bales kept stored in the loft. She pointedly kept her gaze away from the door to the old tack room.
Within an hour, she was back outside. The yard was still dark, although she could see the first tinge of pink above the trees out across the pasture. The hens were drowsily clucking in the coop as Beth scooped up the basket she kept just beside the door. Indignant feathers fluffed against her hands as she shooed them out of their warm nests, collecting the eggs gingerly. Their one rooster, Barney, was a scrawny, red-plumed menace this morning, like every morning, trilling his displeasure at her presence with every step she took.
"I know, I know," she told him, exasperated as she looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "But you ain't got no say in it. You didn't lay 'em and you didn't warm 'em. All you do is strut around the yard like you did."
His answering squawk was clearly disgruntled.
Her lips tugging into a small smile at the corners, Beth ducked her head as she stepped out of the coop and around the side. A stack of cartons leaned haphazardly against the wooden siding. With gentle, quick fingers, she set the eggs inside, counting silently. She was pleased when the total was a little over three dozen. Setting the bucket back in its place, she took the containers and the extra eggs back up to the house. With them tucked neatly in the refrigerator, she snagged the basket kept on the counter closest to the kitchen door and went back outside.
Humming under her breath, she worked in the garden until well after sun-up, picking and sorting what was ripe before watering the tilled earth. Swiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she took a minute to sit on the porch steps and look through her small harvest.
"Lot of green today," she noted in a soft murmur. Collards and cabbage made up the vast majority of her basket, but there were turnips, cauliflower, onions, and more carrots too. She talked to herself as she rooted through the vegetables. "Those potatoes should be ready in a couple more weeks. Ain't plantin' sweet potatoes till August though, so...ah, eggplants, they'll do good in the back part. Some squash too. Mmm, fried squash and okra."
She let her head tip back as she imagined crunching on green and yellow chips. Too bad they weren't in season yet. Oh, well. Something to look forward to later in the summer.
When she lifted her head, she glanced at the lane, frowning as a cloud of dust billowed up over the tall, waving grass on either side. Grunting, she pushed herself up and reached down to run her hands under the spigot, then extended her hand towards the rag she kept draped on the railing, wiping the dirt from her hands as she stared with narrowed eyes. Now who could that be at this hour of the morning?
She strolled further into the yard as she folded her arms, her weight braced on one foot with the rag dangling from her fingers. The cloud curved around the last bend in the dirt road and she recognized the dark green truck. Lifting a hand, she waved as the driver shoved it into park and tossed open the door. A lanky young man climbed out, his denim jacket tight over his shoulders. His snakeskin boots were shiny and clean, the grey and black scales crisply defined as he walked towards her, using a thumb to push his hat back over his sandy, curly hair. He was tall, his head nearly a foot over Beth's. Danny Johnson was good-looking, in a boyish sort of way, and he knew it, flashing the dimples on each side of his smile at every opportunity. His dark blue eyes always seemed to be twinkling impishly.
"Mornin', Danny," she greeted him, stuffing the rag into her back pocket.
"Mornin', Beth," he replied, nodding to her and shoving his hands in his own pockets. He ticked his chin towards the house. "Pop sent me to pick up them eggs of yers. Said he figured ya'd already have 'em ready."
She chuckled softly. "He ain't wrong. C'mon in, I got 'em waitin' in the kitchen."
She climbed the steps and held the door open for him to catch. His hand closed around the screen's edge, keeping it open as Beth crossed the floor in a quick stride.
"Want some coffee?" she asked him over her shoulder.
"I'd appreciate it," she heard him say, his words punctuated by the creak of the door closing behind him.
She muttered an affirmation and grabbed her mug out of the sink, rinsing it out before fetching a second one from the cupboard. She didn't ask how he wanted it, just fixed it with slightly less sugar than her own and no milk. He'd been coming out here to pick things up for his daddy since he was old enough to peek over the dashboard, she knew how he liked his coffee. When she turned back around he'd braced his hip against the doorjamb, one arm across his chest while the other's elbow was balanced on top of it, his fingertip brushing the brim of his hat.
"You got it fixed nice," he said, giving her that friendly grin of his. "Almost as pretty as you in here."
Beth rolled her eyes at him as she handed him his cup. She leaned over the island to balance her weight on her elbows, her mug cradled between her fingers.
"Quit tryin' s'hard, we ain't in high school no more. Ain't like you gotta dance ya wanna ask me to."
That sparkle was in his eyes again as he sipped from his mug. "Says who?"
She snorted with a small smile. "Says Linda Mae Alcott, tha's who." There was a certain degree of satisfaction in watching him flush, suddenly much more interested in his coffee. "How's the store doin'?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Bout the same, I reckon," he said as he straightened and pulled out one of the stools on the other side of the island. "Mom's off our backs for a while, so tha' might make it a better couple of days than most."
Beth winced sympathetically. Betty Johnson was a lovely woman, as sweet as they came, but she gave no quarter when it came to the family business.
"I'd heard yer Aunt Charlene wasn't doin' so good."
Danny inclined his head, the muscle in the jaw working as he set his cup down.
"I don't reckon she's got much longer, but I think havin' Mom there makes Grandma and Uncle Bucky feel better."
Beth took another sip. "I don't doubt it. Skeeter takin' to the store yet?"
His mouth quirked up. "He'd like Pop to think so. But he ain't doin' too bad. Them new machines give him some trouble, but he's gettin' there."
"He'll learn. If Maggie could figure the damn things out, anybody can."
Danny's eyebrows rose, his mouth curving higher and revealing those dimples. "Did you just cuss in your daddy's house, Miss Greene?"
"Damn hardly counts as cussin'," she retorted dryly, her lips touching the rim of her mug. "Now if I were to use some of the language I've heard out of your mouth, Daniel Johnson, I do believe my Mama would roll over in her grave."
He had the good grace to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with his large hand. They chatted for a little while longer. With his father's store being right on Main Street, the grand center of town, Danny got to hear quite a few things. Doug Hensley and his wife were separated on account she'd found him in bed with Missy Thames, one of the waitresses at Daisy's Diner down on Oak. A couple of the local high school boys were likely responsible for putting Jason Rhimes's brand new Volkswagen in between two of the light poles on the same street as a prank. Judge Amsley was set on retiring, provided he won the next election for County Commissioner. Most of the farmers were right pleased with the corn crop this season, Beth included.
"Oh, and did ya hear about that Dixon fella?"
Beth canted her head as she shook it lightly. "Nope. Don't hear much out here."
"Evidently," Danny said with a teasing smirk, pushing away his drained cup. "Heard Deputy Walsh tellin' Pop tha' ole Merle was gettin' out, maybe lookin' t'come back to Senoia."
She gnawed on her bottom lip as she plucked up his mug and took both it and hers to the sink. Rinsing them out, she spoke over her shoulder.
"I can't imagine tha' goin' well with anybody in town. We were in what...fifth, sixth grade when he got sent upstate?"
"Somethin' like tha', yeah." He huffed out a breath, folding his arms as he leaned back on the stool. "If ya ask me, they shoulda sent tha' brother of his with 'em. Everybody knows Merle didn't rob tha' liquor store by himself. Pop says he always talked a better game than he had the brains t'play. Both of 'em, actually. Said tha' robbin' Chet's place was the straw tha' broke the camel's back. Finally bit off more than he could chew."
Beth set the mugs upside down on the counter to let them drain with a frown. "I don't remember him havin' a brother. 'Course, we were pretty young at the time." She turned to lean back against the cabinet doors and smiled slightly. "And you know I ain't never been one for town much."
"You ain't missed much," he replied dismissively, sliding off the stool. "Anyways, I've kept ya long enough."
"Got all yer gossipin' out, then?" she asked, watching his smile widen into a noncommittal grin as she opened the fridge and pulled out the now cool cartons.
She gave them to him at the door and he dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a couple of crumpled bills.
"There's wha' I owe ya." He lifted his hand to tip his hat. "Thanks for the coffee, Beth. Reckon I'll be seein' ya tomorrow?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I'll be bringin' 'em t'town in the morning."
Danny's smile never wavered as he walked down the steps and got into his trucks, giving her a friendly wave as he pulled out of the yard. Beth returned it. She liked Danny, she really did. He and his brothers were good guys, although Skeeter could be a handful. Boy had more energy than a wound up top. Out of all the people she'd gone to school with, though, Danny was pretty much the only one she kept up with. Partially it was due to just how much business her family did with his. They'd gone out a couple of times junior year, but it'd never gone anywhere.
Beth snorted. None of the guys she'd gone out with had gone anywhere. Once she'd thought that maybe-
"Get yer head outta them clouds, girl, you got work still to do," she told herself sternly, pulling on a pair of gloves out of the drawer at her hip. "That tractor don't run itself."
Most days she wished that it did. An old 1959 White, it was a pain in the ass to crank, temperamental, and the wheel tended to stick. But it was still running, so she kept her grumbling to a minimum and just sent a prayer of thanks every time it fired up under the back shed. Climbing into the squeaky seat, she jammed her foot down on the clutch and twisted the key. It rumbled out into the yard with a mechanical groan of protest. Backing it up into the small fenced area where the larger bales were kept took more patience than skill, something that Beth had to keep reminding herself of as the forks slid under the first rounded bale. Jiggling the lever, it lifted up with a hiss of ancient hydraulics and she turned the irritable thing towards the pasture.
The heifers knew the choking sound of it's engine, already crowding along the fence as she drove towards the far gate. Shuddering into park, she pushed the rusted metal open before slogging through the muddy ruts that led into the field. Some of the braver members of the herd were already nipping at the straw, tugging out chunks or just wolfing down what trailed behind the tractor.
"C'mon!" she hollered, shoving the machine into park next to the feed ring as she lowered the forks and hopped down.
It was aluminum, light but sturdy, and she quickly rolled it towards the bale and let it drop around the hay. She was only feeding the ones in this pasture, the rest left to graze on the other side of the fields, something she was happy about. Making multiple trips always ran the risk of the White giving out before the job was done. Matter of fact, it was almost a guarantee that it would. Seemed to be its way of getting revenge for anyone daring to start it.
"Please don't give out on me," she pleaded with it quietly as she swung back up into the seat.
Maybe it was feeling agreeable today. Or maybe it just wanted to give her a taste of hopefulness as it sputtered and growled across the pasture.
It made it as far as the gate before it died on her.
"You sorry son of a-" she couldn't even finish, slamming her hands against the wheel. "Just couldn't stand it, could ya? Got to cause me some kind of aggravation!"
Swearing under her breath, Beth clambered down. "I talk sweet t'ya, change yer oil, keep ya dry, and this is how you thank me. Worthless piece of…"
She trailed off as she gingerly ran her hands over the hoses, checking for leaks. Then she moved to the hard metal parts, searching for signs of overheating, wear, anything that could give her an idea of what had caused the problem. Using the front tire for a foothold, she yanked herself up to check the stacks.
"Figures," she muttered, glancing down the front stack, where plumes of black smoke rose into the air. "Gotta replace the spark arrester. Damn!" She smacked her palm against the tractor's hood. "Couldn't be cheap either, could ya?"
She gave the machine a dirty glare as she jumped back to the ground and walked out of the field to close the gate. There wasn't much choice other than to go to town earlier than she'd planned. Just for a minute, Beth let her head drop against the top of the gate and let out a harsh breath, her hands dangling over the rail. What were her odds that the hardware store had the part she needed in stock?
Not any that she'd want to bet on, she answered herself wearily. And it wasn't even mid morning yet.