Fearless Love Read Free

“Didn’t you plant it?”
    “No. My grandpa planted it last year.” There was an unexpected twinge somewhere around her heart. Grandpa had planted it before that stroke that had laid him out on the living room couch for the last three months of his life.
    LeBlanc shifted the eggs to a more comfortable position. “How long have you lived here?”
    “About four months or so.”
    That eyebrow went up again. “You brought the chickens with you?”
    “No, they’re my grandfather’s chickens. I started taking care of them after he got sick. He died a couple of weeks ago.”
    “So you’re running the farm on your own?” LeBlanc didn’t really look incredulous, but she felt slightly annoyed all the same.
    “I used to stay with Grandpa part of the time in the summer. He taught me how to take care of the chickens. I know what I’m doing.” Sort of.
    “Well, we’ll take the eggs,” LeBlanc said, turning back toward the road. “If it turns out you have any fresh vegetables for sale, we can maybe take them too, depending on quality. Nice doing business with you.”
    “You too.” She managed a smile. “I’ll bring the eggs tomorrow.”
    He nodded at her, then headed back up the road. Even with the two cartons of eggs under his arms, he still managed a slight jog. She tried not to watch his muscular legs as he disappeared up the road and failed utterly.
    A sale. She’d somehow managed to sell her eggs. All of them. Maybe things were finally looking up.
    Thirty-five dollars a week. Oh well, at least it might provide her with Pop-Tarts and a few packages of ramen noodles.
    She sighed and headed back into the house, glancing at her reflection in the hall mirror as she moved past.
    Shit. Hell. Goddamn. Her hair was dappled with bits of hay, probably from changing the straw in the nest boxes. There was a slash of mud on her cheek. At least she hoped it was mud—in the henhouse there were always other possibilities. And she was, of course, wearing no make-up whatsoever.
    She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the wall. He was probably really impressed. A genuine salt of the earth type here.
    Six months ago, she’d worn suede boots. Six months ago, her hair had highlights. Six months ago people were beginning to know her name. Hell, six months ago, she’d been… Not nearly as impressive as she’d thought at the time.
    What you were isn’t important anymore. It’s what you are now that you need to concentrate on. It’s all you’ve got .
    She sighed. She needed to spread some wood shavings around the nest boxes to make it harder for the hens to track in mud. And she should add some more ground oyster shells to the feed.
    Ah yes, the glamorous life of a Hill Country chicken farmer. But if nothing else, it took her mind off her troubles. Even though those troubles were a big part of this life now.
    If only Grandpa had left her advice on how to deal with Great-Aunt Nedda, who was a hell of a lot more dangerous than Robespierre could ever be.
     
     
    Nedda Carmody turned on her computer, watching the screen slowly turn from black to gray. A new computer would boot up more quickly, of course, but a new computer qualified as a frill, as far as Nedda was concerned. Given her choice, she’d ignore the computer altogether, but she knew better than that. These days you couldn’t run a business without one, and Nedda had no intention of putting Pedernales Properties at risk.
    Her spreadsheets opened slowly too, but that gave her time to look at the figures as they appeared on the screen. The bed and breakfast bookings were a little thinner than usual, but it was September, toward the end of the summer season. They’d pick up again when the wineries started releasing their new wines, and they’d peak when the Wine and Food Festival rolled around.
    The rentals were a little slow too, but most of them were up to date on their payments. The punk renting the cabin near the railroad tracks was a week late, but she