FIVE

Harper

My first thought when I turned my car into Great Aunt Agnes’s driveway and slowly pulled around to the back of the massive old house was that there were a hell of a lot of doors.

If each one had its own key, I’d be walking around jingling like a janitor.

Of course, I could just use the back door by where my car was parked. But being in the center of the town, walking distance to everything, I’d probably use the front door a lot as well.

I’d figure it out. I had time to get into a routine.

I envisioned how many extra hours I’d have to write here—once I lied and told my Mom I had spotty cell signal and wasn’t getting her calls. It would give me the perfect excuse to turn off my phone while I was working.

That idea was very appealing and I was still smiling as the back door of Agnes’s house swung open and a girl with mile long legs and pale golden hair down to her butt walked out.

Was everyone in Mudville blonde? I’d seen a lot of people walking as I’d navigated my way down Main Street and it was possible I was the only brunette in town.

At least it certainly seemed that way.

As I cut the engine and swung open the car door, the girl who smiled and delivered me a wave reinforced my theory.

“Hey. You must be Agnes’s niece.” She bounced down the back stairs toward me.

I slammed my car door and took my first stiff step after spending the last three hours behind the wheel. “I am. I’m Harper.”

“I’m Shalene. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place for her while she’s gone.”

“That’s what I heard. Thanks for doing that, by the way.”

She waved away my thanks. “Happy to help. Petunia is a sweetheart.”

I didn’t know who Petunia was and was about to ask when Shalene continued, “So I already moved my stuff out. The sheets are washed and back on the bed in the master bedroom and I left some milk, corn and a steak in the fridge for you. Oh and there’s eggs, of course.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I’d brought some things with me—coffee, sugar, cans of soup and tuna—but I’d been planning on searching for a grocery store and shopping for perishables when I got here.

“My pleasure.”

“Let me reimburse you for the food you bought.” I turned back toward the car and reached through the open window to grab my purse.

“Nope. No need. It didn’t cost me anything.”

I tipped my head to the side and cocked up a brow, fishing out my wallet. “I don’t believe you.”

She laughed. “It’s true. My family owns Morgan Farm. I get all the milk and corn and steaks I want for free.”

“Oh.” Was this ray of sunshine related somehow to the grumpy corn farmer I’d met with Mom?

I found that hard to believe. The two were so opposite, they couldn’t be siblings. Of course, as an only child, who was I to judge?

“And the eggs are yours,” she continued. “I hope you’re a big egg eater. There’s two dozen in the fridge.”

She kept talking about eggs. Why, I wasn’t sure. But apparently I had a lot of them.

I guess I could make a quiche since she’d left me milk. That would make a nice breakfast or lunch. Although I’d offered to stay in Agnes’s house to give me more time to write. Not to take up baking.

“So let me show you around,” Shalene offered. “Do you need help carrying your stuff inside?”

Again I was struck by how sweet and polite this teenage girl was. And how completely opposite from the cocky corn guy. But I was going to turn down her offer of help.

I had an embarrassing amount of luggage with me. 

Since I was driving I figured why not over pack? At least that way I knew I’d have whatever I needed. I had no idea what kind of weather I’d encounter during my stay. And my electronics alone filled one whole bag.

“I’m fine. Thanks.” I stashed my wallet back in my purse and moved away from the car, anxious to see my new home for the near future.

“Okay.” She nodded.

I expected her to lead the way back up the stairs and to the house. She didn’t. She started toward the garage. Though it was so big it looked more like a barn than a garage.

“So the cats will come inside the house and want to cuddle when they feel social but usually they hang out here in the carriage house. I think they’re hunting mice. There’s probably a ton because of all the feed out here.”

I hadn’t heard anything about Agnes having cats prior to this, but I was happy to hear it. I wasn’t allowed pets in my apartment. It was my one regret about my place. I’d enjoy having the company here.

“How many cats does she have?” I asked, after taking note Shalene had used the plural.

“Five.”

“Oh.” My brows rose. Though I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that Great Aunt Agnes was a cat lady.

“They’re all fixed though, so no worries there. But be aware strays sometimes wander in and eat the food I put out in their dish and I think one of the strays might be pregnant, by the looks of her.”

I didn’t know whether to be excited at the prospect of kittens or horrified that the feline population of the carriage house could double shortly.

“And of course, this is where Petunia lives,” Shalene said.

I decided I would have to worry about my cat problems later as Shalene slid open the carriage house door and I got my first look at Petunia, who was an honest to goodness pig.

My mouth dropped open, but Shalene didn’t notice as she continued with her tour of Agnes’s animals.

“There’s a door with a flap so Petunia can let herself in and out into the pen in the yard. All you have to do is make sure she has food and fresh water. Just don’t feed her too much. She’ll eat everything you put in front of her so you kind of have to make sure not to give her a lot. One scoop of feed in the morning and one scoop for dinner is all she’s supposed to have. Although I’ve been guilty of sneaking her some people food sometimes.”

Finally, Shalene turned and looked to me expectantly. As if I had some input on the care and feeding of a pig.

At the moment I had no words. Though I understood more with every passing minute why Agnes needed a house sitter and it had nothing to do with the house.

The damn woman was running an animal sanctuary, in a Victorian carriage house in the middle of town.

Petunia let out a snort, her nose shoved between the slats of the wooden enclosure inside the carriage house. I had a feeling it was less that she was greeting me and more that she hoped Shalene had some table scraps.

“Um . . .” I was still without words.

Cats were one thing, but this was a pig.

Shalene was a farm girl, but me? I, when faced with my first pig, was feeling very much like that city girl the hot corn picker had accused me of being.

I took a step closer and looked into the pen. I had a million questions. It couldn’t be as simple as Shalene made it seem.

“So she just stays in here or outside?” I asked.

“Yup. Well, except for Friday nights.”

I shot Shalene a glance. “What happens Friday nights?”

“You have to bring her down to the high school for the football game.”

I eyed the pig. I was no judge of hog flesh but she was a beefy gal. I had a feeling she could top out at close to two hundred pounds. How the hell was I going to get her into my car?

“Like in my car?” I asked.

And once she was inside, then what? Did I like seat belt her in and hope for the best? Did she even enjoy being in the car or was she going to fight me?

I shot a glance at her feet. Her hooves looked like they could do some kind of damage to the upholstery, and to me.

“Oh, no. Her leash is hanging right inside the back door. You just walk her down to the school before game time. It’s just down the road. But that’s only for home games. When it’s an away game, the team takes her on the team bus, so you have to get her to the school early on those days. The schedule is on the calendar hanging inside the kitchen cabinet. I’ll show you when we go inside. Oh, and make sure you feed her dinner extra early on away game days. You want her to poop before she gets on the bus.”

I almost laughed. The whole thing was ridiculously comical. But at the same time there was nothing funny about any of this. I’d taken on much more than I’d ever imagined.

Mom might have been right. This had been an epically bad idea.

Since I’d rather die than admit that, I nodded. “Okay. I can handle that.”

Shalene smiled, as if she’d never had any doubt. I had enough doubt for both of us.

“So, that’s Petunia. Now let me introduce you to the girls.”

“All right.” I braced myself for pretty much anything as Shalene led me out of the carriage house.

In my mind I envisioned the girls as a bunch of little old ladies. Great Aunt Agnes’s friends, all clustered around a table in the diner just down the block. Possibly knitting. 

Although the diner had looked empty and kind of closed-up the couple of times I’d driven by it, first with Mom last week and again today. 

If we were going out in town, I hoped it was to somewhere that served booze because I could sure use a drink right about now.

But Shalene didn’t lead me toward Main Street.

Nope. She led the way around the back of the carriage house to where I saw a mini replica of the building we’d just left. And surrounding it, as they scratched and pecked at the dirt and grass, were what had to be the girls.

“Chickens,” I said, resigned.

“Yup. Six. That’s all you’re allowed in town, but believe me just these six lay more eggs than you’ll be able to keep up with eating alone. Agnes usually gives the extra eggs away.”

“All right.” I nodded. As this tour progressed, I was beginning to lose the ability to be shocked.

“They’ll put themselves away at sunset. All you have to do is come out and close and lock the door. Then open it again in the morning. I give them a scoop of feed in the morning and again in the evening when I’m feeding Petunia. Oh, and don’t forget to check the nesting boxes for eggs.”

“How often do they lay?” I asked, since this was my first chicken experience too.

“Every day.”

I did the math. Six chickens. One egg each per day. That was a dozen eggs every two days, which explained the excess of eggs.

I nodded and drew in a breath. “Okay.”

“Come on inside and I’ll give you the tour of the house.”

I nearly laughed at that. I’d been worried about taking care of this big house by myself, but apparently I’d been completely off the mark.

What was outside was going to be far more challenging than anything inside.

“So the basement is a little creepy, but I think that’s just because I know this place used to be a funeral home.”

Or maybe not . . . 

“Funeral home?” I stumbled over my own feet at that news.

“Just for a few years.” Shalene waved away my concern. “So let’s start with the downstairs bathroom. I can show you the trick to get the toilet to stop running. Oh, and don’t let me forget to show you where in the basement to turn the outside water on and off because the hose leaks. I can show you where the embalming room was while we’re down there.”

Running toilet. Leaky hose. Embalming room. I was absolutely and completely over my head here.

My world shifted on its axis at that realization. Up seemed like down. Day might as well have been night and nothing would ever be right again.

If the four horseman of the apocalypse rode up Main Street and through the backyard past the five cats, six chickens and the pig named Petunia I wouldn’t have batted an eye.

It felt like it was the end of days because there was no doubt now—my mother had been right.

God help me.

God help us all.