Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(9)

“Well, Jessica, I received a lot of responses, many of which could have fit that description to some degree, but only one piqued my interest. A girl from California, just out of college, making a giant leap of faith. I knew right then God must’ve heard me, and intertwined our paths for a reason. Now, was I right?”

Not exactly, no. But I wasn’t planning on revealing that little nugget. I wanted that cottage, and I was prepared to fabricate to get it.

“A fresh start in a distant place is exactly what I am looking for. This is just one of the places I was looking into; Texas I mean. I got a job, so I found the ad and applied.”

“You see? God was listening. I am heading to the end of my days, and I desperately needed to give back. Charity is great, and feels great, but I wanted to give on a personal level as well."

Ordinarily I would be irritated that I was her Petri dish. Or that she was under the impression I needed charity. But with a sweet little setup like that cottage below, in a price range that wouldn’t hurt my pocket too much, I’d be her Oliver any day. Hell, put a red wig on me and throw some coins at my feet, I’m in.

Her smile widened in a good-natured way. “Okay, darlin, let’s go have a look!

We walked out the way we came. Big rooms, long hallway, grand staircase. We went out through the front door. We walked around the north side of the house to a little stone path. A large wooden gate with spikes on the top barred our way until she tapped in a code.

“The access number is already written down and placed in the cottage for your convenience," she said as she continued along the path. “You’ll be safe from your admirers here.”

Yeah, like I had any of those.

Across the gate and through the woods, little red riding hood followed her filthy rich and slightly eccentric Godmother. We crossed a large patch of perfectly manicured lawn with various well positioned flower beds. As we neared the cottage, we walked by a BBQ station with a giant grill, counters, a small fridge, patio tables and chairs, and a fire pit. I could throw one hell of a garden party on this lawn.

If I could find some friends to do it with.

Beyond that was an Olympic sized pool. At the far side it had a stone wall with ivy and a waterfall that appeared to double as a slide. And I would absolutely make use of that slide. I was still a kid where pool play was concerned!

The closer we got to the cottage, the harder my heart thumped. It was like I was going on a date with the hottest guy in eternity. I had to wipe my palms on my jeans, knocking off a few chip flacks as I did so.

She opened the front door and handed me a key. Then stared, again expectant.

Into my dumbfounded stare, she said, "Well? This is your new home. Take the keys, enter, and give me a tour.”

She was cracked. Give her a tour to a place I had never been before? Oh, okay. So, you want to watch me wander around blindly, do you? I’ll bite.

The entryway was spacious with high ceilings and a marble floor. It had a staircase off to the right. Instead of following it, I went through one of the doors on the left. That led me to a living room, also with ample space, centered around a sweet little fireplace. Furniture was ornate and stately, the leather hiding that it was slightly out of date.

I continued through an archway into a dining room big enough to seat six people. The room had a china cabinet filled with fine China and crystal. I almost instructed her to take those away since I wasn’t adult enough to be in the vicinity of such items. What if I sleep walked one night and sold them all on ebay?

I continued on, my tour totally forgotten. This place seemed like home. I fit here. As odd as that sounded with me never, ever having this sort of finery around me, I fit. I found my niche, and I was going to stay here as long as I could. I loved it.

After my self-tour was concluded, and I realized I’d left Gladis somewhere behind, I backtracked through the house and down to the living room. There she was, sitting on the couch, gazing out the window with a dreamy smile. She looked up as I came in.

“Well?” she asked. “How do you like it?”

I could feel my face alight with glee. "I love it! Love it!"

She got up slowly, as old women do, and gestured toward the sliding glass door. I followed her out to a patio overlooking the slightly distant pool. It was some minutes before she spoke, her southern drawl coming out tenfold.

“I designed this lil’ old house. Pool house, my husband called it. I always thought of it as my retreat. Back in those days, it was not uncommon for the woman of the house and the man of the house to have separate bedrooms. Well, I had a separate house of my own when I wanted it.

“It was the man’s way back then.” She gave me a look that showed what she thought of that foolishness. I agreed. A grand mess, altogether.

“The man was the boss," she continued, "the ruler of the house. He brought home the money, and cash was king. Before women’s lib and all that, the men paid the bills, and the women stayed home with the children.”

She chuckled and patted my arm. “Well, you try telling a southern lady, born and bred, that she has to answer to her man, and she will kindly smile at you and go on doing as she pleases. Now, don’t take me the wrong way. We did step aside for our men as often as not. But we weren’t ruled. Oh no. No way.”

She paused for a beat and looked me over, the sun sinking behind her into the horizon. “You might wonder why I am telling you all this?”