Chapter 9: Jennifer

At 6:30 a.m., the alarm on her phone went off, and Jennifer blearily beat it into submission. No one should have to be awake at this time of day – it should be positively unlawful, actually – but she managed to push herself out of bed anyway. She wasn't about to give Mr. Miller a reason to make another snarky comment by being late to work. She'd get out to the Miller farm at 8 o'clock on the dot if it killed her.

As she studied the motel room's coffee pot, flicking the power switch off and on forlornly, it finally penetrated her non-caffeinated brain that it was totally refusing to turn on or do anything even remotely useful – like, say, make coffee.

Getting to work on time just might kill her after all.

After a hot shower, she felt slightly better about the world – although things were relative at this point – and got dressed. She pulled on her standard audit outfit: A black pencil skirt, black shirt, and black heels. It was hard enough to have farmers take her seriously; dressing the part could only help. It was a little on the severe side, but hey, at least it was professional.

She headed out the door, patting herself on the back for still being on time, despite the lack of caffeine, when she saw the rain that was pelting down. Dammit. Her mind flashed back to the long gravel "driveway" out to the Miller farm, and gulped. Hard. She drove a Honda Civic, not a Jeep 4x4.

Tossing her laptop bag into the passenger seat, she headed straight for the farm, deciding to forgo her planned stop for coffee at the Muffin Man. With muddy roads, she'd have to take it slow, and coffee just wasn't meant to be. She could totally live without it for one day.

Maybe.

The rain started coming down harder, and Jennifer slowed down even more, inching along as she switched her wipers into top speed, hunching forward and peering through the front windshield. She was gripping the steering wheel for all she was worth, praying that she wouldn't end up in the ditch on the way out to the farm. That's all this audit needed – her car having to be towed out of a ditch.

Cursing a blue streak, she pulled up in front of the Miller farmhouse, the clock on her dashboard blinking 8:09. She was late. If it wasn't for the rain...

But as Greg always said, people wanted results, not excuses. And this morning, all she had was excuses.

She peered through the sheets of rain coming down to spot Mr. Miller on the covered front porch, watching her, coffee cup in hand. Dammmmmmiiittttttt. She'd been hoping she'd be able to sneak inside and he wouldn't notice her tardiness.

Well, no hope for that now. With a huge sigh, she grabbed her laptop bag and swung out of the Honda, planting her feet firmly in a giant puddle, water splashing up her legs and filling up the soles of her high heels.

Of course it did.

She wanted nothing more in that moment than to swing her feet back inside the car, put it in drive, and go back to Boise. Forget this whole thing had ever happened.

Hmmmm...scratch that. She wanted coffee slightly more than that.

Which...Carmelita was her closest source of the stuff, dammit all, so if for no other reason than the pursuit of caffeine, Jennifer made herself get out of her car, sling her bag over her shoulder, and stride up to the front porch as if nothing were wrong. As if her shoes weren't squelching with water and mud with every step, with more rain pouring down on her as she went.

Under the cover of the porch stood a dry and smirking Mr. Miller, holding his coffee cup that proudly proclaimed "This Ain't My First Rodeo" in one hand, while holding his other arm up in front of his face to ostentatiously check his watch.

"You almost made it," he said as he lowered the cup. Was there a hint of...amusement in his voice? He was probably laughing at her stepping into a puddle so large, the federal government was – at this very moment – making plans to put it into new maps for the area as a place to go fishing.

"Yeah, well, I tried," Jennifer grumbled as she clomped up the porch steps. She shifted from foot to foot, miserable and cold and wet. This was not how she'd envisioned the morning going.

He shrugged. "This place isn't exactly built for Honda Civics. I suppose I can overlook it just this once."

Jennifer swallowed hard – he was trying to be nice, but on the other hand, she didn't really appreciate his condescending attitude in deigning to overlook her faults just this one time.

She swallowed her pride, nodded her acceptance, and headed inside, kicking her high heels off at the front door. She was pretty sure Carmelita wouldn't want her tracking mud through the house, although her pantyhose was only marginally cleaner than her shoes.

Speaking of...Carmelita came bustling in, and with one look at her sodden appearance, clucked her tongue in sympathy. "Let me find a towel for you. Do not move."

She headed back into the bowels of the house, talking to herself as she went, as Mr. Miller came inside. Trying to get out of the way, Jennifer stepped to the side, but she misjudged which direction he was going and they collided instead. Jennifer flushed a deep red as she tried to scurry out of his way yet again. He stood there for a moment, just staring at her, and she finally burst out, "What?! I'll get to the audit in just a minute, I promise. I know I'm late. Carmelita wants me to wait - "

"No, it isn't that," he interrupted, holding up a hand and stopping her. "It's just that I want to get to the coat closet behind you." He pointed over her shoulder at the alcove of coats that she'd been inadvertently guarding.

"Oh. Right." She sent him a weak smile as she moved out of his way yet again.

This was going to be the longest two weeks of her life, no doubt about it.