Winning Heart. Laura Browning

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      Three hundred dollars would stretch a long way, but pinching pennies wasn’t anything new for Wynter. She and her mom had done it their whole lives. The problem was, she was down to her last little bit of cash, and as she stared at the help wanted ads, finding a job still seemed far away.

      She was either over-qualified or under-qualified. With no address since she gave up the room she’d rented, some employers tuned her out right away. Wynter also had no references and no expectations the Southards would provide them. They were the only people for whom she’d ever worked.

      Her mouth tightened. She stared out the windshield at a farm across the road. She wasn’t ready to give up her dream. She would get into Duke. She would make her mother proud. But damn it, she needed a job.

      Hell, she’d already squared everything with the high school so she could graduate, but if she didn’t get a job soon, she would have to go home and admit defeat. Her options were running out.

      Horses grazed in the pasture across the street, and she watched them wistfully. Wynter understood horses. She always had. It was what had landed her a job on Southard Farm. All she needed was another shot, and this time she wouldn’t screw up.

      She’d driven north of Durham that morning to get out of the city and weigh the choices. Right. Who was she kidding? She rationed out the last cigarettes a week before. Now she was on her last tank of gas, had just a couple of dollars left and still no job. She thought if she left town it would clear her head, so she could make a decision. Gamble one more time finding a job or go back.

      She thought about her mother, how hurt and disappointed she would be. Wynter loved her, but she couldn’t go back. Irene had struggled her whole life to give her daughter opportunities, and Wynter had repaid her by getting in trouble and losing a scholarship that might have changed both their lives.

      Somehow, she must make it right. She would not call it quits. There must be something someone would hire her to do. She looked over at the horses once again.

      On a whim, Wynter cranked the ignition and the old truck rumbled and coughed. After checking both ways along the narrow state highway, she drove across the road and down a long, neatly-manicured drive toward the barns in the distance. Bradford pears lined the smooth asphalt, mulch in neat mounds around the base and the grass mowed and trimmed. The whole farm was a showplace that screamed money.

       So what are you doin’ on it, trailer trash?

      Stomach rumbling, she pulled into a parking area in front of what looked like a business office. Nerves or hunger? Did it matter anymore?

      She stepped from the truck and slammed its door. After a quick check to make sure her hair was still in a neat braid, Wynter smoothed her palms over her jeans. They were worn, but at least this pair didn’t have any tears. It was still cool, so she pulled on the sweater Mama had knitted. It was the best thing she owned.

      Her knock was hesitant. Nervousness tingled and tickled the pit of her stomach. Hunger, not nerves, was making her belly as jumpy as a hoppy toad.

      “Door’s unlocked. Come on in.”

      The words were tinged with an accent she couldn’t quite identify. Wynter turned the knob and pushed open the door. It was much darker inside and took a moment before her eyes adjusted. Two men sat in the room, but she directed her attention to the one sitting at the desk right in front. He was older. Besides, the other man worked СКАЧАТЬ