Page 70 of Cabin Fever

Beatrice was a hundred times worse than Olivia was. When she came to visit the "quaint farm" as she put it, we were to stop working and cater to whatever whim popped into her head. If she had the urge to shop, Olivia was expected to drive her around the mountain to different shops.

If Bea wanted food, it wasn't good enough for me to cook dinner; she needed a top-rated chef to cook her meals. She liked the restaurant at The Lodge and found one in Hooksville—one town over—that she enjoyed.

"I sent her to get some kumquats. I'm sure she'll be back soon. I wanted her to make a seasonal fruit salad, but you can't do winter fruits without kumquats."

What the holy moly was this woman? Who spoke like that?

I walked over and slapped her feet off my table.

"Hey—"

I bent down and got in her face. "You may be Olivia's sister but that doesn't give you the right to treat her like a servant. And, it may be okay where you're from to walk into people's homes and put your dirty boots on their furniture, but not where I'm from."

She smiled. "No wonder my sister likes you." Bea shimmied her shoulders. "You'refeisty."

I straightened, tired of her opinions about me.

"Do you want coffee?" I turned from Bea's assessment and walked over to the French press, which was still hot to the touch.

"Yes. Love the coffee here. You should consider opening a coffee bar here. It would make a killing."

"If you hadn't noticed yet, I'm a sheep farmer."

"Yes. Unfortunately."

I turned and glared at her. She held up her hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm not saying being a farmer is bad, it's just not as cute as it sounds. The things Ollie told me had bile rising in my throat. Kudos to you that you can deal with those animals every day. I have much more respect for where my food and clothing come from now. No more ordering multiple dishes because I can't decide and then throw away the food I don't touch."

I wiped my hand down my face. Beatrice was the worst. No wonder my father warned me about the wealthy, especially the ones from Washington, DC.

"Do people like you?" I asked as I folded my arms over my chest.

"What? Of course. Peopleloveme," she said.

My fear of Bea ended by the second day of her visit. Watching her order Olivia around like a maid and acting as if the wait staff didn't exist when we went out to eat made my stomach turn.

"That's surprising." I turned back and poured out two cups of black coffee.

Bringing one over to Beatrice, I placed it in front of her. Her hand reached out and clasped my wrist.

"Don't you like me?"

For a second, I felt bad about being cross with her. No matter how rude someone might be, it wasn't right to treat them poorly. My father taught me never to sink to their level. Unfortunately, when Bea curled her lips like an evil villain in a Hollywood movie, I remembered my father wasn't here.

"No, I don't."

"I would say you are the first person who has ever said that to me." She let go of my arm and stood and put her hands on her hips. "What is it about this place that makes someone want to better themselves?"

I had no idea what she was going on about, but I hoped she meant working on her snooty attitude.

"Perhaps it's not being surrounded by people who you pay to take care of you or only want you for your money."

Her head reared back and even I thought I went too far.

"I'm sorry. I barely know you, yet I'm not being nice."

Bea took a breath and nodded. "I get it. You've got a chip on your shoulder toward anyone that comes from money. But that's a bit hypocritical of you, don't you think?"

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