Jeanie
I was almost as nervous about meeting Maria as I had been about meeting Mr. Segretto, but at least I didn’t have to wear a skirt. Still, barns had a culture of their own, and sometimes there was a lot of snobbery in the ranks.
They don’t call them barn b.itches for nothing.
I parked my truck near the barn and hopped out, comfortably clad in my favorite, well worn jeans. The side door rolled open and a small woman, similarly dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater jogged out to meet me.
She had straight, straw colored hair that fell around her shoulders, a plain, but honest face, and kind blue eyes. I knew immediately that Maria was going to be a sweet woman to work with.
“Hi! You must be Ella Jean?”
“That’s me, but call me Jeanie, please.” She shook my hand like a man; strong,
