Morgan-Grace (REVAMPING)

CHAPTER 1

GODS COUNTRY—BLAKE SHELTON
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Pelham, Alabama
September 14th, 2015
High Valley Farm
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"Mornin', ma," Morgan greeted, noticing her disheveled, crusty-eyed mother trudge from out her room.

"Whatcha doin' up so early?" she croaked.

Her mother took a plop at the wooden table and pushed out a wide, audible yawn.

Sighing, Morgan began brewing a load of coffee. "Big Red was at it again."

"That darn rooster," she chided, shaking her head. "I'm sorry sweet-cakes, I'll go 'head and tell pa he's still crowin' too early."

After handing her mother a steaming mug of straight black and pouring herself a second helping, she took a seat across from her.

She eyed her mother carefully before clearing her throat. "I got another interview today."

"What happened to the last one? Ya told me they said ya had real promise."

Morgan hesitated only briefly as she took a sip of her burnt coffee and placed it back on the ring stained table.

She shrugged. "Turns out, they already had someone in mind for the position."

"Well, they'd on just wasted yer time," she huffed, perturbed.

This was Morgan's fifth rejection since she started searching for a job back in August.

"It's alright, ma. I'll find one," she reassured. "Then we'll be able to catch up on the past rent."

"Sweet-cakes, ya know I could always ask Boone—"

She stopped her, shaking her head. "No, I ain't askin' him of that. I'll find a job, don't ya worry."

Boone had already done so much for her family and the farm. She didn't want to push it.

"Alright then." Chugging down the last bit of her coffee, her mother got up and headed to the fridge. "Imma fixin' to feed Huck and Grady. Are ya able to milk the cows before ya go?"

"Sure, ma."

Morgan grabbed her jacket from the coat rack shaped as a tree branch and threw it on. Slipping on her Wellington's, she headed out to the chipping red barn.

As she walked out, she filled her lungs with the crisp morning air and took in the sight of the green acres and rolling hills. With the sun still on the rise, it cast a redscale glow on the bucolic pastures up until she unhooked the barn doors.

"Howdy girls," she cooed, grabbing a stool and bucket from the corner of the barn. "Seems like yer pretty full today."

She snapped on some elastic gloves and gave a pat to the rear of one of the cows. Taking a seat, she gripped the utters and began filling the jars to the brim with milk. After she finished, she propped open the barn doors and led them down to the pasture to graze.

Heading back into the house, she saw her father leaned up against the stove. With a wrinkled newspaper in hand, he peered over the frame of his glasses that rested on the notches of his head.

"Mornin' kitten." He smiled, glancing up from his reading.

"Mornin'."

She stored the jars of milk in the fridge and then gave her father a peck on the cheek.

"Whatcha readin'?" she asked.

"The commodity price crash. It seems because of it the McKinley's from Whitewater Estate are goin' bankrupt."