Dally POV
By the time I got to breakfast, I'd already been awake for three hours.
Habit.
Didn't matter that I now had a mattress softer than a cloud and curtains thick enough to block out the sunrise.
My body still woke up at four-thirty.
Always had.
The hedges along the east lawn needed watering, anyway.
The roses by the south path needed deadheading.
And somebody had overwatered the orchids in the conservatory.
Some things never changed.
After my morning rounds, which I will still do, even if I get rich, I stood outside the dining room doors and looked down at myself.
Clean jeans.
Fresh shirt.
Boots scrubbed as best I could.
Still, there was dirt under my nails and mud on the cuffs of my pants.
The kind that never really came out.
Labor settled into your skin after enough
