Charlotte Carter - Montana Wrangler

“I know she loved living here with you and Grandma.” Her grandparents’ unconditional love had given Krissy the freedom to be herself, unlike the strict regimen imposed by their workaholic parents.

But Paige had thought by the age of twenty-seven Krissy should have become a responsible adult.

Five years older than Krissy, Paige wondered if she had paid more attention to her younger sister she might have grown up better. Might have understood how to live within the restraints their parents had demanded. But by the time Paige was ten, she was helping out at the hardware store after school and weekends. At the same time, five-year-old Krissy had hated the store, hated that Mom and Dad had spent so much time there instead of catering to her demands for attention. If only Krissy had tried to think of someone besides herself.

A rush of regret assailed Paige, and she shook the thought aside. No point in dwelling on the past, as her mother would say.

“There’s some leftover roast beef from last night. I could make you a sandwich. We’ve got more macaroni and potato salads in the fridge than we could possibly eat in a lifetime.”

“You go ahead and eat something. I just don’t have an appetite, child.”

Paige found it endearing that Grandpa still called her a child when she’d reached the ripe old age of thirty-two. “How about coffee and a cookie or two? We ended up with plenty of those, too.”

He patted her hand. “Guess I could handle that.”

“It’ll just take me a minute.” She kissed the top of his head.

The kitchen had been updated about ten years ago with granite counters, extra-deep sinks and a double-door refrigerator. The six-burner stove ran on propane and had an oven big enough to roast two turkeys side by side. Grandma Lisbeth had loved to cook for a crowd, including the hired hands they put to work during the summer months.

The kitchen, with its long butcher block table that could seat ten and walls of walnut cabinets, was about as big as Paige’s whole condo. Which, since cooking and entertaining at home weren’t on her list of talents, was perfectly fine with her.

She was preparing a pot of coffee when Bryan strolled into the kitchen, letting the screen door bang shut behind him.

Paige flinched, nearly dumping coffee grounds all over the counter. She recalled there was a locked gun cabinet in the mudroom filled with rifles and shotguns. She’d never gone near those guns and hoped to goodness Grandpa was careful to keep it locked when Bryan was around.

“Jay said you were fixing something to eat.” The boy was nearly as tall as Paige and whip-thin. His blond hair and delicate features made him resemble Krissy. She’d never revealed who Bryan’s father was—maybe she didn’t know—so there was no way to tell what genes the man had contributed to the boy’s appearance.

“Grandpa isn’t hungry, but I can fix you a roast beef sandwich, and there are lots of salads crammed in the refrigerator.”

“The same stuff they had at the church?”

“Yes. The ladies were very nice to let us bring the leftovers home.”

He made a gagging noise. “I’ll fix my own sandwich.”

“Up to you. Don’t you want to wash your hands first?”

He shot her a startled look. “They aren’t dirty.”

“You’ve been out there with the horses, haven’t you?”

“Sure, but that’s no big deal.” He dragged the plate of sliced roast beef from the refrigerator and plopped it on the counter.

Her career in the hospitality business, particularly at an Elite Hotel property in Seattle, had taught her cleanliness was crucial not only for the health of the staff and guests, but for the hotel’s reputation as well.

“Bryan, please. Wash your hands before touching the food.” Who knew what he might have picked up in the barn or stable?

“Mom always said a few germs won’t hurt anybody,” he grumbled. He turned on the faucet in the sink, waved his hands under the water and turned it off. “You happy now?”

Not even close. But Paige wasn’t Bryan’s mother. She needed to give him a break. The poor kid was hurting and likely looking for someone to rail against.

Assuming he had won the battle, Bryan rubbed his hands on his jeans, which looked like he’d worn them to roll around in the dirt. Paige squeezed her eyes shut. Leave him be. You’re not his mother.

Jay chose that moment to saunter in the back door, all long legs and lean body, his old tan-colored cowboy hat perched on the back of his head. He tossed his hat on a peg in the mudroom, then walked into the kitchen. A ring of sweat made his dark hair glisten where his hat had rested.

“What are you doing, kid?” he asked.

“Fixing myself a sandwich.” Bryan found a loaf of bread in the bread box, a jar of mayonnaise in the refrigerator and put them on the counter beside the plate of meat.

“Don’t go messing with that stuff until you wash up,” Jay said.

“I did. She saw me.” He cocked his head toward Paige.

“Let me see.” Jay took one of the boy’s hands, turning it palm up. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen cowboys spit and get their hands cleaner than that. Go use some soap in the bathroom.”

“Aw, come on. I’m hungry.”

“You won’t starve.” He turned the boy by his shoulders, shoving him gently toward the half bathroom that was just inside the back door.

Bryan stomped away, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor, and slammed the bathroom door.

Paige winced. “I was going to give him a pass on his dirty hands. I know he’s upset—”

“He’s a kid. He needs to be told what to do.”

“I thought this one time, he said his mother never—”

“Krissy probably didn’t. She wasn’t much for discipline.” He helped himself to a couple slices of bread and a big chunk of meat.

“And you think it’s okay for you to discipline him?”

He slathered mayonnaise on the bread. “Sure. Kids are like horses. They have to learn who’s boss. They’re happier if they know the rules.”

Paige didn’t like the idea of Jay comparing her nephew to a horse. Granted, the boy smelled like one. But he was still a child, not a horse to be broken of his bad habits.

Bryan returned to the kitchen, sullen but with clean hands.

“Get a couple plates down,” Jay ordered, his tone easy and casual. “You can have this sandwich and I’ll make another one for myself. Pour us both some milk, would you?”

Without balking, Bryan did as he was told.

Still holding the can of ground coffee, Paige looked on with amazement and a fair amount of admiration. Bryan appeared quite content to follow Jay’s orders. Clearly Jay knew more about raising boys than she had ever hoped to learn. Her focus on her career, and her ambition to move up to a position of manager of one of Elite Hotel’s European properties didn’t leave room for marriage or raising a family. Maybe someday, of course. But not in the foreseeable future.

So far no man had made an effort to tempt her to change her mind.

She watched as they sat down together to eat their sandwiches, then remembered Grandpa and the snack she’d promised him. Hurriedly, she got the coffee going and found a plate for the home-baked cookies.

She was just pouring his mug of coffee when Grandpa came into the kitchen.

“Since everybody is here, guess it’s time we all had a talk.” He sat at the head of the table and placed a large manila envelope beside him.

Paige delivered his coffee and cookies.

“Sit down here, child.” Grandpa indicated the seat next to him. “It’s important you hear what I got to say.” He glanced down the table. “You, too, boy. Pay attention now.”

An uneasy feeling raised the hair on her nape as Paige slipped onto the chair. Grandpa sounded so serious; something monumental must be on his mind. Could his health be failing? He seemed especially tired and stooped, which wasn’t like the grandpa she knew. Maybe he was going to sell the outfitting business and retire?