She paused to wipe a strand of hair from her cheek, mentally picturing the stacked mason jars in the pantry. Rows of pickled beets, dilly beans, and Aunt Mo’s famous sweet corn relish lined the shelves, their colors promising delicious meals during the long Teton winter. They’d canned late into the night last week, laughing about the exploded jar of apple butter and debating whether jalapeño jam really needed that much sugar.
With a grunt, Charlie Grace sank the shovel again and turned another mound of compost. It felt good to work the soil, to mark the end of something with intention. And maybe—if she could admit it to herself—it felt even better to be doing it alone, her thoughts clear.
Suddenly, the distant whine of a saw split the quiet, followed by the rhythmic thud of a nail gun. Charlie Grace winced. The construction crew had returned from their lunch break and were now pounding away at the guest cabins on the east side of the property. What had begun as a promise of growth now grated on her nerves, the constant noise shattering the rare stillness she found in the garden.
She sighed. The peace she’d carved out in the dirt was no match for progress.
The sound of a distant engine rose above the noise of construction, pulling Charlie Grace’s attention toward the tree-lined lane that led up from the road. A dust plume curled in the sunlight as a familiar green pickup bounced into view. Lila’s truck. Charlie Grace leaned on her shovel, shielding her eyes with one hand and lifting the other in a wave.
Lila parked just off the gravel, boots hitting the ground a second later. She slammed the door with her hip, her long chestnut-colored braid swinging as she made her way over.
“Afternoon,” she called, stepping around the wheelbarrow.
“You’re just in time for the manure party,” Charlie Grace said with a grin.
Lila smirked. “Hard pass.”
Charlie Grace gestured toward the porch. “Thanks for coming out to check on the pups.”
“Happy to do it,” Lila said, swiping her sleeve across her forehead. “Man, it’s still warm out. But frost is coming. You can smell it in the air.”
Charlie Grace planted the shovel in the dirt. “Coffee’s inside if you want a cup. How’s things at Paws in the Pines?” She pointed and started walking in the direction of the house.
Lila groaned, brushing a hand down her jeans as if wiping away the memory. “This morning, we had a Labrador come in with a pus-filled abscess the size of a grapefruit on his?—”
* * *
Charlie Grace’s hands flew up. “Okay! Okay. I take my question back.”
Lila laughed, clearly unbothered. “You asked. You know I don’t sugarcoat.”
“Never have,” Charlie Grace muttered, chuckling despite herself. Lila was known for her lack of filters.
Lila shrugged, her face flushed from the afternoon sun—or maybe from the chaos she’d just escaped. “It smelled like roadkill and sour milk, if you must know.”
“I mustn’t,” Charlie Grace said, reaching for the back screen door handle. “But I’m glad you’re here. One of the pups seems to be not be eating like the others.”
The screen door hinges creaked open as Charlie Grace led the way into the kitchen, the smell of fresh earth trailing in behind them. Sunlight poured through the wide windows, catching the gleam of copper pans hanging over the stove.
Clancy Rivers sat near the window in his wheelchair, a worn copy of a Western Horseman magazine propped open in his lap. His reading glasses perched low on his nose, and he looked up with a smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.
“Well, look who’s come to visit,” he said, voice warm and gravelly. “Morning, Lila.”
“Hi, Clancy.” Lila crossed the kitchen and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Still keeping Charlie Grace in line?”
“Best I can,” he said with a wink. “But she’s always been a little headstrong.”
“Runs in the family,” Charlie Grace said, while washing her hands at the kitchen sink. She brushed her hands on a dish towel, then moved toward the coffee pot.
Clancy nodded toward Lila. “You here to see those dogs Jewel found?”
“Yes,” Lila replied, her voice shifting into her vet-clinic tone. “I thought I’d check them over and make sure all’s well.”
Clancy’s brow furrowed. He looked squarely at Charlie Grace. “Don’t go letting that little girl get too attached.”
Then he turned to Lila. “That granddaughter of mine is just like her mother. She’d adopt a rock if you let her.”
Charlie Grace laughed as she poured two mugs. “And mother it by tucking it in each night.”
