“Sounds like quite the spectacle!” Tim’s voice carried a lightheartedness Amy had never heard from him.
Susan leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Amy’s with an understanding that bridged the space between them. “Blending a family is like kneading dough. You push and fold, and sometimes you swear it won’t come together. But then, it does.Becomes something stronger. And it’s all right if it’s messy at first. Mine started as just his, and then we had some of ours. None of them think of themselves as half-siblings though. They’re all just brothers and sisters. Of course, one of my stepsons married one of my sisters, so that wasn’t exactly normal.”
“Alice was telling us that!” Amy said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.
“I didn’t even recognize her because she was so little when I left Massachusetts, and we haven’t made a trip back.”
Amy watched Susan as the woman shared a funny story about her siblings. Across the room, Tim leaned against the mantelpiece, hat in hand, nodding as David shared another one of his ranch anecdotes.
“Beatrice is...she’s been a challenge,” Amy admitted. “She misses her mother something fierce, and I think she sees me as the enemy. I’ve tried to tell her that I’m not there to take her mother’s place, but she doesn’t seem to believe me.”
Susan’s brow furrowed with empathy. “Girls at that age can be thorny, like rose bushes. But even roses need tending to bloom.”
“Thorny is one word for it,” Amy said.
“David and I, we’ve been through our share of troubles,” Susan continued. “When it comes to young ladies, you’ve got to find that spot between firm ground and gentle rain.”
“Sounds easier said than done,” Amy replied, her gaze drifting to Tim.
“Perhaps,” Susan agreed. “Give Beatrice time. Listen more than you speak. And when you do speak, let it be with kindness—even when it feels like pouring sugar on a cactus.”
“I feel like I already do that, but I’ll try a little harder. Beatrice really needs dresses that don’t make her look like a littlegirl. Maybe we can sew a few dresses together, and that will help her warm up to me,” Amy said.
“Trust me, Amy,” Susan added. “In time, she’ll see your heart. And if you ever need to talk or just escape for a spell, our door’s always open.”
“Thank you,” Amy said, her voice steady for the first time that evening. “Both of you.”
“Family isn’t just blood,” Susan said, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. “It’s the people who stand by you, come what may.”
Amy folded her hands together, warmth blossoming in her chest as she glanced over at Susan. “I can’t tell you how much this means to us,” she said.
Susan waved off the thanks with a chuckle. “Oh, hush now. What are neighbors for? Besides, I think we all need each other.”
Timothy nodded from across the room, where he leaned against the mantle. “I must admit, I’ve learned more about horses and family in one evening than I have in years. Thank you, David.”
“Shoot, Tim,” David replied with a wry grin. “You’ll be outdoing me on the ranch before long. Just remember, it’s all about balance—whether you’re breaking a stallion or raising a family.”
“Balance and patience,” Amy mused aloud. “Sounds like the recipe for a happy home.”
“Exactly,” Susan agreed. “And don’t forget a dollop of love. It covers a multitude of sins.”
“Speaking of love,” David chimed in, “I do believe that’s what got us all sitting here tonight, isn’t it? Love for our families and the land we call home.”
“True enough,” Timothy said, nodding. “It’s good to find friends who become like family.”
“And I have a feeling we’re going to be exactly that to each other!” David raised his glass, and the others followed suit.
Later, Susan set down her empty teacup with a soft clink. “Amy, your blackberry pie tonight was divine. I must know your secret.”
“Ah, it’s in the berries,” Amy replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Picked fresh this afternoon with the two sweetest little helpers in the world—Ruby and Priscilla.” She leaned closer, as if to share a treasured secret. “And a spoonful of honey in the crust—works wonders.”
“Really?” Susan asked. “I’ve never tried that. My pies are good, but yours...” She shook her head in appreciation. “They’re something special.”
“Thank you. But I’m certain your pies are just as good,” Amy said. “Besides, when you bake with love, you can taste it in every bite.”
“Maybe that’s what I need to focus on—baking with an extra dash of love.”
As they stood, Amy helped clear the small table of their teacups, feeling a sense of comfort in the domestic ritual. The evening had helped her to understand there was no true right way to deal with the situation. But it had to be handled with both patience and love.
