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“This is a private conversation, Mo.” He shook his head, but he was smiling.
“You should have thought of that before you came into my kitchen to have it.” Aunt Mo started pulling things from the refrigerator. “You’ll have to finish your private conversation somewhere else because I need to make you dinner.”
“Hi, Molly.” Connie started laughing. “You better tell her I said hello.”
“Connie says hi,” Brock repeated.
“I heard her.” Aunt Mo’s smile was huge. “Still hoping you and Trish will join us for Thanksgiving.”
“We would love to,” Connie answered. “Tell her we said yes.”
“You want the phone?” He held the phone out to his aunt.
“What is the matter with you, son? You’re all out of sorts.” Aunt Mo shook her head. “Good thing you’ve got practice tomorrow. You need to tackle some people.”
“Have I mentioned how much I adore your aunt?” Connie asked.
“Not recently.” But Brock knew firsthand just how easy it was to adore Aunt Mo. Even if she was nosy and bossy. “Want me to tell her?”
Once he’d finished his call with Connie, he went back outside to wrap the pipes on the main house. Since Aunt Mo was too stubborn to make improvements to the hundred-year-old home, Brock made sure to do as much preventative work as he could.
He was crawling out from under the house when his phone started vibrating.
Thanks for the other day.
Vanessa.
I just wanted you to know I did go to a meeting and I’m fine.
He stood, dusting the grass and dirt from his jeans. He typed his response and hit send. Glad you’re taking care of yourself. Keep it up.
“You going to wash up?” Aunt Mo called. “Dinner’s about ready. After, maybe we could take a ride down to the tank. John Wayne’s been out to pasture too long.”
“I’m not going to say no to that.” He kicked off his boots on the back porch and headed inside, leaving his phone on the counter. “Give me five minutes.”
“Five.?
? Aunt Mo nodded, turning the massive chicken fried steak. “Gravy will be done and you’ll have a feast fit for a king.” She frowned. “I wasn’t poking at you.”
He frowned. “What?”
“King.” She stared at him. “Emmy Lou? Oh, never mind.” She shook her head. “Go clean up.”
A warm shower, a hearty dinner, and a long horseback ride down to the big tank was a perfect way to round out the evening. For all his complaining, he understood why Mo didn’t make any improvements. Being here was like stepping back in time. When he was here, he knew he’d work hard, sweat enough to wring the wet out of his shirt, eat well, and slow down enough to appreciate the little things. Out here, nothing changed.
Not the land or Aunt Mo’s horse. John Wayne was twenty years old, slow and steady, but he loved Mo and her pockets full of apples and sugar cubes. The horse looked miniature next to Brock’s horse Granite, a Percheron mix. Then again, Aunt Mo looked pretty tiny standing next to Brock.
“Been too long since we did this.” Aunt Mo slowed John Wayne when they reached the hill leading down to the tank. “I know you were riled up when you got here, but I’m glad you came. It was nice having you around—spending some time away from the hospital.”
“I’ll do better, Aunt Mo.” He sighed, resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle and letting the sunset ease the last of the stress from his shoulders. “I haven’t been there as much as I should—”
“You’re doing fine.” Aunt Mo cut him off. “You are, aren’t you, Brock?”
He looked at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I heard your phone call, Brock.” She shook her head.
“I know.” He smiled.
