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Grandma nodded. “Frank and I believe that we could make this place a tourist mecca like West Yellowstone once the LVR begins running trains here next year. We want Snowberry Springs to be ready when people do start coming… and hopefully staying here, too.”
“Next year? When?” asked Summer.
“Joshua—he’s the LVR’s director—promised that service will start next May or June. Just in time for tourist season,” Grandma replied. “Though it might be a little later. Since it’s been such a long time since there were trains running down this way, there’s a fair amount of restoration work needed on the old tracks, you see.”
“That makes sense.” Summer put aside the nearly-empty piping bag and opened the refrigerator. As she pulled out the tray of sliced, smoked fish she’d prepped earlier, she added, “I always wondered why more people didn’t stay here. I mean, Snowberry Springs is less than an hour’s drive to the North Gate.”
“Exactly!” Grandma Abigail nodded. “And that’s where you come in, sweetie. Frank and I felt that the first step was to make The Yummy Cowboy Diner more attractive to tourists. Once I find someone to renovate the old Snowberry Springs Inn, it’ll be easier to convince people to stay here. In the meantime, why not snag hungry park visitors on their way back to Bozeman after a day in the park? If we had a good restaurant, we could spread the word to the bus tour companies and have them stop here for dinner.”
“That does sound like a good idea,” Summer agreed as she began draping translucent, paper-thin slices of smoked trout over the cream cheese rosettes, topping them with delicate fronds of fresh dill harvested from the ranch’s kitchen garden. “There aren’t a lot of restaurants along this stretch of the highway, and most of them are either hamburger joints or barbecue and beer.”
Her mind automatically began going through possibilities for revamping the old diner. New American cuisine was probably the best bet for something upscale but familiar to both tourists and a hometown client base.
“Wonderful! I’m so glad you agree.” Grandma smiled. “Why don’t we go there for lunch tomorrow? I want you to see what’s become of the place since you left. You could give me your thoughts regarding a makeover for it.”
Fresh guilt surged through Summer.Would Grandma Abigail even want my help if she knew the truth?
She hadn’t told anyone about what had happened. Not even Winnie, who might the only person who could truly understand the situation.
“I’d be happy to do that,” she said, ruthlessly suppressing her feelings. “I mean, I would never have been able to attend the CIA if it wasn’t for you and Grandpa paying my way. This is the least I can do to pay you back.”
“‘Pay us back’? That’s nonsense, sweetie,” her grandmother scoffed. “You don’t owe us anything. Frank and I both agreed that it would be a sin not to nurture our grandchildren’s gifts.” She paused. “Would one o’clock be all right?”
“That would be great.” Summer finished arranging the fish, then washed her hands.
She shoved a tray of mini-quiches she’d prepared earlier into the oven and set the timer. Then she picked up the platters of stuffed mushrooms and canapés, and followed her grandmother out of the kitchen.
As Grandma Abigail rejoined Mom, Dad, and the other family members in the wood-paneled living room, Summer circulated among the funeral guests with her appetizers. While she did so, she found herself thinking about what kind of changes she might suggest for the diner that didn’t involve demolishing the place and building a whole new restaurant.
Maybe I can suggest that the business move into one of the nice brick buildings on the other side of the town square.
This morning, while shopping for ingredients, she’d noticed a large storefront for rent next to Jenna’s Java & Bakery. Of course, moving The Yummy Cowboy Diner from its present location would also mean having to build an entire new commercial kitchen from scratch.
She sighed. It was impossible to make any real plans without knowing Grandma’s budget, but it was fun to fantasize about designing a new restaurant from the ground up that would take advantage of the town’s vintage brick buildings.
Tomorrow should be interesting,she thought as she ventured out onto the porch to offer the appetizers to Grandpa’s friends.At least it will keep my mind off what happening back in San Francisco.
Chapter Two – Summer
Snowberry Springs Town Square
The next day
“Don’t worry,” Grandma Abigail assured Summer forty-five minutes after they were seated in one of The Yummy Cowboy Diner’s peeling burgundy vinyl booths. “The food here is worth the wait.”
“I sure hope so,” Summer said. “I’mstarving.”
This morning, after reading the long string of increasingly nasty texts and emails that had arrived during Grandpa Frank’s funeral and Celebration of Life yesterday, and listening to five annoyed-to-angry voicemail messages, her stomach had been churning so badly that she hadn’t been able to manage more than a slice of dry toast and some very milky coffee for breakfast.
She was in more trouble than she’d ever been in her life. And she had no idea how to fix the situation. Coming back to Montana felt like running away. But she desperately needed some breathing room. Some time tothinkand figure out her next move when she returned to San Francisco.
Hanging out with her grandmother, her parents, and her three siblings this morning had been good. After breakfast, she and Mom had spent some time weeding and tending to the ranch’s large vegetable-and-herb garden. The calm, repetitive rhythm of the work, combined with the fresh air and the birdsong, had helped calm her shattered nerves.
By the time her lunch date with Grandma Abigail rolled around, Summer’s stomach had settled.
Now, she added, “And I’m super-interested to see if a basic dish like meatloaf caneverbe worth this kind of wait.”
“Good food takes time.” Grandma sounded like she was repeating something she’d heard.
