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Brock’s truck pulled up in front of the house and parked. Summer headed downstairs.
Her older brother Spring had already opened the front door when Summer arrived at the foyer.
“—Diamondbacks versus the San Francisco Giants tonight,” Spring said in his soft voice. “If they win this one, the Giants are headed for the playoffs.”
It wasn’t usual for Spring to chat like this. Her once-outgoing and confident older brother had turned into a silent, withdrawn man after returning from his deployments in Afghanistan.
Now, he turned at the sound of her step on the tiles. “Hey, Summer. Brock’s here.”
“Long time no see,” she greeted her new business partner. She desperately tried for casual, but ended up sounding completely lame.
“Hey.” Brock smiled at her from the wide verandah that wrapped around all four sides of the house.
She felt the heat of his gaze as it lingered on her bare legs. He wore his usual faded jeans, but had changed into a clean t-shirt. And he was holding a bouquet of perfumed roses and lilies.
“Well, come on in,” Spring said, stepping aside. “It’s such a nice evening that we’ll be eating in the back yard.”
“I could smell the barbecue as I drove up,” Brock said to Summer as Spring led the way through the house. “And now I’m starving.”
After pausing in the kitchen to grab a vase for the flowers, and to say hi to Mom and Autumn, who were busily toasting hamburger buns and keeping an eye on the oven fries, they exited the house via a pair of French doors at the back of the living room. They crossed the verandah, then went down the short flight of stairs to the large wooden deck built next to the house.
There, they found a long table, covered with a blue-and-white checked tablecloth, set with nine places. A wide oval platter of sliced tomatoes, fresh onions, and lettuce leaves stood in the middle of the table, along with pitchers of ice water and a collection of relish jars and ketchup and mustard squeeze bottles.
On the far corner of the deck, Dad was flipping thick burger patties on the huge gas grill he’d gotten for Christmas a couple of years ago. He wore his favorite cowboy hat, the really battered straw one that Mom called “Bob’s Holey Hat.”
A play set stood on the far end of the lawn, near the tall old fruit trees. Spring’s two little girls, April and Abby, were busily clambering up the ladder to the old treehouse, while Autumn’s son, seven-year-old Jayden, was working the swing, trying to see if he could go high enough to kick one of the apple tree’s branches.
After driving from Bozeman because of Grandma’s heart attack, Summer’s younger sister Autumn had decided to stay at the ranch for the rest of the week. School was out for the summer, and her husband Phillip was away on another of his frequent business trips. He worked in pharmaceutical sales, and didn’t seem to spend much at home.
Summer wondered what was going on. Autumn’s social media feeds always showed happy photos of herself and her family, with tags like #happytogether and #blessed, but on this visit, she seemed wound so tightly that Summer feared her sister would snap at any moment.
When she’d asked what was wrong, Autumn had made it clear she didn’t want to discuss whatever was going on in her life to make her so tense.
Dad turned and waved as the three of them came onto the deck.
“Glad you could make it, Brock,” he said in a hearty tone. “Can I get you a beer?”
“No thanks, Mr. Snowberry,” Brock said. “But if you have a can of Coke, I sure could use the caffeine right now. It’s been a long day.”
This refusal earned him a surprised look from Dad, but to Summer’s relief he didn’t push the issue.
Maybe he’d heard about Brock’s dad, too.Knowing Snowberry Springs, he probably had.
“Sure, we have a whole cooler full of sodas and bottled water,” he said, pointing at a large ice chest sitting nearby. “Help yourself.”
Dad’s bison burgers, made with his secret seasoning blend of Worcestershire sauce, herbs, and spices, and filled with rich blue cheese, were delicious as always.
Autumn and Mom brought out heaping trays of crisp, golden oven fries baked with minced garlic and Parmesan while Spring rounded up the kids and herded them inside to wash their hands.
Summer sat next to Brock on the long wooden bench. Despite being surrounded by family, it felt oddly intimate. His hard, jeans-clad thigh pressed steadily against her bare leg, and their hands occasionally touched as they passed around the burger toppings, fries, and condiments.
To her relief, no one interrogated her or Brock about The Yummy Cowboy Diner. Instead, the conversation revolved around Winnie’s upcoming wedding and her successful transition from her business of restoring and reselling historic homes in Seattle to her hit show on HomeRenoTV.
“I don’t begrudge Winnie her success, but it’s such a pity she’s too busy to spend much time here anymore,” Grandma Abigail said. “The Snowberry Springs Inn, which started out as Frank’s great-great-grandmother Caroline’s mansion, is on the verge of falling down.” She sighed. “It would be a pity if we lost it. It’s a jewel of a house, with such an interesting past, too. Caroline Snowberry was one of the town’s founders, you know.” That last was directed at Brock.
He nodded, “I remember you mentioning it.”
Grandma continued, “It would be a crying shame if this important piece of Snowberry Springs’ history was lost. Frank’s mother always talked about how Caroline arrived in the Montana Territory as a widow, with nothing but the clothes on her back. But she was enterprising and extremely hard-working, and twenty years later, she was the richest woman in town. She owned the water utility and most of the buildings on the town square.”
