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“I guess someone’s home,” he murmured. Then he froze. “You know what’s just occurred to me? They might not still be living here. They could’ve moved.”
“They’re here. I checked.”Sol pulled up behind the truck and switched off the engine. “You ready?”
Butch managed a chuckle. “Not really, but I’m doin’ it anyway.” They got out, and he was disconcerted to find his legs shaking a little. He walked slowly to the front door and paused, his finger hovering over the doorbell. “I used to hate the sound of this bell when I was a kid.”
“Why? How bad could it sound?”
Butch pressed it, and it was as if someone had crossed a bell with a buzz saw, a long continuous ring as grating as nails on a chalkboard.
Sol winced. “You grew up with that? You have my sympathies.”
The door opened, and Butch’s chest constricted.
Mom got old.
She’d lost a couple of inches somewhere since the last time he’d seen her, and the few wisps of gray visible at her temples back then were now submerged in white hair, cut short and swept back off her face. She wore large round glasses that kinda gave her the appearance of a wise owl, and her plain blue dress wasn’t long enough to hide…
Despite his nervous state, Butch burst out laughing.
“Still wearing bunny slippers, huh, Mom?”
Her mouth fell open. “Oh dear Lord. Brian?” Then all the breath was knocked out of him when she threw her arms around him and hugged him, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders twitching, and he knew she was crying. “Can’t believe you’re really here.” His shirt muffled her words.
Butch kissed her soft hair, thinner than he remembered, his heart quaking.
Whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it.
“’M trying not to step on the bunnies,” he teased, going with humor.
She snorted into his shirt, then glanced up at him. “Your father says I’m too old for bunny slippers. I told him where to go.” At last she released him, wiping her eyes. She took a step back and gazed at Sol, her brow furrowed. “Aren’t you Clare Davenport’s boy? Sol, isn’t it?”
Butch chuckled. “He hasn’t been a boy for a long time, Mom.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.” Sol smiled.
“I see your photo every time the quilting circle meets at her house.” Her eyes widened. “NowI know why she called me about ten minutes ago. She said it was to check if I was home.”
“We just came from there,” Sol told her. He frowned. “She couldn’t have told you we were coming. We didn’t know ourselves when we left the house.”
It seemed to Butch thatsomeonewas determined to give him a push in the right direction.
I was supposed to be here, wasn’t I?
Mom tut-tutted. “What am I thinking of, standing here on the doorstep? Come inside.” She stood aside for them and they crossed the threshold, following her along the hallway into the kitchen. Butch breathed in the sight and smells of the familiar room. It was as if he’d stepped back in time. The cabinets he remembered were still there, painted sage green, and the walls and blind were the same shade of pale lemon. Even the countertops were the same, thick layers of oak Butch recalled his dad varnishing when Butch was just tall enough to see over them. The air was filled with familiar aromas, and on the table was a plate containing the remains of a turkey, a loaf of homemade bread, a bowl half-filled with stuffing, a similarly filled bowl of cranberries, and a jar of mayo.
Butch smiled. “Dad still likes his leftover sandwiches, then.”
She returned his smile. “No change there.”
“You stayed on the ranch.” It didn’t seem possible, not after all these years. “I thought you’d have moved long ago.”
She chuckled. “Your father gave the ranch to your brother and he runs the place, but all of us still live here.”
He glanced toward the door to the living room. “Is he in there? Dad, I mean.”
She shook her head. “Deke, Kathleen and the boys went for a walk down by the creek and your father went with them.” She indicated the food on the table. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“No thank you. We had a late breakfast.”
