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There was still quite a bit of adjusting to do in transitioning from city life to country; she’d never expected it to be quick or easy. She filled Sam’s food bowl then carried her plate from the rusted stove to the rickety table. Taking a seat in the one chair, she sighed, eyeing her light dinner. While researching the property’s location before bidding on the ten acres, she’d learned Casper was the closest big city and second largest in the state after Cheyenne, their combined populations a fraction of Chicago’s. After viewing the work needed on the house, barn, and caretaker’s cottage the auction website posted, she’d made sure she could get the necessary supplies nearby.
At a minimum of a forty-five-minute drive one way, though, she would have to stock up on frozen groceries that would last for weeks, very different from running into the corner market near her apartment at home every few days. Either that or search for a closer, smaller nearby town where she could pick up essentials that would get her by until she could get into Casper.
Nicole finished the omelet and threw away the paper plate. Unpacking the dishes would wait until she bought a dishwasher, which would have to wait until the kitchen was remodeled. Still hungry, she grabbed a bag of potato chips out of the walk-in pantry, the best feature in the house, and finished it off working a crossword puzzle, curled in the corner of the old, lumpy sofa. She needed to keep her brain occupied so she wouldn’t dwell on or fret over the daunting tasks ahead of her. An hour later, she fell asleep in the sleeping bag on top of her bed, a new mattress topping her list, praying she hadn’t bitten off more than she could handle.
Chapter Three
Slade was the lastto arrive for Sunday brunch at his mother’s house the next day. He blamed the new neighbor.
For the first time since he thought he was head over heels in love with Candace Baker in the eighth grade, he couldn’t stop thinking about a woman. Nicole Wells carried a chip on her shoulder in a way similar to his attitude after returning home for good from the military. At the time, he’d shoved away family and friends alike, shunning all overtures of support and yearning for nothing more than solitude and enough physical labor to exhaust him. Since meeting Nicole last night, he itched to tell her the work would only go so far in keeping the demons at bay, and he should know. His nights were still haunted by the part he’d played in cutting a child’s life short because others were using him as a deadly pawn in the adult game called war.
He arose that morning thinking, why bother; she wouldn’t listen any more than he would have ten years ago. His family had refused to give up on him, battling through his defenses and attitude until he caved to their concern and caring and let them back into his life. The age of the last suicide bomber he’d taken out remained his burden alone, but during several nights of imbibing too much alcohol with his brothers, he’d spoken of the toll his military job had taken on him.
Family meant everything to Slade, but when he’d carried his coffee out to the patio this morning, the first thing he heard was the steady strike of a hammer pounding a nail again. Picturing Nicole taking up her daunting task of repairing a fence that should be replaced tempted him to skip brunch, but then he would disappoint his mother. He didn’t care for the tug-of-war he’d battled for three hours before finally hopping on his motorcycle and riding into Eagle’s Nest. In the last ten years, he hadn’t missed a Sunday meal with his mother and stepfather and refused to let one meaningless encounter break that record. If they were more than willing to switch from dinner to brunch to accommodate Allie and Lily’s family time when needed, the least he could do was arrive on time. His preoccupation with the new neighbor would have to wait.
Slade could hear voices and laughter from the back yard as soon as he cut the engine and removed his helmet. He hooked the helmet on the handlebars, combed his fingers through his hair to get the longer strands off his face and neck, and then followed the paved walk around the side to the wrought iron gate. The smokey scent of charcoal hit him as he walked into the back yard and saw his brothers and parents gathered. The cool breeze sent smoke spiraling away from the covered patio, chilly enough for Allie and Lily to wear long sleeves.
“There you are.” Andrea Hastings, his mother, rushed forward to greet him, appearing closer to forty instead of already turning sixty with her wide smile and sparkling green eyes. Going on her toes, she kissed his cheek. “Come on. William is cooking German sausages, and I made German potato salad.”
“Sounds good.”
It would sound even more appealing if Slade didn’t think of Nicole at that moment and wonder if she was eating alone today. None of his business, and shouldn’t bug him, he reminded himself, following his mom toward food and family. Before Reed retired from law enforcement and Brett moved back home from San Antonio, he’d spent many days with the hired hands, preferring solitary meals over seeking company. During the week, he still ate alone, so no big deal.
Brett handed him a glass of iced tea, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms as tan as Slade’s from working outdoors. “Sorry I couldn’t get out there yesterday to help you and Reed. Lily called me with a domestic abuse case.”
“I was at the shelter when the young woman came in,” Allie stated, joining them. “The poor girl was really shook up.” She gave him a quick hug, which he returned.
Lily, and now Allie, volunteered at Casper’s homeless shelter. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of men with tempers and the people they claimed to care about bearing the brunt. Lucky for those victims, Brett offered free legal services which sometimes called for putting in weekend hours.
“No problem,” Slade told Brett as Allie moved to her husband’s side and leaned against him. “We had enough help. The guys got it done.”
“Not without complaining,” Reed put in from the grill. “These are about done, right, William?”
Their stepfather nodded, his wide chef’s hat tilting. A knee-length white apron withChef Willin red lettering completed the ensemble he wore whenever he did the cooking. “Another minute or two.” He glanced at Lily and Andrea sitting at the table. “Go ahead and get the potatoes out of the oven, hon. Then we’ll be in.”
“I’ll help.”
