“She died last winter.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Instinctively, Cora wrapped an arm around Jessica’s shoulders as she whisked the gravy with her other hand. “Did she teach you to make that cake?”
“She did.”
“Then she’s here all the same, isn’t she?” So saying, Cora pressed a kiss to Jessica’s temple.
Chase stepped in, surprised to see Jessica a little teary-eyed and leaning against his grandmother’s side.
He cleared his throat. “Ah, we’re about ready to haul the turkey and such over to the bunkhouse.”
The announcement caused a quick and ruthlessly organized scramble for the sides and the desserts designated for the ranch crew.
One of the crew, a grizzled, barrel-chested man with his hat in his hands, stood behind Chase.
“We sure do appreciate all this fine food, Miss Fancy, Miss Cora, Miss Reenie, Bo, ah…”
“Jessica,” she told him.
“Ma’am. It smells a treat in here. Now, don’t you lift that big pot, Miss Cora. I got that.”
“You and the boys enjoy what’s in it, Hec, and be sure that pot comes back.”
“I’ll get it back to you, but you can be sure there won’t be a scrap of these mashed potatoes left before I do. Mighty obliged. And happy Thanksgiving, ladies.”
The minute the door shut behind him and Chase and a load of food, Bodine snorted. “He’s still sweet on you, Nana.”
“You stop that, Bodine Samantha Longbow.”
“Calling me by my full name doesn’t change the facts. Hector’s been sweet on Nana as long as I can remember.”
“You aren’t old enough to remember all that long, are you?” Cora said tartly.
“Old enough to know you’d have a boyfriend if you gave him the opening.”
“I’m too set in my ways for a man. And you’re a fine one to talk about boyfriends. When’s the last time you stepped out with a man on a Saturday night?”
Bodine bit into one of the eggs her great-grandmother had deviled. “Maybe I’m too set in my ways.”
“I see one out there who’d change those ways.” Miss Fancy grinned out the window. “That Callen Skinner sure fills out a pair of Levi’s nice and fine.”
“Grammy!”
Miss Fancy laughed, winking at Bodine. “I’ve got eyes, and I don’t even need the glasses since they fiddled with my lenses taking off the cataracts. Yes, sir, I see just fine. Hear fine, too, like hearing you ride into town with him most mornings now.”
“There’s nothing to that.”
“Doesn’t mean there couldn’t be, or he couldn’t make there be, if he sets his sights on you.”
“I’m not a target,” Bodine retorted.
Cora poked her shoulder. “Teach you to mind your mouth about who’s sweet on who.”
“You ought to ask Jessica why she’s not stepping out on a Saturday night.”
“Why is that, Jessie?” Maureen wanted to know.
“Right under the bus?” Jessica asked Bodine.
“Around here it’d be wagon, but it’s all the same.”
Jessica was spared finding an answer as the men trooped into the house and, as predicted, got in the way.
Outside of an event, Jessica had never seen so much food. In addition to the traditional turkey, they offered ham and beef, mashed and scalloped potatoes, an ocean of gravy, brandied yams, candied yams, stuffing, a bounty of vegetables and salads, fresh-made applesauce, cranberry sauce, biscuits and sourdough rolls warm from the oven.
Along with the food, the drink, conversation flowed. She noted the subject of Billy Jean remained off the Thanksgiving table, and could only be grateful.
Not a day passed at work without speculation, questions. She considered the holiday meal a reprieve.
Seated between Chase and Callen, Jessica sampled the ham.
“You be careful with those slivers of meat on your plate,” Callen advised. “You won’t have room for dessert.”
“There’s too much here for more than a sliver. Where are you going to find room?” She wagged a finger toward his more generously filled plate.
“Miss Maureen’s apple pie is like nobody else’s. I dreamed about that pie every Thanksgiving I wasn’t at this table.”
So this was tradition for him, Jessica thought, sharing Thanksgiving with this family rather than his own. She filed that away. “I guess you work it off. I couldn’t make it to your show last Saturday, but I hear you and your horse were major hits.”
“We had some fun with it.”
“I want to get some pictures next time.” Bodine leaned around from the other side of Callen, then shifted to gesture at Rory across from her. “We should put one or two up on the website. I caught part of it. Sundown had the people eating out of his hand. You weren’t bad, either,” she told Callen.
“He taught me all I know.”
“Smartest horse I ever knew,” Sam put in. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he said, ‘Howdy, Sam,’ one day when I walk by his stall.”
“We’re working on it,” Callen told him.
“I’ll have to meet this wonder horse.” Jessica tried a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“He’d be pleased. He likes pretty women. Especially ones who bring him a carrot.”
Bodine shifted a little as Callen aimed a look at her. “I suppose you’re going to claim he told you about that,” she said.
“We have our ways. Sundown and me, we have our ways. You get much chance to ride, Jessie?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t ride.”
Conversation, all the little pockets of it around the table, emptied into silence. And once again Bodine leaned around Callen.
“At all?”
“There wasn’t much opportunity in Lower Manhattan.”
“But you’ve been on a horse. Like a trail ride.” Surprised enough to ask, Chase shifted to face her.
“Actually, no. I’ve never been on a horse.”
“How did we not know that?” Rory wondered. “How did we not know that?”
“Nobody asked.” Feeling suddenly exposed, as if she’d inadvertently confessed to a crime, Jessica reached for her wine. “It wasn’t in the job description.”
“Well, we’ll fix that.” Sam snagged another biscuit. “Cora here’s a fine teacher. The fact is, everybody around this table could teach you basic horsemanship in no time at all. We’ll get her up on Maybelle, don’t you think, Bo?”
“Maybelle’s as gentle and patient as they come. Abe always put her in for the dead novice or the skittish.”
“Really, you don’t have to bother. I don’t—”
“Are you afraid of horses?” Chase asked, gently enough that she felt heat rise up the back of her neck.
“No.” Not in theory. “No, not at all,” she said more firmly.
“We’ll get you up in a saddle,” Sam told her. “Don’t you worry about it.”
Stuck, Jessica smiled, drank more wine.
She hadn’t been worried about it. Now she imagined she’d worry about little else.