in June, but right now she’s home managing the Silver Queen. Marge had double knee replacements last month.”
“Ouch,” Luke said. “Not fun.” He’d had both knees rebuilt after tendon injuries. And Marge Bowman was no spring chicken, although she always seemed ageless. “Lucy’s running the whole show?”
“Pretty much,” Shelby said. “Marge decided they would do just breakfast and lunch, so Lucy moved into the apartment upstairs and opens in the morning. Jo and I have been pitching in for breakfast until the regular waitress shows up to work lunch.”
Jake double-parked across the street from the Victorian storefront with Silver Queen Saloon and Dance Emporium in ornate gold letters across the wide window. He honked the horn; a few minutes later a slim young woman wearing jeans and a leather jacket came out carrying an insulated bag.
Lucy Cameron climbed into the back seat beside Shelby and leaned forward to kiss Luke’s cheek. “Hey, big bro—good to have you back.”
He reached over his shoulder to ruffle her ruddy curls. “Good to see you, too, Red.”
She slapped his hand away, a ritual performed many times. “Don’t call me Red.” She settled in and latched her seat belt. “I brought chicken fricassee and biscuits plus a peach pie, enough for a small army.”
Shelby tapped Jake’s shoulder. “Home, driver.”
Half an hour later they rolled under the Cameron’s Pride ranch sign, and Luke sighed with relief. He would have kissed the ground if he’d been able to get up off his face afterwards.
He noticed at once that modifications had been made for his benefit. A blacktop parking pad had replaced the graveled area by the back door and a ramp sloped up along the side of the house. He swung himself into his chair and wheeled up the ramp and into the spacious kitchen.
By the time Lucy had unpacked the food, Luke heard his brother Tom’s voice outside, answered by his wife, Joanna. The kitchen door slammed and running footsteps clattered on the wood floor. Luke locked the wheels on his chair just as a small red-haired whirlwind flung herself at him.
“Uncle Luke, you’re home! I missed you! I lost a tooth, see?” His seven-year-old niece, Missy, stretched her mouth in a monkey’s grin to demonstrate. “Can I ride in your chair with you?”
“Sure you can, Shortcake.” He pulled her more securely into his lap as her four-year-old brother, JJ, pounded into the kitchen and scrambled up to join her.
Dang, it was good to be home!
A HOWLING MARCH wind woke Kathryn during the night. She shivered and snuggled closer to Brad to sleep again.
The morning’s first light revealed at least six inches of fresh snow covering grass that had begun to show hints of green. Flakes still swirled, almost hiding the woods behind the house. Judging from the low hum of the standby generator, power lines must be down.
Brad strode into the kitchen dressed in the clothes he wore to construction sites and pulled boots and a heavy coat from the closet. “No time for breakfast,” he said. “I need to get to the office. We’ve got projects in trouble from Stamford to Providence.” He slammed through the door to the garage and Kathryn heard the roar of the snowblower.
She watched from the front window while he blasted a path down the driveway and then returned to gun his Mercedes out onto the unplowed street.
She sighed and returned to the kitchen. She had scarcely filled her mug with coffee when she heard the garage door opening again. Brad stamped in, running his hand through his hair so that it stood in stiff spikes like an angry cat’s fur.
“There’s a big pine down across the end of the street,” he said. “No telling when the town will get around to moving it.”
“The downside of a secluded country setting,” she said, hoping to defuse his anger and frustration. Theirs was one of only six houses on a cul-de-sac bordering a conservation area. Although Kathryn wasn’t fond of the house, she loved the easy access to the woods and swamp just out their back door.
“At least you’ll have time now for a decent breakfast,” she said. “Pancakes or waffles? And I still have some of that good bacon we got from Vermont.”
He scowled but then took a deep breath. “Waffles, I guess.”
“Waffles coming up.” She took his coat from him, pausing to pat his shoulder as she carried it to the closet. “Being marooned could be kind of fun.”
The scowl returned, with interest. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I used to know, when I was working for you and your dad,” she said, stung by his curt reply. Since Brad’s father had retired and an architect had joined the firm, she didn’t feel welcome in the new glossy chrome-and-glass offices. “Now I’m not so sure.”
He stared at her for a long moment before turning away.
She prepared breakfast in silence. He caught her wrist as she set the plate before him. “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. This snow has hit at the worst possible time. We’ll have to wait till the ground dries out before we can start excavating or the heavy equipment will bog down. We’ll be behind before the season even gets underway.”
The spring construction start-up was always stressful, but a mini break like this would be welcome. Kathryn had been working hard to ready her mother’s house for its next occupants. She couldn’t bring herself to put it on the market. Instead she had offered it for the cost of upkeep to her cousin Greg Gabriel, newly out of the Marines—little enough to thank him for his service.
She bent and kissed Brad’s cheek. “We’ve both been under a strain,” she said. “Enjoy your waffles while they’re hot. We’ll hope the snow lets up and they get the road cleared soon.”
The snow persisted most of the day, and they heard no chain saws working on the downed tree. Brad paced laps around the kitchen island, barking instructions into his phone and muttering curses at the end of each call.
Kathryn cooked Brad’s favorite dinner, pot roast from his mother’s recipe. She held him close in the night but lay awake sad and frustrated when she wasn’t able to penetrate his angry preoccupation.
When the town plow finally ground its way up their street late the next day, she was glad to see Brad roar out of the driveway. Once he resolved all the construction crises, maybe she could talk him into a brief getaway, a few days on Cape Cod or at an inn on the Maine coast. She laughed at her fantasy—she wouldn’t be able to pry him loose until construction wound down in late fall.
She saw little of Brad during the next week. He left the house early and returned late, usually eating dinner somewhere between job sites and falling into bed with only a few words to her.
She filled her days with sorting through the contents of her mother’s house. The work might seem a sad occupation, but she rediscovered forgotten memories, taking comfort that her mother’s suffering was over.
Kathryn’s last chore was rearranging the top floor of her grandparents’
