don’t do them justice. Two of them, at least. Probably about thirty years old and twenty-six years old. Then there’s the third sister. She’s the middle one. She’s different, I think—”
“Different how?” Wyatt demanded, sounding worried again.
“She’s not like her sisters. She’s…different.” The look of distaste that had crossed her expression as she had glared at him floated through his mind again. He abruptly smiled and said, “She kind of reminds me of Mrs. Smythe.”
“Our fourth-grade teacher you had a crush on?”
Graham frowned at his friend. “I did not have a crush on Mrs. Smythe.”
“Do not try to stick me with that one,” Wyatt said, cringing in distaste, ignoring Graham’s annoyance. “I always get stuck with the plain ones.”
“I did not have a crush on Mrs. Smythe,” Graham repeated to make certain Wyatt heard him. When Wyatt only shrugged in response, Graham muttered, “Don’t worry. Her sisters more than make up for her.”
“Did you get anything out of them about why they’re here?”
“I didn’t ask. As the saying goes, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Wyatt’s grin nearly spilt his face. “That good, huh?”
Graham remembered the come-hither look in Kendra’s eyes as she had grinned at him. “Better.”
Wyatt whooped like the cowboy he sort of was, then laughed as the other diners glanced curiously at them. Wyatt waved at them then turned back to Graham.
Graham laughed then added, “Besides, Boyd thinks they’re here to settle their grandfather’s business with the town. He has ordered each of us on the city council to roll out the red carpet. Butter them up. I initially thought this whole thing would be another one of Boyd’s idiotic ideas, but the more I think about it…and them…the more I think he might not be so dumb.”
“About rolling out the red carpet, or about their reason for being in town?”
“The red carpet, Wyatt,” Graham said, impatiently. “I don’t care about their plans for this town.”
“So, when are we going out with them?” Wyatt asked, eagerly.
“Out? Out where?” Graham asked, frustrated. “Maybe the hoedown next week or the next four-wheel-drive tailgate at the lake?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said excitedly, obviously missing Graham’s sarcasm.
Graham rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Wyatt, these women… These women are not like the women around here. We can’t take them to a hoedown. They’re used to lobster and champagne, not hot dogs and beer.”
Wyatt’s grin disappeared before he said, matter-of-factly, “Well, while you’re trying to find five-star restaurants and champagne, someone else in this town is going to invite them to that hoedown or a tailgate, because what you seem to be forgetting, my friend, is that regardless of what these women are used to, they’re in Sibleyville now.”
Graham mulled over his friend’s words then muttered, reluctantly, “I guess I’ll be stopping by their house to invite them for a night of Sibleyville revelry.”
Wyatt smiled, satisfied, then signaled to Annie that they were ready to order.
Chapter 5
“Graham, is that you? Did you get the wood for the fence?”
Graham inwardly cringed as his father’s booming voice echoed through the house the moment Graham stepped inside. He closed the front door and glanced around the familiar foyer of the house. Nothing ever changed in his parents’ house. It was all wood and comfortable furniture, and it always smelled like lemons.
His father’s charcoal drawing of the view behind their house still hung framed in the hallway leading to the living room on the right and the kitchen on the left, even though Lance had done many sketches and paintings since then. The charcoal drawing had apparently been the first gift Lance Forbes had given his young bride.
The same Navajo rug that had lain on the entry floor when Graham had been in junior high school still remained on the floor—faded and almost threadbare from many washings. His parents did not like change. The perfect day for his parents was to do the exact same thing that they had done the day before. Graham didn’t know how in the world he came to be so different from his parents, because he longed for change. He didn’t just want to read about South Africa, he wanted to go there. And he had. He had been everywhere else on his wish list, and now… Well, now, Graham’s goal was to become a vice president in Shoeford Industries—if he could ever get back to his job. Then he’d think of something else to do.
“Yes, Dad,” Graham called back to his father, who was no doubt upstairs in the study that overlooked their lands with his binoculars watching the farmhands. Lance would stay in the study, alternating between working on the computer and using his binoculars to spy on the work in the field until Graham and the farmhands quit for the day. Then, during dinner, Graham would be treated to a fifteen-minute evaluation of every move he had made.
“Did you check the corn?” Lance called back.
Graham struggled for patience. He loved his father, but the man did not know how to be an invalid.
“Yes, Dad, I checked the corn,” he called back through clenched teeth.
He heard his mother’s soft laughter behind him. Graham turned to her, taking in her amused expression and glowing brown skin. Her short black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, but she still had a smile that could light a room. No matter how much Graham wished and hoped and dreamed to get the hell out of Sibleyville and return to his life, he also could admit that he would miss his parents. Especially his mother.
Eliza Forbes was not a Sibleyville native. She had met Graham’s father in New York thirty-five years ago, and after dating long-distance for three months, she had married him and moved to California. And, as far as Graham knew, she had never looked back, despite the disdain and shock of her decidedly east-coast family. But Eliza might as well have been a Sibleyville native. She could out-ride and out-shoot most men, and seemed to thrive on the sometimes extreme weather and rigorous farm life.
“He’s driving me crazy,” Graham muttered, motioning up the stairs, where Lance no doubt sat with his binoculars.
Eliza smiled in understanding, but said, “You know he loves having you around.”
Graham felt that flash of guilt he always felt whenever his parents expressed their joy at having him near after years of his living overseas and only visiting during the holidays.
“And I like being here,” he murmured, then added, “But, Dad is driving me crazy. Either he has to let me do the planting my way, or he can limp out to the fields and do it himself.”
“I heard that,” came Lance’s voice as he teetered down the stairs with the aid of a cane.
Graham rolled his eyes, but couldn’t restrain his grin. His heart had momentarily stopped when his mother had called him with the news of his father’s
