“Admit it.”
“Yes, alright. He graduated from the Air Force Academy last year,” I groan out with an eyeroll. “But the bastards won’t let ’im return home for Thanksgiving this year. Some training or other bullshit.”
“That’s tough,” Ellyn says. “But I bet you’re proud of him. I hear the Academy isn’t a walk in the park.”
“It sure ain’t.” I sit up straighter, puffing my chest out. “He got his work hard spirit from all of those summers working on the ranch with me.”
“I’m sure his dad had nothing to do with it,” she jokes.
“Hell, where do you think Ace gets it from?”
“The military.”
Ellyn smirks when I cut her a sideways glare.
“You might’ve had something to do with it. From what I’ve seen of you, hard work is encoded in your DNA.”
The grip I have on my spoon tightens from the compliment. It feels good.
Too damn good.
No sooner than I make the decision to hightail my ass out of here than Ellyn’s front door opens.
“Meghan?” Ellyn calls, turning her head to face her daughter.
“It’s me. Oh good, Mr. Townsend, you’re still here. I’m sorry I took so long, Ma.” She appears at the entryway, her eyes sparkling and a smile on her lips as she looks from her mother to me and back to her mother.
I’m a man of instinct.
I trust my gut more than anything else.
My hunch is telling me this little girl isn’t the slightest bit sorry that she’s left her mother and me alone for as long as she has.
“I’m leaving,” I grunt at the same time I take Ellyn’s tray from her.
I place the tray with the bowls and plates on the countertop.
“Don’t worry about those,” Meghan says as I start to empty the bowls down the garbage disposal. “I’ll toss them in the dishwasher as soon as I put my stuff away.”
She grins at me, and I nod without saying a word.
“I’ll come back in a day or two to finish painting the door,” I tell Ellyn before leaving.
Meghan follows me.
“Thanks for keeping my mom company. She’s not used to staying still for too long. I know in a few days she’s going to be going stir crazy.”
I eye the girl, wondering what she’s angling at.
“Oh, speaking of the holidays,” she says, her voice dropping low. “I picked this up.”
She lifts a bag that she’s left by the door and pulls out a wreath made of faux maple, oak, magnolia leaves, spray-painted pinecones, and pumpkins.
“I thought this would be perfect for the door. I don’t know if my mom’s told you but she’s not into decorating much this year.”Meghan frowns. “A shame since she used to do these huge, elaborate decorations in our old home.
“Anyhow, I thought this would look great on the door.”
Without a word, I take the wreath from her and pull out a nail and my hammer from the toolkit I’ve brought over.
