Now adorably shy, Jamie tangled his hands in his hair, so Leland pulled him close and kissed his neck and inhaled the scent of him, and sighed. Jamie, in return, tried to climb into Leland’s lap, which was fine with Leland, except that the bank teller was walking across the parking lot, looking through the open window of the truck like she’d stumbled on a peep show.
“She’s going to tell us to get a room soon,” said Leland, half under his breath as he smiled into Jamie’s hair.
“Maybe we should,” said Jamie, sitting back in his seat with a laugh as though Leland had suggested something quite daring.
“What we should do is get some lunch.” Warmed through with feelings of happiness that had been missing for too long, Leland started the truck and drove out of the bank’s parking lot.
On instinct, on autopilot, he drove past the Stampede Saloon and Eatery, where he’d been planning to take Jamie, and instead drove down Lone Tree Road to the edge of town to the farm where his mom lived.
It wasn’t much of a farm anymore, really, not since the dry years, but it had a nice two-story brick farmhouse on the edge of ten acres of land that abutted Chugwater Creek. Most times the fields went green with wild alfalfa, and some years, Mom planted clover and turnips for local cattle feed. This year Leland didn’t know what she’d planted, only that she was out in the front yard waving her apron at him like she knew they’d been on their way.
“Who’s that?” asked Jamie as he half-leaned out the window.
“My mom,” Leland said, pulling into the circular driveway. Along with all the other happiness he found, it did his heart good to see her smiling face, the same thick silver braid over her shoulder, flour stains on her apron.
“Yourmom?” The question came out a squeak, and Leland could see the worry in Jamie’s eyes. Would she like him? Would he measure up? Why had he brought him here?
“The truck kind of knows the way,” Leland said as he put the truck in park and turned off the engine, pleased that this was how the day was turning out when it had started out so sorrowfully, with the idea that Jamie would soon be leaving the ranch. “Besides, if I’m going to court you, then you two need to meet.”
Mom came up to the driver’s side and held Leland’s face and kissed him, like she’d not seen him in ages instead of just a week.
“You’ve got such good timing,” she said. “C’mon in, I’ll make you some lunch. Who’s this? Bring your friend. I’ve got fresh a strawberry-rhubarb cooling in the pie window.”
“We don’t want to bother you,” said Leland, mostly for form’s sake, though he put his hat on the seat next to him, which meant that they were staying. “We could easily go to the Stampede and have lunch there.”
“Nonsense,” said Mom. “Their food is for tourists, and I’ve got plenty.”
The two of them, walking not-quite hand in hand but almost, followed his mom into the cool shade of the front porch and through the old wooden screen door. The house smelled like sugar and honey and strawberries, and a breeze came through the back screen door. He followed his nose to the kitchen, and looked back to make sure of Jamie, who was practically tiptoeing behind him.
“It’s okay,” Leland said, slowing so Jamie could catch up with him and they could enter the kitchen together. “I think you’ll like my mom.”
“But will she like me?” asked Jamie, his eyes full of questions as he peered through the open doorway to the kitchen where Mom was already busy pulling items out of the fridge.
“Yes,” Leland said, feeling shy, though he knew this was the right next step. “I’m sure of it.”
30
Jamie
Leland’s mom, Mrs. Tate, had grey-blue eyes like he did, was tall like he was. She had wrinkles around her smiling eyes, but she carried herself like Leland did, all straight and strong, and her arms and face were tanned, like she worked outside a lot. Looking at her was a little like looking at Leland, only with curves and a soft bosom and ample hips.
“Hey, Mom,” said Leland, kissing her on the cheek as they came into the kitchen. “This is Jamie. He’s our newest ranch hand, so I thought I’d bring him over so you could meet him.”
“How do, Jamie,” said Mrs. Tate. She wiped her hands on her apron, and though she looked him up and down, her eyes were kind. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Tate,” said Jamie.
“It’s Ginny,” she said. “No need to stand on formality in my kitchen. Now, you boys wash up and sit down.”
It was easy for Jamie to do as he was told. Easy to sit at the big farmhouse table in the middle of that large, airy kitchen with the sun shining through the windows while Ginny was busy at the stove, cooking bacon. Easy to look at Leland, who sat across the table from him.
“Here you boys go,” said Ginny as she slid a BLT sandwich in front of each of them. “Those tomatoes are from the store, rather than my garden, but they’re still pretty good.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Leland, chewing with his mouth full.
“Thank you, Mrs—I mean, thank you, Ginny.” Jamie drank a huge gulp from the glass of milk she set in front of him, and nodded at Leland to show him how good the sandwich was. “This is fantastic.”
“Don’t tell Levi,” said Leland. He smiled as he took another bite of his sandwich. By the relaxed way he sat in his chair, it was easy to see how much at home he was.
