“Old-fashioned,” Mr. Bramwell said with a small smile. “Speaking of which, how are Neville, Ambrose, and Maurice doing without their usual coffee klatch?”
Morgan shook his head, looking like he wanted to go off on a tirade about it, so Jack jumped in.
“Oh, we’ve got a new machine, freshly ground coffee from the Bean There, and donuts from the market.” He gestured, like he was presenting Mr. Bramwell with the finest the small town of Hysham had to offer. “They all came by and enjoyed themselves the other day, before the storm.”
“We’ll probably keep doing it.” Morgan shot Jack a look. “Though maybe not as often as my aunt did.”
“She’d like that.” Mr. Bramwell’s tone was warm. “Those old boys gave her someone to cluck over since Toby’s passing two years back. She almost faded away without him, and those three, well, they gave her something to think about other than this place falling down around her ears.”
“I didn’t know that,” Morgan said in a strange, tight voice, blinking hard as he glanced around the store. It was still dusty, looking like one of those broken-down old buildings Jack had seen so many of from the top of a coal car.
He swallowed hard at the thought of Morgan’s aunt struggling all on her own for two years.
“The town expects the feed and grain to keep going,” Morgan said.
“We certainly hope it will,” Mr. Bramwell said. “There used to be a Grange hall along these tracks,” he added. “Next to the silos. Not on county land. Your land. But it burned down, and there went the dances and meetings. Potlucks after the annual turkey trot. Cake-baking contests and pie suppers, just because. All up in smoke.”
“My lawyer never told me about that,” Morgan said.
“Happened before Toby died,” Mr. Bramwell said. “I was away at the time,” he added. “But I hear the flames from that old building reached the heavens.”
“Oh,” Morgan said. He sounded lost in thought, and Jack decided to step in.
“Is that your snowmobile?” he asked, looking through the glass of the door.
“Sure is,” Mr. Bramwell said. “And I need to get going.”
“Do you need help loading up?” Morgan asked. He thumped his cane as he stopped closer to the door, peering out.
“No, thanks,” Mr. Bramwell said, bending to pick up the box. “I’ve got it.”
Jack opened the door and stood to the side for Mr. Bramwell to go through, the cold air sweeping around him and into the store.
He watched as Mr. Bramwell steadily made his way to the two-seater snowmobile, a giant, sleek beast, and placed the box on the back seat before strapping it down with bungee cords. Then he straddled the machine, gunned it gently to life, and slid out of the parking lot, headed west along Elliot Street. Snow glittered in his wake, billowing up in the still air.
And now Jack was alone with Morgan once more, on this cold, bright Montana morning, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
CHAPTER 34
morgan
After breakfast, Jack hopped up to clear the table, once more chipper and bright. Morgan sighed and vowed that he’d start those exercises so he could do his fair share and Jack wouldn’t have to work so hard. Something else occurred to him. “I think I should talk with Mabel.”
Jack turned, suds sparkling on the front of his T-shirt and on the curve of his front pocket, dark with grease despite the jeans’ run through the washer.
“I need to apologize to her and ask her about the ledger. Would you be willing to drive me?”
Jack nodded, wiping his hands on his thighs.
“But before we go,” Morgan added, “would you please, please,pleasechange into your new clothes?”
“So she won’t yell at you.”
“No.” Morgan shook his head. “Well, yes, it’d be nice if she didn’t. But mostly because you deserve to be warm and comfortable, not walking around in zero degrees on the verge of frostbite.” He sighed. Once again he was attempting to dictate what Jack should do. What would make Jack happy. “Wear the boots, at least?” he asked. “So your cute feet don’t get cold.”
“My cute feet,” Jack echoed, a sassy smile curving his mouth.
“I speak only the truth,” Morgan said, pretending to be more irritated than he actually was.
