“They’ll send me the bill.”
Josiah waves his fork at me. “Still highway robbery,” he grumbles.
We keep eating.
My mother listens quietly while we talk about repairs and ranch things she hasn’t dealt with in a very long time.
After a while, our plates are almost empty.
Josiah leans back in his chair and pats his stomach. “Well now,” he says, “anybody save room for a slice of pie?”
I blink at him. “Where the hell did you get pie?” I ask.
I know Martha didn’t buy him any. She’s the one who checks his insulin every day.
His mustache twitches. “I’ve got two.”
“Two?”
“That pretty young girl you brought by the other day came back on Sunday.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. “Harleigh?”
“That’s the one.” My grandfather grins. “She asked if I minded if she gathered some chokecherries from the trees out front.”
My eyebrows climb.
“They’re ripe and needed pickin’,” he continues. “So, I told her to go right ahead.”
I lean back slowly. “And?”
“And she showed up yesterday with two pies she and her grandmother had baked.”
My mother brightens immediately. “Chokecherry pie?”
His eyes go to her. “Yep. Your mother’s favorite.”
“Oh, that’s lovely.”
Josiah nods. “She made us a pot of coffee, and we shared a slice out on the porch before she left.”
I stare at him. “You’re telling me Harleigh came out here by herself … baked you a pie … and sat on the porch, drinking coffee with you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
My mother looks at me. “Who’s Harleigh?”
Josiah answers before I can. “She works with Porter down at the hotel.”
I sigh quietly.
My mother’s gaze sharpens. “You mean the young woman we met this morning?”
I nod. “Yes. Miss Storm.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Interesting.”
Josiah chuckles.
