Merry Cowboy Christmas (Lucky Penny Ranch #3)(21)

“Politics, aka town gossip,” she said to herself. She was used to getting up early because she’d had the early shift at the coffee shop. Folks who had to be at work by eight wanted time to drink the first cup in the shop and then take one with them to sip on throughout the morning.

Fiona dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a soft dark green sweater and fished an old comfortable pair of cowboy boots from the back of the closet. Seven years she’d been gone and had only been home for a short while and yet old habits had come back as if she’d never left. Shaking the bugs out of her boots. Sitting on the step to put them on. Tucking the legs of her jeans down into them.

Katy laid a hand on her shoulder. “Good morning. Ready to go to work again?”

Fiona stood up and hugged her mother. “Good morning to you, too. Hey, I forgot to tell you that Lucy Hudson wants me to take over her books, too. She might come by and talk to me this morning.”

“Ladies?” Jud stepped out of his room. “Books? What books?”

“Fiona went to school to be an accountant. She’s always been good with figures,” Katy said.

The pride in her mother’s voice made Fiona’s heart swell. She’d always known that her mother loved her but that morning she felt it down deep rather than just heard the spoken words.

“We might need to talk about the Lucky Penny business, then,” Jud said.

Fiona blinked and tried looking away, but it didn’t work. Wearing snug jeans, a dark blue thermal knit shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and scuffed cowboy boots—well, that was definitely sex-on-a-stick right there. Then add in bedroom eyes that hadn’t had enough sleep and blond hair that curled when it was too long, and it was enough to make a saint sit up and take notice.

“Mornin’, Jud,” she said. “I’d be glad to take on the accounting for the Lucky Penny.”

He nodded slightly toward her and then turned his attention to Katy. “Smells like Dora June was serious.”

“I love home cooking.” Fiona started down the stairs.

“My girls have always had healthy appetites,” Katy giggled.

Dora June was bustling around in the kitchen. She wore a red sweatshirt with a picture of Santa Claus on the front and green sweatpants that were rolled at the hem. “I know I must look crazy but I love the way this feels. All soft and Christmas like.” She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows. “Sit right down and have a nice cinnamon apple muffin while I fix y’all some eggs. I didn’t want to cook them until you were here because cold eggs are horrible.”

“Dora June, you don’t have to wait on us.” Fiona buttered a warm muffin and rolled her eyes. “You should be baking for a fancy coffee shop. These would sell for five dollars each where I used to work.”

Dora June beamed. “Aah, honey, wait until you taste my orange cranberry. I like to make them in the holiday season. Speaking of that, I make cookies every Saturday during the season so I can have them for my Sunday school class. Y’all will have to eat the broken ones.”

“Well, now, that is surely a chore I will look forward to.” Jud smiled. “Where’s Truman this morning?”

“He eats at five every morning and goes out to do chores by six. I expect he’s over at the house trying to prove it was the Christmas tree that caused the fire. I cried and worried until after midnight, but finally a voice in my head had a talk with me and I’m fine with things this morning. I’m sixty-eight years old and…” She prattled on as she cracked eggs into a bowl and whipped them into a yellow froth. “I’ve been praying for two years that God would show Truman that it’s time for us to retire and do something else. I didn’t want the answer to be what it was, but who am I to question God?”

Fiona buttered another muffin and got the message as loud and clear as if it had been delivered through the voices in her head. The old truck barely making it to Dry Creek, the way things were working out, they were all answers to the prayers that she’d had in her head those weeks when she ran out of food and had no money. She’d been led to Dry Creek for a reason.

“Now Truman”—Dora June poured the eggs into a cast-iron skillet with melted butter in the bottom—“he’s got to make his own peace and God has a little harder time convincin’ him than he does me. He’ll be back in the middle of the morning and we’re going to Wichita Falls to buy clothing.”

“Don’t worry about supper,” Fiona started.

“Oh, we’ll be back by then. I’ve got a chicken in the slow cooker and plan on making dumplin’s tonight.”

After he’d finished breakfast, Jud carried his dishes to the cabinet, rinsed them, and put them in the dishwasher. Fiona followed so close behind him that she caught a whiff of his aftershave with every breath.

“Y’all been raised right,” Dora June said seriously. “Now get on out of here and go to work and I’ll busy myself with my jobs.”

Fiona wanted to remind Dora June that she wasn’t the boss, that she might have taken on the job of chief cook and maid, but that didn’t give her any parental rights or even grandparent rights, but she kept her tongue.

“You got that right, Miz Dora. I’m procrastinatin’ going out there in the cold wind to feed cows but I suppose it’s got to be done,” Jud said. “Thank you for the mighty fine breakfast. You mind if I tuck a couple of those muffins in my pockets for a midmorning snack?”