On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(12)

Bill Taylor had bought the property when he and Patsy first married. She’d been a young bride, not even twenty when they’d moved into the tiny cabin. Bill had spent the next few decades building and expanding. The large log home was worthy of a magazine cover and the centerpiece of the property. The original cabin was now a guest cottage and graced the ten acres along with a huge warm barn for Patsy’s rescued and stray animals.

Stevie stepped inside the front door, and her mother gave her a big hug and kiss and immediately put her to work setting the table. Her mother was the happiest Stevie had seen her since Bill had died. She loved to cook for people and the more the better.

“How many people, Mom?” Stevie asked as she opened a cupboard and started counting out the good plates.

“Umm . . . there should be eleven,” her mother said after a quick count on her fingers. “Put three places at the kids’ table.” Patsy wore an old-fashioned apron over her gauzy yellow sundress, her curly hair left loose and flowing far down her back. She looked like a cross between a 1950s housewife and a flower child. Which described her to a T. A former bluegrass singer, Patsy had given up a possible career to marry her high school sweetheart, immerse herself in rural life, and raise four kids. She’d had two boys and two girls. James, Stevie, Carly, and Bruce.

Stevie carried the heavy stack of plates out to the long table on the deck. Summertime meant eating outside. The day’s heat had peaked and started to wane, and Stevie sucked in a breath of the sweet smell of the sunbaked grass hay. She closed her eyes and let the scent flow through her brain. That was a smell she’d missed in LA. Her two brothers manned the grills on the deck, each with a beer in his hand, arguing about whether the ribs had cooked long enough. Stevie spread out the plates and went to join them, grabbing a Diet Coke out of the bin of iced drinks.

Stevie sniffed at the ribs. “They need five more minutes,” she pronounced.

“No, the meat’s not soft enough yet,” answered Bruce. He brushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes, and Stevie bit back the need to tell him to get a haircut.

Bruce was the only Taylor kid living at home. From what Stevie could see, he spent most of his time playing video games in his room. He and his band had a practice area set up in the basement, but Stevie didn’t know how often they actually practiced. Bruce had their mother’s full support for his dream to make it in a rock band. Perhaps it was her mother’s way of living out the music dream she’d never pursued.

Stevie wished he’d go to college and study something. At least have a backup plan.

Granted, music was a difficult career track. One that took skill, hard work, and a lot of luck. Their oldest brother, James, had argued that Bruce should be pursuing a real career instead of simply waiting around for lightning to strike. Stevie suspected their father had agreed but kept his mouth shut in deference to Patsy. But now Stevie was happy that Bruce was living in the big house so their mother wasn’t alone. Carly and her daughter had moved into the small guesthouse on the property after her marriage had fallen apart, but Stevie liked that Patsy had someone directly underfoot to mother.

“Hey, Stevie,” James said with a big grin. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He took a swig of beer, and Bruce elbowed him in the ribs.

“Knock it off,” whispered Bruce. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” His brown eyes shot a concerned look her way, and Stevie froze mid-sip.

“What’s going on?” She glared at James, who’d suddenly developed a deep interest in the ribs.

An Irish setter came around the corner of the house and rushed up the stairs to the deck, toenails sliding on the wood as she tried to stop in front of Stevie. “Hey, Trina-girl.” Stevie bent to rub the setter’s ears.

Footsteps on the stairs made her look up.

There’s James’s surprise.

Eric Hearne stopped his climb, his gaze locked on her. He held a wet tennis ball gingerly with two fingers. Stevie sighed. Eric looked as good as ever. They’d dated for two years in high school, and she’d thought he was the love of her life. Separation for two months at different colleges had been too much for him, and he’d broken it off. He’d eventually married, but James had told her a few years back that he’d gotten divorced. She’d bumped into him a few times over the years, but they hadn’t done more than chat a bit. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her two brothers watching with speculative grins. She glared at them.

“Hi, Stephanie. Good to see you.” Eric flashed his quick grin.

No one called her by her given name except Eric. And a few of her schoolteachers who could never remember that she preferred Stevie. Her name had been a compromise between her parents. Her mother had wanted her to simply be Stevie after Stevie Nicks, but her father had felt it was too masculine and pushed for Stephanie. Patsy had agreed and then promptly called her Stevie.

“Hi, Eric. How’ve you been?” She gave Trina a last pat on the head as Eric approached. He was a good guy. As far as she’d seen and heard, he was a solid member of the community and had been kind to his ex-wife. He was simply a bit boring in her book. Dependable, but boring.

I could use a big dose of dependable in my life.

She took a harder look at him as he accepted the beer James offered. He’d always been close friends with James and clearly her brother felt he was worth keeping around. Some of her brothers’ friends had been useless deadweight that they’d sloughed off over the years. The guys they’d stood by were usually the good ones.