“I need to get started on the cooking,” I said. “We have to set up the dining room, too. Walt is taking Gigi and the other kids on a trail ride to keep them busy today.”
We were a big party for Thanksgiving this year. Faith and her daughters, Vesper and Lyric, were staying at Cottonwood Cottage, and they’d invited Gigi to bunk with them. She was beyond thrilled to spend time with her older cousins. Lauren had family staying with us at the ranch, too. Tori, her boyfriend Nick, and his three teen daughters were lodging in the Bluebell cottage. When Lauren invited her sister for Thanksgiving, I didn’t really expect her to say yes, but Mama Cozzi was on a cruise with Rocco and his partner, so the timing was perfect.
Sam backed up toward the door. “I have to see a few clients this morning, so I’ll have to come back later to help with the cooking. I’m bringing pumpkin and pecan pies, three of each. C’mon, Jake!” His little pal ran to his side, long ears flapping.
Ella waved to us. “See you soon!”
“I can move around the furniture in the dining room so we can seat everyone.” Bowie poured his eggs and vegetables into the pan. “Do you want me to set the tables, too?”
“That would be great. Lauren, Faith and I can do most of the cooking. Faith is also going to work on making centerpieces.”
There was another knock at the door as Faith appeared with a basket full of plant clippings. “Was that Sam I saw leaving?”
“You’ll be shocked,” I said, “but he managed to get out of helping us chop wood and move furniture.”
Faith laughed. “Give him a break. He’s probably going to put his hand up a cow’s butt later today. That’s much worse than chopping wood.” She started reaching for the pull on one of the upper cabinets. “Do you still have Mom’s vases in here?”
“Probably.” I reached up to open it for her, then followed her directions to take out all the vases she needed.
“I touched up all the tablecloths and napkins with an iron yesterday,” she said, “and we’re preparing enough food for a small army. Vesper is making hot cider. Lyric wanted to make a charcuterie board for appetizer hour. I told her I wasn’t sure if we were doing apps, but then I figured, why not?”
“Charcuterie board?” Bowie lifted his eyebrows. “This is the New Yorker’s influence.”
“Says the guy who buys imported Swedish bread.” My phone buzzed with a text from Sam, which I quickly scanned. “Sounds like we need to set two more places. Sam just remembered he invited Cal and Austin to join us.”
“He what?” Faith’s voice hit a shrill note.
“He ran into them at the feed store yesterday, and they were going to be alone at the ranch this year.” I looked back at his message. “I’m supposed to text them the time.”
“And he’s telling us this now? On Thanksgiving day? Flipping Sam.” That was the closest Faith ever came to swearing, and it meant she was seething, which seemed like an outsized reaction, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that.
“Do two more people really matter?” Bowie asked, as Faith folded her arms on her chest. “You said we have a ton of food.”
Quick as a rattlesnake strike, her disposition changed. “You’re right.” She turned her back to us and began plucking through the greenery in her basket. “We can make room. It’s good he asked them.”
Bowie and I exchanged knowing looks because we’d lived with our mercurial sister for eighteen years in that house. Maybe she was feeling the pressure of feeding so many people, although she wasn’t doing it alone. We were certainly all pitching in and doing our part. Bowie and I had both tried to convince her to move back to Three Rivers, suggesting she take on a position at the ranch dealing with staff or hospitality, but she kept resisting that idea. I was hoping this trip would make her change her mind because if anyone needed a fresh start, it was Faith.
“I’m going to shower,” I said. “Then I need to check that turkey.”
I’d brined the bird the day before in a mixture of salt and citrus, the way Chef Damon had directed me by email. I tried to get him out to the ranch for Thanksgiving, but he’d taken a job as a personal chef for actors who lived in a six-million dollar Brooklyn brownstone, and they wanted him to cook their holiday meal. They were sober, too, which worked out well for him, and he sounded happy with his job, at least as happy as a curmudgeon can be. They only needed him for six months, so he’d be available in time for summer season at the ranch. Before Lauren fully committed to re-hiring Chef Damon, she’d had lunch with him in the city to check on how he was doing and, according to her, clean living agreed with him. She said he looked ten years younger and even smiled a few times.
Lauren was still in the shower in our bathroom, which was good luck for me. The air was steamy, but I could make out her form behind the foggy shower doors.
“Any room in there for me?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said. “Come join me.”
“Someone told me I smell like horses.” After shucking off my clothing, I stepped into the steam with her. “Help me get cleaned up?”
She grabbed the pink bathing sponge she’d brought with her and pumped some sweet smelling lavender soap onto it. Before Lauren, I washed with my parents’ ancient washcloths and bar soap from The General Store, so this was a new, perfumed world for me. Lauren began rubbing the soapy water over my chest, but this wasn’t merely a seduction on her part. She was serious about her job of getting me clean, which made me smile. You didn’t become a multi-millionaire entrepreneur by getting sidetracked from your purpose.
After my chest and neck, she addressed my armpits, shoulders and arms, and then she went back to my chest.
“A little lower,” I told her, keeping my voice serious.
She looked up at me and smiled, trailing her washcloth to my stomach. “Right here?”
I tilted my head. “That’s good, but a little lower.”
