She looked in the direction of the voice and noted that her boyfriend’s mother was heading her way. “Hi, Oma.” She waved.
“Oh, honey. I’m so glad I ran into you today. I was talking to Jason at dinner last night, and he says the guest ranch is opening this weekend.” She clasped her hands together with excitement.
Charlie Grace nodded. “That’s right.”
“Are you nervous? My boy tells me you’re a little worried no one will show up.”
Charlie Grace held back a sigh, unsure how she felt about her discussions with Jason being shared with his mother. She made a mental note to mention the matter to him.
Not that she believed Oma held any ill will. The entire town adored Oma Griffith, a widow who was known for being compassionate and generous, often delivering meals to anyone who fell ill. Kids in town had spent hours in her home after school, playing card games.
Once, Charlie Grace went to the cemetery to put flowers on her mother’s grave and found Oma sitting in a lawn chair next to where her beloved Earl was buried. “You know, the sky looks a lot different when you have someone up there,” was all Oma said.
Remembering this, Charlie Grace felt nothing but compassion for the woman before her. She pulled her phone from her purse. “Would you like to see the new sign out at the ranch?” She poised the phone so that Oma could get a good look at the images.
“Oh, Charlie Grace. It’s becoming so real. I am so proud of you.”
Oma would make a lovely mother-in-law. Even so, Charlie Grace knew she would never marry her son for more reasons than she had time to go into. Right now, she had to place an ad for some ranch help.
She drew Oma into a hug. “Thank you. That means so much.” She straightened and pointed toward the door leading to the news office. “Look, I wish I had more time to chat, but….”
Oma waved her hand. “Go. You have a lot to do, no doubt.”
Charlie Grace bid her goodbye and turned for the newspaper office entrance, flanked by half-barrel planters packed full of pink petunias, daisies, and blue lobelia flowing over the sides. She opened the door, and a little bell tinkled.
“Hello,” she called out into the empty room.
Albie Barton peeked his head from the back room. His tie hung loose against his white button-down shirt, rolled at the sleeves. Cobwebs were hanging from his ruffled dark hair. “Oh, sorry. I was in the attic space looking for some old issues.”
“Old issues?”
“Yeah, I thought of resurrecting an article about America’s bicentennial. I must’ve mismarked those boxes. There wasn’t a thing in the one labeled 1976.”
“Sorry.” It was all Charlie Grace could think of to say.
Albie brushed the palms of his hands together. “Well, enough of that. What can I do you for?”
Charlie Grace grabbed her wallet. “I need to place an ad in the classified section. For a ranch hand,” she added.
“You bet. Let’s get you taken care of.”
The bell rang, pulling both of their attention toward the door. In walked Nicola Cavendish, known for her love of martinis…and gossip. “Well, hello, you two.” The words poured from her lips like syrup as she directed her gaze at Charlie Grace. “Did I overhear you’re placing an ad for a ranch hand?”
Charlie Grace nodded, hating to confirm her business with the banker’s wife, who was known for sharing information liberally around town.
“Well, isn’t that interesting?”
Charlie Grace frowned. “Interesting? Why?”
Nicola’s mouth drew into a slow, wide grin. “Because I just saw your ex-husband coming out of the Rustic Pine. He said he’d just been hired by your dad.”
7
Charlie Grace pressed her foot on the brake so hard the tires threw gravel. She jumped from the pickup and headed for the house, taking the porch steps two at a time.
The wise thing might be to stop and take a deep breath—right here and right now. Charlie Grace threw wisdom to the wind and opened the door with the same force that had slammed into her when she heard Nicola Cavendish’s announcement.
“Dad!” she shouted. She glanced around the empty living room and headed for the hallway leading to his bedroom. “Dad,” she repeated, louder this time.
