“Thanks, baby.” Lila eased her car into the tight spot between Pete and Annie Cumberland’s pickup and Fleet Southcott’s patrol car. “Careful when you get out,” she warned her daughter. “We don’t need any more dents in my car doors.”
Reva was the one to suggest that Charlie Grace host an end-of-season barbecue, a celebration of the amazing success the new guest ranch had enjoyed the first year after opening. Charlie Grace was initially reluctant but quickly folded when she and Capri jumped on the idea during one of their Friday night get-togethers.
“Yes, you need a party!” Capri said. “Last spring, we were gifting you a new website. Now, look—you’ve had a season filled with guests.”
“And your bank account shows it,” Reva reminded. “Another season like this and you’ll have your bank loan paid in full.”
Capri nodded enthusiastically. “Everyone will want to help recognize all that you accomplished. Have the party,” she urged. “Let’s celebrate.”
Charlie Grace could hardly argue with that.
Lila placed her arm around her daughter’s shoulder as they headed for the crowd. From the looks of things, the entire town must be here.
Verna Billingsley was standing by the firepit chatting with the Knit Wits, each one dressed to the hilt. Oma Griffith had on a bright orange pair of pants with a tropical print shirt. Betty Dunning’s outfit was a bit more sedate—jeans and a white button-down top. She did have on a pair of bright red flats that matched the bracelets on her wrist. Dorothy Vaughn chose a flowing skirt in a western motif and cowboy boots. The gals were all cute as buttons.
Charlie Grace’s dad, Clancy, was in his wheelchair near the barbecue pit, talking animatedly and pointing to the steaks on the grill. Based on the look on Ford Keaton’s face, he didn’t appreciate the cooking advice.
Albie sat in a lawn chair near a big pine tree. He wore a wide smile as he jiggled his niece’s chubby baby on his lap while Lizzy took the moment of freedom and headed for the beer keg to join her husband, Gibbs.
Wooster and Nicola Cavendish were there. As was Diane Robinson and her young daughter. Seems everyone was taking the opportunity to celebrate and enjoy the beautiful evening.
Lila took a deep breath, feeling a sense of belonging as she looked around. She squeezed Camille’s shoulder and smiled. “Let’s go find Capri and the others,” she said, leading her daughter into the heart of the gathering.
They wove through the clusters of people, greeting familiar faces along the way. Lila spotted Capri near the gazebo, deep in conversation with Reva and Charlie Grace. She gave Camille a gentle nudge toward the refreshment table. “Why don’t you grab us some lemonade, sweetie?”
Camille nodded and headed off, leaving Lila to join her friends. “Looks like the whole town showed up,” she said, moving into the circle.
“Of course, they did,” Capri beamed. “No one wants to miss Charlie Grace’s parties.”
Charlie Grace chuckled, her eyes scanning the crowd. “I think it’s more about the company and the yummy food than the party planning.”
Reva nudged Lila playfully. “Speaking of company, guess who just arrived?”
Lila followed Reva’s gaze and her heart sank. Whit Calloway. He stood near the edge of the gathering, looking somewhat out of place in his polished boots.
Lila’s stomach tightened. “Great,” she muttered. “Just what I needed.”
“Maybe he’s not so bad,” Capri suggested, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Why don’t you go say hello?”
“Not a chance,” Lila replied quickly, shaking her head. “I’m not in the mood for another run-in.”
“Why? Did something else happen?” Charlie Grace asked.
Sure, she could explain how he’d accused her of having no life, but her friends would likely take his side. She wasn’t up to arguing her point—not with them or with her new boss.
To her relief, Whit approached Pastor Pete and Annie. Whatever he said made Annie laugh. She continued to watch as he finished his conversation and headed for the barbecue pit, where large burlap-wrapped beef roasts had been slow-cooking for hours. He surveyed the setup and chatted with Ford, the cook. Ford led him to the grills where steaks were cooking.
Whit was dressed in a well-worn black T-shirt that hugged his athletic frame and a pair of faded jeans that fit just right. The baseball cap on his head bore some sort of logo and his eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses. A loyal hunting dog with a sleek coat and expressive eyes trailed beside him, the bond between man and animal evident in every shared glance and easy smile.
“Lila. Did you hear me?” asked Reva.
Her attention snapped back to the group. “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Reva pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “I asked how things were going at the vet clinic with Doc Tillman gone.”
Lila sighed. “Fine.” Her answer was short and clipped. She didn’t want to admit the tension that pervaded, or how often Whit had new ideas and methods that irked her. That would make her sound petty.
The truth was, Whit had gone out of his way to include her on what he termed “the team.” He never hesitated to ask her along when the wild horse got hurt and needed treatment and then a transport to the sanctuary. He asked her opinion and didn’t hover over her every move like Doc Tillman often had. To anyone on the outside, she had little reason to feel negative toward her new boss.
