Charlie Grace grinned and gave her a slight elbow jab. “So, when’s the wedding?”
Capri groaned. “Oh, stop. We’re not in a hurry. Jake and I will know when the time is right. And it will be something simple. Quiet and simple.”
“Mm-hmm,” Reva murmured. “Speaking of weddings…” she smirked, taking a sip of her coffee.
Just like that, their conversation shifted to Jason’s wedding—the event everyone in Thunder Mountain was still buzzing about.
“It was the tackiest spectacle I’ve ever seen,” Lila said, shaking her head. “The whole thing was pink and gold. My favorite was the champagne fountain made out of an actual ice sculpture of the bride and groom. Hours into the ceremony and their faces were melting off.”
Charlie Grace shuddered. “Don’t forget the sparkler send-off. I thought for sure someone’s hair was going to catch on fire.”
“And the frosting-loaded-six-tier cake was overkill,” Lila added, chuckling. “All that glittery gold piping looked more fitting for a Vegas marquee than a wedding.”
Reva laughed. “So, Capri, what’s your dream wedding, then?”
“Not that,” Capri said firmly. “No pink. No gold. Like I said, something understated and quiet.”
Reva arched a brow. “Look, friend—I’ve known you since we were high school cheerleaders. You’ve never lived a quiet moment in your life.”
Capri grinned. “True.”
Reva shot a look over at Charlie Grace. “Hey, what’s this I hear about Jewel finding some abandoned pups?”
Charlie Grace let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You should’ve seen Jewel’s face when she found them—like it was Christmas morning and every present under the tree had her name on it. She was out near the old logging road with Aunt Mo when she heard these tiny yips, and sure enough, tucked in a little hollow under some brush, were those pups. Abandoned, no mama in sight. She scooped them up like they were made of gold and came running back to the ranch, begging to keep them before Mo even had a chance to blink.”
“Did someone dump them there?” Reva asked.
Charlie Grace shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. There was no box or anything. Aunt Mo said they looked like they hadn’t eaten in a while.”
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I told Jewel we’d have to figure things out, but that we couldn’t keep them. But you know my daughter—she’s already named them, picked out where they’re all going to sleep, and decided what color collars they’ll wear. If it were up to her, she’d adopt every last one. We all know that’s not possible.” She slid her fingers around her coffee mug. “And for the record, the pups are sleeping in the barn and not in her bedroom—as disappointing as that was for my daughter.”
Lila leaned in. “I can take a look at them, make sure they’re healthy,” she offered. “See if they’re now eating well and thriving, check for any issues.”
Reva nodded. “And when it’s time, I can put up a notice for adoption. There’s always someone in town looking for a good dog.” She formed a knowing grin. “Of course, with Jewel, there’ll never be a time. She won’t ever think they’re ready to leave.”
Charlie Grace chuckled. “Yeah, well, she’s got a heart too big for her own good. But we’ll figure it out. Somehow.”
Across the room, Fleet suddenly straightened at the bar. “Wait a second,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Where’s my donut?”
Annie paused mid-pour. “Fleet, you already ate it.”
“No, I didn’t,” Fleet insisted, looking around suspiciously. “I think someone ate it!”
Annie folded her arms. “Fleet.”
“What?”
“You ate it.”
Fleet’s face scrunched in confusion before realization dawned. “Huh.” He scratched his head. “Well. Guess I’ll have another.”
The girls at the corner table burst into laughter, their warm chatter filling the Rustic Pine as the morning stretched on.
3
Thunder Mountain’s City Hall stood as a testament to the town’s rugged beginnings—a sandstone relic with creaky floors, tall sash windows, and walls lined with sepia-toned photographs in pine and walnut frames. Each image told a piece of the town’s story: cattle drives down Main Street, the original mercantile with flour barrels on the porch, and proud schoolchildren standing in front of a one-room schoolhouse beneath a hand-painted sign that read, “Fall Term 1894.” Time may have marched on, but the building held fast—weathered, dignified, and dependable.
Reva stepped through the front doors with a familiar blend of purpose and calm, still carrying the quiet warmth of her morning coffee with the girls. The laughter, the teasing and talking over one another, the knowing looks—they grounded her. No matter what chaos awaited her inside these walls, time with her friends always reminded her who she was.
