Anjalee shakes her head, and then stops, tilts her head to one side. “Do you know, I have never tried it? Perhaps I will like coffee.”
Luke and I exchange grins—Lilly clearly grew up making coffee for men like Luke and me, meaning thick as molasses.
“Maybe a touch of creamer in it for her, Lilly,” I suggest. “Dash of sugar, probably, too.”
Lilly fixes a mug for Anjalee, who moves to the stool on the other side of me, reaching for toast. She accepts the mug from Lilly with a murmur of thanks, taking a gingerly sip. Her eyes go wide, then narrow, then confused.
“Do you know, I am not sure if I like this coffee or not?” Another sip. “It is better than tea, at least.”
Lilly eyes me with a twinkling, teasing smile. “Got her drinking cowboy coffee, Kane. Better hang on to this one.”
Anjalee sips again, holding the mug in both hands—why is everything she does so goddamn adorable? “What is this cowboy coffee, please?”
“Well, not all coffee is the same. Know how when you make tea, the longer you leave the bag in the water, the stronger it tastes?” She nods. “Coffee is the same. You go to a diner, their coffee will be a lot thinner and weaker than this. Cowboy coffee, this stuff—” I lift my mug, “is so thick you could stand a spoon up in it. Only way to make it, in my opinion.”
Lilly has a carton of eggs open, and she’s swiftly cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl, an egg in each hand, cracking and opening them simultaneously with practiced dexterity. When she’s cracked an entire dozen into the bowl, she whisks them with a fork, adds salt and pepper and a dash of cayenne, then pours them into the pan with the bacon grease. The still-hot pan sizzles and bubbles, and she uses a rubber spatula to scramble them, adding generous pinches of shredded cheddar as she stirs.
When they’re done, she divides them four ways evenly, sets them in front of each of us, and takes the stool next to Luke. We dig in.
“Holy shit, Lilly,” I mumble around a mouthful. “These are fuckin’ amazing.”
Lilly leans forward to look at me past Luke. “Just scrambled eggs, honey. But thanks.”
I set my fork down, chest heavy. “I haven’t had food cooked by a woman’s hand with love since the morning…” I swallow hard. “Since that morning. You got no fuckin’ clue what it means to me, being here, seeing you lovin’ on Luke, eatin’ your eggs.”
I look at Anjalee. Words don’t come out, can’t and won’t, but I know she sees it in me.
Luke clears his throat. “On the subject, uh, sort of. I know you passed by the, uhh…location…down the road, but…” a sigh, another gruff clearing of his throat. “She’s buried over on the far side of the west graze. Sure you know the spot. The twin birches, and the little crick.”
I place my palms on the counter, head hanging. “Luke, shit. I…shit.”
Lilly reaches past Luke, touches my knuckles. “Be good for you, honey. Talk to her. Tell her what’s in your heart.”
I nod. “Yeah.” I sigh, long and deep. “Yeah, I’ll ride out there.”
Luke digs a flip phone from his pocket. “I’ll have Greg saddle Gutsy for you. We’ll all go.”
I look at him in shock. “Gutsy? That cranky old fuck is still under saddle?”
Luke snorts. “That cranky old fuck is still my best cutter.”
“Yeah, I guess that figures. Too stubborn to be put out to pasture.”
“Right.” He looks at Anjalee. “You ride, darlin’?”
She blinks at him. “Do I ride what, please?”
“Horses.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh, no, I have never had the opportunity. I should very much like to, however.”
I glance at Luke. “Patsy still around?”
Luke nods. “Good choice for her. Patsy’s only gotten mellower with age. Drop the reins and the ol’ girl will come on back to the barn on her own. Won’t spook for nothin’, either. Shot rifles from that mare’s back.”
I chew on the question before I ask it. “You got any old boots around? Size eight and a half or nine?”
Luke doesn’t answer, just nods—he knows what I mean, what I can’t bring myself to say. “Yeah. Got a bin of stuff I couldn’t bring myself to toss, down in the cellar. There’s a pair in there.”
