Page 30 of When Sparks Fly

My parents head to Dallas on Tuesday to spend a few days with Sammi and her family. I don’t know if my dad has shared our discussion regarding the ranch with Mama. If it hasn’t come up yet, the drive to and from Dallas will give them the perfect time to talk uninterrupted.

The rest of the crew and I are busy enough that I push everything out of my mind until my parents return. Terrence agreed to set up a time for Dad and me to tour the property as soon as we’re ready.

When I head into The Big House at the end of the day on Friday, my mom is talking on the phone with someone. The creak of the oven door opening greets me as I close the front door before something heavy hits the counter.

“Thank you for calling to let me know…Ok, dear. Have a good night.” The oven door slams. “Michael?”

“It’s me, Mama.” I round the corner.

“Oh, Sutton.” Her eyes crinkle in the corners as her expression lifts. I kiss the top of her head before heading to the sink to wash up. “How was your week?”

“The usual.”

She smirks as she pulls plates down and begins serving food. The front door closes again as I fill three glasses with water.

When my dad enters the kitchen, he presses a kiss to Mom’s temple. “Smells good.”

Her soft smile and pink cheeks shouldn’t be the norm after all of their years together. Or should they?

“Everything okay?” I eye the phone to clarify my question.

She waves me off. “Oh, yes. It was the photographer for the Fall Festival. She’s a sweet girl, but something came up so she can’t attend.” Mama’s inability to sit still led to her heading the committee for the Fall Festival. It’s not the biggest event in town, but it comes close.

We seat ourselves in the adjacent dining room. The leaves aren’t inserted in the round maple table currently, but come Thanksgiving when Mom prepares her grandest meal of the year, they will be. My grandfather built the ten-person table, among several other pieces of furniture throughout the house. Growing up, he taught me the art of woodworking and I’ve continued building pieces when I have the time. A small shop near the back of the house is the perfect place to escape to.

Mama gives me every detail of their trip. What my dad and I lack in words, my mom and sister make up for ten-fold. She whips out photos of the trio on her phone to accentuate the stories.

“Look at her sweet little face!” I’m not sure if it’s really as much to show me or as an excuse for her to admire them again herself. She hardly turns thephone my way and tears line her eyes. “Hasn’t she grown so much?” She’s still not looked up.

It’s true, Viviane has grown since I saw them all last. But I can’t help studying the beating heart of our family. I never realized how much she inspired Sammi’s passion for life and family. That drive to be the best for her loved ones is likely what fueled the determination Sammi needed to live through her and Viviane’s traumatic birth experience.

“She’s a cutie.” I grin over my niece when my mom looks up at me. “She looks like Justin.”

My dad eats in comfortable silence until she’s gone through all hundred photos on her phone. Finally, she sets it down and starts eating. Her food must be cold by now.

“Your mom and I discussed your plans for the ranch.” I look between them. My mom nods through a bite.

“It sounds like you worked really hard on everything,” she says. Her proud smile has returned and she sets her fork down. “I have faith that you will be successful with whatever you set out to achieve here.”

Even though I want to tell her things aren’t that simple, I know she knows. Before I started helping my dad as a teenager, my mom took on plenty of responsibility over the physical and mental burden of the ranch. “Thanks, Mama.”

“Like I told Daddy, you two do whatever you think is right.”

“You may end up with a kitchen maid soon,” I tell her with a wink.

She giggles. “I don’t need a kitchen maid.”

“Not yet,” Dad adds.

Mama moves food around on her plate. Her fork clinks against the ceramic.

“Your breakfast crew is small compared to what it could be.” I give her a pointed look. “If we maintain the same ratio of employees, you’ll need another table.”

She assesses the room with a smile.

Dad and I stand, our chairs scooting loudly over the floor. “What do you have going on this week?” I hold my hand out for her plate.

A sheepish grin crosses her face and she holds the plate up for me to take. My dad rounds the table, giving her a kiss and thanking her for dinner before he disappears down the hallway. She follows me into the kitchen and starts rinsing dishes.

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