Page 10 of Roaring Fork Wrangler

She leaned in and kissed my cheek.

My dad took a sip, then looked up at me. “A breakfast date?”

“Did you just pick up on that?” my mom asked, nudging him.

“My brain won’t process anything until I’ve had caffeine. So, what about it?”

“A guest checked into the inn last night—” I began.

“He’s starting work at the Lilacs tomorrow,” my mom told him.

“Anyway, I offered to tell him more about the village. Maybe show him around.”

“That’ll be a long breakfast date, considering it’s Sunday and nothing opens before noon, if that.”

I shrugged. “I could take him ice skating. Or we could go for a walk.” I filled my cuphalfway. “Also, this close to Christmas, I think some of the shops have earlier hours.”

My dad leaned in and kissed my cheek like my mom had. “You’re a nice girl, June-bug. Some might say too nice, considering you offered to get up this early.”

“You haven’t seen this guy,” said my mom, taking eggs and milk out of the refrigerator. “Not that he’d have the same impact on you that he did us.”

When he raised a brow, she set the things in her hand on the counter and hugged him. “He’s a cowboy from Colorado.”

My dad kissed her temple. “He must be taking over for JD.”

We both nodded. “Makes sense, except he said he’s supposed to call Hoss tomorrow.”

My dad made a face. “Hoss Schultz is a criminal.”

“He hasn’t actually been charged with anything, Jay,” my mom reminded him.

“Doesn’t make him any less of one.” My dad turned to me. “The last thing I want to do is rain on your parade, sweetheart, but if this guy is mixed up with Schultz, I’m going to suggest you keep your distance.”

“Understood.” My parents let Grayson and me make our own decisions, particularly after we became adults. So when one of them made a “suggestion,” as he’d put it, I listened. So did my brother.

“He seems like a nice young man,” my mom added, cracking the eggs in the bowl she’d taken out of the cupboard. On instinct, I grabbed the flour and sugar and put a stick of butter in a cup in the microwave.

Every Sunday, my mom made cinnamon cake as a treat for Dad since it was the only day he took off. The Goat, our family’s bar and restaurant, was still open, but the staff had ganged up on him, saying they wouldn’t let him come in unless it was a dire emergency. Grayson and I were pretty sure our mom had bribed them to do it.

“Have you heard how Miss Cena is?” he asked.

“I haven’t.”

I looked at my mom, who shook her head. “I haven’t, either.”

Miss Cena, as we all called her even though she’d been married, was ninety-nine years old. I heard a rumor that she’d turn one hundred sometime around Christmas. Not that she’d ever admit it.

I thought back to when I last saw her. It was at least a year ago. Then, she’d asked me to bring my diploma over to show her when I returned home in May.

“I’ve never met someone who got two master’s degrees at one time,” she’d told me the last time I visited.

According to her housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, who answered the phone when I called, Miss Cena wasn’t receiving visitors, but she’d let me know if her condition improved. Nine months had passed, and I still hadn’t heard from her. Maybe I’d try calling again when I returned home later today.

“You best be off if you don’t want to be late,” said my mom, motioning to the clock.

I was stunned to see it was a quarter to eight. “Yeah, I gotta go.” After kissing the cheeks of both my parents, who told me to have a good time, I walked out the door.

As I sat in the car, waiting for it to warm up, I gazed at the house I grew up in. It was an old Victorian that my father had purchased and painstakingly renovated shortly after my parents were married.

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