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  “Hmmmm...maybe.”

  “Some year?”

  “Millie would, but I’m not sure about Warren. Losing the place was devastating for him.”

  “I’m sorry about my dad’s part in all of that.”

  “Well—it was nothing that you did, that’s for sure. Now Warren is starting to repeat himself—the same stories in the space of an afternoon—and he misplaces his hearing aids all the time. One day he went for a walk and he wasn’t sure how to get back. Millie kept trying to tell him and he just argued with her.”

  The white cat Sara had given them a month ago had become Warren’s shadow, and its constant presence on his lap had mellowed him some. But the visiting nurse had warned Sara that his newly diagnosed early dementia would gradually increase, and he could become more impatient and surly.

  “Yesterday Millie and I went to fill out forms to get them on a waiting list for the assisted-living facility, instead of the townhomes. She went through with it, but I haven’t seen her that sad in a long time.”

  “This reminds me to be more grateful for Betty. I think she’s still sharper than any of us grandkids.”

  “You’re absolutely right. She’s amazing.”

  “Are you still coming over to Jess and Abby’s for dinner tomorrow?”

  The Langfords had started inviting Sara over for Sunday dinner every weekend, and she’d had a chance to gradually get to know them all. There were always at least nine at the dining room table, and the friendly banter never ceased to charm her. She’d only ever imagined a home like that one, and she loved every moment.

  “It’s like being part of a Norman Rockwell painting, and I wouldn’t miss it. It was so different for me growing up.” She leaned into his embrace, savoring the sense of connection. “My parents were rarely home at the same time—probably on purpose—so I often just ate alone. I only saw families like yours on TV.”

  “I’m getting the idea that I’m your ticket to dinners with the family you always wanted,” he teased. “But I can tell you that it wasn’t always so sociable. When my dad was alive he despised idle conversation and used dinnertime to tell us what we were going to be working on next. Heather could always go around him, though. She was a pretty little girl. Smart as could be and always smiling. With her, Dad was like a benevolent grandfather. The rest of us were just employees.”

  A shadow always seemed to fall over him whenever he said his little sister’s name. “I remember hearing that she died in an accident. I’m so sorry about your loss.”

  “Some memories just never go away.” Tate sighed heavily. “She was only four when she died—two years younger than me. Every year I imagine what she would be like on her birthday and what she might have accomplished.”

  “Oh, Tate. That must be so hard.”

  “The day she died was the worst day of my life. I was the last one to see her alive, and if I’d just stopped her from running out of the house she wouldn’t have died. It was all my fault.”

  Her heart aching for him, she considered his words. “But you were only six. Were you babysitting her at that age?”

  “No, but—”

  “Had someone told you to watch her?”

  “No. But it should have been common sense—as I was told often enough later. And it was true. I should have been responsible. My brothers were outside somewhere and they should have been watching out for her too.”

  “Blaming you boys was terribly unfair to all of you.” Sara considered her words carefully. “What...happened to her?”

  “Dad was angry about something, and he was leaving for town in a hurry. He didn’t see her, and he backed right over her.”

  “So he didn’t watch out for her, either. As the driver, he should have checked first—anyone with kids and dogs should know that. It was his fault. Not yours.”

  “In his big dually with oversize tires, he couldn’t have.”

  “Again—it was his responsibility. He was the driver. He should have looked.”

  At the turbulent expression on Tate’s face, she guessed she’d maybe gone too far, and when he headed for the back door she didn’t follow.

  Her heart heavy over what the Langford boys had gone through and the guilt Tate still carried, she quietly gathered her jacket and purse and let herself out the front door.

  * * *

  Tate went out to the barn to do chores early, then switched his boots for running shoes and headed up the trail leading to the highest point on the Branson ranch.

  The snow was gone now, the quiet little creeks of summer gushing with the heavy spring runoff coming from up in the mountains.

  On the sunny side of the house he could see plants beginning to poke tentative tips of greenery through the soil, but up here everything was still winter brown and desolate.

  It served his mood perfectly.

  No one ever understood what had happened when Heather died. It was easy to lay blame if they hadn’t been there to see Dad’s blind fury. To hear him roar to the heavens about his stupid, stupid sons.

  Dad had always responded to lacerations and broken bones with angry outbursts—quick to accuse the injured child of being careless, and angry about the inconvenience. It made no sense, even after Betty tried to explain that it was the loss of control that made him feel helpless and angry.

  But the day of Heather’s death had been horrible on so many levels that to Tate it was a long and painful blur. It had spurred Dad’s anger even more, when Tate stood in front of him, mute and miserable, and unable to explain how he’d failed to protect his sister.

  But Jess and Dev were older and made of stronger stuff. They had borne the greatest onslaught, and for them the blame went on and on despite Mom’s and Grandma Betty’s pleas.

  Forgiveness had never been part of Dad’s lexicon. And until the day he died, he blamed everyone but himself for the death of his little girl.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The church smelled of lilies as Sara walked into it on Easter morning and hesitated at the back. The pews were nearly full already. She could see the Langfords in their usual place halfway up on the left, with Abby next to Jess and the twins, then Devlin and Chloe. Betty sat at one end of the family group and Tate at the other.

  She’d sat with the family last Sunday and everyone had smiled and scootched a bit closer to make room, but after yesterday’s awkward scene with Tate over Heather’s death, she wasn’t sure of her welcome.

  He’d been the one to walk out of the house first and she’d wanted to give him space to relive his ongoing grief. She also suspected he’d wanted to escape her. He hadn’t called or texted since.

  So be it.

  For weeks they’d been together most every day, and each day they’d seemed to draw closer. They cooked together, worked on projects together. Laughed and talked and teased each other over silly things, and it had seemed as if they’d been friends forever...and maybe more.

  Obviously, she’d been wrong.

  Slipping behind a group of men talking cattle prices, she went to the back pew on the far side and sat behind a tall woman with an even taller hat bedecked in lilacs. It was an awful hat but excellent camouflage, so she could avoid attracting any attention from across the church and just concentrate on absorbing the Easter message—her favorite of the entire church year.

  The organist was just beginning the first notes of “Beautiful Savior” when she felt a bump at her side and someone crowded into her.

  She didn’t even need to look to know it was Tate.

  “Why are you way over here?” he whispered.

  She gave him a sideways glance as the congregation stood up to sing. “I assumed you were still upset so I’m giving you space. I’m just not sure if it’s supposed to be temporary or permanent.”

  She picked up a hymnal from the rack on the pew in front of her and found the right page, but as
she started to sing he reached up to support half the hymnal and began to sing, as well.

  His deep, rich baritone seemed to slide over her like warm molasses, and she found herself listening to the sound of his voice instead. Who knew he had a voice like that?

  After the pastor led the congregation in prayer, everyone sat down for the sermon. Tate casually reached over and entwined his fingers in hers.

  Pastor Bob looked over the congregation, his face filled with joy. “Today, on this most glorious day of the year, we celebrate our risen Lord. We begin with John 11, Verses 25 to 26. ‘Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’”

  Sara settled back in the pew, absorbing the wonderful message. Thankful that she’d come today, to celebrate Easter with this congregation of believers—many of them people she had known all her life. Thankful too that Tate had come over to sit with her, evidence that all was well despite their brief rough patch last night.

  After the service Tate threaded her arm through the crook of his elbow and they walked outside into the sunshine together as a couple.

  When they were away from the people gathered outside the church he bent his head closer to hers. “I’m sorry about yesterday. This week is always tough for me but usually I’m on the rodeo circuit somewhere. With people who don’t know anything about what happened.”

  “So you never have to talk about it.”

  “That’s about right.”

  “And how does that work out for you?”

  He thought for a long minute. “It’s just a lot easier.”

  That sure sounds healthy. But she bit her tongue instead of saying it aloud. It was his right to manage his grief in his own way, and this had been his choice for years.

  “Happy Easter, you two.” Jess strolled over with Abby and the twins at his side. He glanced at Tate’s and Sara’s entwined arms, then looked up with a knowing smile. “Are you two coming out for Easter dinner?”

  Betty caught up with Jess and frowned. “I certainly hope so. Chloe and Dev have already left so they could check on the ham, and I’ve planned plenty for everyone. Even Abby’s dad and stepmom, though it turns out they’re driving to Butte this afternoon so they can fly to Vegas in the morning.”

  Abby chuckled affectionately. “You’ll understand when you meet her, but Darla dearly loves the flash and glitter of Las Vegas, so Dad takes her there every year. They don’t drink or gamble—she just loves all the lights, stage shows and fancy buffets.”

  “She wears twinkly dresses,” Sophie announced. “Pink and purple.”

  “Glitter and jewels too,” Bella added with obvious awe. “Except not real ones.”

  Sara smiled down at them. “You girls look pretty sparkly yourselves. Exactly like princesses.”

  “Let’s go, everyone.” Jess took Betty’s arm and herded the girls toward his Expedition. “It’s time for Easter dinner and I don’t want to be late.”

  * * *

  Betty and Abby’s Sunday and holiday dinners were always incredible, but Easter was Tate’s favorite, bar none.

  Smoky bone-in ham. Tender Langford prime rib. Poached salmon and dill sauce. A colorful array of a dozen different side dishes and salads, plus fluffy homemade rolls that practically melted in his mouth.

  By the time dinner was over and the dishes done, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t need to eat for a week.

  But then, after the girls had found the Easter baskets hidden in the yard, there was Betty’s towering lemon meringue pie, and her browned-butter pound cake, to be topped with sliced fresh strawberries and the homemade vanilla ice cream that had been churning away during the meal.

  Betty eyed him affectionately from across the table. “I do so love a young man with a good appetite. Especially when he never seems to gain an ounce no matter how much he eats.”

  Devlin coughed and slid a dry look at Tate. “I’m sure there was a compliment in there somewhere, Tater. Just keep looking.”

  “I was just thinking about how many Easter meals I’ve missed with y’all. Way too many. It’s good to be home this year.”

  Betty’s gaze took in everyone at the table, then landed on Tate. “There’s nothing I love more than the times when we’re all here together. Nothing is more special than that. Have you thought about giving up those rodeos and just being a rancher?”

  He felt an expectant silence drop over the room like a curtain, as if everyone held their breath.

  “I’ve thought about it. But I’ve been looking for a solid, successful rodeo company for years, and an opportunity like this is rare. If I don’t bid, I’ll always wonder if I could have done it.”

  Dev lifted an eyebrow. “So what’s it gonna be like, watching all of the other cowboys compete for glory while you’re in the back lot babysitting the bucking stock?”

  “Sure—I’ll miss it. But I’m considered an old man at thirty-two, compared to those younger bull and bronc riders, and with a decade of injuries behind me it’s getting harder to compete.” He realized he was rubbing the knee that had sent him to a surgeon twice, and reached for his coffee instead. “I’d rather quit when I’m still halfway good, than be a has-been racking up a lot of failures.”

  He looked over at Sara and raised a brow. She nodded, and they both gathered their coffee cups and dessert plates. “I suppose I’d better be heading back home to do chores.”

  Betty scurried over to the refrigerator and withdrew two grocery bags that she handed to Sara and Tate. “I’m sending leftovers home with everyone. You too, Sara. We’ll never eat it all here.”

  Sara smiled and gave her a quick hug, then turned to Abby and Chloe. “Thanks so much, everyone. This was the best Easter dinner I’ve ever had.”

  Abby grinned. “Next year, we’ll ask you to do the mashed potatoes. Hopefully there’ll finally be one person in the family who doesn’t end up with lumps.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Next year...

  Easter had been an entire week ago, and Abby’s words about next year were still ringing in Sara’s ears.

  Is that what everyone in Tate’s family was expecting? That she and Tate were a couple heading toward rings and wedding bells?

  If so, they’d forgotten to send Tate the memo, though they could be pardoned for their mistake.

  He’d held her hand during the Easter service, and that bit of news—PDA between the new lady vet in town and a Langford—had probably been observed and spread through the town like wildfire, because not that much happened in a community the size of Pine Bend.

  And then he’d compounded it when he’d firmly looped her arm through his as they left the church—like a newly married couple heading down the aisle after their I Do’s.

  Why had he done that?

  They’d resolved to be just friends, and she’d try to stay that course, even if she sometimes found herself dreaming about what it would be like to look forward to a lifetime with the one man she’d loved—and lost—so many years ago.

  True, she’d been here at his ranch every day since Easter, taking care of her animals and helping Tate and Devlin with the house reno. It filled her with joy to help bring Millie and Warren’s old house to life. But he hadn’t followed up on that public display of affection with anything more and she hadn’t had the courage to bring up the subject.

  Sensing that the end of a relationship was coming was one thing. Being told was another.

  He probably hadn’t meant anything by holding her hand or taking her arm in his. Maybe he’d had second thoughts. But at least she could be with him for his last three weeks in Montana before he left to chase his dreams.

  Shaking her head, she knelt in the layer of warm black soil she’d bought to spread along the foundation of Millie and Warren’s old house. Pulled a
few weeds, then carefully sprinkled fertilizer around the perennials Millie had nurtured through all the years Sara was growing up.

  The days were cool up here and the growing season short, but Millie’s wildflower gardens had once bloomed in a beautiful riot of color, and Sara intended to bring them back to their former glory.

  Even if it was a waste of time.

  With Tate still planning on going to the rodeo auction the first weekend in May, the flowers would barely have a good start before the house was empty again.

  And whoever moved in, whether buying or renting, might not even care about them.

  Still, this was for Millie, not anyone else. If Sara could coax the early spring flowers to bloom, she would bring her aunt up here to show her that someone still cared about her old home.

  Last week, roofers had installed a new steel roof. Devlin had built a kitchen island and installed new cupboards, while Tate rebuilt the upstairs bathroom and installed a new powder room downstairs. This week Tate and his brothers had refinished the wood floors both upstairs and down, and they’d installed the new insulated windows upstairs.

  The more substantive changes—like a new three-season porch—would be in the future, unless the house and a few surrounding acres were sold.

  At the sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive, she stood and shaded her eyes.

  Tate climbed out, grabbed a duffel bag out of the bed of the truck and strode up the walk. “Hey, stranger.”

  He’d been looking for ranch property in Colorado that would be far more centrally located than the Langford ranch for the base of his future rodeo company. Seeing him coming toward her after just three days apart made her pulse skip a beat and sent warmth to her cheekbones. He was the only man who’d ever had that effect on her, and she doubted anyone else would ever come close.

  Despite her best intentions, it was getting harder to imagine the future without him. But soon he would be walking right out of her life and it apparently didn’t bother him at all.