Home Again: Starting Over

by Becki Willis

  Genny’s blue eyes twinkled in response. “Lucky for you, I actually can.”

  Cutter broke in with formal introductions. “Dad, this lovely lady and the owner of this fine establishment is Genesis Baker. Genny, my father, Tug Montgomery.”

  “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “Please, call me Tug.” His hand was huge, dwarfing Genny’s as he offered it.

  “So what can we get for you two gentlemen today?”

  “Son, what do you recommend?”

  “Everything.” His reply was instant. “Genny makes the best food you’ve ever tasted.”

  “Better not let your momma hear you say that, son,” Tug advised. He grinned as his eyes flitted back and forth between them, assessing the situation. Something in his knowing gaze made Genny uncomfortable.

  Cutter stood his ground. “You always taught me honesty was the best policy.”

  Tug chuckled aloud. “Yes, but there are certain times in a man’s life, like when he’s sitting at his mother’s dinner table, that he must use the fine art of diplomacy.”

  “I’ll give you a few more minutes, if that will help,” Genny offered.

  Cutter decided for them both. “Bring us two specials.”

  “Wait one minute, son. What’s on it?” his father asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Cutter insisted stubbornly. “It will be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

  Tug was impressed with his son’s steady, challenging stare. He relented with a shrug of his mouth. “You heard the man, then. Two specials.”

  When she returned five minutes later with their lunch, the men were discussing plans for baling one last cut of hay.

  “Be there early in the morning so we can get started,” Tug told his son. “It was a darn shame what happened to Ranker’s hay field. We need to get ours cut before a fire strikes us, too.” He turned his attentions to the plate before him, piled high with food. “Well, the portions are decent,” Tug said with approval. He poked around with his fork. “But what’s this stuff?”

  Cutter knew the answer to this one. “Risotto.”

  “Riso-who?”

  Genny’s laugh was one of sheer delight. “You sound exactly like your son, the first time he had it. But it turned out to be delicious, didn’t it?”

  “I must admit, it was. Then again, it may have had something to do with the fact that you were hand feeding me,” Cutter teased. “Do I get the royal treatment again today?”

  “With all those camera-happy women sitting over there? Not on your life, buster!”

  “Hmm, not bad.” Tug shoveled another forkful into his mouth. “Not bad at all.”

  “Wait until you taste the rest of it,” Cutter predicted. “Her rolls taste just like Grandma’s. Especially with the special butter she whips up.”

  “Give me time, son. Give me time,” Tug said as he dug into his meal. His mouth already full, he winked at Genny as she excused herself and floated off to the next table.

  By the time the tour group left and much of the crowd thinned out, the Montgomery men were ready for their final course.

  “Desserts are listed here, but we also have blackberry cobbler, apple turnovers, and a selection of cookies and cupcakes in the bakery case. What can we get for you?”

  “How about another one of those cookies you slipped my son earlier? What did you call them?”

  “Gennydoodle, my signature cookie.”

  “I’ll take a couple of those and a piece of cobbler. I assume it comes with Blue Bell ice cream?” His eyes twinkled again as he propped thick arms upon the table.

  “Of course. Cutter?”

  “Do you even have to ask?” he grinned.

  Genesis playfully rolled her eyes. “A warm apple turnover with ice cream, coming up. I swear, you’re going to turn into an apple turnover one of these days.”

  When she returned with their desserts, Tug waved to the seat beside his son. “Have a seat. There’s something we want to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?” Curious, she slid into the spot Cutter vacated. He shifted to the inside of the booth, taking his prized dessert with him.

  “Mary Alice has a birthday coming up. We want to throw her a party, and Cutter suggested we have it here.”

  “Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea! I love doing parties!” Genny’s blue eyes sparkled.

  “The thing is, Mary Alice is a fine cook. Until today, I would have sworn she was the best in the county.” Tug gave her a meaningful look. “Much as I love the woman, she’s mighty particular about eating other people’s cooking.”

  “You think… she won’t approve of mine?”

  “Well, now, that’s why I came here today. I had to see for myself. Based on what you just fed me, I’m thinking it might take another taste test or two to be sure.” His eyes twinkled merrily. “Five or six, at the most.”

  Realizing he was teasing her, Genesis laughed along with the men. “You might want to do another taste test on Monday,” she suggested. “We’ll have fried chicken on the special.”

  “Mark me down for double portions.” Tug took a big bite of cobbler. “Mmm. Yes. This, right here. This is what we’ll want on the menu for the party.”

  “You don’t want a cake?”

  “Cake is her specialty,” Cutter informed his father. “She studied in France with some fancy pastry chef. Let her make a cake.”

  Stuffing his mouth with a cookie, Tug nodded. “Okay, you convinced me. But serve these, too. In fact, maybe we should do one of everything.”

  Genny’s laughter twinkled throughout the restaurant. “I think maybe we should narrow it down a bit,” she suggested. “To begin with, do you want a sit-down dinner, or a buffet?”

  “Sit-down,” he replied promptly. “I want a full meal.”

  “So what is your wife’s favorite food?”

  After a minor disagreement over the answer, Cutter called a halt to the discussion. “You know what? Mom likes Italian, but she never makes it herself.”

  “That might be wise, son, serving something she won’t dissect with her own recipe.” Tug nodded his approval. “Italian, it is.”

  “What was that pasta dish we had last week?” Cutter turned to Genny and asked.

  She smiled at his use of the word ‘we’. He considered himself a permanent fixture at the café. She answered with a nod. “My version of chicken carbonara.”

  “Make that. It was delicious.”

  Genny rubbed her hands excitedly. “Perfect.” She began to name off several other dishes, most of which the men were unfamiliar. “And we’ll finish with the pièce de résistance, a very decadent and delicious tiramisu.”

  Tug looked skeptical. “Whatever the devil that is.”

  “Three layers of absolute heaven,” she assured the men theatrically. “A bit of chocolate, a bit of rum, a bit of coffee, all layered with rich mascarpone cheese and Italian lady fingers. Delizioso,” she proclaimed, kissing the tips of her fingers and blowing it into the air, Italian style.

  “With a build up like that, it better be,” Cutter grinned.

  “I promise you, it will be.” After a confident smirk, she turned back to business. “How many people are we talking?”

  “There are six kids, four spouses, nine grandkids. That’s twenty-one, counting Mom and Dad.”

  “Are you bringing Callie Beth?”

  Cutter looked horrified at the suggestion. “No. Definitely not.”

  “Any grandparents, aunts and uncles, or friends?”

  Cutter looked at his father. “Grandma Montgomery. Uncle Willie and Aunt Sharon. What about Aunt Loretta?”

  “Maybe we’d better not invite her this time. Your grandfather will be there, you know.”

  Cutter nodded. “We can’t forget our special surprise guest. Sticker.”

  Genny stared at him, mouth agape. “Your grandfather’s name is Sticker?”

  “According to my great grandpa, he was the runt of the litter. Born small and a few yea
rs after the rest. Doctors said he wouldn’t make it through the night, but he was tough and hung on. Just like a sticker burr. Small but tough.”

  “This is your mom’s father?” she guessed. She could not imagine Tug Montgomery having anything less than a giant as a father.

  “Yep. Sticker Pierce.”

  “Sticker Pierce,” Genny murmured. “Haven’t I heard that name somewhere before?”

  “Probably. He’s somewhat of a legend in the rodeo world. Has a line of western wear and rodeo rigging.”

  “Maybe I’ve seen it on a shirt or something,” she agreed. “And that’s your grandfather?”

  “Yep. Mom doesn’t know it, but we’re bringing him here as a surprise for her birthday. So that should bring the count to twenty-five.”

  “I’ll plan for thirty, just in case.”

  “Well, son, this was a fine meal, but that hay ain’t rakin’ itself. Guess I’d better get back to the ranch.” He crammed a cowboy hat onto his head and stood from the table. “Genny, that was a mighty fine meal. And it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, too, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “It’s good to know all the things my son told me about you are true. Beautiful, smart, funny, and a great cook.” He winked at her and grinned. “To be honest, you were beginning to sound too good to be true!”

  “Why, thank you, sir.”

  “While I happen to agree, those weren’t my words. They were my son’s.”

  She hated the flush that crawled into her cheeks. “In that case, thank you, Cutter.”

  “Just telling it like it is, Genny darlin’. Just telling it like it is.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “All in all, that went better than I expected.”

  Madison made the admission to her children as she drove home from Dallas Sunday afternoon. If she overlooked the subtle snubs from her so-called friends and Annette’s endless snide remarks, the weekend had not been a total loss.

  A meeting with her lawyer revealed good news. The debt she still owed creditors had shrunk considerably, to an amount that was now more manageable. A few more years, and she might be free of the disaster Gray shackled her with. While Annette and Charles might fork out plenty of money to keep their son’s name in good standing, their generosity did not extend to rescuing their daughter-in-law from the jaws of bankruptcy. She had to dig out of that hole by herself.

  But the best news of all was that the IRS had dropped the investigation into her late husband’s business dealings. No doubt her in-laws had something to do with the sudden decision, but Madison did not care. As long as the law did not come after her, she was fine with the older couple paying to keep their precious son’s name out of the mud.

  That was what this weekend had been all about, even if Annette would never acknowledge as much. She claimed it was a celebration of her son’s memory. She insisted the downturn in Gray’s business was due to the economy, and that things would have turned around, had he lived.

  “The decorations were fabulous. You did a great job helping with them, Beth,” Maddy continued, making eye contact with the teen through the rearview mirror.

  “Thanks. It was sort of fun.”

  “I’m glad you had fun,” her brother sulked from the front seat. “Because I thought the entire party sucked. Big time.”

  “Blake.” Madison used her best mom-tone on him.

  “Hey, I can’t help it if the whole thing was one pompous show of ‘up-yours.’”

  “Blakely Grayson Reynolds, you watch your mouth!”

  “Sorry, Mom, but it’s true. I loved Dad and thought he was a swell guy, but to hear Grandmother Annette tell it, you would think he was a god. Nobody bought all that crap. She laid it on too thick. It was obvious she was just trying to buy her way into their good graces, and she made us all look like fools in the process.” His normal smiling face was replaced with a dark glower.

  Madison secretly agreed. She wished Annette could hear her grandson’s assessment of the weekend. When Annette told her version of the event, it would be a glowing success and an understated tribute to a most deserving man. Bleh.

  “Blake, honey, your grandmother was only doing what any mother would do.” It galled her to take Annette’s side. Not only did she need to keep peace in the family for her children’s sake, but in this case, she spoke the truth. “She took up for her son the only way she knew how. I would do the same for you.”

  “If you had the money,” he inserted on a grunt.

  “If I had the money,” she echoed.

  The teen turned toward her from his seat. “The thing is, Mom, it may be the only way she knows, but it’s not the only way you know. You know how to express your love without just throwing money around.” He peered at his sister over the seat back. “The whole time we were there, did she ever hug you?”

  Bethani searched her memory banks. “I don’t think so,” she finally admitted.

  “Yeah, me neither. And she never stepped foot in the kitchen. She never made us cookies or made us our favorite meal. She didn’t come in to tell us goodnight or tell us goofy stories about when she was little.”

  “Hey, I resent that. My stories are not goofy!”

  “Some of them are pretty corny, Mom. And they all have some little pearl of wisdom buried in them. It may be buried deep, but if you dig far enough, you’ll find it. Kind of like an earthworm.”

  Inexplicably touched by his odd characterizations of a mother’s love, Madison blinked back a tear. “Odd as it seems, I actually missed your smart attitude these last few weeks.”

  “Does that mean I finally get a home-cooked meal?”

  With his broad and charming smile, Blake looked so much like his father that it momentarily took Madison’s breath away. It was good to be reminded that she once loved her husband. It kept the guilt at bay for now hating him.

  I don’t hate him. I don’t hate him. Madison repeated the silent mantra to herself. I’m no longer angry at him. Brash was right, it is a waste of my time and energy, and it eats away at my heart. I can’t hate a man I no longer feel anything for.

  “Mom? A home-cooked meal?” he repeated hopefully.

  Madison laughed. “I suppose that’s your definition of a mother’s love.”

  He looked confused, as if it were a trick question of some sort. “Of course.”

  “Well, my dear and precious son, it just so happens I already have tonight’s menu all planned out. We’re stopping by the store on the way home. I’ll fire up the—” She stopped mid-sentence, as a thought suddenly occurred to her.

  “Mom?” Blake questioned.

  “Are you okay?” Bethani could see her mother’s expression in the mirror. She was immediately worried.

  “Oh.” Madison snapped out of her trance with a weak and non-convincing, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought about a job I’m working on.”

  “A case for the investigator?” Blake asked, his expression hopeful. He thought it was cool that his mother sometimes worked for a private investigator.

  “No,” she said slowly.

  It suddenly occurred to her that, while sorting through the unlabeled file in the lawyer’s office, she had absorbed more information than she thought. She had been concentrating on alphabetizing the names, but inadvertently, she had seen some of the confidential content.

  She suddenly knew what they all had in common.

  Fire.

  ***

  Brash picked up his phone on the second ring.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” he greeted Madison. “I didn’t think you’d call this evening.”

  “Beth is on the phone with Megan, telling her every detail of the last six weeks. Blake’s version is much shorter, but his call list is longer. Apparently we did our catching up in the car, because here I sit, all by my lonesome again. It’s almost like they are still gone.”

  “I could come over and keep you company.”

  “A generous offer, and one I’m
sorely tempted to accept. But not tonight.”

  “When, Maddy?” She heard the frustration in his voice. “I leave for another conference on Friday.”

  “This is your last one, isn’t it? You’ve been gone all summer.” She could hear the whine in her own voice.

  “Believe me, I know, sweetheart. And yes, this is the last one. When I hit town next Wednesday, I don’t plan on leaving again anytime soon.”

  “Just so you know, if you leave again, you’ll have a hitchhiker along for the ride. Me.”

  She heard his pleased smile. “Now that would make packing a suitcase again all worthwhile.” Judging from the sounds on the other end of the line, Brash leaned back against the headboard in his bedroom, his knee popping as he unfolded his long legs and stretched out on the mattress. “So where would we go?”

  She played along with his game. “Mmm, let’s see. What about… Shreveport?” It was the first town to pop into her mind.

  “Really?” he sounded surprised. “Why there?”

  She laughed at her impromptu answer. “Probably because Granny and Miss Sybille are talking about going gambling. While they’re there, they want to swing over to Monroe and see the Duck Commander warehouse. I think they have a crush on the older man that carries around that glass of sweet tea.”

  “You mean Uncle Si?”

  “Does he have a beard?”

  “They all do.”

  “I think that’s his name. They argue over him like they might actually have a chance with him. They’re like schoolgirls.”

  “I hate to burst their bubble, but I’m pretty sure the old guy is married.”

  “They’ll be crushed,” Madison predicted.

  “So we won’t go to Shreveport.” Brash ruled out that possibility. “I’m not much of a gambler anyway.”

  “Me either.”

  “So where else would we run off to?”

  “Hmm, not Vegas, either. Mexico?”

  “Too hot this time of year.”

  “Disney World?”

  “This isn’t a family vacation. Just you and me.”

  Her mouth watered at the thought. She conjured up the most romantic city she could think of. “Paris?”