Chapter Eight
Nick watched Kara and James disappear through the falling snow. He waited until they were just dots going into the barn across the field before he took Crash’s saddle off and brushed the horse down.
When he stepped into the house, his father was lying on the sofa, fast asleep. His snoring could wake the dead, but Nick sat on the recliner next to him and enjoyed every moment of it.
The following morning, his father’s health took a turn. Nick wanted to call the doctor, but his father refused.
Nick finally convinced the old man to stay in bed and served him both breakfast and lunch there. His father hardly ate a bite.
For dinner, Nick had planned on serving Kara some grilled steaks. There was a large freezer in the work room off the back of the house that held all of their meat. Each and every bit was from their own cattle, pigs, and chickens.
The storeroom held some of the vegetable crops from their land and some of the canned apples and pears from the small orchard. One of the first things his mother had taught him was how to can fruits and vegetables. The room also held many jars of homemade jelly.
“You’ll need this skill someday when you take over the ranch,” she had told him so many times. Each year since her death, he’d canned as much as he could. One year, he’d gotten it in his brain to try making homemade ketchup. Since then, he’d never bought it and even planted more tomatoes the following year to keep up with the demand from him and his father through the winter months.
What would he do next season when his father wasn’t around? In the past few years, ever since his dad’s first battle with cancer, he hadn’t helped out all that much. Still, his old man took care of most of the finances—making sure the taxes were paid on time, paying the employees.
Even after Nick had transferred the accounting to an online application, his father still sat at the computer once a month and ran over the figures. Nick was the one signing the checks now, since his father’s handwriting was too shaky to read.
What was he going to do without the old man around? He glanced around the kitchen. The place was going to seem so lonely.
When his phone alarm went off, he rushed up the stairs to shower and get dressed for his date. After poking his head into his father’s room, he headed out to pick up Kara.
The drive down his driveway and back up hers took less than five minutes. Still, his nerves doubled in that short time.
The snow hadn’t let up all day, which meant that the driveways were a mess, which is why he’d driven his truck instead of the sedan. He knocked on the door and thought he heard a bang and a curse, which had him smiling.
“Coming,” Kara called out, and he heard a door slam and footsteps before the door opened.
She was wearing a pair of black jeans, boots, and a big white sweater. Her long hair was curled and lying over her shoulders.
She looked so perfect, his insides ached.
“Hi,” he said as he smiled.
“Hi.” She smiled back at him. “We are sure getting a lot of snow lately.” She grabbed her coat.
“It’s supposed to clear up this weekend,” he said, helping her put on her coat. “Ready?”
She glanced around the house and then turned back to him and nodded.
He opened the truck door for her and then got behind the wheel.
“How is your dad doing?” she asked as they made their way back to his place.
“He’s… bedridden now. As of this morning. I’m not sure he’ll make it to Christmas.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head. “No, he’s made it very clear he wants to go be with my mom. He’s arranged for everything.” He hesitated for a split second and then added, “He’s even changed his will.”
She was quiet for a heartbeat and then said, “There’s a rumor going around town.”
He groaned. “Yeah, I’ve heard it.”
“Is it true?”
He glanced at her and shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t asked my dad. Nor am I going to. What he’s decided to do is his business.”
“Even if it leaves you homeless?” she asked.
He thought about it and nodded. “If my father has decided to leave the ranch to my uncle or his son, then it’s his business. I’ve worked hard all my life for this place,” he said as he turned into the long driveway. “I believe my father knows this. He’s a good man. He knows what’s best for it and me.” He parked and shut off the truck. “But don’t get me wrong. If it’s within my power, I’ll fight for this place, just as I’m sure you’ll fight for yours.”
She smiled and nodded.
He jumped out and rushed around to help her out of the truck. As they stepped inside, the dogs happily greeted them.
“Something smells good,” she said as he helped her off with her coat.
“I figured I’d go with a classic. Steak and potatoes followed up with homemade apple pie.” He smiled as he hung their coats on the hook by the front door.
Then he noticed her eyes scanning the room.
“Is this your first time in here?” he asked.
“No, but it’s the first I’ve had time to look around.”
He motioned to the space. “I’ll go check on the food.” He disappeared through the large two-story living room.
The kitchen was easily twice the size as the one in her house. His mother had put in state-of-the-art appliances, but that had been over ten years ago. Still, they worked and were nice enough. Over the years, he and his dad had repainted most of the inside. There were a lot of natural wood beams, which kept the painting requirements down.
The old hardwood flooring had been sanded and restained many times and still looked new.
“Wow.”
He turned to see Kara standing just inside the kitchen hallway.
“You like?” he asked, motioning her into the room.
“This is… no wonder you can cook.” She shook her head and chuckled. “With a kitchen like this, I’d learn to cook too.”
“This room is all my mother’s doing. She spent more hours in here than any other room. She’s the one who taught me how to cook, bake, and can.”
She turned to him, a surprised look on his face. “You know how to can foods?”
He smiled and, as an answer, walked over to the huge walk-in pantry and opened the door. “See for yourself. I made everything in there.” He motioned around after turning on the light.
She stepped past him slowly and into the pantry. Each of the four walls were lined with shelves that were stocked with everything from homemade applesauce to canned zucchini.
“You have everything alphabetized?” She turned to look at him.
He shrugged. “My mother set up the system. I just kept it. It works.”
Her fingers traced over the rows and rows of jelly he’d made. “You make Florence’s Jams?” She held up a jar and showed him. “I bought some at the farmer’s market.”
He nodded and felt a pinch in his heart that always happened when he saw his mother’s name on the label.
“Yes. My mother’s name was Florence.”
She gasped slightly and then held the jar to her heart as if protecting it. “I… I’m sorry.”