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Authors: Carolyn Brown
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daylight, I’m going to be one upset woman.”
“I’m not burning the bacon. I was arguing with my sister. She gets into my mind and fights with me.”
“About bacon?”
“No, about Easter eggs.”
Austin looked away, poured milk into the skillet, and kept stirring. “I don’t believe you. What were you arguing about?”
He avoided the question. “Do you ever argue with someone who’s not really there?”
“Sure, I was just doing so with Granny but I’m not telling you about what.”
Rye grinned. “Then I don’t have to tell you what Gemma and I were fighting about.”
Austin drew down her brows in a frown. “Gemma?”
“She’s my youngest sister and even more Irish than the rest of us. Black Irish, Daddy says. We are all dark-haired. Some of us have green eyes like Daddy and some brown like Momma.”
“Is Gemma an Irish or Indian name?”
“Irish to the letter. Gemma is number five. Three boys. Me, Raylen, and Dewar. Then Colleen and Gemma makes number five. She’s named for Daddy’s grandmother.” Rye drained the bacon on a paper towel before transferring it to a plate and making an eight-egg omelet in the bacon drippings.
“Did you invite all the hired hands in for breakfast?”
“Nope, I have a healthy appetite. Granny did too, and since you are her kin, I kind of figured you wouldn’t eat like a bird. Don’t worry. Anything we have left over old Rascal will be glad to clean up for us.” It felt right to be in the kitchen with Austin. It even felt right to be arguing with her.
“Is that old cat still alive? He must be fifteen years old?”
“Sixteen. He just gets fatter and lazier every year. He’ll be on the front porch by the time we finish breakfast. Long about noon he’ll move to the shade tree in the backyard and then to the shed after supper.”
“Has he turned gray?”
“Around the nose but he’s so big and sassy the other tomcats leave him alone.” Rye turned the omelet over, loaded it with grated cheese and chopped ham, and flipped it in half.
Austin poured the gravy into a bowl and took two plates from the cabinet. In a few minutes she was sitting at a table that would have put any waffle house to shame. She split open a biscuit and covered it with gravy, cut a fourth of the omelet and slid it over into her plate, and picked up three pieces of bacon with her fingers.
“Crispy.”
“You like it floppy?” he asked.
“Oh, no. Granny and I like our bacon crispy, our steaks medium rare, and onions in our fried potatoes.”
“Women after my heart.” He smiled. “What time is the lawyer coming around?”
“Pearlita said at ten o’clock. How many eggs are in that refrigerator?”
“A helluva lot. We boil four dozen at a time then we color them all pretty and put them back in the crates. Tomorrow we’ll hide them all around the community center. One will be the prize egg. That means whoever brings it to me gets a certificate to go down to Cavender’s Western Wear in Nocona and pick out a brand new pair of cowboy boots.”
“How do you know which is the prize egg?”
“We do different things. Sometimes we just write prize on the side with one of the wax pencils that comes with the dying kit and sometimes when Granny was real spicy we did it in glitter. I got both up there on the fridge so you can decide this year since it’s your first time.”
“What on earth made you move to Terral? I thought people moved out of here, not to here.”
“Cheap land. My uncle had this property out in west Texas and when he died it willed it to me. Never had any kids. I didn’t want to live out there so I sold it and started looking for a place close to Ringgold. My folks live seven miles across the river. Oklahoma taxes are lower than Texas and the land was less expensive. So I got four sections of land, two miles long, two miles wide across the road from here. My folks are seven miles away, two miles south of what’s left of Ringgold, so I can see them any
“I’m not burning the bacon. I was arguing with my sister. She gets into my mind and fights with me.”
“About bacon?”
“No, about Easter eggs.”
Austin looked away, poured milk into the skillet, and kept stirring. “I don’t believe you. What were you arguing about?”
He avoided the question. “Do you ever argue with someone who’s not really there?”
“Sure, I was just doing so with Granny but I’m not telling you about what.”
Rye grinned. “Then I don’t have to tell you what Gemma and I were fighting about.”
Austin drew down her brows in a frown. “Gemma?”
“She’s my youngest sister and even more Irish than the rest of us. Black Irish, Daddy says. We are all dark-haired. Some of us have green eyes like Daddy and some brown like Momma.”
“Is Gemma an Irish or Indian name?”
“Irish to the letter. Gemma is number five. Three boys. Me, Raylen, and Dewar. Then Colleen and Gemma makes number five. She’s named for Daddy’s grandmother.” Rye drained the bacon on a paper towel before transferring it to a plate and making an eight-egg omelet in the bacon drippings.
“Did you invite all the hired hands in for breakfast?”
“Nope, I have a healthy appetite. Granny did too, and since you are her kin, I kind of figured you wouldn’t eat like a bird. Don’t worry. Anything we have left over old Rascal will be glad to clean up for us.” It felt right to be in the kitchen with Austin. It even felt right to be arguing with her.
“Is that old cat still alive? He must be fifteen years old?”
“Sixteen. He just gets fatter and lazier every year. He’ll be on the front porch by the time we finish breakfast. Long about noon he’ll move to the shade tree in the backyard and then to the shed after supper.”
“Has he turned gray?”
“Around the nose but he’s so big and sassy the other tomcats leave him alone.” Rye turned the omelet over, loaded it with grated cheese and chopped ham, and flipped it in half.
Austin poured the gravy into a bowl and took two plates from the cabinet. In a few minutes she was sitting at a table that would have put any waffle house to shame. She split open a biscuit and covered it with gravy, cut a fourth of the omelet and slid it over into her plate, and picked up three pieces of bacon with her fingers.
“Crispy.”
“You like it floppy?” he asked.
“Oh, no. Granny and I like our bacon crispy, our steaks medium rare, and onions in our fried potatoes.”
“Women after my heart.” He smiled. “What time is the lawyer coming around?”
“Pearlita said at ten o’clock. How many eggs are in that refrigerator?”
“A helluva lot. We boil four dozen at a time then we color them all pretty and put them back in the crates. Tomorrow we’ll hide them all around the community center. One will be the prize egg. That means whoever brings it to me gets a certificate to go down to Cavender’s Western Wear in Nocona and pick out a brand new pair of cowboy boots.”
“How do you know which is the prize egg?”
“We do different things. Sometimes we just write prize on the side with one of the wax pencils that comes with the dying kit and sometimes when Granny was real spicy we did it in glitter. I got both up there on the fridge so you can decide this year since it’s your first time.”
“What on earth made you move to Terral? I thought people moved out of here, not to here.”
“Cheap land. My uncle had this property out in west Texas and when he died it willed it to me. Never had any kids. I didn’t want to live out there so I sold it and started looking for a place close to Ringgold. My folks live seven miles across the river. Oklahoma taxes are lower than Texas and the land was less expensive. So I got four sections of land, two miles long, two miles wide across the road from here. My folks are seven miles away, two miles south of what’s left of Ringgold, so I can see them any
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