The Cowboy's Family. Brenda Minton

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      The one time Rachel asked how she did it, Etta laughed and said, “Oh, honey, life teaches those little skills.”

      Rachel doubted it. She always felt about as together as a pair of old shoes falling apart at the seams. She couldn’t paint her nails without smudging at least one. And her hair. The only good thing that had ever happened to her hair was a ponytail holder.

      “Good to see you, honey.” Etta slipped an arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “I thought we’d have tea out here before we get started on those T-shirts.”

      “Tea sounds wonderful.”

      “You look about wrung out. Did you clean Wyatt’s house today?”

      Rachel nodded and picked dead blooms off the petunias.

      Etta lifted her sunglasses and stared hard. “Well, tell me how it went.”

      “The place was definitely a mess.” She shrugged and kept plucking blooms, tossing them over the rail into the yard. “And so is Wyatt.”

      “Oh, he isn’t such a mess. He just needs a little time.” Etta lifted the little watch she wore on a chain around her neck. “Goodness, speaking of time. I’m going to keep watering. Do you want to bring the tea out?”

      “I can do that.”

      Etta had lowered the sunglasses. The big rhinestone encrusted frames covered half her face. “And try not to look so down in the mouth, honey. You’re going to depress me and you know I don’t depress easily.”

      Rachel smiled. “Is that better?”

      “Not much.” Etta laughed and went back to watering.

      “I’ll be back in a few.”

      “I’ll be here.”

      The dog that had been sleeping under a tree started barking as Rachel fixed the tea tray. She picked up the wooden tray and headed down the hallway to the front door. The door was open and a breeze lifted the curtains in the parlor. Voices carried on that breeze.

      “So you think you’re going to learn to cook something more than canned spaghetti and hamburgers?” Etta laughed and said something else that Rachel didn’t hear.

      She stopped at the screen door and looked out. Etta was standing on the sidewalk and Wyatt stood next to her. Etta’s skirt flapped in the breeze. Wyatt had taken off his hat and held it behind his back. They were both facing the opposite direction and didn’t see Rachel.

      “It can’t be that hard to learn, Etta. I’ve got to show Violet that I’m capable.”

      “Of course you’re capable.” Etta turned and waved when she saw Rachel. “There’s Rachel with my tea. Well, have a seat and while you have tea, I’ll look for a cookbook.”

      “I appreciate it, Etta, but I don’t have time for tea. The girls are waiting in the truck. We’re going grocery shopping.”

      Etta argued, of course she did. “Well, get the girls out.”

      Wyatt laughed, white teeth flashing in a kind of hot smile. He shook his head. “I’m not getting them out of the truck. If I do, I’ll never round them up and get them back in the truck. I just thought rather than taking my chance with any old cookbook I found in the store, I’d see if you had one that spelled it all out.”

      Etta held the rail and walked up the steps, Wyatt following. “I’ll see what I have. Something with casseroles would be best.”

      “If I can throw the whole meal in one pan, I guess that would be the best thing.”

      “You ought to know how to cook, Wyatt. It isn’t like you’re a kid.”

      “I never thought much about it, Etta.” His neck turned a little red. “I guess I always thought…”

      Etta’s eyes misted and she patted his arm. “I’ll be right back. I’ll pick you out a couple and you’ll be cooking us dinner in no time.”

      After Etta walked away, Rachel didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t been at a loss for words in years. Probably about twenty-eight of them. Her mom liked to tell people that she was talking in complete sentences when she was two and that she’d been talking ever since.

      But at that moment she was pretty near speechless and so was Wyatt Johnson.

      “My mother-in-law is coming to visit.” He had placed the cowboy hat back on his head. He leaned against the rail of the porch, tall and confident. His boots were scuffed and his jeans were faded and worn in spots.

      How many people would guess that the Johnson brothers had part ownership of a bank in Tulsa and subdivisions named after their family? She only knew those things because Andie, Wyatt’s sister-in-law and Etta’s granddaughter, had told her. Andie had married Ryder Johnson before Christmas and their twin babies were due in a month or so.

      “I see.” She nearly offered to help, and then she didn’t. She’d already told him she’d clean or watch the girls. He’d rejected both offers.

      “She’s worried that I’m not coping.” His smile lifted one corner of his mouth and he shrugged. “I guess it won’t hurt me or the girls to have a home-cooked meal once in a while.”

      “I imagine it won’t.” Rachel poured her tea. “Do you want a cup?”

      “No, thanks. I like my tea on ice and out of a glass that holds more than a swallow.”

      She smiled and listened for Etta’s footsteps. Etta would give him a long lecture if she heard him demean her afternoon tea ritual.

      It was a few minutes before Etta appeared, her arms holding more than a few cookbooks. “Here’s a few to get you started.”

      “That’s a half dozen, Etta, not a few.”

      “Well, you can find what you really like this way.”

      He took the books from her arms. “Thanks, Etta. Rachel, see you at church.”

      He nodded to each of them and walked down the steps.

      The truck was pulling down the driveway when Etta laughed a little and whistled. “That’s tension you could cut with a knife.”

      “What?” Rachel nearly poured Etta’s tea on the table.

      “The two of you, circling like a couple of barn cats. I’m no expert, but I think it’s called chemistry.”

      “I think it’s called, Wyatt knows that everyone, including his brother, is trying to push me off on him.”

      “And would that be such a bad thing?” Etta sat down on the lavender wicker settee.

      “I’m not sure, but I think he believes it probably would be.”

      “What about you?”

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