the idea of her, but their father was all too real, and they knew exactly who and what they were mourning.
“I don’t think they call it ‘orphans’ at our age. We’re grown-ups. We’re supposed to be standing on our own two feet, with children of our own. Caro’s the only one who’s managed to do that. I was his willing slave, and you were always his favorite. That doesn’t make us orphans,” Kate said firmly. She didn’t like what Gemma said.
“I was always Daddy’s Girl. He called me that, he even said it to other people,” Gemma said sadly.
“I guess we all have to grow up now,” Kate said, but she wasn’t at all sure how to do it. Who was going to run the ranch now? She knew the others would expect her to do it, but it couldn’t possibly be the same without her father to guide her, even if he didn’t recognize her contributions. She realized now that she had let her father run her world. And there was no one to do it now.
* * *
—
Their visit to the mortuary the next day was more depressing than any of them had expected. They were suddenly faced with painful decisions. Cremation or burial? If cremated, would they put the urn into the ground or divide up his ashes between the three of them and Juliette? And where would they bury him, if they did, at the cemetery or on the ranch? Would they have a large church service, or private family interment? Someone had to write the obituary. Caroline said she’d do it, since she was the writer among them, so she was the obvious choice.
They decided to hold a proper funeral, and put an announcement in the local paper, since his life had been there for nearly forty years, and he was respected in the community. They needed to pick a photograph for the program. Kate said she’d order the flowers, and Gemma said she’d choose the music. Juliette made only a few minor requests, and was relieved when they decided not to have an open casket, but to have him cremated. They were going to divide his ashes among them. Caroline and Kate were going to scatter them at the ranch, Gemma wanted to take her share with her to scatter in the ocean near L.A., and Juliette said she was going to pick a handsome box and keep them in the house with her. They thought it might be a French tradition, but didn’t know and didn’t ask.
They left the funeral home feeling drained, and went to meet Peter and Caroline’s children. They had been to visit a nearby miniature horse farm to keep them distracted. Then they went back to the ranch for lunch, and Juliette cooked for them in her kitchen. She served pâté she’d made herself that their father loved, a big salad, some cold chicken she bought on the way home, and two bottles of wine that Peter opened for her. Everything Juliette did always came out seeming French, no matter how many years she’d been there.
They went out for dinner that night, to a small Italian restaurant, and every five minutes someone came to the table to extend their condolences. They were exhausted by the time they went home.
Two days later, the service was dignified and simple, the way their father would have liked it. The church was filled to the rafters with all the people who had admired and respected him, and many who barely knew him. At the funeral, Juliette sat next to Jimmy’s daughters in the front pew with Peter, Morgan, and Billy. Thad and the senior ranch hands sat in the pew right behind them. There were faces from the past and the present.
Jimmy’s lawyer was there. They all knew him and he said on the way out of the church that he would drop off a copy of the will for each of them that afternoon. Their father had discussed it with Kate when he’d last brought it up to date, and they expected no surprises. He was leaving the ranch and any money he had divided equally among the three of them. They had decisions to make about that too. They could maintain their joint ownership, if they wished, or if any of the girls didn’t want their share of the ranch, they could sell it to the others. His only wish was that they keep it in the family. But