sky, and his mother had embroidered flowers and birds in the corners. “My mom sent these for you.” He gave them to her. “They’re napkins.”
“I know what they are,” she said, taking them. “They’re beautiful. Does she make them herself?”
“Yes,” August said. “She loves needlepoint. She even tried to teach us boys to do it.”
Etta giggled and asked, “How did that go?”
“Not great,” he said. “Have you ever tried to get an eight-year-old boy to sit down and use a needle and thread? I think I stabbed myself once just to get out of doing it.” He laughed along with Etta, and as their voices came down, he slid his hand along her arm and then dropped it to her hip. “Hailey is on her way to the Edge cabin.”
Etta took a tiny step closer to him. “Yes, she is.”
“I sure did miss you, Etta.”
“I could hear you say that a hundred times,” she murmured, and as she came closer and his mouth met hers, August breathed in through his nose. He got sugar and sweetness, as well as sunshine and springtime.
She pulled away before he let himself get too out of control. “I’m glad your visit to your family went well. I know you were worried about it.” She reached for his hand. “Do you want to go for a walk or something? I don’t feel like staying inside this afternoon.”
“Sure, okay,” he said. “Where are you going to take me?”
“Up the road a little,” she said with a smile. “There’s a cottage up the hill about a half-mile. Can you go that far?”
“I’ve been driving for hours,” he said. “I can go a mile.”
“It might be a mile there,” she said. “In a car, over the bumpy roads, it takes about ten or fifteen minutes to get down, but I know a path through the woods.”
“Ooh, a path through the woods,” he said, plenty of fun, flirty vibes in his voice. “Are we going to meet any big, bad wolves?”
“I don’t think there are any wolves in this part of Texas, sir,” she said, laying on her accent real thick. “Besides, I can protect you if we do run into one.”
“Oh-ho,” August said, going with her as she started for the front door. The Christmas tree was finally gone, and he paused. “Tell me what happened with the tree that was here.”
“The angel tree?” Etta asked, and she gazed at the spot where it had been standing for so long.
“You guys left it up all the way through January,” he said. “And it was up the first time I came up here, before Thanksgiving.”
“It’s our way of remembering who we are,” she said, her hand reaching out to fondle the dead air. “Our Glover heritage. We put it up on the last Sunday in October, and it stays up until someone who lives here gets sick of it and takes it down.” She glanced at him, a soft, maternal smile on her mouth. August loved the different sides of Etta. She knew how to have fun. She could throw a party for anyone, of any age, and make them feel like the most special person in the whole world.
She could take control of a group of unruly school children or hold a crying child close to her chest and whisper to them until they calmed. She loved her family deeply, and she possessed mad skills in the kitchen. She definitely held a particular place within this family, and while she was the only single Glover left, she didn’t cry about it.
“Who, let’s be honest, is usually me.” She shook her head. “Zona comes and helps, because she stores all the ornaments at her house.”
“Where does she live?” he asked. “She’s not here on the ranch, right?”
“Just across the southern border,” Etta said. “We’ll be able to see the fence line between us and the Rhinehart place up at the Top Cottage.”
“Ah, it does have a name,” he said, smiling at her. All of their houses here had names. The homestead. Bull House. Ranch House. Edge cabin. Only the newer ones didn’t seem too, but he’d heard people refer to them by who lived in them.
“It has a name,” Etta said, reaching for the doorknob and leading him outside. “Want to see the family graveyard?”
“Do I ever,” he said, squeezing her hand so she’d know he was joking. “Your dad died young, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Only about oh, ten years ago now.” She blew out her breath. “I was