wasn’t embarrassed of her relationship with Bishop. “You—I’m dating Bishop Glover. He’s my boyfriend. I, uh, he, well, he walks me to my truck when I leave the ranch and kisses me good-bye, like how Ollie walks you to the door when you’re leaving the party.”
Aurora’s eyes grew wider with each word Montana spoke, until she gaped at Montana. “Mom.”
“What? I’ve dated before.”
“Not here.” Aurora shook her head, sending her long hair swinging. “Not for a while. Not while you’re lecturing me about being alone with boys.”
“Okay,” Montana said, working hard not to roll her eyes. She took as much sarcasm out of her voice as she could as she added, “I’m not fourteen, with my first very cute cowboy boyfriend.”
Aurora smiled, the gesture suddenly popping onto her face. A squeal followed, and she launched herself into Montana’s arms. “That’s so great, Mom.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Aurora stepped back, her eyes glinting with happiness. “I’ve always said you should date.”
Montana nodded, because Aurora had said that. “Nothing is going to change with us,” she said. “Okay? He’s not more important than you.”
“I know that, Mom.”
“He wants to meet you,” Montana said. “I think I’m ready for him to meet you.” She watched Aurora for her reaction, and she clapped her hands together. Good sign.
Then she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
“What?” Montana asked.
“If he wants to meet me, you must’ve been dating him for a while.”
Montana shrugged, knowing she wouldn’t get anything by Aurora. “I mean, sort of. A while now. Maybe a month or so. Five weeks.”
“Mom, you’ve only been up at that ranch for six weeks.”
“Yes, well, he’s very handsome.”
Aurora pealed out a string of laughter that made Montana’s joy double and then triple. She let her carry on for a few seconds, and then she said, “I’m glad you’re so happy about it. We’re going up to the ranch for lunch on Sunday. It’s his birthday tomorrow, and I’m going out with him. You’ll meet him then.”
Aurora quieted. “Not tomorrow, Mom. I’m going to the roller rink, remember?”
“Right,” she said. “I meant Sunday.”
“Oh, Sunday, okay,” she said. “I’m excited. Do you have any pictures of him?”
“Uh, maybe.” Neither Montana nor Bishop took many pictures, of one another or themselves. She swiped on her phone, her memory firing. “He did send me one of him while he was picking out curtains to see what I thought.” She navigated to the photo, a smile taking over her soul as she looked at him.
He had the curtain draped around his shoulders like a fancy fur stole, and he wore a look of playful worry on his face. She turned the phone toward Aurora, who took it and studied the picture of Bishop with sparkling eyes.
“Mom,” she said, gasping. “He’s gorgeous.” She handed the phone back to Montana. “Okay, I have to get out there. Those two barely know how to read.” She grinned and picked up the plate of cookies. Before Montana knew what was going on, Aurora had gone out the back door while Montana was still looking at the picture of Bishop.
“Wait,” she said, but her daughter was gone. “What was the other thing?” she asked anyway, having the very real feeling that her daughter had just tricked her by getting her talking about Bishop.
“Clever girl,” she muttered, turning back to the sink. It was full of dishes and utensils she’d used to make the cookies. No wonder she hated baking, and she braced herself against the counter.
“Dear Lord,” she prayed. “Help me to navigate things with Aurora. Please, please help her to be safe. Help her to be smart.” Montana paused, because she didn’t know what else to say. Her desperation tasted bitter in the back of her throat, and surely the Lord could feel that and know what Montana needed for her daughter.
Because Oliver Osburn was very cute, and she didn’t believe for a moment that he couldn’t read. He was smart too. Otherwise, Aurora wouldn’t be attracted to him.
Montana made a deal with herself—she had to do the dishes before she could migrate over to the window and spy on her daughter with the two teenage boys in the back yard.
“Okay,” Montana said, pulling up to the homestead. At least half a dozen extra trucks sat in the parking area out front, and her nerves started to sizzle.
“Wow, Montana,” Aunt Jackie said. “Look at this house.”
“It’s a mansion,” Uncle Bob said. “I’d heard the Glovers had rebuilt their homestead. I just didn’t realize how big