As I piled the beef on the bread, I glanced over at the stove to check on the gravy warming in a small pot. It looked good, so I took a large biscuit cutter and cut circles out of the middle of a few more slices of the bread. The crusts and what insides remained would get chopped up and go into the oven to dry up to be added to Thanksgiving dressing.
Just the thought of the holiday brought a smile to my face and an excited flutter to my stomach. It was coming up fast. The house was decorated and our Christmas ornaments had already been brought down from the attic and were tucked aside in one of the spare bedrooms ready to adorn the tree when we cut it down Thanksgiving evening.
I dunked each of the new circles of bread into the gravy and left them there just long enough for them to absorb it but not long enough for them to get soggy and disintegrate. I transferred them onto the sliced beef, added a couple more slices of beef, then topped the complete sandwiches with the final topper of bread before wrapping each massive offering in wax paper.
I tucked the sandwiches into a basket along with a brown paper bag full of the wonderful homemade potato chips the general store sold around that time of year. I could probably eat an entire bag by myself, which was why it was good to just give the whole thing to the guys mid-day rather than portioning out smaller amounts.
Tucking a cloth around the food to keep the sandwiches warm, I added napkins, then crossed to the coffeemaker. Another pot had just finished brewing and I poured it into the huge silver thermos sitting on the counter beside it. Lunch was finally finished, so I scooped it all up and carried it outside into the cold air.
The old farmhouse was warm and cozy with the fire burning in the fireplace, and the cold air outside was a sharp contrast. I held the coffee thermos close to take some of its warmth as I hurried to find the guys. They were doing work inside the barn that day and I heard them laughing about something when I was approaching the big doors. It was good to hear them getting along so well.
I still didn’t know for sure what they talked about those weeks ago after Dad got home from the hospital, but since then, they had been thick as thieves. Garrett worked at our farm every day, and it was fantastic to have his help. It meant so much more got done, Dad didn’t push himself too hard as he continued to recover, and I got the chance to write more and spend more time doing what I loved. Taking care of both of them.
And going to brunch with Bridget.
My breath came out in big white puffs of fog as I stood at the doorway watching the guys for a moment. I loved both of them and I loved watching them get closer even more. My father never got to have a son, and Garrett had been without his father for years. They filled these roles for each other and it made my heart swell to see.
How could I possibly be that blessed? What had I done to earn that kind of reward? Whatever it was, I could never be thankful or grateful enough for it.
“You boys look like you’re hard at work,” I teased when I decided I was done with the cold of standing at the door and went into the barn.
Garrett looked up at me and grinned. He came over to take the basket from my hands and give me a kiss. I smiled and got up on my toes for another one.
“We were waiting on you,” Dad said. “Do you have something good for us?”
“Roast beef sandwiches and chips,” I said. “And a lot of coffee.”
“Gravy in those sandwiches?” he asked, eyeing the basket Garrett had carried over to a collection of hay bales set to the side to create a sitting area.
“Would I do anything else?” I asked. “You’ve been doing so well on your diet I think you can have a good sandwich every now and then.”
I didn’t tell him I’d already asked the doctor about what he was supposed to be eating and was reassured if I paid close attention to everything else he was eating, my father could indulge in his favorites occasionally.
We sat down and dug into the sandwiches and chips.
“Don’t forget, you guys need to finish up and come in early this evening so you can get ready to go over to the Montgomery Ranch for dinner,” I said.
All the brothers were home and we were having a big meal together for the first time. Jesse and Shannon had been home from their travels for a little while, but we were planning on seeing all their pictures and hearing their stories. Colt was going to tell us all about the rodeo and what was coming the next year.
My father was beyond excited. It was the first time he would be meeting Gia and Gabby. He hadn’t seen some of the other Montgomery brothers in years. Most importantly, it would be the first time in decades he got to have a real big family meal. The biggest he’d seen since I was a little girl was when Bridget and Sawyer came over.
I was buzzing with excitement thinking about Thanksgiving the next week. In addition to everybody that would be there that night, Gia’s best friend, Darcy, was coming into town with the man she had started seeing. Bridget was also coming. All of us women were going to be cooking together, though Cassidy had already asked if he could butt in for a couple of things.
We teased him endlessly that if he was joining us, he was going to have to wear one of the frilly personalized aprons Gia got for us. He agreed without hesitation.
I couldn’t wait for that night. It was a taste of all the big family traditions the future had in store for me.
The End.
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Jessica Mills is a hometown country girl from Texas, who loves a good love story and a bar of chocolate more than should be legal. She's been a writer for most of her adult life and spends her days dreaming up new characters and various ways to make you blush.
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His Wicked Mouth
The Montgomery Boys 3
Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Mills
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and plot are all either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.
First Edition.
Editor: Eric Martinez
Cover Designer: Ryn Katryn Digital Art
His Wicked Mouth Page 24