Chapter 12 Taylor #2
“They’ll just have to wait their turn,” he decides, which really cracks her up.
We’re all smiling as we head to the front door of the rancher, which swings open before we reach it.
“Good morning,” a lady who must be Roan’s mother says fondly. She has wavy gray hair to her shoulders, a pretty blue dress, and she’s holding a cane made of polished wood.
“Grandma,” Meg yells, running up quickly, but hugging her grandmother gently.
“There’s my girl,” her grandmother says. “And you must be Taylor. We’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Connelly,” I say politely. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Get over here,” she says, holding out the arm that isn’t holding the cane. “It’s just Ellie, not Mrs. Connelly. And don’t worry about the stick, it’s only for knocking my granddaughter on the coconut when she misbehaves.”
“No it isn’t,” Meg giggles, delighted, as her grandmother hugs me close. “I don’t misbehave.”
Ellie’s arms are warm and she smells like cinnamon. I’m almost sorry when she lets me go.
“Of course you don’t misbehave,” Ellie tells Meg. “Now come on in, you three. It’s just a simple breakfast today, but we’ve got places to be.”
Meg takes her hand and they head inside together.
I glance up at Roan and see that he’s frowning at his mother’s cane.
“Is everything okay?” I ask him.
He starts to shake his head and then looks back at me.
“If she’s using the cane, she might be having a flare-up,” he admits softly. “And if she is, she shouldn’t go to town and walk around all day.”
I nod, sympathizing with his feelings. It has to be the worst to worry about your parent but not want to tell them what to do.
After thirty seconds around Ellie Connelly, I’m already pretty sure she wouldn’t listen even if he did.
“Will your dad talk to her?” I ask.
He nods and then gives me a crooked smile before indicating the door.
I head inside and marvel at how lovely the place is.
There’s a small center hall with light pouring in from the back of the house. We follow it past a couple of doors that I’m assuming lead to bedrooms and then it opens into a sunny great room with a wall of windows overlooking the tree-lined hillside.
The whole space is hung with fragrant evergreen garlands and there’s a beautifully decorated tree in the far corner. Family photos are hung lovingly against the back wall, along with an old acoustic guitar with a faded blue strap.
A man who looks like an older version of Roan is standing in the open kitchen with a big cast iron pan in front of him. I’ve seen him through the shop window, but he seems larger than life in person.
“Howdy,” he says, giving me a wave. “Good to see you, Taylor.”
“You too, Mr. Connelly,” I say.
“It’s just Phil, honey,” he says. “I hope you like cheesy eggs and cinnamon rolls.”
“That sounds amazing,” I say happily as my mouth waters.
“And bacon, right?” Meg asks, sounding worried.
“Of course I’ve got your bacon, Meg,” her grandfather says with a smile.
“Are you allergic to dogs, Taylor?” Ellie asks, looking out the back window.
“No,” I tell her. “I love dogs.”
“Good,” Meg says right away. “Because Foghorn doesn’t believe in personal space.”
“Foghorn?” I echo.
But at just that moment, the back door flies open and a huge wolfhound-looking dog flies in to greet us, legs akimbo, tongue lolling out of his mouth like he’s smiling. I give him a pat, and he stops to drop his head back and howl, showing me how he got his name.
The happy canine is followed by another man who looks just like Roan and his dad, but with dirty blond hair to his shoulders and a smile almost as big as the dog’s. Again, I’ve seen him in passing at the lot, but this is my first time up close.
“Taylor Greer,” he calls out in a deep voice when his eyes land on me.
“Buck,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“I feel like I know you already,” he says. “You’re all Meg-a-tron here talks about.”
Meg laughs like a hyena at her nickname as she scampers up to her uncle, who gives her a high five and then offers a low five, whipping his hand out of the way at the last moment, but not before Meg manages to tag it.
“Ohhh,” he teases her. “You think you’re pretty quick, don’t you?”
“No roughhousing before breakfast,” Ellie says without even looking as she lifts something out of the oven that instantly intensifies the sweet scent of cinnamon that already fills the house.
“My favorite,” Buck groans, rushing over to his mom and kissing her temple.
“Help me with the glaze?” she asks.
“Of course,” he says, opening one of the cupboards.
I realize that while all the rest of this was happening, Roan was quietly starting a fire in the fireplace. It’s crackling away nicely as he stands in front of it giving it a strategic poke here and there.
“Oh, Roan,” his mother sighs, noticing at the same time I do. “Did you forget that we’re leaving after breakfast?”
“Oh shoot,” he says, frowning. “I guess it’s force of habit.”
“Not a worry,” his father puts in. “We should take a couple of cars anyway. Mom and I can stay here until it dies down, maybe get another crossword done. We’ll meet you for lunch, right, sweetheart?”
“Oh,” she says. “Yes, of course. That’s fine. We’ve seen the parade lots of times.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Roan says.
She nods and it’s only because I’m beside her that I can see the relief in the slight rounding of her shoulders and the softening of her smile.
She’s definitely hurting.
And I’m pretty sure Roan started that fire to keep her home for a while longer so she wouldn’t have to admit it out loud.
“Would you like to grab some plates for us, Taylor?” she asks me, indicating the upper cupboard I’m standing in front of.
“Oh, yes, of course,” I tell her, grateful to have a job to do so I can stop feeling teary about the quiet moment of grace I just witnessed.
Everyone pitches in and a magnificent breakfast is on the table just a few minutes later.
Phil says a few words of thanks over it and then everyone is passing dishes and plates around, pouring orange juice into glasses, and talking and laughing as they remember the town celebrations of years past.
“Remember when you made an airplane ornament?” Buck asks Roan. “And Aggie Benworth asked you if it was a duck?”
Roan chuckles.
“There’s an ornament making activity,” their dad explains to me quietly.
“A duck?” Meg asks.
“I thought it was a very nice plane,” their mom says firmly.
“At least I didn’t knock the tree over,” Roan says to Buck and then winks at Meg.
“You knocked over the tree?” Meg asks, her eyes wide.
“Only one time,” Buck says, shrugging, and earning another giggle from Meg.
“So,” Buck says, turning to Roan. “Are you going to do a song at the Host of Angels tonight?”
Buck mimes playing a guitar and singing to Roan, who rolls his eyes and crams a big bite of cheesy eggs in his mouth.
I still can’t imagine Roan singing, so I figure Buck is teasing him. The two of them are really funny together, and Meg is the perfect audience.
I take a bite of glistening cinnamon roll and moan as the sweet, spicy taste explodes in my mouth.
“They’re the best, right?” Buck says, nodding.
“They really are,” I have to agree. “The spices are incredible. This isn’t just cinnamon, is it?”
“Old family recipe,” Ellie says. “But I’ll share it with you if you want it, Taylor.”
“Oh wow,” I say. “I’d love that. Though I know I can’t make them like this.”
“Sure you can,” Ellie tells me. “You’ll come over one day soon and we’ll make them together. I’ll spill all my secrets.”
She winks at me, and I wonder if she’s just talking about cinnamon buns.