“So I understand,” said Sydney.
They passed into a second octagonal hallway in the middle of the house, and then through a doorway to the kitchen at the back.
“Good news is that he’s available,” said Grandma.
“You know, he told me that himself.”
Grandma looked back and cocked her head. “Did he, now?”
Sydney nodded.
The older woman smiled. She took a blue enamel kettle out of a painted cupboard and filled it with water from the deep, old-fashioned sink. “From New York, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Like it here in Texas?”
“So far I’m having a wonderful time.”
“That’s good.” Grandma nodded her head. “Cole’s mother passed away, you know.”
“Katie told me about that.”
“His dad, too. My Neil.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Well, I’m still here. And I’ve always figured that meant I’ve still got a job to do with one wayward grandson.”
Sydney grinned, assuming she was in for the full court press. “You mean Cole or Kyle?”
“Cole, of course.” Grandma paused. “You want to help me?” Then a split second later she gestured to a bowl of freshly picked blueberries so that the question could be interpreted either way.
“I’d love to help.” Sydney was ready to give her all on both fronts.
“Good!” Grandma winked. “You can wash the berries. Katie, you get down a mixing bowl.”
Katie opened a high cupboard and retrieved a large stoneware bowl. “Grandma’s scones are renowned in this part of Texas.”
“Recipe is a family secret,” said Grandma. “Handed down from generation to generation.”
“Can’t wait to try them,” said Sydney, pushing up the sleeves of her shirt.
“Grandma?” Katie ventured. “Why don’t you explain to Sydney why the Thunderbolt goes to the wives?”
“I’ll do that,” said Grandma with a nod.
Katie turned to waggle an eyebrow at Sydney. “I love this story.”
“Near as I can figure,” said Grandma, scooping into a tin flour canister, “it started around the middle of the fourteenth century.”
Sydney was instantly riveted. There was nothing she liked better than family lore. As far as she was concerned, stories were as important as antiquities.
“The family went through a streak of good-for-nothing eldest sons,” Grandma continued. “Worry was, if the young scoundrels got control of the Thunderbolt, they’d sell it for wenches and ale.”
Sydney ran some water over the blueberries.
“Old Hendrik wanted to make sure they earned their money the Viking way,” said Grandma, her practiced hands cutting a block of butter into the flour mixture. “By raiding and pillaging.”
Sydney longed for a pen. She’d have to ask permission, of course, but she’d love to write this down for the museum.
“So, that’s why Cole can’t get the Thunderbolt until his wedding?” Sydney worked the stubby green stems off the berries.
“Can’t have Cole going after ale and wenches,” said Grandma with a wink and a sparkling smile.
“Do you have a lot of stories?” asked Sydney.
“Some,” said Grandma.
“I’d love to hear them.”
“And I love to talk. We’ll get along just fine.”
Grandma opened a drawer beneath the counter and pulled out a wooden rolling pin. “Berries ready?”
Sydney quickly turned her attention to the bowl, picking out the last of the stems, draining the water. Then she rolled the blueberries onto a clean towel.
“So, what do you say?” asked Grandma. “You willing to give my grandson a go?”
The front door slammed. “Grandma?” called Cole.
Grandma winked at Sydney again as she rolled out a round of dough. “That man needs a strong, intelligent woman,” she stage-whispered.
Cole sauntered into the kitchen. “There you are.” He gave his grandma a hug. He nodded to Katie. Then he clasped Sydney around the shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. Good compromise.
“How was the trip?” he asked.
“Bought a Stetson and some blue jeans,” said Sydney, finding it ridiculously easy to act excited about Cole’s presence.
“Can’t wait to see them.” He dropped his arm from her shoulders and turned back to his grandma. “Need anything from the garden?”
“Potatoes and carrots,” she answered.
“Want to help?” he asked Sydney.
“Sure.”
Cole strode for the kitchen door, opening it and motioning for her to go first.
As she crossed the back deck to the stairs, she took in the spectacular panorama. She could see the roof of Cole’s cabin, the winding creek, the blue-green lake and Katie and Kyle’s house on a distant hill. Evergreens on the mountain ridges spiked up to a crackling turquoise sky.
“Be careful. They’re steep,” Cole warned from behind.
Sydney put her hand on the painted rail as she started down the long staircase that led to a lawn and a huge vegetable garden.
“How did it go?” Cole kept his voice low.
“Your grandma’s definitely on board,” said Sydney. “But Katie thought I was trying to romance the brooch out from under you.”
Cole moved up beside her as they hit the bottom. “How do you know that?”
“She didn’t pull any punches. She flat-out accused me of pretending to fall for you in order to get the Thunderbolt.”
Cole shook his head, placing a hand on the small of Sydney’s back and guiding her to the far side of the garden. “That Katie’s more than just a pretty face.”
“I’ll say.” His warm hand felt good against her back. It felt sure and strong. This chivalrous streak might be annoying in another man, but somehow it suited Cole. It wasn’t put on and it wasn’t a put-down. He was genuine. Genuine was nice.
“What did you tell her?”
“I swore up and down that I was being completely honest with you.”
Cole grinned. “Good one. You’re more than just a pretty face, too.”
She stopped at the edge of the garden, telling herself he was just being polite. “Thank you. I may have a brain, but I’m not a gardener. What do we do?”
“I’m thinking something silly and romantic.”
“What?”
“I can guarantee you they’re watching us from the window.” He picked a plump tomato from a vine and tossed it meaningfully in the air, catching it with one hand and advancing toward her with an evil grin.
She took a step back. “That doesn’t look very romantic, Cole.”
“I’m teasing you. Guys in love do that all the time.”
“You stay back.”
He kept advancing. “It’s plump and ripe and very juicy.”
She took another step backward and stumbled on a clump of grass. “Cole.”
He lunged, and she shrieked, covering her eyes, expecting a face full of tomato juice. But he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her up tight against his back, holding the tomato a safe distance away.
