Page 59 of Dream Weaver

Finally, she released Abby and clapped her hands together. “A female blacksmith. I love it.”

Abby was still recovering from the hug, so I filled in for her. “She was a firefighter too.”

And, oops. My mother snatched her into an even tighter hug. Every firefighter was a member of the family as far as she was concerned.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Which crew?”

“Dakota Creek crew,” Abby wheezed from under the hug. “In Colorado.”

“Oh! Under Greg Martin?”

Abby looked up from her trapped location by my mother’s shoulder. “You know him?”

“Of course I do. We met ages ago. Wait. You aren’t that lovely daughter of his, are you?”

I winced, because that would be Pippa, and being compared to her was probably like being compared to Peter. You had no chance of ever meeting that standard.

Then my mother saved the day by correcting herself. “Oh, wait. You must be the lovely stepdaughter he always gushes about.”

Abby’s eyes went from guarded to surprised to…happy and a little moist.

“I guess I am.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. What a pleasure,” my mother said, absolutely sincere.

I hid a grin. Good old Mom.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Abby said.

And, wow. A rare compliment, coming from Abby. The shine in her eyes said she meant it too.

My mother turned back to me. “I thought you were here to fight fires. But isn’t this lovely! You can help Uncle Rory even more next time you’re home.”

God, I hoped not. Working with Abby wasn’t half as bad as I’d expected. Actually, I’d come to enjoy it…a lot. But that had more to do with Abby than the forge.

“Oh. Dad sends his love,” my mother continued. “So do Helen and Christopher and Hattie and Parker and…”

She rattled through the whole list — all my siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles… Most of whom made up Wyoming’s Pine Ridge fire crew at one time or another.

Abby’s eyes went wider and wider.

“Greta sends her love too,” my mother added with a heavy undertone.

Abby’s face fell, and I rushed to set the record straight.

“Did she, or are you just saying that?” I asked.

My mother flashed thatMother knows bestexpression she did so well. “Well, Greta would send her love if you sent yours.”

I ran a hand through my sweaty hair. One of these days, my mother would stop trying to fix me up with the nice she-bear from next door. Greta made tasty cookies, and she liked to share. She wasn’t moody, and she didn’t cuss.

But she didn’t hammer steel or weld or operate a forge. I would bet she couldn’t dig a decent fire line either.

My eyes half closed, and I inhaled Abby’s dandelion and huckleberry scent.

For a few blissful seconds, I imagined myself in a different time and place. Then, with a little shake, I opened my eyes.

My mother’s eyes drifted from me to Abby and back again.

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