Page 20 of Yummy Cowboy

“Hi, Mrs. S,” Brock said from the doorway of the hospital room the next afternoon. “I came by to see how you were feeling after your surgery.”

He’d driven up from Snowberry Springs after the diner closed for the day. As promised, Priscilla had texted him last night to report that Abigail’s surgery had gone smoothly, and that she was hoping to come home in the next day or so.

To add to the good news, when Brock reviewed his receipts last night, he realized that the changes he’d made to the diner’s menu and pricing were working. Yesterday was the first day in a long time that he hadn’t lost money.

“I’m bored. Daytime television is terrible, and I’m overjoyed to see you, dear.” Mrs. S was sitting up in bed, and looking a lot better than the last time he’d seen her, unconscious at his diner.

She added, “And I thought you’d agreed to call me Abigail if I pulled through?”

“I did, but it’s gonna take some getting used to,” Brock admitted. “Uh,Abigail.”

It felt wrong, and it went against everything his mama had taught him about being polite… but he’dpromised.

Mrs. S—no, Abigail, he reminded himself—looked pleased. “That’s much better, dear. Well, come on in. Don’t be a stranger.”

He approached the bed and remembered something. “Here, I brought these for you. They’re from my garden.”

He offered her a large glass pickle jar holding the bouquet he’d hastily cut when he dashed home to change into clean clothes before driving up to Livingston.

Abigail’s face lit up as she took the flowers from him. “Oh, they’re beautiful! Pamela always grew the most beautiful heirloom roses. I’m so glad they’re thriving in your care.” She buried her nose in the mass of white, yellow, and pink blossoms, and inhaled deeply.

Brock’s throat tightened. Growing up, there had never been much money, but there had always been fresh flowers perfuming the house from the first daffodils in April to the last zinnias and chrysanthemums in October. After Mama passed, keeping her beloved garden going felt like the best way to honor her memory.

He placed the bouquet in its humble vase on a side table, then pulled up one of the plastic visitor’s chairs. “So, how are you feeling… Abigail?”

If he said her name often enough, maybe it would stop sounding sowrong.

She grimaced. “Well, my leg is really sore where they inserted the stent through my femoral artery. Would you believe that the nurses already have me up and walking?” She shook her head. “At least I’ll be able to go home tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s great news.” Brock felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

He owed her a great deal for all of her support over the years. And he liked her, despite her bossy ways. Or maybe because of them. She made him feel like hematteredto her. Like she cared whether he succeeded or failed, and not just because of the money he owed her.

“I’m so glad you drove all this way to visit me,” Abigail said. “I wanted to have a private chat with you before Bob and Priscilla show up.”

Uh-oh, he thought.And I walked right into this trap with an armful of roses.

“About?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.

Abigail threw him a look. He wasn’t fooling her. “Believe me, dear,” she began, “I know and appreciate how hard you’ve worked so far to improve things at the diner. Your food is outstanding, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. Everyone in town loves eating there.”

Oh yeah, she’s buttering me up, all right.

“But…?” Brock asked. “I know there’s a ‘but’ buried in all of your sweet-talkin’, Mrs., I mean, Abigail.”

“Touché.” She grinned at him. “But, from here on out, Brock, it’s going to be about working smarter, not harder. You can’t do everything yourself, and you’ll kill yourself trying.” Her smile turned wry. She patted her chest. “It’s a lesson I forgot to apply to myself.”

He nodded warily.

“All this to say, I believe in you, Brock, and I want you to succeed.”

Here it comes, he thought. “I’m already making changes—” he began.

“I saw. And I admire you for not letting your pride get in the way of taking good advice,” Abigail said, her expression serious now. “Which is why I have a proposal for you.”

“What kind of proposal?” Whatever it was, he was sure he wouldn’t like it.

Chapter Eight – Brock

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