Page 4 of Grown-Up Second Chance

Then she returned to the side with our picnic table.

“Huh,” she repeated

Across the way at the next site, an older man sat in a camp chair in the shade of his rig. He was pretending to look at his phone, but his gaze flitted between it and the woman standing by the picnic table.

“Guess we better turn it around,” Kathleen said, stomping back to the RV.

On this model, the RV door hissed gently closed. A good thing because back in the day Kathleen had been the master of slamming doors.

She pulled out and went around the top of the loop and into the row marked twenty-one through thirty.

When she got to our spot, she brought the rig to a halt and stared.

We were at the wrong angle.

With a huff, she pulled to the end of the row and stared ahead.

I held my breath.

Liz was quiet, too.

Finally, Kathleen pulled out, turned right, went all around the loop, then pulled into the correct row and parked.

I looked over to where our new neighbor sat.

He gave a thumbs up and a grin.

Kathleen hesitated a few moments before following me out of the RV.

“Glad to see you finally figured it out,” the man called over.

She ignored him and opened the compartment door to get the wheel chucks.

They were thoroughly pounded in next to the tires while I used the automatic devices to level the trailer before hooking up the electric and cable.

Water—both sides of it—were Kathleen’s department. She’d told us she’d been dealing with manure for decades, so dumping the trailer’s black water and gray water holding tanks into the RV park’s sewer was just another day’s work.

I was more than happy to let that chore go.

But guilt nagged at me as well. For almost three decades, Kathleen and her husband had managed the family ranch, a ranch that belonged to all three of us. She and Michael had received a salary from the living trust that owned the property, but I’d walked away from Silver Bow County after high school and was content only to show up for the odd holiday and our parents’ funerals.

I’d pushed for the year-long RV trip to renew the close feelings I’d once felt with my siblings.

I only hoped my plan worked.

Chapter Two

“Our first dinner together on our trip!” Liz announced as she put a bowl of salad and another bowl of her homemade baked beans on the small dinette in the RV. “Ham was on special at the IGA before we left, so I got a big one and cut it up.”

“You are one to spot a bargain,” Kathleen said with a smile.

“And look, there’s even biscuits!”

“You made biscuits from scratch?” I asked. “We haven’t been here that long.”

“No, silly, from a can. They were on sale, too.”

“Liz cooked for me and Michael most nights,” Kathleen said. “Especially during calving season and roundup. Although she was a good hand to have around when we had to get those cattle to go where we wanted.”

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