“You came back.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?” Teddy grinned at me. “I spoke to my mom, and she’ll look over your cow. Assuming she’s healthy, she’ll buy her from you and add her to our herd.”
I flinched at the idea. “I can’t sell her. Not to your mom, not after how many times she’s fed me over the years. That would be weird. I didn’t pay but five bucks for her, and I can’t give her a good home here. If anything, your mom’s doing me a favor by taking Buttercup off my hands.”
“Buttercup?” Teddy asked.
“That’s what she likes to be called.”
He bobbed his head affably. “Then Buttercup it is. Does Buttercup have any other preferences I should know about?”
“She likes eating flowers.”
“Most cows do. Come on, let’s get her loaded up.” He untied the knot from the pecan tree and led her around the house. A truck I didn’t recognize was hitched to a stock trailer that was backed into the driveway. He loaded her with the ease of someone who had done it hundreds of times.
“Thanks. I can barely get her to follow me on a lead,” I admitted.
“That’s because you’re a soft touch, Juni.” He closed the back door and secured it.
“Am not.”
“Are too. But that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I like that about you. It’s just hard to get a cow to listen to you if they sense you’re an easy mark. They take advantage.”
I nodded. “Daffy does that too.”
“Cats do that to everyone. It’s when people try to use that against you that you need to worry,” he said, opening my door for me before walking around to the driver’s side.
I buckled my seat belt. Teddy got in, adjusted his mirrors, and started the car. “And when you say that, you’re talking about someone in particular, I suppose?”
Teddy chuckled. “Juni, you moved all the way back here from Oregon because your sisters asked you to open a record shop with them. You’re nice to just about everyone, even your jerk ex. I mean, some stranger drops off a cow you don’t want in your front yard, and your first instinct is to give her a name and find her a good home. You’ve got a big heart.”
“I do, don’t I?” I agreed, at least partially as a joke.
“And with an ego like that, I’m surprised you fit in the cab,” he said, shaking his head.
As we drove to Teddy’s family farm, I took a moment to appreciate how peaceful it was out here. Just an hour or so away from Austin, it felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. We took a turn and I could see the river stretched out in front of us, dark blue and running fast this time of the year. Finally, we bumped over a cattle grate and pulled up in front of a barn.
“Want to help get her unloaded?” Teddy asked.
“I’ll do my best.”
He got in front of Buttercup and tossed her rope lead back to me. “I’m just going to encourage her nice and slow, but if she spooks, don’t worry about it. Just let her go. She won’t go far.”
“I’m not afraid of a little old dairy cow,” I assured him.
“This little old dairy cow weighs over a thousand pounds more than you do. I’ve seen grown men seriously injured when a little calf got too feisty,” he warned me.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will be,” he said. True to his word, he coaxed her to back out of the trailer, and then we led her to a stall inside the barn. He scooped out some oats for her and made sure she had water. “Someone will come along and take a look at her shortly, but in the meantime, you need to wash up.”
“Wash up?” I sniffed my shoulder. I smelled fine to me. “I just took a shower.”
“I mean wash your hands for supper, silly.” Teddy led me inside the old farmhouse. Delicious smells and the sound of something sizzling made my mouth water.
“Hola,” his mother called.
“Hola, Mamá,” Teddy replied. “Juni’s here. The cow’s in the barn.”
“Her name is Buttercup,” I told her as I entered the kitchen. The smell of grilling onions, peppers, and garlic was so strong, I could almost taste it.
“That’s a good name for a cow. Sit, sit. Supper’s almost ready.”
“I need to wash my hands,” I told her.
“You know where everything is,” she said, never taking her eyes off the skillet.
I did. Growing up, I’d spent a lot of time here studying, or just goofing off. When I returned to the kitchen, Teddy was setting the table. “Smells amazing,” I said.
“Veggie fajitas,” Mrs. Garza said, balancing bowls of lettuce, tomatoes, beans, grilled veggies, and slices of limes. “Meatless Monday,” she explained. “It’s good for the cholesterol.”
“Well, it looks absolutely delicious,” I said, helping her spread out the bowls.
“I’m glad someone appreciates Mamá’s home cooking,” she said, casting an eye at Teddy.
“What? What did I do?” Teddy asked.
“Last time I made veggie fajitas, Teo accused me of forgetting the steak.” She wagged her finger at Teddy. Then she took her apron off and hung it over the back of her chair. “Do I look like a woman who forgets things?”
“No ma’am,” I said. I helped myself to a fresh tortilla and stuffed it so full of fixings, I could barely hold it together.
“Does your mother not feed you?” Teddy’s mom asked, making a derisive clucking noise. “I need to call Bea and have a talk with her.”
“She’d love to hear from you,” I said. Teddy’s mom didn’t get off the farm much, but my mom adored her.
The screen door opened with a squeal of hinges, and half a dozen people filed inside. Some, like Jorge, Teddy’s dad, and his younger sister, Silvie, I knew well. I vaguely recognized Shelton Weaver and Lola Hammond, both longtime Cedar River residents. The others, mostly farmhands and various visiting friends or family members, I’d never seen before. I said hello and was treated to a hug by Teddy’s sister and a flurry of names as everyone grabbed for plates and started loading them up.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed meals in the Garza kitchen. Even with a few unfamiliar faces, it felt like the Jessup family dinners that I loved—noisy, a little chaotic, and utterly delightful. Between the great company and the delicious food, I was in heaven.
“Teddy tells me the Holstein’s yours,” his dad said, before passing the pitcher of ice tea to the person sitting next to him.
“She’s yours now, if you’ll take her,” I told him. Someone handed me a bowl of grilled corn salsa that I’d missed earlier. I didn’t have room in my tortilla, but I took a scoop anyway. “Can someone please pass me the chips?”
“Big girl, that Holstein,” Teddy’s dad continued, handing me a basket of warm tortilla chips. “What’s her milk like?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I’ve only had her for a few hours.”
“How much you want for her?” he asked.
“I already told Teddy, nothing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother said. “Jorge, give Juni a good price.”
“Seriously, what would I do with a cow? I can’t take your money,” I insisted.
“No.” Jorge shook his head. “That’s no good.”
I looked to Teddy, but he was no help. I turned to his mom. “Señora Garza, I’ll make you a deal.” While I called almost everyone in town by their first name, it had never felt right doing so with Teddy’s mom. I wasn’t even sure I knew her first name. “I’ve been craving your pan dulce ever since I moved to Oregon.”
Austin might call itself the Live Music Capital of the World, but as far as I was concerned, it was the pastry capital of the world. From Czech kolaches to Mexican sweet bread, there were more pastries to choose from here than anywhere else I’d ever lived. In my opinion, even the finest French bakeries couldn’t hold a candle to Mrs. Garza’s conchas. “Do you think you could teach me to bake them? That would be payment enough. In between rises, we can work on your coffee ice cream idea.”
“That is not enough,” she insisted, “but if you want to learn how to bake, I will show you. Come by anytime.”
“I will,” I promised. “And please, consider Buttercup a gift.”
“Then it is settled,” Teddy’s father declared. “Pass me the frijoles.”
Silvie looked up at me with a sly grin. She’d always been a sweet kid. Whenever I’d come to the farm, she’d followed me like a little shadow, asking a million questions and never giving me a second’s peace. If that was what it was like to have a little sister, I don’t know how Tansy and Maggie didn’t lock me in the basement until I turned eighteen. Good thing we didn’t have a basement.
“What did Mayor Bob look like when you found him? I heard he was purple,” she said.
“Silvie!” her mother yelled.
All chatter at the table ground to a halt as everyone turned their attention to her.
“What?” she asked, trying to appear innocent. She had plenty of practice pretending. “It’s a legit question.”
“Not at the dinner table it’s not,” Jorge said. “Pass the tortillas.”
As someone handed him the basket of tortillas, Silvie turned her attention back to me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. But it’s not like I ever get to see you. You never come around anymore.”
That’s when I realized that Silvie wasn’t trying to be rude or intentionally shocking. She was just feeling left out. Seriously, did I ever do that to my older sisters? Silvie was only a few years younger than me, but she’d grown up on a farm. Seeing death up close was more matter-of-fact for her than for most people.
“For the record, he wasn’t purple. And you’re right,” I told her. She sat back with a self-satisfied look on her face and crossed her arms over her chest triumphantly. “We should hang out more. Come by the record shop sometime. I’ll treat you to the coffee special of the day and we can catch up.”
Silvie rolled her eyes. “Records, really? Aren’t those obsolete already?”
“They were headed that way for a while,” I told her, pasting on my best customer-service smile instead of letting her know that her comment had stung. “But there’s a retro resurgence. Vinyl might not be as popular as streaming, but it sure sounds better. Come by anytime and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Deal.” She stood and picked up her plate. “Gracias, Mamá. Supper was delicious, but we have a few cows calving any day now and I’d like to check on them before it gets dark.” She turned to me. “Good to see you, Juni, and remember, when you’re picking out bridesmaids dresses, I look fantastic in anything in the mauve family.”
Teddy draped his arm over the back of my chair. “Don’t mind her.”
“No worries,” I said, taking one last bite of tortilla to hide my blush. “I think maybe Silvie is giving me a taste of my own medicine. Are all baby sisters so, um, well so much?”
This time, it was Teddy’s turn to blush. It said something that he was more embarrassed from my question than his sister’s cheekiness. “You’d have to ask your sisters about that.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I replied with a grin to show him I had no hard feelings. All around us, people were finishing their meals. They took their plates to the kitchen sink before scattering. I carried my plate to the sink, turned on the water, and grabbed a scrubby sponge.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Teddy’s mom asked from over my shoulder.
“Helping clean up,” I said, scrubbing a plate and setting it aside so I could grab the next one.
Teddy’s mom reached over my shoulder and turned off the water. “You’re a guest.”
I’d once read a fantasy book that went into great details of the traps of faery guesting rules and how one wrong move could result in forfeiture of your soul. All I can say is that faery hosts and guesting rites had nothing on Southern Texas guest landmines. For example, I was a bad guest if I didn’t clean up without being asked, and Señora Garza would be a bad host if she let me. It was a catch-22.
“It’s my turn to do dishes,” Jorge said, taking the scrubby sponge from me and effectively sorting the situation without breaking any rules of etiquette.
Teddy came in carrying the serving dishes. Despite the horde of diners at the table all eating their fill, there were still leftovers. As he started packing up the extra food, his mom shooed us out of the kitchen. “You two are underfoot,” she declared. She squeezed my hand. “Come by soon and we’ll bake and make ice cream.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I told her, and let myself be hurried out the back door by Teddy. “Your mom is the best,” I said as we settled onto the back porch swing.
The sun was setting. The sky was awash with pastel colors blending seamlessly together. The Garza farm stretched out in front of us, lush green fields dotted with grazing cattle. In the distance, the foothills cast a purple shadow over the yard. “Beautiful,” I sighed.
“Beats a sharp stick in the eye,” Teddy agreed. “Can I get you anything? Sweet tea? Lemonade? Beer?”
“I’m stuffed,” I admitted. “As nice as this is, I need to be getting home.” Honestly, I’d rather sit on the back porch swing with Teddy for a few hours, watching the stars come out and listening to the crickets sing. It was a little early in the year for fireflies—they didn’t come out until the heat was too oppressive to be outside long enough to enjoy them—but I remembered being young and chasing them in Teddy’s backyard.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” Instead of heading back to the stock trailer we’d used to transport Buttercup, he led me toward his Jeep, the same one he’d driven way back in high school.
“Mind if we check on Buttercup before we leave?” I asked. I knew I was being silly. I hadn’t owned the cow long enough to form an attachment to her, and the Garzas would give her a better home than I ever could, but I still wanted to say good night.
“Of course.” We followed the long path to the barn. It was a delicate balance building a barn close enough to the main house that someone would notice if there was a commotion, but far enough that the flies and smell of manure didn’t drift in through the windows. Teddy stepped on the electrified wires of the fence with a booted foot so I could step over it without either of us getting a shock.
Buttercup looked agitated. “She’s probably not used to sleeping in a barn,” Teddy said, stroking the wide white stripe on her forehead between her stubby horns. “Once the vet gives her a clean bill of health, we’ll turn her out with the rest of the herd and she’ll settle in fine,” he assured me. “And I’ll check on her again before I go to bed.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning against the stall door. “I know you’ll take good care of her.”
“Of course.”
I followed him to his Jeep. As we bounced along the unpaved road, I asked, “Isn’t Rawlings Hollow nearby? I heard that it just got sold to a used car dealer.”
“Yup.” Teddy gestured out the window at a vast darkness shrouded by a thick growth of trees behind a row of Posted: No Hunting signs. The thought of clearing all those trees made me sad. “No one’s worked that land for generations. About time someone put it to good use.”
“But they’re going to destroy it.”
He nodded. “Progress. What can we do?”
I sat back in my seat and thought about it. It would be advantageous to the Garzas if the town paved this road. For all I knew, they would welcome getting new neighbors. But it still bugged me that the land would be used to park cars on instead of for grazing cattle or growing crops. “It seems like you’ll be more affected than most folks. What do you think about the deal?”
He shrugged. There were no streetlights out this way, so he had to concentrate on the road. If anything crossed in front of us, he wouldn’t have much time to react. “I love it out here, you know? It’s quiet. Peaceful. But it’s also a pain sometimes, like trying to get to work when the road’s washed out or we get an ice storm. I’ve considered getting an apartment in town, but it seems like an unnecessary expense most of the time.”
“I understand. I don’t always love living sandwiched between my mother and my oldest sister, but it beats paying rent and bills. When the shop starts making money, I might move out, but it’s a nice setup for now.” If the shop starts making money, I mentally corrected myself. Until we cleared up the nasty rumor that our coffee killed Mayor Bob, the fate of Sip & Spin Records was in limbo.
And here I was, thinking that opening the business would be the hard part.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said as the silence between us stretched on.
“I was just wondering if I was making a mistake.” I’d uprooted my whole life to move back to Cedar River, and had sunk every dollar I had managed to save into opening the shop with my sisters. If we failed, we wouldn’t just be back to square one. We would be in debt, with a room full of vinyl records and nowhere to sell them.
“You’re a smart cookie, Juni,” Teddy said, laying a comforting hand on my knee. “We all make mistakes. The key is to learn from our mistakes and do better next time.”
His advice reminded me that taking a chance on my family wasn’t, and would never be, a mistake. Sure, we would go through hard times, but we would make it work, somehow. I turned toward him. “You are very wise, my friend.”
“So I’ve been told,” he replied with a chuckle. He pulled up in front of Tansy’s house. Lights were on over the porch and in the kitchen. My mother’s little cottage was dark. I presumed she was out with Marcus, or at one of her many organizations. “See you later?”
“Yup.” I got out of the Jeep, then leaned back in. “Tell your mom thanks again for dinner. And for helping with the Buttercup situation.”
“Don’t thank me, we got a free cow out of it.”
Teddy waited until I was in the house before driving away.
There was a note in the kitchen saying that Tansy had gone out, but there was soup in the fridge. I probably should have let her know that I was eating supper at the Garzas. I wished my sister was home, though. I had a dozen ideas flying around in my head and no one to bounce them off.
I was so deep in thought I didn’t even notice that I wasn’t alone in the dark house.