The only thing he knew for sure was that his parents couldn’t stay on the ranch. Every time he drove away, he sent up a fervent prayer that nothing serious would happen before he could return again. Then he spent most of the night startling awake, checking his phone in case his dad had tried to reach him. He couldn’t live like this much longer.

When he reached Second Street, Jeremy was arriving at the house just before him. He’d been driving to Ponderosa every day, even during the whiteout on Monday, and getting home late. Jeremy couldn’t live like this much longer, either.

Mitch pressed his lips together. They would celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, and then Bea and Jeremy were leaving on Saturday. Just when he was starting to get used to having them around. Just when he was starting to appreciate Jeremy. But it was for the best. He could see now how he had been holding Bea back from giving Jeremy the commitment he deserved. It would sting to let her go again—sting like the dickens—yet he was determined to make Caroline proud of him, in case she was watching. He wouldn’t give Bea a guilt trip. Wouldn’t give Jeremy a lecture. He would smile and send them off, even if it broke his heart.

Oh, Caroline. Sweet Caroline.

He entered the house to the sound of laughter in the kitchen. Two laughs that were subdued, and one more boisterous than puppies on their first day out of the pen. Marge was here.

Bea smiled at him when he walked in. “Hey, Dad. I was just fixing Jeremy a plate. I’ll make one for you, too.”

“That’s all right.” He pulled a plate from the cupboard. “I’ll do it.”

Bea pulled foil off the top of a pan of enchiladas. “We tried to wait for you guys, but we were starving.”

It took Mitch a second to realize the we Bea referred to was her and Marge. One eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing. Looked like Marge had wormed her way into Bea’s heart.

His neck muscles tensed. What about his?

“We were just telling Marge about Steve and the ice cubes,” Jeremy said.

Mitch chuckled. “Is that right.”

Marge wiped at her eyes. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

Bea slid Jeremy’s plate from the microwave, and Mitch slid his in. He turned it on high for one minute. “It figures the ice is just the right size to slip under the door.”

Once everyone was seated at the table, the room grew quiet. Not quiet like everyone was too busy eating to talk, but quiet like something was up.

Mitch glanced around at everyone’s faces. “What’s going on?”

Bea and Jeremy exchanged a look but didn’t answer.