Please God she wasn’t lying! But, considering her Reba-ness and her age, he’d begun to decide she probably wasn’t.

He watched as she and Tina hurried inside. All the way to the side porch and in through the kitchen door, Bandit and Smoky frolicked on either side of the females, a two-dog party. Big as they were, they were still pups, and it showed.

“Wow,” Carly murmured, looking around the large, old-fashioned kitchen. “Time warp. It’s the 1950s all over again.”

The kitchen, in fact, was much as his grandmother had left it, right down to the wood-burning cookstove, scuffed linoleum floor and avocado-green appliances. The rest of the house—thanks to his ex-wife, Jenna—not so much…

Jenna had only been interested in their bedroom and the rooms on public display, the ones she could show off to guests (not that there were many, outside of Cord’s friends). Besides, she’d counted on Tina to provide the majority of meals.

Tina had been after him to update the kitchen, too—brought up the subject once a week on average—and he always promised he would. Eventually. He glanced around; Mimi’s needlework still hung on the walls, and her embroidered dish towels lay neatly folded in the cabinet drawer they’d occupied since she’d come to this house as a young bride. These things were deeply important to him. It was all about family. And memory…

Carly went straight to the iron beast against the far wall, warming herself in the woodsmoke-scented heat it gave off. Looking back over one shoulder, she frowned curiously. “Why are there two stoves?” she asked.

“A reasonable question,” Tina said with a twinkle. She wore her silver-gray hair in a short, curly bob, and her brown eyes smiled behind her stylish glasses.

Tina was one of those people who lit up all over when she smiled.

“That stove,” she went on, pointing to the green range, “barely works. The oven won’t heat up half the time, and two of the burners are out of commission. And don’t get me started on the fridge.”

“Seems to me,” Cord said dryly, “that something already got you started.”

Tina made a pffft sound, followed by a dismissive gesture. She was focused on Carly, one hundred percent. “At least the other stove works, and there’s a microwave,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

Carly shook her head, and the tiniest smile curved her mouth. “No,” she said, watching Cord. “So are you, like, a hoarder or something? Or just really, really behind the times?” She pointed to the tattoo on her neck, a reminder of their conversation in the truck. “Like, hello, this is a whole new century. Ink isn’t just for sailors and guys in jail and guys who ride motorcycles anymore, and what is this stuff on the floor?”