Liz’s shoulder ached by the time Grandma finished the last fast tune and held up her hand. “I’m tired and ready for my Sunday nap now. You younguns can keep on playin’ if you want to, but this old lady is going home.”

Grandpa slowly made his way over to her side and held out a hand.

She passed the dulcimer off to Colleen, brushed back her gray hair, and looked up into his eyes. “Thank you, darlin’.”

He looped her arm into his. “Anything for my sweetheart.”

Aunt Tressa, where are you? Did you see that? That’s what I want for Christmas: a love like theirs.

Before Aunt Tressa’s voice could argue with her, Jasmine hollered from the quilt, “Hey, Liz. You want to follow me to the Chicken Fried? I’ll show you around a little while it’s empty, and you’ll know where it is.”

“Love to.” Liz opened her fiddle case, loosened the strings, and put her instrument away. Raylen was playing a haunting rendition of “Danny Boy” when she got into her truck and followed Jasmine’s SUV down the lane.

Chapter 3

The buffet at the café in Bowie was filled from one end to the other with comfort food. It was a very different café than the Chicken Fried. Jasmine’s place was an old-fashioned plate lunch type of café where people sat down, ordered from a menu, and waited for their food to be served.

Liz was hungry enough that the pinto beans cooked with ham, fried okra and crispy brown squash, hash brown casserole, corn bread, and roast beef all looked good. Marva Jo called it comfort food. Aunt Tressa called it sin on a plate. Uncle Haskell called it down home cooking.

When she placed her tray on a corner table for two people, she couldn’t believe that she’d put so much food on it. There was enough there for her, Tressa, Marva, and even Blaze. And Blaze could eat a small cow when he was hungry. Thank goodness she’d paid at the door and it was all-you-can-eat, but still she blushed slightly when she unloaded the bowls and plates from the tray.

“Mind if I join you?” Raylen asked.

He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against the soft part of her neck right below her earlobe. She jerked her head around and looked right into his blue eyes.

“Raylen?”

“I’m not stalking you,” he stammered.

She eased into her chair and motioned for him to sit across from her. “I didn’t think you were.”

He set his plate and bowls off the tray and picked up her tray to hand it to a waiter with his. Their hands brushed in the transfer, and she got that same feeling she’d had on Saturday night when he was close enough to kiss her, and on Sunday when he guided her through the O’Donnell house with his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

“I was down here loading up on seed and fertilizer. What are you doing in Bowie?” he asked as he sat down.