Holly did the same, only she stomped every step of the way. When she reached the door, Lily called out, “You might as well pick up one of your boxes and carry it upstairs to your room. They aren’t going to grow wings and float up there for you.”

Holly looked over her shoulder and rolled her big blue eyes toward the gray skies. “Why didn’t the movers put them in the rooms where they belonged?”

“Because I told them to leave them on the porch,” Lily answered. “And I told Mack not to bring them inside. So get on with it, my darlin’s. It’ll be a big mess if it rains on them.”

She almost felt sorry enough for Braden to help him, but then she remembered her own shock, dismay, and disappointment over the preceding events.

Mack threw open the door. It had been years since she’d seen him, and her first impression right then was nothing short of shock. He was a little heavier than he’d been five years ago when he’d attended her mother’s funeral, but it was in all the right places. His broad shoulders and huge biceps strained the seams of his oatmeal-colored knit shirt. Faded jeans hugged his big thighs, and his cowboy boots were scuffed and worn, marking him for a real rancher, not a Saturday-night wannabe. She’d forgotten what a good-looking man he was, and now she was going to be living in the same house with him.

“Hey, y’all made it. I thought I heard a car drive up. Come right in. Here, Braden, let me help you with that. It’s about to drag you down, boy.”

Braden glanced at his mother. Lily sighed. “If Mack wants to help, that’s fine by me. But you have to do the unpacking. I’ll check your rooms later to see that everything is put away.”

“Thank you, sir,” Braden said respectfully.

Lily picked up one of her own boxes and followed them into the foyer and up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Holly fell in behind her and huffed all the way to the top as if she were toting a pregnant elephant up the steps, when in all actuality, the box had nightshirts and underwear written on the side of it.

“I’ve got a pot of loaded potato soup simmering, and corn bread is ready to go in the oven. Where do I put this, Braden?” Mack asked.

“Mama says we’ll have the same rooms we did when we were little kids and came to visit Grandma and Grandpa, so this one.” He pointed to one of the four bedrooms. “Potato soup’s the best—I’m starving.”

“You unpack that one while I bring the rest of your stuff up, and then I’ll help Holly,” Mack said.

“I can get my own,” Holly smarted off.