“Have at it. There are some of those flash frozen chicken tenders in the freezer, and ingredients for a decent potato salad. Fried chicken and potato salad would make for a good picnic that would fit nicely in the saddlebags. It won’t hurt my feelings if you want to leave me a plate,” she said with a wink.

“Deal.” He got right to work.

While he fried the chicken, Mom made herself comfortable at the island. “It’s so nice to watch you cook again.”

“Feels good to cook for myself instead of for customers.” He never cooked at home. “It’ll be nice to get on Doc again. I hope I remember what I’m doing.” He rinsed the chicken tenders and dredged them in flour he’d doctored up with the spices Mom had on hand.

“Let me know when you’re ready to go down to the barn, and I’ll help you get saddled up.” She’d been a competitive barrel racer when she’d met Dad. The barn was still her favorite way to spend time.

“That would be great. It’s been a while.”

“It’ll all come right back to you, and Doc is a great horse. He’ll treat you right.”

“No doubt about that.” The chicken sizzled in the oil.

“Your old cowboy boots are in the attic if you want to ride in them. All the boxes are marked.”

“Really? I can’t believe you didn’t toss all that stuff a long time ago.”

“Not mine to toss,” she said. “Besides, those were nice boots.”

“If I’d known I wasn’t coming back, I would’ve taken them with me.” He turned the chicken, and then dumped the boiling potatoes in the strainer in the sink.

“That smells so good, and you make it look so easy.”

“Practice,” he said.

“You’ve practiced your clean-up skills too. I used to cringe when you cooked here.”

“Yeah, that won’t fly in a restaurant. That was one of the first things I learned.” He laid the fried chicken strips on a paper sack to drain as he finished the potato salad. He took a plate from the cabinet and made a serving for Mom. Pleased with how it all turned out, and with time to spare, he turned to her. “I’m going to go hunt down those boots.”

“All your stuff should be on the right-hand side in the attic.”

“Thanks, Mom.” He went down the hall and pulled the string to the attic stairs. They creaked and groaned. He went to the hall closet where Dad kept the house tools and got what he needed to oil the hinges. One generous squirt, and the stairs were moving without so much as a moan.

Mom came down the hall. “You’re an angel. Do you know how long I’ve been asking your dad to do that?”

“Since I left?”