Chapter 71

“I will never forgive Frank for what he did. And he knows it.” She shook her head. “It was so hard to keep on going after Jimmy…left. I love all my sons, but Jimmy, he’s…my baby. He’s special.”

“He is,” Barry said softly.

“Truth was,” Bess briefly looked up at Barry before her gaze returned to her wringing hands. “I knew Jimmy would be better off here with Jake and the Pierces.” She wiped her eyes. “Isn’t that a horrible thing to admit?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Yes it is. A mother having to admit that someone else could raise her child better than she could.”

“I’m not a mother, so it’s hard for me to say, but isn’t one of a mother’s jobs to see that her children are safe?”

Bess nodded uncertainly.

“You knew Jimmy would be safe here with the Pierces.”

“I guess,” Bess admitted, but Barry could see she wasn’t convinced.

Knowing a change of subject was in order, and remembering what he had started to suggest earlier, Barry said, “With us expecting so many hungry cowboys tomorrow, I thought I might add just a touch of English to the American proceedings.”

“Oh?” Bess sniffed and dabbed at her reddened eyes.

“A trifle. My grandmother was the queen of trifle making in my family. But I think I’ll be able to make a fair copy. And she won’t be around to say otherwise.”

Bess smiled. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

“Hey, Mom, when will dinner be ready?” Jimmy asked, bursting into the kitchen.

“When it’s ready,” Bess said, doing her best to hide the evidence of her tears.

Jimmy wasn’t fooled. “You okay?”

“I will be, Son.”

“It’s just pizza tonight,” Barry said, thinking he should head off any more awkward questioning. “Your mom and I are busy preparing for tomorrow.”

“Okay, if you’re sure everything’s all right.”

Barry and Bess nodded.

Jimmy kissed his mother’s cheek before leaving, a broad smile on his face.

* * * *

The table was groaning with the weight of food, and it hadn’t all been set out yet. Barry was exhausted. He and Bess had been cooking since first light. There was so much to this Thanksgiving meal thing, it was way more involved than Christmas Day dinner back in England, and Barry had thought that an over-extravagance.

“What are you all waiting for?” Barry asked, aiming for innocence. “Dig in.”

The eight cowboys looked at each other uncertainly.

“Uh,” Jimmy seemed to have been silently elected as spokesman. “Where’s the turkey?”

“Turkey?” Barry asked. “It isn’t Christmas.”

“Well it’s, uh, traditional to have turkey at Thanksgiving. But you being English you probably wouldn’t have known, so…”

“Bess,” Barry turned to his fellow cook. “Did we leave something in the kitchen?”

To give the lady her due, she played along. “Don’t think so, but maybe we should have another look.”

They left the dining room, both trying not to laugh.

Moments later Barry returned bearing a sixteen-pound roast turkey. “This what you were wanting?” he asked, setting the platter in front of Jimmy.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“And one for you, too,” Bess said, putting a second bird in front of Jake. “Didn’t want you two to fight over who would carve.”

“We wouldn’t,” Jimmy said.

“Uh huh,” his mother replied, smiling at her son indulgently.

Between bites, the men raved over the food. Dennis, Gary, and Zane were especially vocal.

“Best darn Thanksgiving dinner I’ve ever eaten,” Gary said. “Oh, sorry, Mom.”

Bess smiled. “It’s okay, this is the best Thanksgiving dinner I’ve eaten, too. The turkey meat is so moist.”

Barry had brined the turkeys then pushed herb butter under the skin. The meat had been flavored by filling the cavities with onions, apples, and fresh herbs.

“Any more potatoes?” Dennis asked.

“Which type?” Liam replied.

Barry had made the traditional mashed potatoes as well as a pan of roasted sweet potatoes which he’d topped with marshmallows. Bess had questioned the use of the latter, but Barry had stuck to his guns.

“The sweet potatoes,” Dennis said. “They’re fucking awesome.” He glanced over at his mother. “Sorry, Mom.”

She nodded and then looked over at Barry, who gave her a smile.

“Hey, don’t take them all,” Gary said, grabbing the pan from his brother.

“There’s another pan in the kitchen but without the topping,” Barry told them.

“Like the marshmallows,” Zane said, emptying the last of the sweet potatoes onto his plate.

The Wilson’s sole ranch hand was huge and had an appetite to match. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but what he lacked in brains he more than made up for in brawn.

Rory, who sat next to Zane, seemed besotted with the man. Zane however was wholly focused on the contents of his plate.