A Texas Thanksgiving. Margaret Daley

      Evan stood at the window that afforded him a view of his yard and front pastures that bordered the highway into town. A cloud of dust coming down the road that led to his house announced a visitor. The blue sedan told him it was Marge Freeman, his mother-in-law, with her food delivery.

      Lately, she had been hinting at moving in with him and Paige, so she could make fresh meals daily instead of bringing them twice a week. He was grateful for her help, but he didn’t want her living with them. Her presence was a constant reminder of his wife’s betrayal—one he wished he could forget. But there was no way he would deny his daughter access to her grandmother. She had so little family in her life, especially with his little sister, Whitney, deployed.

      Evan turned away from the window and crossed the living room to go into the kitchen. Why wasn’t there any news about his sister? She continued to remain lost in a Middle East war zone. Had she been captured? Was she dead? These questions plagued him day and night.

      “Grandma’s here,” Paige said, racing into the kitchen and through the open back door.

      Evan followed his daughter outside to help bring the bags of food inside. “Good to see you, Marge.”

      The large woman struggled out of the car, placing her hand at the small of her back. “I’d have been here sooner if my uncle hadn’t taken so long to eat his lunch. That man is the slowest eater in Texas. Molasses flows faster than he eats.” She grinned, a flush tinting her cheeks. “Of course, Uncle Bert ends the meal with telling me he has to savor every little bite because it’s five hours to the next one. Can’t stay mad at someone who says that.”

      “Grandma, what did ya bring us?” Paige opened the back door and stuck her head into the first sack sitting on the car seat. “Mmm. Chocolate chip cookies. I love those.” Evan’s daughter started to delve into the bag for a sample.

      “Paige Paterson, you know better than that. You can’t have any cookies till after you’ve eaten a good meal.”

      Marge’s rebuke hadn’t surprised Evan. She’d said the same thing to him on several occasions. He and his daughter would indulge after she was gone. He’d learned pretty quickly not to argue the point with his mother-in-law, not when he was beholden to her for preparing so many meals for Paige and him. At least he paid her for them, against Marge’s protests, but he was Paige’s provider.

      “Yes, Grandma. I forgot. They just smell so good.”

      “That’s because I just took them out of the oven not thirty minutes ago.”

      Evan drew in a deep breath and relished one of his favorite smells. “Let’s get this inside.”

      After the food was put away, Marge took a look around the kitchen, then made her usual trip into the living room. She stopped short of pulling out a white glove and running it along the woodwork. After church, Paige had picked up around the house while Evan had run the vacuum cleaner and dusted, but his mother-in-law always found something to silently criticize. It was her way of telling him he needed her in his life full-time. As much as he wanted Marge to spend time with his daughter, he would hire a housekeeper before he would resort to his mother-in-law living with them. She needed to control everything around her. They were too much alike.

      Marge bent over, groaning from the effort, and picked up a white string from the medium brown carpet. Moaning some more, she straightened and walked to the trash can in the corner and threw away the offending piece of thread. Then she pointedly looked him in the eye, wordlessly stressing his need for her.

      He had to learn how to cook. He couldn’t keep going through this twice each week. Paige could visit her grandmother at her house, where he wouldn’t get the look he’d come to dread.

      “Thank you again, Marge, for everything you do for Paige, and me.” Evan started back toward the kitchen, hoping the woman would follow. He caught sight of the clock on the wall near the stove. He didn’t even want Julia and Marge to pass each other on the road that led to his house.

      “I have a picture I drew for you,” Paige said from the living room. “I’ll go get it.”

      Tension in his neck streaked down his spine. Maybe he should have explained to his daughter that her grandmother and Julia shouldn’t meet, especially when the young, beautiful woman would be bringing a sack of food for his cooking lesson. That definitely wouldn’t go over well. She was due any minute. It was possible she would be late again. He could only hope.

      Evan moved back into the living room as his daughter came forward with a watercolor picture of a horse—though the only reason he knew that was because Paige had told him.

      Marge gushed over the painting as if his daughter was the next Monet. “This will go on my refrigerator just as soon as I get home.” She sidled toward the lounge chair as if she were going to settle in for a long visit. “I love your use of colors. When I was a little girl, I always wanted an orange cat.”

      “Grandma, it’s a horse—Bessie.”

      “Oh? Well, Bessie looks great.”

      “Speaking of Bessie—” Evan latched on to the mare’s name “—have you fed your pony?” Okay, it was a stretch since the pony was called Sugar, but he was desperate to have Marge leave before Julia showed up. There was absolutely nothing between Julia and him, but he didn’t want to try and explain that to his mother-in-law. She had been sure his reluctance to date anyone was because he still loved Diane, so she took every opportunity to rewrite what her daughter had done—walking out on him, turning to drugs. Now that she was dead, he didn’t have the heart to straighten her out.

      “I did when I got home from church.”

      “And you’ve done your other chores in the barn?” Marge hated the barn and wouldn’t go near it. Much too dirty for her.

      Paige nodded. “I’m all ready for Ellie’s lesson.”

       Oh, great.

      Right on cue, Marge’s head swung around toward him, and she gave him the look. “Ellie? Who’s Ellie?”

      “My best friend. We go to school together. She’s coming out here this afternoon. Daddy is teaching her to ride.”

      Okay, he might be able to get Marge out of here still without bringing Julia’s name into the conversation.

      “I didn’t know you gave riding lessons. I have a friend whose granddaughter would love to learn.”

      “I don’t usually.” Evan immediately realized his mistake and bit down on the inside of his mouth.

      “He’s teaching her because Julia’s teaching Daddy to cook.”

      “Julia? Who’s Julia?” Her look knifed through him.

      “Ah, she’s…” He searched for a way to make it sound as if he wasn’t betraying Marge or her deceased daughter. “She’s…”

      “She’s Ellie’s mom,” Paige chimed in. “She spent the night here last night.”

      “What?” Marge’s eyes widened to the size of round platters.

      “No. Paige meant Ellie. Ellie spent the night here.” His face felt on fire from embarrassment and Marge’s searing gaze.

      Silence descended for a long moment, broken by the sound of footsteps