Sassy Cowgirl Kisses by Kathy Fawcett
Chapter 5
Home.
Sassy felt a twinge of jealousy when that handsome cowboy said he was going home. Home as she knew it would never be the same. Her father was gone, and her mother was distracted by her new independence—financial and otherwise.
The little colonial she grew up in near the Missouri River was small, but in a tidy, desirable neighborhood where massive big-foot homes were replacing the quaint small houses at a rapid pace.
A picket fence defined the front yard, and a rose-covered trellis led to a brick-paved patio in the back. More times than she could count, Sassy joined her parents there for three-handed pinochle and cold lemonade.
Sassy was grateful for the loving home, but didn’t see herself returning after graduation. Not permanently, anyway. Her mother was young, and made it clear she wasn’t relying on her daughter to help her navigate widowhood.
“I’m going to mourn, Sassy,” she had said with a loud sniffle. “But each of us will find our own ways to move on.”
One day, before leaving for Wyoming, Sassy came upon her mother’s open computer screen to see she’d been taking virtual tours of the town’s more modern condos. Beautiful two-bedroom apartments with soaring ceilings and terraces—condos without any roses to prune, or fences in need of fresh paint.
The rooms in the photos looked cold, modern, and void of personality or warmth. She’d like to think her mother would turn any place into an inviting home, but without her father’s influence, didn’t hold out much hope. He was the sentimental one; the one who picked out their plush furnishings and art. Left to her own devices, her mother would stick a Moving Sale sign in the lawn, and sell everything down to the bare walls.
Except for a photo or two, Sassy doubted she’d be able to distinguish her mother’s new place from a hotel room.
“This granny cottage was your dad’s dream, but I think it ages me,” she said, making Sassy think the little house would be sold by the end of summer. Maybe it would be for the best—the only thing Mama liked to paint was her nails.
The house was paid off, and the sale would more than cover the price of anything her mother wanted to buy. She felt a stone in her stomach at the realization that her mother wasn’t sentimental about the things Sassy held dear. Maybe that was for the best. She’d always see her father in the nooks and crannies of the little home; waiting for her in his office, which had become a walk-in closet for Mama’s expanding wardrobe.
“What?”Her mother had been defensive as the daughter flipped through the clothes and gaped at price tags. “Your daddy liked to see me in pretty things. He wouldn’t want me looking all dowdy on account of his dying.”
Sassy smiled, knowing it was true. And also understanding why he’d set up her mother’s inheritance in monthly installments, so she couldn’t blow through it all too quickly.
“Just pace yourself, Mom,” Sassy had said. “You have more dresses than places to go.”
“Hmm,” was the non-committal reply she got.
In any case, Sassy made sure to pack up her belongings in stackable storage boxes that were clearly marked, in the event her mother up and moved. She wasn’t ready to have her childhood thrown out with the trash.