On occasion she had been known to banish even the abrasive Ram.

Like everything else about the Flying B, the kitchen was impressive. There were triple stainless-steel ovens, long granite countertops, and three Sub-Zero refrigerators with accompanying freezers. Copper pots and pans hung from the ceiling and walls. Aging southern hams and maple bacon clung to meat hooks in one corner, and ripening chilies, peppers, and garlic cloves hung in another. French doors lay open in the far wall, revealing the side yard with its stone terraces, gaslight torches, and kidney-shaped swimming pool.

As was usual for a Sunday, the three uniformed house girls and all the ranch hands besides Aunt Lou and Big John had gone home early, leaving Lou alone to create dinner. Wyatt knew that this was another reason Ram liked Sundays best. With most of the help gone, it was easier for him to hold court with his family.

“Hey, Aunt Lou,” Wyatt said. He walked into the kitchen, glass and bottle in hand.

After putting down her meat cleaver, Aunt Lou turned and gave Wyatt a look of mock ferociousness. She was a wide, commanding woman, her gray hair collected at the back of her head in a severe bun. She and her husband had been born and raised in New Orleans. Many of her old-time recipes were from there, and her cooking was extraordinary. Aunt Lou was worth her considerable weight in gold, and everyone at the Flying B knew it.

“Hey, yourself,” she answered back, while wiping her fingers on her apron. “It’s high time that you got home! I swear, your father must’ve asked about you ten times! He acts like I should somehow know your every movement, for God’s sake. Where have you been, anyway?”

“I had things to do,” Wyatt answered. “For one, I met with Reverend Jacobson. He was happy to hear about Krista’s revived program.”

Aunt Lou’s demeanor quickly mellowed. In her own way, she had loved Krista and Danny as much as anyone else. Walking closer, she gave Wyatt a kiss on one cheek.

“They would be proud of you, Mr. Wyatt,” she said. “I just know it.”

“I hope so,” he answered quietly.

Ever since Wyatt’s and Morgan’s births, Aunt Lou and Big John had called them “Mr.,” the same way they always respectfully addressed Ram. Despite repeated attempts by the brothers to get them to drop the habit and join the twenty-first century, the couple steadfastly refused. Wyatt had become resigned to it long ago, although it still embarrassed him slightly.

Wyatt walked to one of the cupboards and opened it. Taking out a glass, he poured two fingers of bourbon for Aunt Lou. She gave him a wide smile as he handed it to her. Aunt Lou liked her bourbon, but true to her stern work ethic, she drank only on weekends.

“Here’s to Krista and Danny,” Wyatt said reverently.

“You bet,” Aunt Lou answered.

After gently clinking her glass against his and taking a welcome sip, Aunt Lou turned back toward the countertop. She again brought her meat cleaver down, expertly splitting another chicken for her special brand of basting and frying.

Rolling his glass between his palms, Wyatt leaned back against the counter. After thinking for a time, he stared at Aunt Lou’s broad back.

“How was he today?” he asked. “He seems okay, but that doesn’t mean much sometimes.”

Aunt Lou turned back around. “Today was a good day, Mr. Wyatt.