The December evening carried a crisp bite, but Holly felt nothing but warmth as she balanced the two cheesecakes in her arms. One was destined for Ms. Bea’s Sunday table, the other for the bunkhouse where the ranchhands, young men and women who had aged out of foster care but found belonging here, were already gathered. Holly liked the thought of them cutting into the creamy dessert together, laughter echoing across the ranch.
Inside Ms. Bea’s kitchen, the air was thick with the scent of roasted chicken, buttered rolls, and simmering vegetables. Holly set her cheesecake down, brushing a stray hair from her cheek.
“Well now,” Ms. Bea said, her eyes twinkling as she inspected the dessert. “That looks good enough to make my apple pie jealous.”
Lee chuckled, sliding into his chair. “Careful
