“Where’s Zane at anyway?” Betsy asked.
“Looking at used trucks with your father,” Brenda said.
Betsy rolled her eyes and sank into the chair recently vacated by her mother. Stealing a link sausage from his plate, she chewed then said, “You’re a quiet one.”
“Good thing, given that you’re such a chatterbox,” Brenda said, setting a cup of what looked like herbal tea in front of her daughter.
Betsy snorted then ate the rest of the sausage, washing it down with a gulp of tea. “And you don’t eat much either.”
“Your mom gave me a big plate, more than I could eat,” Rory said, smiling broadly at the woman’s exuberance.
“You’re a guest in my home,” Brenda said simply.
“And what I had was delicious, just too much.”
“That’s mom, always cooks enough to feed the five thousand.”
Rory smiled. Bar
