Free Road to Glory by Tessa Berkley

Jim, was in the Air Force with my dad,” she replied, pushing an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. “When her husband was stationed here in Colorado, Alma moved onto the ranch to help my mom, and she’s been here ever since.”
    “Nice. Her husband work around here?”
    “No, Jim died. He’d gone back to Charleston to close the deal for the home they sold, and a big old hurricane roared through. He made the foolish mistake of trying to ride it out. He didn’t stand a chance. Alma has never wanted to go back. She says the ocean took her life that day, so she will stay here and make a new one.”
    “I’m sorry,” Travis whispered, wishing he hadn’t asked. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
    She stopped and shifted the basket on her hip. “You weren’t prying, Travis. It’s a natural question.” Her fingers found his arm, and beneath the cotton of his shirt Travis felt his skin warm. “I am glad you asked me and not Alma, though. She still gets misty-eyed when she speaks of Jim.”
    “He was a good man?”
    “The best.”
    She drew her hand away and disappointment swept over him.
    “Let me open the door.” Bending her knee, she balanced the basket and stuck the key into the lock. With a smooth turn of her wrist, the lock tumbled, and she pulled the key out and held it up with the others. “Here you go. Keys to the mansion.”
    Travis scooped them from her hand and stepped out of the way so she could enter. While Glory teased about the small home being a mansion, to him, it seemed just about right. After living in an efficiency apartment with room enough for a bar stool and a bed, the eighteen-by-twenty-foot living area felt like the Taj Mahal. A sofa, chair, TV—by golly, he’d hit the big time. Even a fireplace, complete with a mantel.
    He thought he’d stepped through one of Norman Rockwell’s paintings. Moving to an end table near the arm of the sofa, he picked up a framed photograph of two men in Air Force uniform standing in front of a jet. One black, one white, but their arms were tossed around each other, signaling a deep friendship.
    “My dad and Jim,” Glory whispered. “They were the coyote and the road runner.”
    She caught his bewildered look and smiled. “My dad was the coyote, the cunning hunter. Jim…” She pointed to Alma’s husband. “He was the fast one. He would swoop in and cover my dad’s back when they flew missions in Nam.”
    “Ah,” he replied, the light dawning.
    “In the background you might catch the two characters from the cartoons, painted on the plane.”
    Travis turned it toward the light and saw the outline of the bird, his feet a whirl of circles as the coyote leaned toward him. “You miss him?”
    “Yes, I do.”
    Her soft voice was honest. Travis wanted to ask more about her dad, but when he turned and caught the slight shimmer in her blue eyes, he stopped. Now was not the time to bring up her sorrow. He watched her shake off the melancholy and step away.
    “Alma keeps some folding chairs in the pantry. You can use them on the porch if you’d like to sit out.” Her voice echoed as she walked toward the rear of the house and placed the basket on a chair. “It’s a very compact home, but you’ll find everything you need.” Glory moved toward the archway against the left wall. “Your kitchen and pantry are through here.” She backed up three steps and opened a door. “A full bath and shower, and you know, of course, the laundry is done at the main house.” Then, moving toward the last door in, against the back wall, she pushed it wide. “Bedroom.”
    Travis ambled over and stood beside her, peering into the large room that contained a bed, dresser, and small table. “Very nice.” He nodded.
    “There’s a double closet.” Glory leaned in and pointed along the back wall.
    He stepped closer to take a look and felt her shoulder against his chest. The warmth of her body moved through his shirt to saturate his skin, and his heartbeat