On Lone Star Trail by Amanda Cabot

deliberate turn of his head toward the window were TJ’s response. Gillian took the hint and remained silent until they passed the “Welcome to Dupree” sign.
    â€œWhere should I drop you?” she asked.
    TJ shrugged. “Anywhere. And don’t worry about driving me back. I can walk.”
    â€œIt’s three miles,” she said, shuddering at the thought. It was one thing to walk that far on a treadmill, something quite different to climb Ranger Hill under the Texas sun. Even though it was only early April, what Gillian would have classified as summer had already come to Texas.
    â€œSpoken like a city dweller,” TJ said, a bit of scorn coloring his words. “It’s not all that far.”
    Refusing to concede the point, Gillian glanced at her watch. “I’ll pick you up at the Sit ‘n’ Sip in two hours. You can’t miss it.”
    â€œIf I’m not there, don’t wait.”
    Gillian was still shaking her head at the man’s stubborn streak when she pulled into Sally’s driveway.
    The small ranch-style home bore no resemblance to the two-story colonial where Sally had spent most of her life and where Kate and Gillian had shared countless secrets, but Gillian knew the same welcome was waiting inside.
    â€œCome in, child.” The woman who’d been as close to a grandmother as Gillian had ever known wrapped her in an embrace that smelled of talcum powder, strawberry shampoo, and dark-roast coffee. While so much of Gillian’s life had changed, those scents had remained constant, a reminder of Sally’s love.
    â€œWhere’s Roy?” Gillian asked when Sally released her. Though she’d met Sally’s second husband only briefly at Kate’s wedding,Gillian had formed an instant liking for the man who’d put the sparkle back in Sally’s eyes, and she wondered whether he was responsible for Sally’s new wardrobe. Growing up, Gillian had never seen Sally in anything other than skirts and dresses, but today she looked like a native Texan in jeans, a chambray shirt, and hand-tooled boots.
    â€œRoy’s playing golf with some friends.” Sally laughed. “He told me we needed girls’ time—not that I’m a girl anymore.”
    Wrinkles lined Sally’s face; her tightly curled hair had been silver for decades; and her chin had lost its firm line years ago. While she wasn’t a girl by anyone’s definition, despite—or perhaps because of—the generations that separated them, she was one of Gillian’s dearest friends.
    â€œCome in,” Sally repeated, ushering Gillian into the cool interior of the home she now shared with Roy. “Here’s my new home sweet home.”
    To Gillian’s surprise, it bore no resemblance to Sally’s house in Buffalo. Instead of a formal floor plan with separate living and dining rooms and antique furniture, this one boasted a great room, and the only piece of furniture she recognized was the old upright piano.
    â€œI couldn’t leave that behind,” Sally said, seeing the direction of Gillian’s gaze. “I keep telling myself that one of these years I’ll learn to play. Right now, though, let me get you some sweet tea.”
    They paused briefly in the kitchen while Sally loaded a tray with a pitcher, glasses, and a plate of fancy pastries before nodding at the French door. “It’s too nice to stay inside.” She led the way to a covered porch and settled onto a padded chaise longue. “Tell me about yourself,” she said when she’d handed Gillian a glass of tea.
    Gillian shook her head. “I’d rather talk about you. You look fabulous.” If she hadn’t known Sally had recently celebrated her seventy-fourth birthday, Gillian would have thought her no more than sixty-five. “Marriage is obviously agreeing with you.”
    A sweet smile crossed Sally’s face. “God has been