A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas by Elizabeth Goddard and Lynette Sowell Page B

again. “Your mother makes the best stew I’ve ever eaten. Either that, or exposure to the elements heightened my taste buds.”
    “It’s probably both,” she said, stepping toward the shelf and taking down a bowl. Her hunger won out over her wounded pride, and she put a generous dollop of beef stew in the bowl and took the last soft pretzel from the plate.

    The remember-whens began halfway through Will’s second bowl of beef stew. He’d embarrassed himself by wolfing down the first bowl. He had manners, but after being lost for hours in the driving snow in the hills, his body’s need to survive ignored things like chewing slowly and taking time between bites.
    Emily sat across from him, her blue eyes sparkling as he finished telling an old story of the time he dared her to sit on the family’s unbroken colt and ended up sailing into a patch of manure in the corner of the ranch yard.
    “I think the worst thing I hurt that day was my dignity.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, folded it, and set it on the table beside her spoon. “Oh Will, we did used to have some good times as children.”
    “We did. Those times were the best things I remember about living here.” The memory of leaving Jackson, heading over the pass with what seemed like crates of belongings, still stood out in detail in his mind. He’d cried because he didn’t get to say good-bye to Emily, or any of his other friends. Mother was in a hurry, raw with grief and wanting to leave.
    “You’re a big boy. Big boys don’t cry.”
    “So, what do you think of the changes since you left?” She stood, picking up her cup. “More coffee?”
    “Yes, please.” He raised his cup for her to take, and ignored the sensation of her fingers brushing his. “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.” Emily stepped over to the stove.
    “Some things seem smaller, but there’s definitely more houses closer to town now. Your family’s home is larger.”
    “Yes,” Emily said, returning to her chair. “Pa built onto the house not long after Sam was born. Then John got married, and he has his own place now but still works the ranch. Pa keeps talking about there not being much elbow room around here, and he’s bound and determined to keep the Covington Ranch a working ranch.”
    He knew about the downturn in cattle ranching, but he also knew the Covingtons had plenty of pluck and determination to keep their legacy alive.
    “That’s admirable.” He took a sip of the strong brew. Finally, a thaw had settled into his bones and he no longer had to fight the urge to keep from shivering.
    “And there’s the Elk Refuge. That’s something new since you’ve been gone.”
    Another memory came to him of an especially harsh winter. “I remember that one winter; we’d go out and help feed the elk. So many of them starved.”
    Emily nodded. “And the one time we found a young calf, tried to talk our parents into letting us bring it back and take care of it.”
    “We had some good times.” And then his mother yanked him away from everything he’d ever known to live in St. Louis. But it had never felt like home, as Jackson had.
    They both fell silent, then Emily went to the pie safe and pulled out a pie. “Berry pie?”
    “I can’t say no. Did you make it?”
    “Oh, horrors no. Mother did. She’s far more skilled at making piecrust than I. The last time I made piecrust, it had the consistency of mush even after it was baked.”
    “Not too domesticated, are you?” This didn’t surprise him.
    “Not as far as cooking goes. Tonight’s supper is entirely Mother’s doing.”
    “I think she could do better, if she practiced a little more,” Mrs. Covington said as she entered the kitchen. “A man appreciates a woman who can make a good piecrust, doesn’t he, Mr. Adams?”
    “Ah well, yes, I do appreciate good piecrust.” He cleared his throat as Emily darted a glance at her mother. “But there are other attributes that come in handy, such as