Page 55 - Homestead By Ann Newhouse

With our meal and drinks on a tray, Liz also brought a pot of coffee and a meal for herself and settled at the table, next to Josh. She said she was due a break. We were well into our meal before anyone spoke.
“Liz, who is that man snoring in the corner,”? I was curious as to why he had been allowed to stay, as he took up a space that was needed for customers.
“He is my stepdad Bob, he married my mother, Shelly, a few years ago. She owns the café,” Liz explained, pointing to the older serving woman.
Josh butted in to say that we had seen the man earlier in the Hotel, worse for the drink.
“Yes, I’m afraid he can’t handle the drink anymore, my mother has given him quite a few warnings. Give it up or move out.”
By then, the crowd had diminished. Liz’s mother was having a hard time trying to move Bob behind their ‘Private’ door. Josh jumped up and offered to help. Taking his other arm Josh and I escorted Bob into his private bedroom. Shelly thanked us and refused to take payment for our meal. Josh made a date with Liz, in two weeks, time when he’d be on another provision run. With permission from her mother Josh gave Liz a sisterly kiss on the cheek. I advised Josh to keep his date with Liz under his hat, even from Mitch. John Tirrell could be spiteful and may not give Josh the provision run, if he got the air of a romance with Liz. I didn’t think it would matter who it was.
When we got back, I was delighted to have Sofie all to myself. I told her about our day and Josh’s ‘friendship’ with Liz. I asked her if she knew Bob Tully, who was married to a Shelly, and if she knew Shelly’s first marriage name. She told me that one time she had gone with her father to Hotel Rancho. A Bob had been there and suddenly there was an altercation between him and her father.
“I don’t know what it was about, but my father was really mad, and Bob was told to leave the bar.”
Sofie confirmed Bob’s surname was Tully but wasn’t sure about Shelly’s previous surname. She couldn’t remember, but thought it was something like ‘Pritchard’? She said she would find out. I had never heard of that name, from my family or from the newspaper cuttings but something about it was nagging at me. I had a feeling that there was a connection to something bad in John Tirrell’s past.
I didn’t allow my suspicions to spoil the evening. We had a lovely meal cooked by my own hand and spent the rest of the night chatting and cuddling on the sofa. We were well and truly on the same page when it came to what we wanted out of our life together. After having a few too many beers,