CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"JUST A LITTLE LOVE"
The next afternoon, Michael pulled the car into the driveway of a charming ranch-style house, its white shutters and red-brick chimney framed perfectly beneath the sprawling canopy of a massive oak tree. Juliana's stomach fluttered with nerves as the front door creaked open, and an elegant woman stepped onto the porch. Her dark hair was carefully arranged, and her welcoming smile was as warm as the golden Texas sun.
"Mom!" Michael called, climbing out of the car with a wide grin, waving her way.
Bette-Clair descended the steps with open arms, her pace quickening as her face lit up. "Mike! Oh, it's so good to see you, sweetheart! My goodness, it's been too long!" She enveloped him in a tight hug, holding him as if she never wanted to let go.
Then her gaze shifted to Juliana, and her smile grew even brighter.
"And this must be Juliana," Bette-Clair said, her voice soft and inviting.
"Yes, ma'am," Michael said proudly, his hand resting gently on Juliana's back as she stepped forward.
Juliana extended her hand with a bright smile. "It's so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Graham. Michael speaks about you all the time."
"Oh, none of that formal business," Bette-Clair said with a laugh, taking Juliana's hand warmly. "Just call me Bette-Clair."
As they stepped inside, Juliana immediately felt the embrace of the house's warmth. The walls were lined with family photos, shelves filled with books and knickknacks, and the faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air. But it was the artistic touch that caught Juliana's attention—paintings, sculptures, and small sketches filled the space, their creativity bringing life to every corner. Her eyes were drawn to a striking painting near the entrance, its bold, swirling colors seeming to leap off the canvas.
"You have a good eye," Bette-Clair said, her tone warm and appreciative. "That's one I painted years ago."
Juliana turned, her face alight with admiration. "It's breathtaking. The way the colors clash yet harmonize—it feels like... rising through struggle, finding light in darkness."
Bette-Clair's eyes softened, her expression touched. "That's exactly what I hoped to convey. You've got a rare gift for seeing beyond the surface, Juliana."
Leaning casually against the doorframe, Michael couldn't hide his proud smile as he watched the two women connect so effortlessly. "I told you she was special."
"Mike told me you're into art and photography," Bette-Clair said, leading Juliana further inside.
"Yes, ma'am," Juliana replied, her excitement bubbling to the surface. "Creating is my passion. I'm always experimenting with new techniques and styles."
Bette-Clair shot her son a playful look before looping her arm through Juliana's. "Come on, let me show you around. Michael, you can carry in the bags while we talk art."
"Yes, ma'am," Michael said, chuckling as the two women walked off, already deep in conversation.
Juliana marveled at the house's personal touches, from a quilt draped over the sofa to handwritten notes pinned to the fridge. When Bette-Clair opened the door to her studio, Juliana gasped.
The space was a dream come true—large windows flooded the room with sunlight, casting a warm glow over the canvases, brushes, and half-finished sculptures scattered about. An easel stood near the window, a painting in progress resting on it, its strokes vibrant and alive.
"This... this is incredible," Juliana whispered, taking it all in. "I hope I can have a studio like this one day."
Bette-Clair smiled knowingly. "You will, Juliana. Anyone with passion like yours will always find a way."
Juliana felt her nerves ease as they talked. She'd been intimidated at first—Bette-Clair's reputation as a self-made businesswoman and artist had loomed large in her mind. But now, in her warm and grounded presence, Juliana realized she wasn't just meeting Michael's mother; she was forming a connection with someone truly remarkable.
Later that afternoon, the three of them sat in the living room, sipping iced tea and swapping stories. Michael recounted a childhood adventure involving a runaway goat, a bucket of paint, and his best friend's ruined overalls, sending Juliana into fits of laughter. Bette-Clair chimed in with her own tales of Michael's mischievous antics as a boy, her voice rich with affection.
"Well," Bette-Clair finally said, clapping her hands together, "we'd better get going if we want to make it to Memaw's for dinner."
Michael's face broke into a wide grin. "Memaw's cookin'?"
"Of course," Bette-Clair said with a chuckle.
Juliana turned to Michael, her curiosity piqued.
"Mom and I lived with Memaw for a few years when I was a kid," he explained, his tone soft with nostalgia. "She has the gentlest heart and always knew how to keep me in line without ever raisin' her voice."
Juliana smiled, touched by the affection in his voice. She couldn't wait to meet the woman who had helped shape the man she loved.
As they prepared to leave, Bette-Clair glanced at her son. "Mike, grab Juliana's suitcase and put it in your room."
Michael blinked, surprised. "I thought Juliana would take the guest room."
Bette-Clair gave him a knowing smile. "The guest room's my office now. Besides, you are spending the night at Memaw's, so grab your bag, too."
"Yes, ma'am," Michael said with a sheepish grin, heading out to retrieve their luggage.
And with that, they piled into the car, heading toward Memaw's house and a dinner filled with more stories, laughter, and the promise of deeper bonds yet to be forged.
—
When they arrived at the small ranch house later that evening, the comforting aroma of home-cooked food drifted through the crisp night air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace. The weathered wooden steps creaked under their feet as they approached the front door. Before Michael could knock, the door swung open, revealing an older woman with a lively sparkle in her eyes and a radiant smile that seemed to light up the whole porch.
"Come here, my little Bucky!" Memaw exclaimed, throwing her arms wide open.
Michael laughed, stepping into her embrace without hesitation. Her slight frame belied the strength of her hug, and she kissed his cheek with the tender affection of someone who had loved him his whole life.
Juliana stood back, her heart warming at the sight of the easy affection between them.
Memaw turned to her next, her gaze soft and welcoming as she reached for Juliana's hands. "And you must be Juliana," she said, her voice as gentle as the breeze. "I'm so happy to finally meet you, my dear."
Juliana smiled, feeling the genuine kindness radiating from the older woman. "It's an honor to meet you, ma'am," she said earnestly.
Memaw's laugh was soft and musical. "Oh, none of that 'ma'am' nonsense. Just call me Memaw," she said with a playful wink before pulling Juliana into a warm hug.
Behind them, Bette-Clair approached, exchanging a quiet, tender embrace with her mother before they all headed inside.
The cozy interior of Memaw's home felt like a warm quilt wrapped around Juliana. The walls were adorned with family photos and shelves filled with knick knacks, each one carrying a story. The scent of chili and freshly baked cornbread filled the air, making Juliana's stomach rumble. She leaned toward Michael, her lips curving into a teasing smile.
"So… your nickname was Bucky?" she whispered.
Michael groaned, though there was a good-natured grin on his face. "Yeah. She used to call me her little Buckaroo."
Juliana laughed softly. "A cowboy through and through, huh?"
Before Michael could respond, Memaw's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Dinner's almost ready!"
Juliana inhaled deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aroma. "It smells amazing. Can I help with anything?"
"Oh no, sweetheart," Memaw called back, peeking out from the doorway with a wave of her hand. "But Bucky can set the table. He knows where everything is."
Juliana smirked, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Bucky, huh? That name's growing on me."
Michael let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head as he headed for the kitchen. "I'm on it, Memaw."
The dining table soon became the center of a feast that exceeded Juliana's wildest expectations. The chili was rich and hearty, the cornbread golden and buttery, and the fresh salad added a crisp contrast to the warm, comforting dishes. But it wasn't just the food that made the evening special—it was the conversation, the laughter, and the palpable love shared around the table.
Michael recounted a childhood memory of attempting to herd a flock of chickens into a makeshift pen, only to have the whole scheme fall apart when the gate collapsed. Juliana laughed until her sides ached as Bette-Clair and Memaw added their own embellishments to the story, painting a vivid picture of a young Michael, muddy and frustrated but determined.
After dinner, as the dishes were cleared and the conversation began to quiet, Memaw turned to Michael with a gentle smile. "Help me with the dishes, will you? I want to talk to you for a minute."
Bette-Clair stood and patted Juliana's hand. "Come on, honey. Let's take a little walk outside while they clean up."
Juliana hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Michael. He caught her gaze and offered her a reassuring smile before following Memaw into the kitchen.
Inside, Memaw handed Michael a dish towel as she began rinsing plates. For a while, they worked in companionable silence, the only sounds the running water and the clink of dishes. Finally, Memaw spoke, her voice soft but deliberate.
"You know," she began, her gaze fixed on the plate in her hands, "I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Juliana. There's something different about her—and about you when you're with her."
Michael stilled, the towel clenched in his hands. He glanced at Memaw, his expression thoughtful before a small smile curved his lips. "She's… everything, Memaw. She makes me feel like I can take on the world. I've never felt this sure about anyone. I know she's the one."
Memaw set the plate aside and turned to him, her eyes twinkling with affection. "Then what are you waiting for?"
Michael sighed, his smile tinged with determination. "I want to marry her eventually—God, I want that more than anything. But we've only been seeing each other a few months and I need to get my career sorted out first. I want to be able to provide for her, to give her the life she deserves."
Memaw nodded, her expression understanding. Then, without a word, she wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared into the next room. Michael frowned, watching her go.
When she returned, she held a small velvet box in her hands.
"Here, for when you are ready," she said simply, pressing it into his hands.
Michael opened it carefully, his breath catching as he took in the delicate gold wedding rings nestled inside. "Memaw, these are…" His voice faltered. "These are your rings?"
"Yes," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "I stopped wearing them after your Papaw passed. I always knew I wanted you to have them when the time was right."
She reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. "These rings were part of a beautiful love story. I hope they'll be part of yours, too."
Michael's throat tightened as he stared at the rings, their warmth carrying the weight of generations. "Memaw, I… I don't even know what to say. Thank you. If she says yes… I'll make sure she has the perfect life. I'll make you proud."
Memaw's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she smiled. "You already make me proud, Bucky. Just don't wait too long. Life's too short to hesitate when you've found the one you love."
Michael nodded, his resolve hardening. "I won't," he said quietly, gripping the box tightly.
Memaw reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze, her smile soft and knowing. "Good. Now let's finish up in here. You've got a big life ahead of you."
Michael nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude and resolve.
Bette-Clair and Juliana strolled through the yard, the fading sunlight casting a warm, golden hue over the grass and trees. The rhythmic chirping of crickets provided a soothing soundtrack to their easy conversation. They spoke of family, life in Texas, and Juliana's growing fascination with the rancher's lifestyle.
Their laughter faded when a frantic squawking shattered the serenity of the evening. Both women froze, scanning the yard before their eyes locked on the source of the commotion. Near the corner of the house, a bird flailed desperately, its feet caught in a tangle of loose fencing. Its wings flapped wildly, but it couldn't break free.
"Oh no!" Juliana exclaimed, her voice laced with concern. "It's so scared—it doesn't know we're trying to help."
Without hesitation, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Michael! Come here quickly, and bring a towel!"
Inside, Michael was drying the last dish when he heard her voice. He grabbed the towel without a second thought and ran outside. When he reached them, his sharp eyes took in the scene instantly.
"Alright," he said, his voice calm and steady. "We'll get it free, but we need to do this carefully. Let's calm it down first."
He approached the bird slowly, speaking softly to avoid frightening it further. With practiced ease, he draped the towel over its head and body, muffling the bird's vision and easing its panic. Its frantic movements slowed to small, jerky flutters.
"Jul, I need you to untangle its feet while I hold it steady," Michael instructed. His voice was firm but reassuring, giving her the confidence to act.
Juliana knelt beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she examined the bird's tangled legs. The fencing had caught tightly around its talons, but she focused, her fingers nimble despite her nerves. Bette-Clair crouched next to her, offering quiet words of encouragement.
"You're doing great," Bette-Clair said softly. "Just take it slow."
Juliana worked carefully, loosening the stubborn wires one by one. Finally, with a sharp snap, the last bit of fencing gave way.
"You're free now," Juliana whispered, her voice barely audible over her racing heartbeat.
Michael gently uncovered the bird and stepped back, giving it space. For a moment, the bird stayed still, as if unsure of its newfound freedom. Then, with a powerful flap of its wings, it launched itself into the air, disappearing into the tall grass beyond the yard.
Juliana let out a relieved laugh, wiping her hands on her jeans. "I'm so glad we could help it. Poor thing was so terrified." She paused, tilting her head. "What kind of bird was that? Some sort of chicken?"
Bette-Clair smiled, brushing dirt off her hands. "That was a Texas Attwater's Prairie Chicken. They're critically endangered. It's a big deal that you saved it—it might not have survived otherwise."
Juliana's eyes widened. "Endangered? Wow, I had no idea. That makes me feel even better about helping it."
Michael grinned, nudging her playfully. "See? You're a natural rancher already."
As they made their way back inside, the cozy warmth of the house greeted them once again. Memaw stood in the kitchen, tidying up with her ever-present apron tied neatly around her waist.
"Dinner was absolutely delicious, Memaw," Juliana said, her voice warm with gratitude. "Would you mind sharing the recipes with me? I'd love to make them for Michael when we're back home—especially if they're his favorites."
Memaw chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, now, those recipes are family secrets," she teased, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "But… the way Bucky talks about you, I suppose I could make an exception."
Juliana's face lit up as Memaw opened a small, well-worn wooden recipe box. She carefully pulled out two cards, each covered in her neat, looping handwriting—one for her famous chili and the other for her golden cornbread.
"I'll copy them and bring them back," Juliana promised, cradling the cards as if they were treasures.
Memaw waved a hand dismissively. "No need, darlin'. I don't even use those anymore—I've got them all up here." She tapped her temple with a smile. "And if they wear out, I'll just write them again."
Juliana ran her fingers over the edges of the cards, her voice soft. "Thank you, Memaw. I'll do my best to honor these recipes."
Memaw smiled warmly. "I'm sure you will, sweetheart."
Bette-Clair glanced at her watch and let out a small sigh. "It's been a long day. Juliana, you must be exhausted. We should head out. Say your goodnights to Michael."
Juliana nodded, and she and Michael stepped outside into the cool, moonlit night. The silver glow of the full moon bathed the yard in a soft, magical light, illuminating the landscape with an ethereal beauty.
Walking hand-in-hand, Juliana sighed contentedly. "Your mother and grandmother are amazing," she said. "They've been so kind and welcoming. I love them already."
Michael stopped and turned to her, his eyes full of quiet admiration. "They really like you too. They can see how happy you make me. You've brought so much light into my life, Jul."
Her heart swelled, her love for him growing deeper with every word. He leaned closer, and they shared a tender kiss beneath the endless, star-filled sky.
The moment felt timeless, etched into Juliana's memory as a perfect evening—a night filled with family, love, and the promise of a bright future.