The ranch telephone started to ring. Barry had just wiped his hands of flour when it stopped. Jimmy or Jake must have got it. That was unusual for the middle of the afternoon, but Barry got on with rolling out his pastry. Every now and again he’d make the cowboys a dish from home. This time it was an apple pie, but with a British, or rather a Yorkshire twist. He would add some crumbled Wensleydale cheese he’d seen at the market the previous day. It had been damned expensive, much more than he would have paid back in Britain.
“That was Cookie on the phone,” Jimmy said a few minutes later, coming into the kitchen.
The knife Barry was using to slice the apples froze.
“Seems his mom is a lot better.”
Barry didn’t turn around. “That’s good.” He swallowed.
“Yeah, and he said he’s got a new
