“Rorie?” Clay called her name as he burst into the office. “What happened? Skip told me you were all upset—something about the car? What is it?”
“George called.” She whirled around and pointed toward the phone. “The water pump arrived just like it was supposed to—but it’s the wrong one.”
Clay dropped his gaze, then removed his hat and wiped his forehead. “I ’m sorry.”
“I am, too, but that doesn’t help, does it?” The conversation with Dan hadn’t improved matters, and taking her frustration out on Clay wasn’t going to change anything, either. “I ’m stuck here, and this is the last place on earth I want to be.”
“Do you think I like it any better?” he challenged.
Rorie blinked wildly at the tears that burned for release.
“I wish to God your car had broken down a hundred miles from Elk Run,” he said. “Before you bombarded your way into my home, my life was set. I knew what I wanted, where I was headed. In the course of a few days you’ve upended my whole world.”
Emotion clogged Rorie’s throat at the unfairness of his accusations. She hadn’t asked for the MGB to break down where it had. The minute she could, she planned to get out of his life and back to her own.
No, she decided, they couldn’t wait that long—it was much too painful for them both. She had to leave now. “I’ll pack my things and be gone before evening.”
“Just where do you plan to go?”
Rorie didn’t know. “Somewhere…anywhere.” She had to leave for his sake, as well as hers.
“Go back inside the house, Rorie, before I say or do something else I’ll regret. You’re right—we can’t be in the same room together. At least not alone.”
She started to walk past him, eyes downcast, her heart heavy with misery. Unexpectedly his hand shot out and caught her fingers, stopping her.
“I didn’t mean what I said.” His voice rasped, warm and hoarse. “None of it. Forgive me, Rorie.”
Her heart raced when his hand touched hers. It took all the restraint Rorie could muster, which at the moment wasn’t much, to resist throwing herself into his arms and holding on for the rest of her life.
“Forgive me, too,” she whispered.
“Forgive you?” he asked, incredulous. “No, Rorie. I’ll thank God every day of my life for having met you.” With that, he released her fingers, slowly, reluctantly. “Go now, before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”
Rorie ran from the office as though a raging fire were licking at her heels, threatening to consume her.
And in a way, it was.
For two days, Rorie managed to stay completely out of his way. They saw each other only briefly and always in the company of others. Rorie was sure they gave Academy Award performances every time they were together. They laughed and teased and joked and the only one who seemed to suspect things weren’t quite right was Mary.
Rorie was grateful the housekeeper didn’t question her, but the looks she gave Rorie were frowningly thoughtful.
Three days after the Grange dance, Mary’s sister arrived in Riversdale. Revealing more excitement than Rorie had seen in their acquaintance, Mary fussed with her hair and dress, and as soon as she’d finished the lunch dishes she was off.
Putting on Mary’s well-worn apron, Rorie looped the long strands around her waist twice and set to work. Kate joined her mid-afternoon, carrying a large bag of ingredients for the dessert she was going to prepare.
“I’ve been cooking from the moment Mary left,” Rorie told Kate, pushing the damp hair from her forehead as she stirred wine into a simmering sauce. Rorie intended to dazzle Clay and Skip with her one speciality—seafood fettuccine. She hadn’t admitted to Mary how limited her repertoire of dishes was, although the housekeeper had repeatedly quizzed her about what she planned to make for dinner. Rorie had insisted it was a surprise. She’d decided that this rich and tasty dish stood a good chance of impressing the Franklin men.
“And I’m making Clay his favorite dessert—homemade lemon meringue pie.” Kate reached for the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and six bright yellow lemons rolled out.
Rorie was impressed. The one and only time she’d tried to bake a lemon pie, she’d used a pudding mix. Apparently, Kate took the homemade part seriously.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful,” Kate said, stepping over to the stove. Crab, large succulent shrimp and small bite-sized pieces of sole were waiting in the refrigerator, to be added to the sauce just before the dish was served.
Kate was busy whipping up a pie crust when the phone rang several minutes later. She glanced anxiously at the wall, her fingers sticky with flour and lard.
Rorie looked over at her. “Do you suppose I should answer that?”
“You’d better. Clay usually relies on Mary to catch the phone for him.”
Rorie lifted the receiver before the next peal. “Elk Run.”
“That Miss Campbell?”
Rorie immediately recognized the voice of the mechanic from Riversdale. “Yes, this is Rorie Campbell.”
“Remember I promised I’d call you when the part arrived? Well, it’s here, all safe and sound, so you can stop fretting. Just came in a few minutes ago—haven’t even had a chance to take it out of the box. Thought you’d want to know.”
“It’s the right one this time?”
“Here, I’ll check it now…Yup, this is it.”
Rorie wasn’t sure what she felt. Relief, yes, but regret, too. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“It’s a little late for me to be starting the job this afternoon. My son’s playing a Little League game and I promised him I’d be there. I’ll get to this first thing in the morning and should be finished before noon. Give me a call before you head over here and I’ll make sure everything’s running the way it should.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks again.” Slowly Rorie replaced the receiver. She leaned against the wall sighing deeply. At Kate’s questioning gaze, she smiled weakly and explained, “That was the mechanic. The water pump for my car arrived and he’s going to be working on it first thing in the morning.”
“Rorie, that’s great.”
“I think so, too.” She did—and she didn’t. Part of her longed to flee Elk Run, and another part of her realized that no matter how far she traveled, no matter how many years passed, she’d never forget these days with Clay Franklin.
“Then tonight’s going to be your last evening here,” Kate murmured. “Selfish as it sounds, I really hate the thought of you leaving.”
“We can keep in touch.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like that. I’ll send you a wedding invitation.”
That reminder was the last thing Rorie needed. But once she was on the road again, she could start forgetting, she told herself grimly.
“Since this is going to be your last night, we should make it special,” Kate announced brightly. “We ’re going to use the best china and set out the crystal wineglasses.”
Rorie laughed, imagining Mary’s face when she heard about it.
Even as she spoke, Kate was walking toward the dining-room china cabinet. In a few minutes, she’d set the table, cooked the sauce for the pie and poured it into the cooling pie shell that sat on the counter. The woman was a marvel!
Rorie was busy adding the final touches to the fettuccine when Clay and Skip came in through the back door.
“When’s dinner?” Skip wanted to know. “I’m starved.”
“Soon.” Rorie tested the boiling noodles to be sure they’d cooked all the way through but weren’t overdone.
“Upstairs with the both of you,” Kate said, shooing them out of the kitchen. “I want you to change into something nice.”
“We’re supposed to dress up for dinner?” Skip complained. He’d obviously recovered from any need to impress her with his sartorial elegance, Rorie noted, remembering that he’d worn his Sunday best that first night. “We already washed—what more do you want?”
“We are?” The boy looked from Kate to Rorie and then back again.
“That’s right,” Kate continued, undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm. “And when we’re through with dinner, there’s going to be a farewell party for Rorie. We’re going to send her off country-style.”
“Rorie’s leaving?” Skip sounded shocked. “But she just got here.”
“The repair shop from Riversdale called. Her car will be finished tomorrow and she’ll be on her way.”
Clay’s eyes burned into Rorie’s. She tried to avoid looking at him, but when she did chance to meet his gaze, she could feel his distress. His jaw went rigid, and his mouth tightened as though he was bracing himself against Kate’s words.
“Now hurry up, you two. Dinner’s nearly ready,” Kate said with a laugh. “Rorie ’s been cooking her heart out all afternoon.”
Both men disappeared and Rorie set out the fresh green salad she’d made earlier, along with the seven-grain dinner rolls she’d warmed in the oven.
Once everyone was seated at the table and waiting, Rorie ceremonially carried in the platter of fettuccine, thick with seafood. She’d spent at least ten minutes arranging it to look as attractive as possible.
“Whatever it is smells good,” Skip called out as she entered the dining room. “I ’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“Funny, Skip, very funny,” Kate said.
Rorie set the serving dish in the middle of the table and stepped back, anticipating their praise.
Skip raised himself halfway out of his seat as he glared at her masterpiece. “That ’s it?” His voice was filled with disappointment.
Rorie blinked, uncertain how she should respond.
“You’ve been cooking all afternoon and you mean to tell me that’s everything?”
“It’s seafood fettuccine,” she explained.
“It just looks like a bunch of noodles to me.”
Ten
“I’ll have another piece of lemon pie,” Skip said, eagerly extending his plate.
“If you’re still hungry, Skip,” Clay remarked casually, “there are a few dinner rolls left.”
Skip’s gaze darted to the small wicker basket and he wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. Too many seeds in those things. I got one caught in my tooth earlier and spent five minutes trying to suck it out.”
Rorie did her best to smile.
Skip must have noticed how miserable she was because he added, “The salad was real good though. What kind of dressing was that?”
“Vinaigrette.”
“Really? It tasted fruity.”
“It was raspberry flavored.”
Skip’s eyes widened. “I ’ve never heard of that kind of vinegar. Did you buy it here in Nightingale?”
“Not exactly. I got the ingredients while Kate and I were out the other day and mixed it up last night.”
“That tasted real good.” Which was Skip’s less-than-subtle method of telling her nothing else had. He’d barely touched the main course. Clay had made a show of asking for seconds, but Rorie was all too aware that his display of enthusiasm had been an effort to salve her injured ego.
Rorie wasn’t fooled—no one had enjoyed her special dinner. Even old Blue had turned his nose up at it when she’d offered him a taste of the leftovers.
Clay and Skip did hard physical work; they didn’t sit in an office all day like Dan and the other men she knew. She should have realized that Clay and his brother required a more substantial meal than noodles swimming in a creamy sauce. Rorie wished she’d discussed her menu with either Mary or Kate. A tiny voice inside her suggested that Kate might have said something to warn her…
“Anyone else for more pie?” Kate was asking.
Clay nodded and cast a guilty glance in Rorie’s direction. “I could go for a second piece myself.”
“The pie was delicious,” Rorie told Kate, meaning it. She was willing to admit Kate’s dessert had been the highlight of the meal.
“Kate’s one of the best cooks in the entire country,” Skip announced, licking the back of his fork. “Her lemon pie won a blue ribbon at the county fair last year.” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “She ’s got a barbecue sauce so tangy and good that when she cooks up spareribs I just can’t stop eating ’em.” His face fell as though he was thinking about those ribs now and would have gladly traded all of Rorie’s fancy city food for a plateful.
“I’d like the fettuccine recipe if you’d give it to me,” Kate told Rorie, obviously attempting to change the subject and spare Rorie’s feelings. Perhaps she felt a little guilty, too, for not giving her any helpful suggestions.
Skip stared at Kate as if she’d volunteered to muck out the stalls.
“I’ll write it down before I leave.”
“Since Rorie and Kate put so much time and effort into the meal, I think Skip and I could be convinced to do our part and wash the dishes.”
“We could?” Skip protested.
“It’s the least we can do,” Clay returned flatly, frowning at his younger brother.
Rorie was all too aware of Clay’s ploy. He wanted to get into the kitchen so they could find something else to eat without being conspicuous about it. Something plain and basic, no doubt, like roast-beef sandwiches.
“Listen, you guys,” Rorie said brightly. “I ’m sorry about dinner. I can see everyone’s still hungry. You’re all going out of your way to reassure me, but it isn’t necessary.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rorie. Dinner was excellent,” Clay said, patting his stomach.
Rorie nearly laughed out loud. “Why don’t we call for a pizza?” she said, pleased with her solution. “I bungled dinner, so that’s the least I can do to make it up to you.”
Three faces stared at her blankly.
“Rorie,” Clay said gently. “The closest pizza parlour is thirty miles from here.”
“Oh.”
Undeterred, Skip leaped to his feet. “No problem…You phone in the order and I’ll go get it.”
Empty pizza boxes littered the living-room floor, along with several abandoned soft-drink cans.
Skip lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. “Anyone for a little music?” he asked lazily.
“Sure.” Kate got to her feet and sat down at the piano. As her nimble fingers ran over the keyboard, the rich sounds echoed against the walls. “Some Lee Greenwood?”
“All right,” Skip called out with a yell, punching his fist into the air. He thrust two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.
“Who?” Rorie asked once the commotion had died down.
“He’s a country singer,” Clay explained. Blue ambled to his side, settling down at his feet. Clay gently stroked his back.
“I guess I haven’t heard of him,” Rorie murmured.
Once more she discovered three pairs of eyes studying her curiously.
“What about Johnny Cash?” Kate suggested next. “You probably know who he is.”
“Oh, sure.” Rorie looped her arms over her bent knees and lowered her voice to a gravelly pitch. “I hear that train a comin’.”
Skip let loose with another whistle and Rorie laughed at his boisterous antics. Clay left the room; he returned a moment later with a guitar, then seated himself on the floor again, beside Blue. Skip crawled across the braided rug in the center of the room and retrieved a harmonica from the mantel. Soon Kate and the two men were making their own brand of music—country songs, from the traditional to the more recent. Rorie didn’t know a single one, but she clapped her hands and tapped her foot to the lively beat.
“Sing for Rorie,” Skip shouted to Clay and Kate. “Let’s show her what she’s been missing.”
Clay’s rich baritone joined Kate’s lilting soprano, and Rorie’s hands and feet stopped moving. Her eyes darted from one to the other in open-mouthed wonder at the beautiful harmony of their two
voices, male and female. It was as though they’d been singing together all their lives. She realized they probably had.
When they finished, Rorie blinked back tears, too dumbfounded for a moment to speak. “That was wonderful,” she told them and her voice caught with emotion.
“Kate and Clay sing duets at church all the time,” Skip explained. “They ’re good, aren’t they?”
Rorie nodded, gazing at the two of them. Clay and Kate were right for each other—they belonged together, and once she was gone they would blend their lives as beautifully as they had their voices. Rorie happened to catch Kate’s eye. The other woman slipped her arms around Clay’s waist and rested her head against his shoulder, laying claim to this man and silently letting Rorie know it. Rorie couldn’t blame Kate. In like circumstances she would have done the same.
“Do you sing, Rorie?” Kate asked, leaving Clay and sliding onto the piano bench.
“A little, and I play some piano.” Actually her own singing voice wasn’t half bad. She’d participated in several singing groups while she was in high school and had taken five years of piano lessons.
“Please sing something for us.” Rorie recognized a hint of challenge in the words.
“Okay.” She replaced Kate at the piano seat and started out with a little satirical ditty she remembered from her college days. Skip hooted as she knew he would at the clever words, and all three rewarded her with a round of applause.
“Play some more,” Kate encouraged. “It ’s nice to have someone else do the playing for a change.” She sat next to Clay on the floor, once again resting her head against his shoulder. If it hadn’t been for the guitar in his hands, Rorie knew he would’ve placed his arm around her and drawn her even closer. It would have been the natural thing to do.
“I don’t know the songs you usually sing, though.” Rorie was more than a little reluctant now. She’d never heard of this Greenwood person they seemed to like so well.
“Play what you know,” Kate said, “and we’ll join in.”
After a few seconds’ thought, Rorie nodded. “This is a song by Billy Joel. I’m sure you’ve heard of him—his songs are more rock than country, but I think you’ll recognize the music.” Rorie was only a few measures into the ballad before she realized that Kate, Clay and Skip had never heard this song.
Country Brides Page 9
