Independence. A place he could establish his own identity.
Matthew took another sip of his juice as the thoughts bounced back and forth.
“I think our caterer is here,” Mary said, angling her head so she could see out the patio doors to the driveway beside the house.
They could hear the engine of the car. It turned off and a door opened.
“My goodness. Cory is here alone.”
Matthew couldn’t stop the quick lift of his heart at her words, then quashed that as well. He’d be lucky to get more than three civil words out of her.
Matthew set his cup down and followed Nathan and Mary out the door.
Cory had the back door of the station wagon open and was manhandling a large tray out of the back, hampered by her skirt. Matthew allowed himself an appreciative look of how feminine it made her.
And how it showed off the curve of her long legs.
“Let me help you with that,” Nathan said hurrying forward to take the tray from her.
“No, I can manage.”
“Don’t be silly. Where’s your mother?”
Matthew could see Cory hesitate. “She’s not feeling well right now.”
“Well, then we’ll have to help you.”
“No. Please. You’re hosting the party.”
“So? That means we can help. Might even get some credit from our guests for those delicious smells I am smelling right now.”
With a light laugh, Cory relinquished her hold on the tray. “Thanks. These are the cold cuts for later, so just set them someplace cool for now.”
She brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face, and smiled at Mary as she handed her a tray as well.
Cory turned her head, and Matthew could tell the instant she saw him. Her smile melted away and surprise flitted across her face. Surprise and something else, something warm and inviting. But then her lips were pressed together and her eyes grew hard and Matthew knew he had just imagined it.
He sighed, but stepped manfully forward to help her take the rest of the food out of the car.
“Hello, again,” he said taking another tray from her.
The only acknowledgment he got was a lift of her chin as she reached into the car to take out a large steaming container.
In ten minutes all the necessary food was inside the house and Mary and Cory were ensconced in the kitchen planning out the evening.
Matthew and Nathan were relegated to putting cloths on the tables and setting out plates and cutlery.
As they moved back and forth, Cory managed to avoid him. Matthew didn’t know why he should care but her distant attitude annoyed him. He was as human as the next person and her continued antagonism was getting a little hard to take.
He intended to call her out on it at some time, but the guests were beginning to arrive.
He mingled with the guests, introducing himself as a friend of the family. There weren’t many people invited for the supper, about twenty or so. A few more would be coming later. Most of them were older, and Matthew felt younger with each person he spoke with.
“I believe our meal is ready,” Nathan announced a little while later. He stood on the deck, looking down at the assembled people below. “We’ll be eating outside so if you’ll gather ’round, we’ll have a word of grace and then our lovely caterer can bring out the food.”
The guests all bowed their heads, as Nathan prayed aloud thanking the Lord for the weather, the gathering and the celebration of their wedding.
His words were muted in the outdoors, an occasional breeze wafting his words away, but as he prayed Matthew felt Nathan’s utter sincerity. His prayer was a simple conversation with God and it gave Matthew peace.
When he had said amen, he paused a moment and then Cory brought out the salads. Mary moved to help her, but Matthew caught her arm.
“It’s your anniversary party. Mingle with your guests. I’ll help her,” he said, smiling down at her.
“That’s sweet of you,” Mary said, patting his arm.
Matthew didn’t feel too sweet as he entered the kitchen. He was quite sure Cory wouldn’t appreciate the help and for a moment he regretted his offer.
“What can I do?” he asked her as she bent over the oven, pulling out a pan.
She jumped and spun around, her hand pressed to her chest. Her cheeks were flushed with the heat in the kitchen and perspiration filmed her forehead. Matthew was struck again at how attractive she was, when she wasn’t scowling at him.
But then she recognized him, her hand lowered and she pulled her eyebrows together.
“It’s okay. I can manage.” Her words were clipped.
Matthew was suddenly tired of her antagonism and her anger. “Stop trying to be so stubborn and just give me the stupid pan, already,” he said. “I’m not going to sit in a corner and eat it all.”
Cory set the pan on the stove and pulled another one out, as if ignoring him.
Matthew grabbed the first pan. “Yow.” He yanked his hands back, shaking them. “Those things are hot.”
“Of course. They’ve been in the oven. Heat transfer and all that. I thought a smart lawyer like you could figure that out.” Cory glanced at him, a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth in spite of her sharp words.
“Different set of laws than the ones I studied,” he groused, inspecting his throbbing hand.
“Did you burn it?”
“I don’t know. Hurts.”
To his surprise, she caught his hand in hers and turned it so she could see the palm. A bright red line was starting to show across it. But he was more aware of the warmth of her hands and the surprising softness of her skin than he was of the burn on his palm.
One twist of his wrist and her hands would be captured by his, her delicate fingers woven with his.
“Do you want some salve on that?” she asked. “I have some with me.”
He pulled his hand back, astonished at the direction of his thoughts. “It’ll be okay.”
“Suit yourself.” She reached into a box beside the stove. “Here’s a pair of oven mitts.”
Matthew took the bright-red oven mitts and held them against his tan shirt, striving for a light tone, trying to gain back control of the situation. “What do you think? Is this me?”
Cory looked at the mitts, then back at him. That hovering smile of hers was back. “Oh, definitely. Red is considered a power color after all.”
“Then I’ll take them.” He slipped them on, grinned at her.
His eyes held hers and something intangible arced between them, an echo of what he thought he had seen previously. But she averted her eyes and the moment was gone.
You’re just here to help, Matthew reminded himself, picking up the pan. Don’t read anything into the situation.
They had to work quickly to get the food on the table all at once, and he was glad for the distraction. They worked in silence, but Matthew sensed that the mood between them had shifted.
When all the food was out, he reverted back to his role of a guest and put together a plate of food.
It was delicious. The chicken crispy and spicy, the buns soft. A pan of meatballs in sauce was almost gone by the time he got to it, as were the vegetables and the salads. He hadn’t thought these middle-aged people could eat so much.
“Excellent food, Nathan,” he heard one of the guests say, his plate heaped full. “My compliments to the chef.”
“I’ll tell her,” Nathan said.
Matthew felt a flash of pride for Cory and her mother and reminded himself to tell her.
He ended up sitting beside a friendly woman who asked him about his work. He decided he didn’t want to talk about it. He was still on holiday and was loath to discuss what he did each and every day. Riverview and the pressure of his father’s law firm seemed as far away as the equator.
So he asked the woman about herself and while he finished his food was regaled with tales of living on a farm and the changes that technology had wrought for her hus
band and her children who had taken over.
To his surprise he enjoyed her stories and found himself envious of her close-knit family and the way they worked together. He and his parents also worked together, but the nature of their business was vastly different. As was their interaction.
Soon his food was gone and he wondered how Cory was faring. He excused himself and walked to the kitchen.
She stood with her back to him, washing a big pot. When she had come, her shirt was neatly buttoned to her neck, cinched with the same tie he saw her wear at work. Her hair had been pulled up into a twist on top of her head.
Now the tie was gone, the sleeves were rolled up and a few strands of hair had loosened from the twist, giving her a slightly disheveled and wholly appealing look.
Matthew leaned in the doorway, watching her, again unable to look away. Her expression was unguarded and as he studied her, he noticed the droop to her shoulders, the slowness of her movements. She looked tired and no wonder. She had already put in a full day of work. Spending most of the evening on her feet doing a job that should have taken two people had to be exhausting.
She dried the pot and as she turned to put it away, caught him looking at her. Again she jumped.
“My goodness,” she exclaimed. “Would you stop sneaking up on me like that?”
“Sorry,” he said, pushing himself off the doorway and walking over to her side. “I just came to see if you needed any more help.”
“Look. I’ve been hired by the Stanleys. You haven’t. You’re a guest. Go out there and be one.”
“You can hire me to help you,” he said with a grin.
“I can’t afford you.”
Matthew sensed the hidden reference in her words but chose to ignore it.
“I’m a bachelor. I do dishes for leftovers.”
Cory just shook her head.
“Please,” he asked. “All those people out there are older than my parents. I’ve told all my jokes and I’ve listened to all the stories about the Depression.” And he didn’t like to see her working so hard, looking so tired.
She frowned down at the pot she was washing. “Well if you’re going to hang around anyway, you may as well bring in the dirty dishes.”
“Do I get the leftovers?”
“A couple of drumsticks, okay?”
“What do I have to do for some of those squares?” He pointed to a pile of plastic containers.
Cory followed the direction of his finger, then looked back at him, that same not-quite smile curling up her lips.
“You have to dry the dishes.”
“Utensils too?”
“It’s a package.”
“You drive a hard bargain. Deal.” He gave her a mock salute and walked out of the kitchen, smiling.
Cory didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to watch Matthew walking through the guests with a tray, picking up plates. The evening sun seemed to bless him as he moved, picking up highlights in his slightly disheveled hair, accenting the angles of his face, the whiteness of his teeth when he smiled.
He looked relaxed in his cotton shirt, open at the neck, and khaki pants. In his suit he looked more official, more like a lawyer. Today he looked almost human, she thought. And just a while ago, their conversation had approached normal, lighthearted. It was the kind of banter that she easily exchanged with customers in the restaurant and never thought she would ever have with Matthew McKnight.
As she watched, he winked at one older lady and Cory saw her smile coyly back. What a smoothy, she thought, watching as he moved on and Cory caught herself leaning forward, following his progress. She pulled abruptly back.
Grow up, Cory, she told herself. He’s Matthew McKnight. Lawyer. He talked to the judge the same way he talks to those people out there. And you fell for that same slippery charm a moment ago.
She gave the pot she was scrubbing another swipe and set it on the drainboard. What were you thinking of, letting him help you?
She turned to pick up the towel.
The kitchen spun a moment and righted itself as she caught the sink. She really had to get something to eat, she thought. From six o’clock that morning she had been on her feet, and hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime. She hadn’t figured on doing this function on her own. When she had come home and found her mother in bed, her body racked with pain, Cory knew she was in for a busy night.
A lone leftover bun lay on a plate and grabbing it, she took a bite out of it, wiping the pan as she chewed. It wasn’t much but it would hold her until the rest of the food came back.
Whenever she and her mother catered, she usually figured on putting a plateful of food together from the leftovers. But from the sight of the empty platters and bowls that Matthew was bringing back, it was going to be a dieter’s supper tonight. She wouldn’t have enough to pay Matthew for helping, she thought wryly, scrubbing a casserole dish.
She should have stood her ground and not let him help. He was leaving town in a day or so and then her life could go back to normal. She didn’t want to have him around, reminding her of the past. Daily she struggled with the fact that she had to learn to forgive and let go of past bitterness. Daily she prayed that God would teach her this.
But all it took was one sight of Matthew and she felt all confused. Anger vied with attraction. Fear with fascination. Just like it had always been.
“Here’s the lot.”
Cory turned to see Matthew set the tray with dirty plates on the counter beside her.
“I just have to get the bowls yet.”
“That’s good enough….” but Cory’s sentence died away as she watched him leave again.
It was kind of him to help, but she didn’t want to see him as kind. It was easier to think of him as Matthew, defender of evil stepfathers. Having him coming and going in the kitchen made him too human.
Too appealing.
“So, how do we start?”
Cory kept her back to him, furiously scrubbing the dish in the sink, frustrated with her own seesawing emotions. “Just scrape all the leftovers into the garbage can,” she said. “I’ll wash the plates as soon as I’m done with this.”
“Gotcha.”
He whistled over the clink of the cutlery and china. Cory wondered how he could be so relaxed when she felt as stretched out as an elastic, ready to snap. She didn’t know how to react to him, didn’t know what to say.
For years he had been the nemesis, the enemy. And now he was here, helping her do the dishes as if all the tension of the previous years, all the battles, had never happened.
Help me through this, Lord. Help me just be civilized until he goes. She didn’t know if it was the right prayer, but knew that anything else would be false.
“All done.” He set the dirty plates beside her and she didn’t even look up as she drained the sink and filled it again with hot water.
“There’s a tea towel in the box on the table you can use to dry the dishes,” she said, pointing with her chin, still not looking at him.
He found them and came back. While she poured the soap in, he flipped the towel over his shoulder and rolled up his sleeves.
The movement caught Cory’s eye and she glanced sidelong at him, disconcerted by the sight of his bared forearms, his shirt open at the neck. He looked casual, relaxed.
Handsome.
He caught her looking at him. “What?” he asked, taking a wet dish off the drain board.
Cory just shook her head, flustered at her foolish reaction to him. “I’m thinking of a joke,” she said, retreating to humor as a defense.
“Spill.”
“What do you call a smiling, courteous person at a lawyers’ convention?”
Matthew was silent a moment. “I haven’t heard that one yet,” he said, his tone light. “I’ll bite.”
“The caterer,” she said sweetly.
“I’ll have to add it to my repertoire of lawyer jokes,” he replied.
“Actually, there’s only two lawyer jokes,” sh
e countered, thankful to be on the offensive. “All the rest are true.”
“Okay, enough with that already. There’s more lawyer jokes than there are lawyers. Let’s talk about something else.”
Only there was nothing else to discuss. Their only interaction had been as opposing sides. He as her stepfather’s lawyer and she as a defendant.
The only time they had met socially was at her and Deirdre’s prom, and even that memory was fraught with overtones.
She blushed again, remembering how surprised and dismayed she was when he had come as her friend Deirdre’s escort. Deirdre’s boyfriend had taken ill at the last minute and Matthew had filled in.
Seeing him in a social setting had totally twisted around her feelings for him.
“Let’s talk about your work,” she said suddenly, feeling as if she had to take the offensive. “What else do you do, besides badger witnesses and cajole judges?”
“I don’t spend a lot of time in the courtroom in high-drama trials,” he replied, ignoring her gibe. “A lot of my work is pretty mundane. I travel and sit in on hearings and read a lot of briefs, file papers at court. Prep work.”
“What do you do for fun?” she asked.
He gave no reply and Cory glanced sidelong at him. He frowned at the dish he held, then looked at her again. “I don’t have any hobbies. I usually work until about nine o’clock. Sometimes I catch a movie. Sometimes I go straight to bed.”
“What, no social life?” she said with mock surprise.
“Not much of one.”
“Your poor girlfriend.”
“Yes, well, that’s probably the reason I don’t have one now.”
Cory was surprised to hear that. And surprised to find that the information gave her a little jolt as well.
She would have thought someone like Matthew would have no problem holding on to a girl.
“Doesn’t sound like much fun,” she couldn’t help but say.
“I think you’re right,” he replied, his voice quiet.
His admission surprised her. Didn’t sound like the Matthew McKnight who always projected an aura of intensity and dedication to his work.
“So, what about you? What do you do for fun?” he asked.
A Family At Last Page 5
