On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  Catherine plastered on her politest smile. She’d spoken to him during one hellish night in LA that she’d spent trying to find Lauren, who had vanished after they’d had a…small disagreement. Catherine also might not have sounded entirely sane by the time she’d gone through all Lauren’s friends and resorted to tracking down her father. “Just once,” she told Lauren, keeping her voice light. “Nothing major. You were out at the time.”

  Owen’s eyes crinkled at that outrageous tweaking of the truth, and he coughed over a small laugh.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Catherine offered him her hand.

  “Oh, sorry, best not to.” Owen showed her his dirty palm, unable to be salvaged by the cloth. “Bit too messy for company.”

  “It’s fine, Mr. King.” She shook his hand anyway. “I gather it’s an occupational hazard.”

  “It is. And call me Owen.” He extracted his hand.

  Lauren glanced between them. “So, how are things, Dad?”

  “Good.” He faced her and brightened. “Still doing up the mayor’s car. He wanted a total overhaul this time.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “He’s a good man and all, but he’s done things to his exhaust that shouldn’t be physically possible.”

  Owen glanced at Catherine. “Do you share my daughter’s love of cars, too, Ms. Ayers?”

  “Catherine,” she corrected. “And I couldn’t grease a ball-bearing to save my life. I’m more interested in who’s greasing politicians’ palms.”

  Lauren winced at the attempted joke.

  Owen looked as if he was in physical pain.

  “Oh dear. Was it that bad?” Catherine asked with an ample dollop of self-deprecation.

  “Yep, ’fraid so.” Owen’s wide smile was warm and friendly. He rocked back on his heels. “That coyote’s what we’d call dead on arrival. Even its fleas are flat-lining. But I appreciate the effort and all.”

  Catherine laughed at his unexpected comeback. “I’ll work on my material. Get back to you.”

  “Good plan.” Owen’s gaze became curious. “Well now, we’ve got a whole bunch of fresh air out here in Iowa. Lots to do. I hope you’ll find some time to see the place in between all your wedding fixing.”

  “I admit I’m fascinated to see where Lauren comes from.”

  “Good. Real good.” Owen’s smile was approving. “Right then, I think we should go in for lunch before the boys riot. They’ve been talking about Meemaw’s pork all day. I’ll wash up. Meet you both inside.”

  “Sure, Dad.” Lauren gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  Once again, the affection on his face at the small gesture was heartwarming. He glowed.

  Chapter 5 –

  Meets and Eats

  The moment Lauren opened the door to the house, a pair of familiar chocolate-brown whirlwinds descended on her in a flurry of barking and clacking of claws on the floorboards. She felt Catherine freeze behind her, so she blocked the dogs’ path to stop them flinging themselves at the exciting new human. She certainly understood that impulse when it came to Catherine.

  Boomer and Daisy knew not to jump on people; months of expensive training had drilled that into them, but they could barely contain themselves at the sight of their mistress after so long. Their tails were thumping, and their whole bodies heaved with excitement.

  “Hey, kids. Miss me, huh?” She knelt and gave them both hugs around the neck and a scratch behind the ears.

  Daisy dodged under her arm and shot past her toward Catherine.

  Uh-oh.

  “Daisy!” Lauren turned, and glanced up to see Catherine’s resigned expression as she planted her feet and braced herself.

  Daisy dipped, preparing to leap.

  “Daisy! Down!”

  The tone was low, sharp, biting, and the absolute last thing Lauren expected. Its crack of command almost made her drop to the ground herself. Daisy scrabbled to a stop in an ungainly mass of fur, muscle, and swishing tail at Catherine’s feet. Even Boomer dropped instantly to the sitting position.

  “Good girl.” The tone was slightly higher now, and Catherine knelt on one knee and offered Daisy her hand to be inspected and smelt.

  “How?” Lauren’s mouth fell open. “How on earth did you do that?”

  Catherine smiled. “When I started out in journalism, I once had to write a feature article on the art of a well-trained dog. I interviewed all the top experts in the field. Spent many hours on it. The secret is in the tone of voice, apparently, and letting them know you are the alpha in the pack. You have to believe it. But it only works if a dog has been trained. It seems these two are.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.” Lauren grinned. “And trust you to think you’re the alpha.”

  “When am I not?” Catherine’s smile widened. She focused on Daisy, upon whom she bestowed a polite pat for a few moments. She leaned over to Boomer and repeated the gesture for exactly the same length of time.

  Lauren watched this ordered routine, baffled.

  “Husky pack rules apply,” Catherine explained. “You cannot give affection to one dog without any others becoming jealous.”

  “Um…okay?”

  “Did you never watch the Animal Planet channel?”

  Lauren shrugged. “No cable for us. Dad doesn’t even watch TV.” She crouched in front of Daisy and gave her a proper hello, earning a lick on the cheek. She glanced up. “Well, I gotta say you are full of surprises. So, you learned all this stuff at work? No dogs of your own growing up?”

  “Pets were definitely not allowed.”

  “None? Not even a goldfish?”

  Catherine rose. “They might have been a distraction from my schoolwork,” she said dryly.

  “A shame. You’d have been a great fur-parent.”

  “I like to think so.” Catherine studied the attentive dogs, still sitting firmly at attention. “It was a pleasure to meet you two,” she told them in a serious tone. “I appreciate you both for not mauling my Donna Karan blouse.”

  “Well, the Donna Karan is still at risk from Miss Chesterfield’s razor-sharp claws, so don’t relax yet. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Lauren led her through to the L-shaped, open-plan living room, and then around the corner to the kitchen, which boasted rustic timber floors and polished hardwood bench tops. Everything was the same as she remembered. A wall of windows on one side showed the backyard to best effect, and the old, brown leather sofa and comfy armchairs reminded Lauren of many a day flopped in one, trying to do her homework when she’d have rather been tossing a softball around with whichever brother wasn’t elbow-deep in an engine. Usually that meant Lucas.

  Her old home was well lived in but neat. Actually, a little too neat. Meemaw had obviously given the boys their cleaning orders in time for their visit.

  Speaking of her grandmother, the fastidious woman was bent over the stove, stirring a pot. Her round shape hadn’t changed much, although she seemed a little wider under her apron strings and shorter than Lauren remembered. Her hair had been dyed reddish-orange as usual, and it matched the bold red sweater she was squeezed into above her worn jeans. The smells drifting from the kitchen were just as she remembered them.

  “Ahhh. Heaven.” She exhaled, letting her entire teenage food years waft over her.

  Meemaw spun around. Her creased face came alive. She flicked the cooktop setting to low and elbowed her way out of the kitchen with haste. “Lauren Annabelle King, let me take a look at you.”

  Smiling, Lauren waited for the enveloping hug every bit as solid as her brothers and father had delivered. Meemaw’s was warm and soft and felt like comfort. The rotund woman added an extra waggle at the end, then stepped back to take Lauren in.

  Lauren detected her faithful hairspray brand, which hadn’t changed in decades, and the rose-scented cream she loved to lather on her beefy forearms.<
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  “Well.” Meemaw peered at her, appraising them both at what seemed to be a microscopic level. She gave Catherine a direct look. “You must be the infamous Caustic Queen I’ve heard so little about.”

  “So little?”

  “Oh, yes. All those big, manly King boys are terrified to talk about you in front of me in case I hear something unseemly. Goodness me, it was like playing charades trying to get out of them that Lauren was marrying some woman.” She pursed her lips. “To be specific, some woman I hadn’t even met.” She lowered her voice to a cool whisper. “From Boston.” She tilted her head. “Well, you’ve got fashion sense, at least. More than I can say for my granddaughter.”

  Catherine’s lips curled. “Well, she has her own tastes. I believe they run toward chic tractorwear.”

  “That they do,” Meemaw said in a sage tone.

  “Hey! I’m right here!” Lauren protested.

  “Hush, now.” Meemaw eyeballed Catherine again. “I vote Republican. Always have. I love Jesus, gin, and my old double-barrel Browning, in that order. I also don’t like being told what to think by smart people who’ve only just learned how to pull their britches on. So how are we going to get along?”

  Lauren winced. Really? Meemaw wants to do this right now? She gave Catherine a pleading look to play nice.

  “If you’re asking whether I appreciate someone who has their own opinions, I do, as long as they don’t force them on anyone else,” Catherine replied evenly. “Because there’s a difference between being resolute and being a bully.” She softened her words with a smile, but her eyes glinted at the challenge.

  Meemaw silently regarded her.

  Oh, crap. Well, that escalated fast. Lauren glanced between Meemaw’s appraising expression and Catherine’s wary one. Their eyes were locked. “Um, hey, how about I get us all a drink? Anyone thirsty?”

  Meemaw tilted her head at Catherine. “I’ll let that pass for now.” She drew in a deep breath, her ample bosom rising with it. “I like cats. Do you?”

  Christ, Meemaw’s cat test. If Catherine said no, she’d have no hope of ever gaining her grandmother’s favor. But Catherine never lied to make peace, so… Lauren held her breath.

  “I don’t know,” Catherine said. “I haven’t been around any cats.”

  Lauren blinked in surprise.

  Meemaw looked at her with the same flummoxed expression she usually reserved for anyone adding pectin to their homemade jam. “Well.” She peered at her some more as though not quite believing the answer. “That makes you rarer than hen’s teeth for sure. I’ll spare us both me asking about God.”

  “Come on, Meemaw,” Lauren cut in. “I didn’t bring her here for a Spanish Inquisition.”

  Meemaw shook off the interruption. “You’re not a Mormon, are you? Or worse, a Lutheran?” Her eyes sharpened.

  Lauren groaned inwardly. So much for sparing Catherine the theology test.

  “I believe in living an ethical life,” Catherine said. “If that aligns with what a person of any given faith does, fine. If not, fine.”

  “You don’t care if you’re liked then, not with an answer like that.”

  “I’m used to being disliked, Mrs. Haverson,” Catherine said in an even tone. “Comes with the territory. And I won’t change my position just to make others feel comfortable. Not on God, guns, or who I love. That’s not who I am. And it’s not right for others to expect me to.”

  Meemaw said nothing for a moment, but her face lost its pinched look. “Call me Meemaw.” She turned. “Lauren, call the boys in. They’re playing one of those Game Station thingies in the front room. Let’s get lunch started.” She looked back. “Catherine, you’ll set the table. Utensils are in that drawer.” She jabbed a plump finger at it. “Plates are over there.”

  A truce! Catherine had stared down Meemaw and wrung a truce out of her. That had never happened in…well, the history of ever. Most people just got worn down and told her what she wanted to hear or got into a rafter-shaking war of words with the woman.

  Lauren stared at her fiancée in amazement.

  I’m gonna marry her.

  Lunch with all the fixings was spread across the white-clothed table like some feast in a medieval tableau. Buttered corn, potatoes, and beans sat in plain white bowls, big fat steel spoons sticking out proudly. The aroma of freshness was something Lauren never experienced anywhere else. The whole scene gave her heart a little flutter. She couldn’t decide whether it was Meemaw’s pork, cooked to perfection as always, or the familiarity of it—the feeling of family that came with it. She felt so at home. And yet it wasn’t quite the same. Her brothers were a little louder, their father a little older and quieter. And Meemaw was far too watchful to be safe for anyone.

  Catherine seemed quiet, too, eyes widening at the portion sizes on the boys’ plates. She demurred on seconds, which earned her an appraising look from Meemaw, but frankly Lauren was relieved she’d gotten through firsts. There was more fried food on their table than Catherine had probably seen in six months.

  “So, girls, what are your plans?” her dad asked, reaching for his beer. “How much of this wedding business is sorted?”

  “Well, we picked a wedding planner before we left,” Lauren said. “She has some venues to show us on Monday. And depending on how that goes, and how solidly they’re booked and stuff, it will pretty much tell us the exact date we can get married. Once we know that, we can work out everything else.”

  “A wedding planner?” Meemaw huffed. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Potts. You remember Jennifer who I went to school with? Well, her mother-in-law has a planning business.”

  “I know that one,” Meemaw said. “Of course, it’s up to you, but you could save yourself a bunch of money and let me do the planning. I have time. And I know what my only granddaughter likes.”

  “We didn’t want to bother you,” Lauren said with haste. Last thing she needed was Meemaw taking over and insisting on what they needed. And her taste veered on eccentric.

  “Oh, it’s no bother. None at all. That’s what family does.” Meemaw’s eyebrows rose in challenge.

  “Mrs. Potts will be able to get us bookings on any number of venues at short notice,” Catherine broke in quietly. “She has contacts within the industry. It’s her profession, after all. That will widen our choices.”

  “She also can get us a good deal,” Lauren added. “She’s not charging like a wounded bull just because the word ‘wedding’ is attached to something. Her prices are really fair.”

  “Well, that’s good,” her dad said with an approving nod. “If you won’t take my money for your wedding, I’m glad to hear you’re not being taken for a ride.”

  Lucas made a strangled noise and looked at Catherine. “Come on, you’re loaded. That watch you’ve got on is worth more than the mayor’s car Dad’s fixing. What do you guys care if you can get a planner who can swing a cheaper deal?”

  Matthew clipped Lucas around the ear. “Rude, Bro.”

  “Lucas!” her dad snapped at the same time. “Apologize or leave the table.”

  Lauren stared in shock at her brother, her cheeks reddening in shame at the way he’d treated a guest. What must Catherine think?

  “Sor-ry,” he muttered, raising his hands in surrender. Her grabbed his fork and stabbed at his potato. “God, speak the truth ’round here and everyone shits on you.”

  Meemaw glowered. “Watch your language, too. You were not raised with a tongue like that.” She gave Lauren and Catherine an arch look. “And I was only trying to be helpful.”

  “I know, and we appreciate it.” Lauren could hear the placating in her own tone. “And if we get stuck, I hope we can ask your advice.”

  “Of course.” Meemaw lifted her water glass but still frowned as she sipped.

  Lauren exhaled.

  “Lucas,” Catherine murmur
ed, “please pass the salt.”

  He did so, and as their fingers met, she locked his briefly between hers and the shaker. “I work long, stressful hours for my money. So, does your sister. Why would I or Lauren pay an inflated price for things with the money we work so hard for? You wouldn’t.”

  Lucas stared, unblinking.

  Mark laughed hard, breaking the awkward silence. “Ha. Lucas hasn’t worked hard a day in his life.”

  The rest of the table burst into laughter except Lucas, whose cheeks turned scarlet. He shot them all an unfathomable look under his lashes, and Lauren felt a prickle shoot up her spine. It was odd. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look that way before.

  As the main meal gave way to rhubarb pie drowning in oozing puddles of thick custard, she puzzled over it. Lucas had always been the smartest of her brothers. He had also been so empathetic as a boy, forever rescuing stray animals. He hid his soft spot with a lot of bravado, brashness, and playing the clown. So, what was he up to? Did he even realize how immature he was coming off?

  Mark interrupted her musings when he nudged her and asked, “Hey, I’m the best man, right?”

  “Well, that was fun.” Catherine unpacked her suitcase, snapping her clothes onto hangers and lining them up in the guest room’s closet.

  “Sorry about that.” Lauren was more embarrassed than anything. “I truly thought I’d told them I was asking Josh to be best man. I really did.”

  “I think Mark looked most hurt that it was some handbag designer from LA he’d never met who’d edged him out, as opposed to another brother,” Catherine said.

  “He’d have been more hurt if he knew Josh hasn’t said yes yet. Something about checking his planner. He’s gonna Skype me later today. I’ll get him to confirm then.”

  “I see.” Catherine stopped unpacking and turned to her. “Why do you want Joshua to be best man and not one of your brothers? Mark did make a good point.”

  “It’s like…husky rules apply. It’s so the rest of them don’t get jealous or think I’m playing favorites.”