Hometown Family

by Mia Ross

  Thrown completely off balance, she struggled to talk normally. “What?”

  “No one ever calls me that,” he murmured. “Why would you?”

  “It’s your name,” she stammered, fumbling for composure.

  “No one ever calls me that,” he repeated. A smile slowly spread across his tanned features, settling in to twinkle in those remarkable eyes. “I like the way you say it.”

  Her brain was totally locked, focused on the warmth in his gaze, the strong hand covering hers. Abruptly, something changed, and she watched storm clouds blow through his eyes. They shifted to a troubled gray, and he took a step away from her. A large step.

  “You must be starving. Let’s eat.”

  Matt strode past her and out the front door before Caty could put any coherent words together. She looked at her bewildered reflection in the grimy entryway mirror and shook her head. Whatever had just happened, she had to put it out of her mind. She and Matt would be working together on his father’s estate, she reminded herself as she closed the front door behind her. She had to keep things professional, for both their sakes.

  “You didn’t lock the front door,” he scolded before she was even settled.

  Still distracted by whatever had just happened, she registered his disapproval but not the words. Turning to face him, she asked, “What?”

  “You didn’t lock the front door,” he repeated more gently. “Something wrong with it?”

  “Kind of,” she said lightly. “There’s a broken key stuck in it.”

  “You should get it replaced. I know this is Harland, but a woman living alone should have locks on her doors.”

  “I know that. I’m not a moron.”

  She cringed when she heard the sharp edge on her voice. He’d gone out of his way to help her, and here she was biting his head off for being concerned about her safety. “I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to snarl at you.”

  “No problem,” Matt replied as they headed for Main Street. “You okay?”

  “Peachy.”

  “Everything’s gonna be all right, y’know. We’ll figure something out.”

  The way he phrased it grated on her, and she snapped, “None of this is your problem. I can take care of myself.”

  He glowered at her, blue and gray swirling impatiently in his eyes. “So I’m only good for hauling heavy boxes?”

  “Forgive me for ruining your day,” she shot back. “I’ve never done this before, so I’m not up on the protocol.”

  Muttering things she’d rather not have heard, he heaved such a big sigh the eagle on his shoulder looked ready to take off.

  When he glanced over again, he was wearing a wry grin. “We’re a lot alike, you and me. Y’know that?”

  She wasn’t falling for the deadly Sawyer charm. She folded her arms and scowled at him, even though his eyes were on the road and he couldn’t see her expression. “How do you mean?”

  “We hate asking for help. When we have to, it makes us mean, ’cause we feel like a failure.”

  When he said it, she knew that last word summed up everything she was feeling. She’d failed to do her job well, failed to recognize something was wrong. Failed to plan for the possibility that she might fail.

  That was a lot of failure.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he pulled in at the diner. “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Failing?”

  “Getting past it.” Shutting off the engine, he turned to face her. “Just takes a little practice, is all. I’m guessing you haven’t had much.”

  “I try to avoid it.”

  “Well, I’ve had plenty and it didn’t kill me. Won’t kill you, either.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile. She tried to return the gesture, but her heart wasn’t quite in it. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  He came around to open her door for her, then reached behind the seat and grabbed a faded blue T-shirt. After tugging it on, he stepped back and they hurried through the rain to cross the street.

  A blue-and-white-striped awning covered the front of Ruthy’s Place and, despite the rain, underneath it was dry. The door was open, and wonderful smells wafted out toward the sidewalk. Caty had often suspected that a fan system blew the scent of comfort food outside to lure customers into the diner.

  Now that they were out of the rain, she paused to ask, “Why are you so intent on hiding that tattoo? You know someone’s going to see it eventually.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  He gave her a cocky grin, and she shook her head. “You’re hopeless.”

  The grin widened, making it clear he took that as a compliment. “More or less.”

  “What am I going to do with you? Wait,” she interrupted as he opened his mouth. “Don’t answer that.”

  For the first time since his father’s funeral, he laughed. Not the reserved, contained sound she’d heard before, but an actual, heartfelt laugh. Knowing she was the one who’d managed to coax it from him made her smile.

  Matt motioned her ahead of him, and she stepped into a homey place that welcomed customers with the restaurant version of a hug. If a building could have a personality, this one would be eternally cheerful. The decor was classic country, with pale blue walls and ruffled yellow gingham curtains framing the windows. A high shelf ran the entire perimeter of the walls, providing a home for the owner’s eclectic collection of antique kitchenware and knickknacks. In the place of honor over the door was a ceramic figure of Ruthy’s beloved terrier Lucy. Life-size.

  Two waitresses zoomed in on Matt and raced to get to him first.

  “I don’t think so,” Lisa announced from behind the counter, shooing them away.

  Lisa led Caty and Matt to an isolated table in the corner. Wearing a pink dress and ruffled white apron, she looked like herself again. On closer inspection, Caty noticed her friend’s makeup was a little heavier than usual. That was Lisa, she mused fondly. Soldiering on, armed with mascara and lip gloss.

  “Thanks, Lise,” Matt said with a wry grin.

  “No problem,” she answered, handing them each a menu. “What can I get you to drink?”

  Matt ordered a pitcher of sweet tea and opened the menu as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

  “Do women often kill each other to get to you?” Caty asked as she ignored the menu and studied the specials board. That was where Ruthy listed her latest inventions, and they were always worth trying.

  “Not really.”

  She laughed. “Why don’t I believe that?”

  “’Cause you’re the suspicious type. Goes with the lawyer package.”

  She hmmed at that and ordered a Country Club sandwich to go with his loaded bacon cheeseburger. He filled her glass and lounged back with his own. “So, once you’re done rescuing that wreck of a house, what are your plans?”

  “I always meant to come back here and open my own firm. Maybe God saw me on the wrong path and steered me back, so I could do what He meant for me to do all along.”

  As soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say to Matt. To his credit, he didn’t shoot her down. He just sat there and listened while she thought out loud.

  “Grandpa’s workroom is on the side of the house, connected but with a separate entrance. Once I fix it up, it will be a great office. My rates would have to be pretty low, but I own the house, so if I’m careful I shouldn’t have too many expenses.” She paused for a bite of her sandwich. “What do you think?”

  Without hesitation, he smiled. “I think anyone who could get through more than one Boston winter could do anything they set their mind to.”

  “I’ve had a few offers on the house over the years, but I wanted to keep a con
nection to Harland, so I held on to it. It just needs some TLC.”

  That made him laugh like a maniac, and she scowled at him. “What’s so funny?”

  “I guess your version of TLC and mine are a little different.”

  “Obviously,” she said, as Lisa came to see how they were doing.

  “Caty, is he hassling you?” she asked.

  “Incessantly.”

  “Yeah, he’s got a knack for that.” With a mock scowl, she balled up the check and tossed it at him. Then she turned on her heel and strolled away.

  Matt popped a fry in his mouth, and washed it down with some tea. “You’re really set on doing this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am,” she told him in the same determined tone she’d used when she’d informed Grandpa that, yes, she was going to law school up north with a bunch of Yankees. In the snow.

  “Well, good luck, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll be fine. And quit calling me sweetheart,” she added with a huff. “Think of something else.”

  A slow grin spread across his face, and he nodded. “Okay.”

  She couldn’t imagine what he found so amusing, and honestly she didn’t care. She was finally home to stay. That was all that mattered.

  * * *

  “Sure,” Caty grumbled later that afternoon. “Now it quits raining.”

  She was in the kitchen unloading her books. A few of the covers were damp, and she fanned the pages to make sure they didn’t need drying. She’d been stacking them on the counters but quickly ran out of space. She hated to put them on the floor, and she certainly couldn’t leave them in the wet boxes. Then she had a brainstorm.

  The laundry room. A hallway ran the width of the house, separating the living room and kitchen from Grandpa’s workroom and the laundry room. It wasn’t large, but it had a long counter and lots of shelves where Gram had stored her canning jars. Armload by armload, Caty carted books through the house, lining them up on the shelves so she could see the titles. With the house a long way from being organized, they might be in here awhile, and she wanted to be able to find a book if she needed it.

  When she was done, she closed the door to keep out the dust she’d inevitably be creating with her various projects.

  “One job down, a million to go,” she said out loud, swallowing some water from the bottle she’d left on the newel post.

  While she was debating what to do next, she heard a clanking out on the porch. She opened the front door to find Matt there with a toolbox and a sledgehammer. He looked like he meant business.

  “Whatcha doin’?” she asked casually, leaning against the door frame.

  “Brought you this.” Leaning down, he pulled a brand-new set of locks from a hardware bag. “I got ’em for the other two doors, too. I’m figuring you’ve never installed a dead-bolt lock.”

  “You figured right.” She reached for the package, but he pulled it away. “I can read, Matt. I’m sure I can manage.”

  “How are you with a drill and a spade bit?”

  “A what?”

  He grinned, and she had to laugh. She must have sounded like a complete idiot. “Fine, you can replace my locks. What’s all that?” she asked when she noticed sheets of white aluminum in the back of his truck.

  “Your new roof,” he replied, as if it was obvious.

  She had to admit, they’d look a lot nicer than the rusty old ones she had now. “Where did you get those?”

  “Found ’em in one of our barns. Ground’s still soaked, so I thought I’d do some inventory, see what we’ve got. There’s not enough of these to be any use at the farm, but I think they’ll work here.”

  Caty didn’t know what to make of his generous offer. He could have taken advantage of the rare time off to relax or watch TV or something, but he’d come to help her instead. “I really appreciate you doing this. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “I’m good.”

  The whirring of the drill moved around the house as he went from door to door. Before long it stopped altogether. When she heard the clang of his truck’s tailgate, she knew he was bringing in the long panels. Even though he’d made it clear he could handle the job on his own, she didn’t feel right packing china in Bubble Wrap when he was out there doing real work.

  Through the screen she asked, “Can I help? Hold the ladder or something?”

  “Demo’s fun,” he said with a grin. “You’ll need gloves, though.”

  “I just happen to have some.” Grabbing them from the toolbox on the kitchen counter, she met him out front.

  On the porch, he set the ladder in place and stepped back so she could climb up high enough to reach the roof. When she was balanced, he offered her the sledgehammer. It weighed a lot more than she’d expected, but she got control of it and took a few tentative whacks at the underside of the roof. Most of the nails had rusted clear through, and after a few more swings the center panel slid to the ground with a satisfying screech. Before she knew it, Caty was drenched in sweat and her porch was roofless.

  “Nice job,” Matt approved, high-fiving her.

  “That was fun!” Jumping down, she handed him the sledge. “What else have you got?”

  “Once I get a panel or two nailed in, you can come up and help with the rest. You know how to use a hammer?”

  Tilting her head back, she looked him square in the eyes and gave him the wilting look she practiced in the mirror when she had to go to court.

  He chuckled. “How ’bout this? I handle the aluminum, you do the nailing.”

  “Sounds good. In the meantime, I’ll hand the panels up to you.”

  From his stern expression, she thought he might tell her to stand back and stay out of his way. But the blue in his eyes warmed a little, and he gave her a crooked grin. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The pieces weren’t all that heavy, and she slid the first one up to him, then another. It didn’t take him long to make a platform, and she handed the rest of the panels up before joining him on the roof. Standing, she looked out over the town with a smile. She could see the war monument in the square, bordered by the churches. Gus was headed somewhere, his Model T delivery truck piled high with lumber. The playground was full of kids making the most of the last weekend of their summer vacation.

  Harland, with its simple charm and easy pace, was truly where she belonged. She couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to figure that out. “It’s even prettier from up here.”

  Matt responded with some particularly loud banging. When he finished, Caty crouched down beside him. “You really hate it here, don’t you?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said around the nails sticking out of his mouth.

  “Do you think you’ll ever change your mind?”

  He didn’t say anything, but his dark expression answered her as clearly as any words.

  Chapter Six

  The rest of the week was a blur of very early starts and finishing in the hazy glow of tractor headlights, but they got the corn in while the weather held. Matt hadn’t had time to hire anyone to replace the guys they’d lost, so they were seriously shorthanded. It was like running a marathon, harvesting, sorting, and filling truck after brimming truck to be taken to the feed distributor ten miles away.

  Finally, he ran the last load out and parked the empty truck in the barn. He should have cleaned out the back, but he was just too tired. Dragging himself into the house, he showered and pulled on some clean clothes. Then, for lack of anything better to do, he wandered aimlessly through the house.

  The kids’ rooms were neat as a pin, beds made and every toy in its place. The cool evening breeze rustled through the curtains on the windows, white lace in Emily’s room, green plaid in Kyle’s. Marianne’s door was
closed, and he heard his sisters’ muffled voices inside. On the other side of the bathroom, at the end of the hall, the front bedroom door stood half-open, the way it had for as long as he could remember.

  Matt stared at it for what felt like a long time. Drawn by something he couldn’t explain, he strolled down the hall and through the door.

  The room was just the way his father had left it, somewhere between tidy and cluttered. The bed was unmade, his bathrobe tossed across the foot of it. Work clothes were draped over the back of an old wooden chair, and a devotional book lay open on the bedside table. Curious about what his father had been reading the day he died, Matt picked up the book.

  The heading of the page summed up his father’s philosophy of life. “If you can believe, all things are possible.” Underneath were stories about people who had beaten the odds and achieved things even they had thought were impossible. A paralyzed teenager walked to the podium to get his high school diploma. After ten years of trying, an infertile couple conceived twins. A woman searched for twelve years and finally found the father who hadn’t even known she existed.

  That one made him think of Caty. He wondered why she hadn’t made an effort to find her own father. Then again, it really wasn’t any of his business. As he set the book down, he noticed beside it, where it had always been, Dad’s favorite picture in its tarnished silver frame.

  It was the last family photo taken before Mom had gotten sick. The six of them sat on a checked blanket beside the church, enjoying a picnic. Lisa was a toddler on their mother’s lap, laughing at whoever was holding the camera. John was sprawled out as usual, opposite Matt, who looked over his shoulder at the photographer. A pigtailed Marianne hung over Dad’s shoulder, a huge grin on her face.

  Even though it was more than twenty years ago, he remembered that day so clearly he could smell the fried chicken. Staring down at his mother’s face, he saw himself in her dark hair and deep blue eyes. The others were pure Sawyer, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes. More than once Matt had caught his dad looking at him with a sad expression. When Matt got older, he understood that he reminded his father of the woman he’d loved and lost much too young.