Hometown Family

by Mia Ross

  Giving your heart to someone left you open to that kind of pain, Matt thought as he set the picture back in its place. That was why he always kept his distance.

  These were the memories that had driven him away fifteen years ago. He’d been keeping busy, trying to stay ahead of them. But they’d snuck up on him and caught him from behind.

  If he didn’t get out of here, he knew they’d drag him down and never let him back up.

  Without a word to anyone, Matt climbed into his truck and started driving. It didn’t matter where he went, so long as it was away from the farm and the crushing memories that had been waiting in the shadows to ambush him.

  He’d last come home two Christmases ago. He’d stayed too long at a friend’s party and been late for Marianne’s traditional Christmas Eve feast. By the time he’d gotten there, the eggnog was gone and Ethan was wearing the red-and-green reindeer pajamas the kids had made him open early.

  “Merry Christmas, Matt,” he’d said as the clock chimed midnight. “Are you hungry?”

  A lifelong farmer, Dad was always early to bed, early to rise, but that night he’d stayed up to see Matt. John and Lisa had gone home, and Marianne and the kids were in bed. Matt and his father rummaged through the leftovers, filling their plates with everything from pulled pork to Christmas cookies. Washing it down with root beer, they had one of those everything-and-nothing conservations you never really appreciate until you realize it was the last one.

  What did they talk about? Matt wondered, reaching for details but coming up empty. It was their last face-to-face, and he couldn’t recall anything. Close on the heels of that thought was one that made him feel even worse.

  If he’d been in touch with his family, he’d have known they were bringing the hay in. He could have come down to lend a hand, as he used to do.

  If he’d been there, their father would still be alive.

  The violent force behind that thought caught him off guard, and he realized he had the steering wheel in a death grip. He also realized he had no clue how he’d gotten where he was, and he had no business driving right now. Fortunately he was near Caty’s house, and he pulled into her washed-out driveway before he wrecked his truck. Or worse.

  Delayed panic set in, and his heart started banging against his ribs as if it meant to slam right through his chest. Leaning his head back against the headrest, he took in a deep breath and held it before letting it out. After repeating that a few times, he felt calmer but not exactly normal. Then again, maybe normal was a relative term.

  A motion to his left caught his eye, and he swiveled his head to find Caty’s worried face outside. Lowering the window, he did his best to smile. “Hey, there.”

  “Hey, yourself. Are you okay?”

  “Define okay.”

  Her half smile told him that even though he hadn’t said much, she completely understood what he meant. When she opened his door, he wasn’t surprised by the bold gesture. In the short time he’d known her, he’d quit being amazed by her take-charge attitude. Apparently, that was Caty. There was a backbone of pure steel under that sweet exterior. Strange as it seemed, he was beginning to like that about her.

  Because she’d already turned to go inside, he followed after her. A curtain swished in one of the neighbors’ windows, and he had to grin. He’d been here thirty seconds, and it wouldn’t take much longer than that for the infamous Harland gossip chain to spread the news.

  “Aren’t you worried about your neighbors?” he asked when Caty stopped on the porch.

  “Why?”

  “Having me here this late might not be good for your reputation.”

  “I have a reputation for doing exactly what I want,” she informed him with a sassy grin. “I don’t worry much about what other folks think.”

  “Isn’t that what got you fired?”

  She thought for a second and laughed. “Yes, thank goodness. I couldn’t stand that place. A bunch of people in designer suits killing themselves to make enough money to afford their Beemers and Caribbean condos. I’d rather go back to waitressing than be chained to a desk waiting for my life to start.”

  Matt recognized the words he’d flung at her during one of their many disputes, and he cringed. “Sorry about that. I was out of line.”

  “Don’t apologize. You were totally right, and I’m glad you said it. Not many people have the nerve to be honest with me. They think it’ll crush my fragile little heart,” she added in a thick, Southern-honey accent, the back of her hand against her forehead in a melodramatic pose.

  For the first time all day, he felt a genuine smile lift his spirits. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

  “Just don’t do it again,” she threatened, pointing a stern finger at him. “I’ll have to retaliate.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He opened the new screen door for her and stopped short when he saw the empty living room. “Where is everything?”

  “Back in Grandpa’s workroom. I thought I’d start painting in here. I’m thinking yellow with white trim would really brighten things up.”

  “Sounds nice. How’d you move everything?”

  “With an old dolly, a piece at a time,” she said matter-of-factly. “It took me a while.”

  Something wasn’t right with that, but it took him a second to figure it out. “Where’s the desk?”

  “A couple of clerks from the hardware store moved it into the workroom for me. That’s where it will end up, anyway, when my office is in there. I tried to pay them, but they wouldn’t let me.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she glowered up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Were you wearing that?” he asked, nodding at the cutoff denim shorts and pink tank top.

  “Well, yes.”

  There wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t help her out, dressed that way. Cute and country, he grumbled silently. Nobody could resist that. Then again, he reminded himself, it was none of his business.

  “How’s your water?” he asked, to change the subject.

  She made a sick face. “Blech. Mrs. Fairman lets me grab drinking water at her house, so it’s no big deal. Once it’s clear, I’m gonna take a nice bubble bath.”

  It was impossible not to echo the smile lighting her face. “Simple pleasures, right?”

  “They’re the best,” she agreed. “I stopped by Ruthy’s for some chicken salad and coleslaw. Would you like some?”

  The open, friendly invitation made him feel welcome in her house. For some reason, he was uncomfortable with that. While he enjoyed spending time with her, he really didn’t want to make a habit of it. Even if he hadn’t been planning to go back to Charlotte, his growing fondness for this bright, compassionate woman would have made him uneasy.

  Dating women was one thing. Getting attached was something else again.

  “I didn’t come to eat your food,” he replied, surprised at the harsh way the words came out.

  Caty either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. Tilting her head, she looked him squarely in the eye. “Then why did you come?”

  He could have made up a reason about checking her roof or something, but she’d see right through it. Out of sheer, stubborn pride, he refused to look away, even though that direct gaze made him want to squirm.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just started driving and ended up here.”

  “Why?”

  Her gentle tone pried under the edge of the rigid control he’d kept in place since the funeral, and he wrestled it back into place.

  “I don’t know,” he repeated, disgusted by the quiver in his voice. “I should go.”

  She gave him a worried look. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he
lied, fishing his keys out of his pocket.

  Caty closed her hand over his and gave a little squeeze. “If you want to stay, you can. You don’t have to talk to me or anything.”

  That did it. He didn’t know if it was the warmth of her touch, or the fact that he knew she understood what he was feeling, even if he didn’t. A wave of indescribable emotions overwhelmed him, twisting like a knot in his chest. Rubbing a hand over his breastbone, he sat down on the stairs and waited for the sensation to die down. He’d been in pain before, but never like this.

  Guilt rushed in first, swamped by regret for neglecting the only family he had. His father’s image swam into his mind, his expression a combination of sadness and pride. Different as they were, Dad had accepted him as he was, applauding his strengths and accepting his flaws.

  No one would ever love him like that again.

  * * *

  “Marianne, it’s Caty.” Whispering into her phone, she peeked in the kitchen window to check on Matt. She’d invented a leak under the sink to give her time to go out on the porch and make a quick call. “I just wanted you to know Matt’s here.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. Hang on a minute.” Marianne relayed the news to whoever was with her. “We didn’t know he’d left until the kids starting looking for him to say good-night.”

  She sounded irritated, and Caty couldn’t blame her. Matt should have said something before leaving the farm. Then again, she was impressed that he’d made it through the past several days as well as he had. “Well, he’s fine. Right now he’s under my kitchen sink, but he should be home soon.”

  “Okay. Caty, I want to thank you for your help with everything. It means a lot to all of us.”

  “I haven’t really done much, but you’re welcome.”

  “You’re doing more than you know,” Marianne corrected her in a tired voice.

  “Go hug your kids,” Caty suggested. “And then get some sleep. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Great idea. Good night.”

  “’Night.”

  Switching off the phone, Caty found Matt framed in the open window.

  “There’s nothing wrong with those pipes,” he said in an accusing tone. “You were just trying to keep me busy so you could talk to my sister.”

  He strolled from the kitchen and through the front door, onto the porch.

  “She was worried about you,” Caty explained.

  He grimaced. “Yeah, so was I. You’re John’s age, right? Twenty-eight?”

  Coming out of the blue like that, the question puzzled her. “A few months younger. Why?”

  “How is it somebody that young is so good at making people open up?”

  She’d never really thought about it, and she shrugged. “I just wait till they’re ready to start talking. Then I listen.”

  “Most people don’t bother,” he complained, looking over her shoulder at nothing in particular. “They’re too busy telling you how you should feel.”

  “They’re wrong. God made everyone different, and they handle things their own way. It’s not my place to second-guess His handiwork.”

  Matt’s aimless gaze settled on her, and he studied her with a curious expression. “You really believe all that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Even after what happened to your mom?”

  Given his own experience, it would be hard for him to understand. Maybe even impossible. But she decided to give it a shot.

  “God didn’t take her away from me,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “She chose to get into a car with a man who’d had too much to drink. If she’d called a cab, my life would’ve been very different. But then I wouldn’t have known my grandparents as well as I did, and they’re the ones who gave me what I needed to be the person I am. Including my faith,” she added to be absolutely clear.

  He didn’t comment on that, but came back with an approving smile. “They did a great job.”

  “So did Ethan. He took four totally different kids and helped them grow into strong, independent people. You’re all unique, but you have one important thing in common.”

  He gave her a skeptical look. “What’s that?”

  She almost answered, then thought better of it. Given enough time, she had no doubt he’d come up with it on his own. And when he did, he’d see the future—and the past—in a much more positive light.

  “You’re a smart guy,” she challenged him with a little grin. “Figure it out for yourself.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday morning dawned sunny and warm.

  Outside Caty’s bedroom window, a family of birds was chattering to each other, while in the background she heard the whir of her neighbor’s lawn mower. It wasn’t long before she caught the scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with her roses, and she took a deep breath to savor it. Back in Charlotte, Sundays had started with a frenzy of emails and phone messages she’d rushed through before going to church.

  Here, she could just breathe. The difference was remarkable for its simplicity, but that didn’t make it any less important. Until she was forced to resettle in Harland, she hadn’t realized that she’d quite literally forgotten how to stop and smell the roses.

  The shower squealed until the pipes were well primed, but the water had gone from rust-colored to just cloudy. Another couple of days, and she’d be sinking into that long-awaited bubble bath she’d mentioned to Matt.

  She pulled on a pretty dress she hadn’t worn in years, and it felt brand-new. Multicolored pastel flowers were sprinkled all over it, which made it easy to pick a pair of shoes. It wasn’t up to the standards of dress in Boston or Charlotte, but she’d always liked it so she’d held on to it. After some earrings and a spritz of jasmine perfume, she was ready to go. A quick spin in front of the mirror told her she was dressed perfectly for a Sunday in Harland.

  It was such a beautiful morning, she decided to walk across town to the church. Along the way, she talked with several folks headed the same way. She connected with George and Priscilla Fairman in the parking lot and accepted their invitation to sit with them in their customary pew.

  While chatting with the people around her, Caty soaked up the warm feeling she’d gotten the very first time she’d stepped into the little church with her grandparents. At nine years old, she was about as shy as a kid could get. Having her mother wrenched out of her life had only made things worse.

  She still remembered being terrified of meeting all those strangers, even though they were friends of Gram and Grandpa. But when she walked through those doors, she wasn’t scared anymore.

  To this day, she knew that God had embraced that frightened, disoriented child, welcoming her to His house. Here, in this simple white church, Caty had learned that Jesus loved her and that her mother was waiting for her in Heaven. She learned that no matter how bleak things might look, she was never truly alone.

  This morning the Sawyers sat in a huddle near the front, apparently receiving condolences from the people seated around them. Matt wasn’t with them, of course, and while Caty wasn’t surprised, she was disappointed. Just this once, would it have killed him to be with his family in church? She knew it would have meant the world to them, and in her head she scolded him for his selfishness. Maybe the bad vibes would reach him wherever he was and make him feel guilty.

  The mean thought made her feel guilty, and she quickly amended it with something more understanding. If there was one thing she’d learned in her life, it was to be tolerant. Or at least try to be. It wasn’t easy with everyone, but for those people she tried hardest. Recognizing that Matt fell into that category made her sigh. She had a lot of work ahead of her with that one. But Ethan had trusted her to help his family in his absence, and she wasn’t about to let him down.

  When th
e organist began her opening chords, Caty picked up a well-worn hymnal and stood to sing along. She loved singing, even though she couldn’t accurately hit most of the notes. On a morning like this, she really didn’t care. Surrounded by good, honest folks who still took the time to slow down on Sundays made her feel more lighthearted than she had in a long time.

  Once everyone sat back down, Pastor Charles let his gaze drift over the congregation until it settled on her. He gave her a dimpled smile and a quick wink of warning.

  “This morning, I’d like to welcome home one of Harland’s favorite daughters, Caty Lee McKenzie.” People quietly applauded, and she smiled in response. “I’d like to encourage old friends and new to offer her your good wishes, and keep her in mind when you find yourself needing a lawyer.”

  Very appropriately, his uplifting sermon about hope matched the weather, and Caty ended the final hymn feeling as though she could take on the world. Which was a good thing, because she had a lot of tedious work to do.

  Outside, she waited for the Sawyers to work their way through what amounted to a receiving line of hugs and offers of help. By the time they got to her, the kids were impatient and the grown-ups looked a little overwhelmed.

  “Can we go on the swings, Mommy?” Emily asked, pointing across the lawn at the playground.

  “No, honey. We all start school this week, and we have a lot to do at home.”

  Kyle’s hopeful look drooped into a frown, but to his credit he didn’t say anything. It was obvious Marianne hated to disappoint them, and Caty jumped in.

  “I can take them, Mare. Just leave me Emily’s car seat, and I’ll bring them home after lunch.”

  Kyle’s eyes lit up like the boy he was. “Can we put the top down on your car?”

  “Yes,” she replied, ruffling his sun-streaked brown hair. “I’ll even show you how to do it.”

  “Are you sure?” Marianne asked. “Aren’t you busy with your house?”

  Caty waved that away, grateful for an excuse to put it off. She really could use a break. “None of those jobs are going anywhere, believe me. They’ll wait till tomorrow.”