hard on the roof overhead, staring at each other the way they had back at the store.
Finally he said, “My parents are good people. Basically. But my mom, well, she kind of thinks of herself as the queen of Rust Creek Falls, if that makes any sense. She married a Crawford, and to her, my dad is king. She gets ideas about people, about who’s okay and who’s not. If she likes you, that’s fine. If she doesn’t like you, you know it. Believe me.”
“You think she’s too hard on people?”
There was a darkness, a deep sadness in his eyes. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“Well, Nate, if your mother’s the queen, that would make you the crown prince.”
He took off his hat and set it on the dashboard—then changed his mind and put it back on again. “You’re right. I was raised to think I should run this town, and for a while in the past seven or eight years, I put most of my energy into doing exactly what I was raised to do.”
“You sound like you’re not so sure about all that now.”
“Lately, there’s a whole lot I’m not sure of—which is one of the reasons I’m planning on leaving town.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. I think you love this town.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t go.” And then he smiled, a smile that stole the breath right out of her body. “Come on.” He leaned on his door and got out into the pouring rain. He was soaked through in an instant as he opened the backseat door and gathered her groceries into his arms. “Let’s go.” He made a run for the house.
She was hot on his tail and also soaked to the skin as she followed him up her front steps.
Laughing, she opened the door for him and he went right in, racing to the kitchen to get the soggy shopping bags safely onto the counter before they gave way. He made it, barely. And then he took off his dripping hat and set it on the counter next to the split-open bags. “A man could drown out there if he’s not careful.”
It was still daylight out, but the rain and the heavy cloud cover made it gloomy inside. She turned on some lights. “Stay right there,” she instructed. “I’ll get us some towels.”
In the central hall, a box of linens waited for her to carry them upstairs to the extra bath. She dug out two big towels and returned to the kitchen. “Catch.” She tossed him one.
He snatched it from the air. They dried off as much as possible, then she took his towel from him and went to toss them in the hamper. When she got back to him, he was standing in the breakfast nook, studying a group of framed photographs she’d left on the table last night.
She quickly worked her long wet hair into a soggy braid. “I’m going to hang those pictures together on that wall behind you.” And then she gestured at the boxes stacked against that same wall. “As soon as I get all that put away, I mean.”
He picked up one of the pictures. “You were a cute little kid.”
She had no elastic bands handy, so she left the end of the wet braid untied. “You go for braces and knobby knees?”
“Like I said. Cute. Especially the pigtails.” He glanced at her, a warm, speculative glance. “An only child?”
“That’s right.” She went to the counter and started putting the groceries away. “They divorced when I was ten. My mother died a couple of years ago. My father remarried. He and his second wife live in Vermont.”
He set the picture down with the others. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
She put the eggs in the fridge. “Thanks. She was great. I miss her a lot.”
“Half siblings?”
“Nope. They travel a lot, my dad and my stepmom. They like visiting museums and staying in fine hotels in Europe, going on cruises to exotic locales. He really wasn’t into kids, you know? My mom loved camping, packing up the outdoor gear and sleeping under the stars in the national parks. So did I. But my dad? He always acted like he was doing us a favor, that having to deal with sleeping outside and using public restrooms was beneath him. And having a kid cramped his style. I never felt all that close to him, to tell you the truth. And after he and my mom split up, I hardly saw him— Sheesh. Does that sound whiny or what?”
He watched her for a moment. And then he shrugged. “Not whiny. Honest. I like that about you.”
She felt ridiculously gratified. “I... Thank you.”
He nodded, slowly. They stared at each other too long, the way they had back at the store.
And then she realized that one of them should probably say something. So she piped up with, “On a brighter note, I have a couple of girlfriends in Chicago who are like sisters to me. They’ll be coming to visit me here one of these days— Beer?”
He left the pictures and came to stand at the end of the granite counter. “Sure.”
She got a longneck from the fridge. “Glass?”
“Just the bottle.” He took it, screwed off the top and downed a nice, big gulp. She watched his Adam’s apple working, admired the way his wet shirt clung to his deep, hard chest. He set the bottle on the counter and ran those lean, strong fingers through his wet hair. “You leave anyone special behind in Chicago?”
She stopped with the carton of milk held between her two hands. “I told you. My girlfriends.”
He picked up the beer, tipped it to his mouth, then changed his mind and didn’t drink from it. “I wasn’t talking about girlfriends.”
She didn’t really want to go there. But then, well, why not just get it over with? “There was a doctor, at the hospital where I worked. A surgeon.”
“It didn’t work out?”
“No, it did not.” She glanced toward the bay window that framed the breakfast nook. The rain kept coming down. The wind was up, too. “Listen to that wind.”
He nodded. “It’s wild out there, all right.” Lightning flashed then, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Callie put the milk in the fridge and threw the ruined paper bags away. He held up his beer bottle. “I’ll finish this up and get out of your hair.”
She had plenty of boxes left to unpack, and the sooner he went home, the sooner she could get going on that. Still, she heard herself offering, “Stick around. Faith Harper brought me a jumbo baking dish full of chicken divan last night. I have plenty left if you want to join me.”
He took his hat off the counter and then dropped it back down. “You sure?”
She realized she was. Absolutely. “Yes.”
Half an hour later, he’d cleared all the stuff off the table and set it for them with dishes she’d unpacked the night before. She’d cut up a salad and baked a quick batch of packaged drop biscuits. He said yes to a second beer and she poured herself a glass of wine. They sat down to eat.
After a couple bites, he said, “I remember this casserole. Faith’s mom always brought it to all the church
