me?”
“Her crab puffs—they’re great. I know she’s into granola and nuts, but she can cook up a storm of gooey, good stuff when she wants to.”
“Oh. Well, we’ve gotten used to her cooking.”
Katherine laughed. “Better you than me. When she and I go out, I pick the restaurant and you should see her put away a hamburger and shake.”
Flynn suspected Katherine wanted to talk about more than food, yet he stuck to the safety of the subject. “The main course tonight is vegetable lasagna.”
“Now that’s one of her healthy creations I love.” Katherine closed the oven door. “But that’s our Cindy, a mass of contradictions.”
He should have escaped right after the crab puff remark. Now he was stuck. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“How many trust fund kids do you know who devote their lives to volunteer work instead of shopping and gliding around the world?”
Flynn stiffened. Apparently Katherine didn’t know her friend as well as she thought. “For the time being, anyway.”
But Katherine didn’t immediately rebut the reply. “So, that’s how it is.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. I’m glad you and your daughters are getting settled in.”
“Well, we will when my house is finished.”
“Of course. It’s always difficult to blend two lives.”
Flynn remained cautious. “Cindy’s been patient, but we’re intruding on her routine.”
Katherine shrugged. “I haven’t heard that from her. It’s a difficult time for you and your daughters and I know she’s thrilled to be able to help out. But you know Cindy, she just wishes she could do more.”
Flynn studied her, wondering at any hidden meaning. “I’m not sure what that would be.”
Katherine’s smile, however, was enigmatic. “She probably doesn’t, either.”
The kitchen door was pushed open again. Without looking at Flynn, Cindy walked over to the oven.
“They looked almost done when I checked them,” Katherine offered.
“Thanks.”
Katherine nodded, then left the room.
The remaining silence was a palpable thing.
Flynn felt forced to end it. “Katherine says you make killer crab puffs.”
“Yeah, well, Katherine tends to be a bit prejudiced.” Cindy withdrew the baking sheet, transferring the appetizers to a porcelain tray. “We’d better get back in there.”
“Cindy?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “Yes?”
“I seem to have a way of irritating you on a daily basis. I guess I’m just not used to someone taking control of things, offering so much. It was really great of you to arrange this party tonight.”
This time, she did raise her eyes, her green eyes darkened to the color of sheltered, unlit forests. “So what else is new? I’ll never be like Julia and everything I do is a daily reminder of that.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Cindy walked toward the door, one hand on the old wood, prepared to push it open. “Yes, it is. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
Flynn followed her slowly. Why did Cindy think he would want her to behave as Julia had? Julia was his wife and Cindy was…Cindy.
Walking into the crowded parlor, he was immediately swept into the group of people. Michael made a point of including him in his conversation with Tom Sanders.
It was a friendly gathering. Everyone seemed genuine, most made hospitable offers ranging from baby-sitting services to help on the house he was building. It was rather amazing.
“We start softball practice this Saturday,” Michael was telling him.
“I’m not sure I have time to—”
“We don’t take no for an answer. Just ask Michael,” Tom Sanders added.
Michael’s grin was wry. “I can vouch for that. It’s a lot of fun. And we can always use another player.”
Flynn looked from one determined face to the other. “Why don’t we see how Saturday shapes up? I don’t want to dump the kids on Cindy for the day.”
“Are you kidding?” Tom asked. “She’s nuts about your girls.”
Puzzled Flynn stared at him. “And you know that…how?”
“She talks about them constantly,” Tom replied. “She’s as proud of them as any parent.”
Unconsciously Flynn stiffened. “She’s their aunt.”
Tom shrugged. “I wish I’d had an aunt like Cindy, someone who makes everything seem like a treat. I think Cindy could make fun out of a pile of sticks in the rain.”
Flynn studied Tom, wondering if the man had more than friendly feelings for Cindy. “So, you and your wife have been friends with her for a while now?”
“I’m not married,” Tom replied. “Not anymore.”
Which meant he and Cindy could well be more than friends. Funny, he didn’t seem like her type. Flynn shook away the thought. It wasn’t any of his business whom Cindy chose to date. Yet he found himself observing Tom, evaluating the other man.
As the evening drew to a close, all the departing male guests reminded Flynn of the upcoming weekend softball game. And, oddly, he was tempted to go.
When the door closed behind their last guest, Flynn watched as Cindy began to quietly collect bowls and trays. He joined her, filling his hands with the delicate china Cindy treasured. “So what do you think about their insistence that I play softball?”
“I think you should do what you want to.”
Flynn angled his head. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
She turned briefly. “How would you know?”
“What?”
“You don’t know me at all. How could you possibly think you would recognize when I’m being myself?” Not waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Flynn was left holding the delicate china, as deceptively fragile, it seemed, as Cindy herself.
The softball field was much like Rosewood itself, old-fashioned and appealing. A small shack sold ice-cream cones, canned soda and homemade hot dogs.
