rolled her eyes in agreement. “But you know, what bothers me even more than Luke’s cavalier attitude is the way everyone else seems to be siding with him.”
“You mean about marrying Luke?”
“Yes.” Kate gave another forlorn sigh. “Look at my dad—he’s the perfect example. And everyone in town seems to think that if I’m foolish enough to let another good man slip through my fingers, I’ll end up thirty and a spinster for sure.”
“That’s crazy!”
Coming from San Francisco, Rorie couldn’t understand how differently people in this small Oregon community viewed life, Kate mused. A woman already thirty years old and unmarried was likely to stay that way—at least in Nightingale. “You haven’t lived here long enough to know how folks in this town think.”
“Kate, you’re over twenty-one. No one can force you to marry Luke. Remember that.”
Kate rested her elbows on the table and cradled her coffee cup in both hands. “I feel like I’m caught in a current that’s flowing too fast for me. I’m afraid to stand up for fear I’ll lose my footing but I can’t just allow it to carry me where it will, either.”
“No, you can’t,” Rorie said and her mouth tightened.
“Luke—and practically everyone else—apparently sees me as a poor, spineless soul who can’t possibly decide what’s best for her own life.”
“That’s not true at all,” Rorie declared. “And don’t let anyone tell you you’re weak! If that was the case, you would have married Clay yourself, instead of working so hard to make sure we found each other.”
Kate dismissed that with a shake of her head. “I did the only thing I could.”
“But not everyone would’ve been so unselfish. Clay and I owe our happiness to you.” She clasped Kate’s hands with her own. “I wish I knew how to help you. All I can tell you is to listen to your own heart.”
“Oh, Rorie, I feel so much better talking to you.” She knew her friend was right. She’d faltered for a step or two, but considering everything that had happened in the past little while, that was understandable. Luke might believe she needed him, but she didn’t, not really. In the weeks to come, she’d have the opportunity to prove it.
“Before I forget,” Rorie said, her voice eager, “Clay and I want to invite you over for dinner one night soon. As I said, we feel deeply indebted to you and want to thank you for what you did.”
“Dinner,” Kate repeated, suddenly dismayed. She’d need time to prepare herself before facing Clay again. Here she was reassuring herself in one breath and then doubting herself in the next.
“Would next Tuesday be all right?” Rorie pressed.
“But you’ve hardly had time to settle in with Clay,” Kate said, turning her attention back to her friend. “How about giving it another week or two?”
“Are you worried that I’m going to serve my special seafood fettuccine?” Rorie asked with a laugh. When she’d first been stranded in Nightingale, Rorie had cooked it for Clay and his younger brother, Skip, one night. But, unfortunately, because both men did strenuous physical jobs, they were far more interested in a hearty meat-and-potatoes meal at the end of the day. Neither of them had considered seafood in a cream sauce with fancy noodles a very satisfactory repast, though Clay had politely tried to hide his disappointment. Skip hadn’t.
Kate smiled at the memory of that night and slowly shook her head. “You serve whatever you want. I’m much easier to please than Skip.”
“Actually Mary will probably do the cooking. She’s been the Franklins’ housekeeper for so many years that I don’t dare invade her kitchen just yet. After the fettuccine disaster, she doesn’t trust me around her stove any more than Skip does.”
They both laughed, and to Kate, it felt good to forget her troubles, even for a few minutes.
“I should get back to the library,” Rorie said reluctantly.
“I need to head home myself.” Kate left some change on the table and slid out of the booth. Impulsively she hugged Rorie, grateful for the time they’d spent together and for the other woman’s support. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” she whispered, feeling a little self-conscious.
“I am, too,” Rorie said, and hugged her back.
* * *
By the time Kate pulled into the Circle L driveway, she was filled with bold resolution. She hurried inside just long enough to set a roast in the oven and change her clothes. Then she went into the yard, intent on confronting Luke. She wanted to get this over with—as soon as possible.
As luck would have it, Luke wasn’t in any of the places she normally found him. Bill Schmidt, a longtime ranch hand, was working in the barn by himself.
“Bill, have you seen Luke?” she asked.
Bill straightened and set his hat farther back on his head. “Can’t say I have. At least, not in the past couple of hours. Said he was going out to look for strays. I imagine he’ll be back pretty soon now.”
“I see.” Kate gnawed her lower lip, wondering what she should do. Without pausing to question the wisdom of her decision, she reached for a bridle.
“Bill, would you get Nonstop for me?” Nonstop was the fastest horse in their stable. Kate was in the mood for some exercise; if she didn’t find Luke, that was fine, too. She could use a good hard ride to vent some of the frustration that had been binding her all week.
“Sure, Miz Logan.” Bill left his task and headed for the corral, returning a few minutes later with Nonstop. “Luke seemed to be in the mood to do some riding himself this afternoon,” he commented as he helped her cinch the saddle. “Must be the weather.”
“Must be,” Kate agreed.
Minutes later Nonstop was cantering out of the yard. Kate hadn’t ridden in weeks and she was surprised to realize just how long it had been. When she was engaged to Clay, she’d spent many a summer afternoon in the saddle, many a Saturday or Sunday riding by his side. That had ended about the same time as their wedding plans. She felt a stinging sense of loss but managed to dispel it with the memory of her talk with Rorie.
Bill pointed out the general direction Luke had taken, and Kate followed that course at a gallop. She found it wonderfully invigorating to be in the saddle again.
The afternoon remained mild, but the breeze carried the distinctive scent of autumn. These past few days had been Indian summer, with rare clement temperatures. Within the hour, the sun would set, bathing the rolling green hills in a golden haze.
“Kate.” Her name floated on a whisper of wind.
Pulling back on the reins, Kate halted the mare and turned in the saddle to discover Luke trotting toward her. She raised her hand and waved. Much of her irritation had dissipated, replaced by a newly awakened sense of well-being. No longer did Kate feel her life was roaring out of control; she was in charge, and it exhilarated her.
Luke dismounted as
