won’t share her secret with me, either,” Rorie said, giving a soft laugh. “I don’t think she’s willing to trust a city slicker yet.”
“I never wrote down any recipe,” Mary grumbled, casting Rorie a stern look. “I just make my pies the same way my mother did.”
“I wish I could bake like Mary does,” Rorie said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist. They exchanged a meaningful glance. Clay’s smile showed he couldn’t care less whether or not she could bake a pie.
Once more Kate braced herself for the pain of seeing them together, gentle and loving, but to her surprise she didn’t feel so much as a pinprick of distress. She relaxed, wondering at what was happening—or rather, wasn’t—and why.
“Where’s Skip?” she asked suddenly. She missed Clay’s younger brother almost as much as she did Clay. They’d been friends for years.
“Football practice,” Clay explained. “He’s quarterback this year and proud as a peacock. He’ll be home later.”
“About the time Mary serves her pie,” Rorie whispered to Kate. Skip’s appetite for sweets was legendary.
The small party headed into the homey living room. The piano stood against one wall, and Kate noted the music on the stand. She’d always been the one who’d played that piano, but it was Rorie who played for Clay now. There’d been a time when Kate and Clay had sung together, their voices blending in a melodious harmony. But Clay sang with Rorie now.
Kate expected the knowledge to claw at her insides, and she did feel a small twinge of regret—but that was all.
“Skip’s hoping to catch you later,” Rorie said.
“As I recall, you played quarterback your senior year of high school,” Kate reminded Clay as she claimed the overstuffed chair. “That was the first year the Nightingale team made it to the state finals.”
Rorie smiled delightedly at her husband. “You never told me that.”
“There wasn’t much to tell,” Clay said with a short laugh. “We were eliminated in the first round.” He sat beside Rorie and draped his arm around her shoulders, as if he had to keep touching her to believe she was here at his side.
Mary carried in a tray of wineglasses and an unopened bottle of a locally produced sparkling white. “I take it Devin and Dorothea arrived safely in California?” she asked as she uncorked the wine.
“Yes, Dad phoned when they arrived at Dorothea’s daughter’s house.”
“We didn’t get a chance to say more than a few words to you at the reception,” Rorie apologized. “You were so busy pouring coffee, there wasn’t much opportunity to chat.”
“I know. It was good of you and Clay to come.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Clay said.
“I wanted to tell you how nice your father and Dorothea looked together. And for that matter, you and Luke, too,” Rorie added.
“Thank you,” Kate said simply, wondering if her friends had heard about the incident on the Wilkins’s front porch. It still embarrassed Kate to think of all her father’s friends seeing her and Luke together...like that. “So much has happened in the last month,” she said, trying to change the subject before either of them mentioned her father’s wedding again. “Who’d ever have believed Luke would end up buying the ranch?”
“It must’ve come as a shock to you,” Clay said evenly, “but I’ve been after him for years to get his own spread.”
“What are your plans now that the Circle L’s been sold?” Rorie asked.
“I’m looking for a place in town,” she said, and sipped her wine.
“From what Luke told me, he’d rather you continued living on the ranch,” Clay said, studying her as though he knew something she didn’t.
“I know,” Kate admitted. “It’s very generous of him, but I’d prefer to get an apartment of my own.”
“Good luck finding one,” Clay murmured.
They were both aware that a decent apartment might be difficult to locate. Nightingale was a place of family dwellings, not singles’ apartments.
They chatted easily as they waited for Mary to announce dinner. Every now and then, Kate saw Clay glance over at Rorie. His look was tender and warm and filled with the deep joy that came from loving completely and knowing that love was returned.
When Rorie Campbell had arrived in their midst, Kate had seen almost immediately that Clay was attracted to her. That was understandable, after all, since Rorie was a beautiful woman. In the beginning, Kate had done everything she could to combat her jealousy. Rorie had been due to leave Elk Run in a few days and once she was gone, Kate had told herself, their lives and feelings would return to normal.
Eventually Rorie did go back to San Francisco, but Clay couldn’t forget her. Kate had done her best to pretend; she’d even talked Clay into setting a wedding date, pressuring him in a not-so-subtle way to marry her quickly. They’d been talking about it for years, and Kate wanted the deed done before Rorie realized what she’d given up. Their getting married seemed the perfect solution. Then, if Rorie did come to Nightingale again, it would be too late.
Kate’s strategy had been a desperate one, planned by a desperate woman. And as often happened in such cases, her scheme backfired.
Kate didn’t think she’d ever forget the day Clay told her he wanted to break their engagement. The words had scarred her soul like lye on tender skin. He’d come to the ranch, and from the minute he’d asked to talk to her, Kate had known something was terribly wrong. She’d tried to ease the tension with talk of bridesmaids’ dresses and floral arrangements, but Clay had stopped her.
He’d sat with his hands folded, his eyes regarding her sadly. “I wouldn’t hurt you for anything,” he’d said, and his words rang with truth and regret.
“Clay, you could never hurt me.” Which was a lie, because he was already inflicting pain.
He’d told her then, simply and directly, that it would be wrong for them to marry. Not once did he mention Rorie’s name. He didn’t need to. Kate had known for weeks that Clay was in love with the other woman. But she’d chosen instead to involve her heart in a painful game of pretend.
Instead of accepting the truth when Clay had come to her with his decision, she’d insisted he was mistaken, that they were right for each other and had been all their lives. The memory humbled her now. She’d tried to convince him that all they needed was a little more time. By the next week, or maybe the next month, Clay would understand that he’d made a mistake and he’d want to go through with the wedding. She could afford to be patient because she loved him so much. Kindly, and as gently as possible, Clay had told her time wouldn’t alter the way he felt. Then he’d left, although she’d pleaded with him to stay.
In the week that followed, Kate had felt as though she was walking around in a fog. She laughed, she smiled, she slept, she ate. The school year hadn’t started yet, so there was little else to occupy her mind. The days bled into each other, one indistinguishable from the next.
