* * *
After the mercifully brief graveside service, the long parade of cars headed through town to the Sawyer farm. As they drove along Main Street, well-kept houses stretched out on either side. Alongside the pavement were the original cobblestones, flanked by a canopy of oaks that dated back to the Civil War. In Harland, gardens were immaculate, porches were welcoming and the sweet tea was always fresh. Even though she’d left to realize her dream of becoming a lawyer, Caty had always been drawn back to the place that had made her who she was.
“I’m sorry for the reason, but it’s good to be home again,” Caty told him with a smile. “Someday I want to come back for good. How ’bout you?”
“I plan to stay as far from Harland as I can get.”
The certainty in his voice startled her, but she plowed ahead. “So, where are you living these days?”
“Charlotte.”
“Really? Me, too.” As of yesterday, that wasn’t technically true anymore, but she didn’t think he really cared that much. “How long have you been there?”
“A few months now,” he answered without taking his eyes off the road.
He didn’t elaborate, and she tried again. “I haven’t seen you since high school. What have you been up to?”
“I’m a mechanic.”
Oh, he was a real talker, this guy. “Whereabouts?”
“California, Arizona, Texas. Spent about a month in Michigan. Way too cold.”
She realized he’d answered her questions without revealing a single personal detail. He’d done it artfully, as if he’d had a lot of practice. Fortunately, her legal training had made her adept at worming information out of reluctant people.
“Do you like Charlotte?”
“Yeah.” Just when she thought he’d leave it at that, he added, “My boss hired me to work on classics at his body shop, which is great. I love old cars.”
Progress, she congratulated herself with a little smile. “How did you get into that?”
“Got certified for regular work, then started playing around with some clunkers at the shop I worked at in Houston. When I was done, the owner sold ’em for more than he spent on the wrecks. He cut me in on the profits, so I did some more. When I decided to move back to North Carolina, he called a friend of his and gave me a reference.”
She hoped to keep him talking by giving him a harmless compliment. “That takes a lot of skill. You must make good money.”
He slanted her a look she could only define as suspicious. “I do fine.”
Okay, so money was a bad subject. Caty switched back to classic cars.
“I love my MG, but I know next to nothing about it. If I get in and it starts, I’m happy. Come to think of it, it was making a weird clunky noise when I pulled in at the church earlier.”
“I can look at it if you want,” Matt offered as they pulled off the main road onto a lane marked Sawyer Farm.
“I didn’t mean to hint for free help with my car,” she explained. “I’m happy to pay your regular rates.”
“No problem, sweetheart.”
Matt drove past the rambling white farmhouse and parked beside several cars in the turnaround in front of one of the barns. He shut off the engine and came around to open her door. The truck sat high enough that she could look him dead in the eye.
Making full use of the higher ground, she gave him her most intimidating lawyer’s glare. “Do not call me that.”
He gave her the most clueless look she’d ever seen. “Why not?”
“Guys like you use cute nicknames to cover up the fact that you can’t remember the names of all the women you date, that’s why. Baby, honey, doll, things like that.” She ticked them off on her fingers, grimacing in disgust. “It’s insulting.”
Shaking his head, he offered his hand to help her down. “Whatever you say, Caitlin.”
Batting his hand away, she climbed out on her own. “That doesn’t count. I told you my name half an hour ago, and we’re not dating.”
“Got that right,” he muttered.
The two of them stalked off in different directions, and Caty wondered if he was as glad to be rid of her as she was of him. She’d tried everything she knew to be pleasant, but he wasn’t having any of it. The man was hopeless.
The black Lab snoozing on the back porch lifted his head as she approached. When he recognized her, he thumped his tail in welcome.
“Hey, Tucker,” she said softly, scratching underneath the stars-and-stripes bandanna tied around his neck. “How’re things here?”
Brows furrowed in that Lab way, he cocked his head and whined. “I know,” she sympathized. “But don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
He answered with a couple more tail thumps, then settled his chin on his paws as she stepped over him to knock on the back door. When a familiar voice yelled for her to come in, Caty smiled and went inside.
All the windows were open, and whirring fans drew fresh air through the house. There were four women in the kitchen, one spooning batter into muffin tins, another emptying the dishwasher. The other two were arguing over how much coffee to put in Marianne’s commercial-grade double-pot coffeemaker.
With her graying hair and slender build, a casual observer would think the smaller one was at a disadvantage. Anyone who knew her knew she hadn’t lost an argument since she was old enough to talk. A longtime widow with eight grown sons and grandkids numbering in the twenties, Ruth Benton had the courage of a lion. And the heart of a pussycat.
“Ruthy, I should’ve known you’d be here.”
The field general of the little army dropped her point midsentence and turned to her with a delighted smile. “Caty Lee McKenzie, is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ruthy rushed over to fold her into a hug, then grasped her arms and pushed her away to look her up and down.
“Too skinny,” she chided, pressing her lips into a disapproving line. “What? They don’t have decent restaurants in Charlotte?”
“None as good as yours.”
“You could learn how to cook.” Ruthy took a pair of ruffled red oven mitts from the counter and pulled them on. “It’s not that hard.”
“Not for you ladies, anyway.” Caty included the others with a smile, then focused back on their leader. “The tables outside are full of food. What’s all this?”
Ruthy moved a wire rack to a clear spot on the counter. “Those kids will have enough to do without worrying about what they’re going to eat the next couple days.”
Caty looked around and laughed. “Couple days? I think they’re set for the week.”
“It’s not much.” Harland’s favorite chef waved off the compliment with her spatula, using it to transfer one of the yummy-looking pastries to the cooling rack. “Just a little of this and that.”
From the side porch, Caty heard voices and the sound of a filling washing machine. “Are they doing laundry?”
“Sure are. There’s a mountain of it back there, some clean, some not. I set two of John’s darlings on it. Told them they could each keep a pair of his boxers for their trouble.”
Caty grinned. “He doesn’t wear boxers.”