“But if Clay had broken your engagement when he came to San Francisco, why didn’t he say anything to me?”
Kate shrugged. “I don’t know what happened while he was gone, but he hasn’t been himself since. He never has been a talkative person, but he seemed to draw even further into himself when he came back. He’s working himself into an early grave, everyone says. Mary’s concerned about him—we all are. Mary said if you didn’t come soon, she was going after you herself.”
“Mary said that?” The housekeeper had been the very person who’d convinced Rorie she was doing the right thing by getting out of Clay’s life.
“Well, are you going to him? Or are you planning to stick around here and listen to me blubber all day? If you give me any more time,” she said, forcing a laugh, “I’ll manage to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.” Kate stood abruptly, pushing back the kitchen chair. Her arms were folded around her waist, her eyes bright with tears.
“Kate,” Rorie murmured, “you are a dear, dear friend. I owe you more than it’s possible to repay.”
“The only thing you owe me is one godchild—and about fifty years of happiness with Clay Franklin. Now get out of here before I start weeping in earnest.”
Kate opened the kitchen door and Rorie gave her an impulsive hug before hurrying out.
Luke Rivers was standing in the yard, apparently waiting for her. When she came out of the house he sauntered over to her car and held open the driver’s door. “Did everything go all right with Kate?”
Rorie nodded.
“Well,” he said soberly, “there may be more rough waters ahead for her. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m buying out the Circle L.” Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling. “She’s going to be fine, though. I’ll make sure of that.” He extended his hand, gripping hers in a firm handshake. “Let me be the first to welcome you to our community.”
“Thank you.”
He touched the rim of his hat in farewell, then glanced toward the house. “I think I’ll go inside and see how Kate’s doing.”
Rorie’s gaze skipped from the foreman to the house and then back again. “You do that.” If Luke Rivers had anything to say about it, Kate wouldn’t be suffering from a broken heart for long. Rorie had suspected Luke was in love with Kate. But, like her, he was caught in a trap, unable to reveal his feelings. Perhaps now Kate’s eyes would be opened—Rorie fervently hoped so.
The drive from the Logans’ place to the Franklins’ took no more than a few minutes. Rorie parked her car behind the house, her heart pounding. When she climbed out, the only one there to greet her was Mary.
“About time you got here,” the housekeeper complained, marching down the porch steps with a vengeance.
“Could this be the apple-pie blue-ribbon holder of Nightingale, Oregon?”
Mary actually blushed, and Rorie laughed. “I thought you’d never want to see the likes of me again,” she teased.
“Fiddlesticks.” The weathered face broke into a smile.
“I’m still a city girl,” Rorie warned.
“That’s fine, ’cause you got the heart of a country girl.” Wiping her hands dry on her apron, Mary reached for Rorie and hugged her.
After one brief, bone-crushing squeeze, she set her free. “I’m a meddling old woman, sure enough, and I suspect the good Lord intends to teach me more than one lesson in the next year or two. I’d best tell you that I never should’ve said those things I did about Kate being the right woman for Clay.”
“Mary, you spoke out of concern. I know that.”
“Clay doesn’t love Kate,” she continued undaunted, “but my heavens, he does love you. That boy’s been pining his heart out for want of you. He hasn’t been the same from the minute you drove out of here all those weeks ago.”
Rorie had suffered, too, but she didn’t mention that to Mary. Instead, she slipped her arm around the housekeeper’s broad waist and together they strolled toward the house.
“Clay’s gone for the day, but he’ll be back within the hour.”
“An hour,” Rorie repeated. She’d waited all this time; another sixty minutes shouldn’t matter.
“Dinner will be ready then, and it’s not like Clay or Skip to miss a meal. Dinner’s been at six every night since I’ve been cooking for this family, and that’s a good many years now.” Mary’s mouth formed a lopsided grin. “Now what we’ll do is this. You be in the dining room waiting for him and I’ll tell him he’s got company.”
“But won’t he notice my car?” Rorie twisted around, gesturing at her old white Toyota—her own car this time—parked within plain sight.