A Country Affair(30)

Clay and Skip did hard physical work; they didn’t sit in an office all day like Dan and the other men she knew. She should have realized that Clay and his brother required a more substantial meal than noodles swimming in a creamy sauce. Rorie wished she’d discussed her menu with either Mary or Kate. A tiny voice inside her suggested that Kate might have said something to warn her...

“Anyone else for more pie?” Kate was asking.

Clay nodded and cast a guilty glance in Rorie’s direction. “I could go for a second piece myself.”

“The pie was delicious,” Rorie told Kate, meaning it. She was willing to admit Kate’s dessert had been the highlight of the meal.

“Kate’s one of the best cooks in the entire country,” Skip announced, licking the back of his fork. “Her lemon pie won a blue ribbon at the county fair last year.” He leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “She’s got a barbecue sauce so tangy and good that when she cooks up spareribs I just can’t stop eating ’em.” His face fell as though he was thinking about those ribs now and would have gladly traded all of Rorie’s fancy city food for a plateful.

“I’d like the fettuccine recipe if you’d give it to me,” Kate told Rorie, obviously attempting to change the subject and spare Rorie’s feelings. Perhaps she felt a little guilty, too, for not giving her any helpful suggestions.

Skip stared at Kate as if she’d volunteered to muck out the stalls.

“I’ll write it down before I leave.”

“Since Rorie and Kate put so much time and effort into the meal, I think Skip and I could be convinced to do our part and wash the dishes.”

“We could?” Skip protested.

“It’s the least we can do,” Clay returned flatly, frowning at his younger brother.

Rorie was all too aware of Clay’s ploy. He wanted to get into the kitchen so they could find something else to eat without being conspicuous about it. Something plain and basic, no doubt, like roast-beef sandwiches.

“Listen, you guys,” Rorie said brightly. “I’m sorry about dinner. I can see everyone’s still hungry. You’re all going out of your way to reassure me, but it isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rorie. Dinner was excellent,” Clay said, patting his stomach.

Rorie nearly laughed out loud. “Why don’t we call for a pizza?” she said, pleased with her solution. “I bungled dinner, so that’s the least I can do to make it up to you.”

Three faces stared at her blankly.

“Rorie,” Clay said gently. “The closest pizza parlour is thirty miles from here.”

“Oh.”

Undeterred, Skip leaped to his feet. “No problem... You phone in the order and I’ll go get it.”

Empty pizza boxes littered the living-room floor, along with several abandoned soft-drink cans.

Skip lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. “Anyone for a little music?” he asked lazily.

“Sure.” Kate got to her feet and sat down at the piano. As her nimble fingers ran over the keyboard, the rich sounds echoed against the walls. “Some Lee Greenwood?”

“All right,” Skip called out with a yell, punching his fist into the air. He thrust two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle.

“Who?” Rorie asked once the commotion had died down.

“He’s a country singer,” Clay explained. Blue ambled to his side, settling down at his feet. Clay gently stroked his back.

“I guess I haven’t heard of him,” Rorie murmured.

Once more she discovered three pairs of eyes studying her curiously.

“What about Johnny Cash?” Kate suggested next. “You probably know who he is.”

“Oh, sure.” Rorie looped her arms over her bent knees and lowered her voice to a gravelly pitch. “I hear that train a comin’.”

Skip let loose with another whistle and Rorie laughed at his boisterous antics. Clay left the room; he returned a moment later with a guitar, then seated himself on the floor again, beside Blue. Skip crawled across the braided rug in the center of the room and retrieved a harmonica from the mantel. Soon Kate and the two men were making their own brand of music—country songs, from the traditional to the more recent. Rorie didn’t know a single one, but she clapped her hands and tapped her foot to the lively beat.

“Sing for Rorie,” Skip shouted to Clay and Kate. “Let’s show her what she’s been missing.”

Clay’s rich baritone joined Kate’s lilting soprano, and Rorie’s hands and feet stopped moving. Her eyes darted from one to the other in openmouthed wonder at the beautiful harmony of their two voices, male and female. It was as though they’d been singing together all their lives. She realized they probably had.

When they finished, Rorie blinked back tears, too dumbfounded for a moment to speak. “That was wonderful,” she told them and her voice caught with emotion.

“Kate and Clay sing duets at church all the time,” Skip explained. “They’re good, aren’t they?”

Rorie nodded, gazing at the two of them. Clay and Kate were right for each other—they belonged together, and once she was gone they would blend their lives as beautifully as they had their voices. Rorie happened to catch Kate’s eye. The other woman slipped her arms around Clay’s waist and rested her head against his shoulder, laying claim to this man and silently letting Rorie know it. Rorie couldn’t blame Kate. In like circumstances she would have done the same.