A Country Affair(83)

She’d been furious with him when she should’ve been grateful. Luke had never stopped being her friend—the best friend she’d ever had. She’d leaned heavily on him in the days and weeks before Clay married Rorie, though she’d never understood how much he’d done for her, how much he cared.

The wineglasses were replenished and Kate proposed a toast. “To your happiness,” she said sincerely. It pained her to remember that Clay and Rorie had nearly lost each other. Because of her...

Nightingale had needed a librarian, and with her father’s help, Kate had convinced the Town Council to offer the job to Rorie Campbell. When she’d turned them down, Kate herself had called Rorie, and together they’d wept over the phone and later in each other’s arms.

So Rorie had returned to Nightingale, and she and Clay had been married. In October. The same month Kate had planned for her own wedding to Clay.

Kate’s thoughts were pulled back to the present when Clay said, “Rorie has a piece of good news.” He cast a proud look at his wife.

“What’s that?” Kate asked.

Rorie blushed becomingly. “Clay shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not certain yet.”

“Rorie,” Kate said, studying her carefully, “are you pregnant? Congratulations!”

“No, no.” Rorie rushed to correct that impression. “Good grief, we’ve been married less than a month.”

“It’s about Rorie’s book,” Clay explained.

Vaguely Kate recalled that Rorie wrote children’s books. In fact, she’d been on her way to a writers’ conference when the car she was driving broke down on the road not far from Elk Run.

“Has one of your stories been accepted for publication?” Kate asked eagerly.

“Not exactly,” Rorie said.

“An editor from New York phoned and asked for a few revisions, but she sounded enthusiastic about the book and there was talk of a contract once the revisions are done,” Clay said. His fingers were twined with his wife’s and he looked as excited as if he’d created the story himself.

“Oh, Rorie, that’s wonderful.” Kate felt pleased and proud for her friend. “What’s the book about?”

“Well, the story involves Star Bright and the night we delivered Nightsong, and it’s told from the foal’s point of view,” Rorie said.

“I know I’m her husband,” Clay broke in, “but I read it, and I don’t mind telling you, the book’s gripping. Any editor worth her salt would snap it up in a minute.”

“Oh, Clay, honestly!”

“When will you know if it’s sold?” Kate asked. “I don’t think Nightingale’s ever had an author living here before. Dad could convince the Town Council to commission a sign. You might even become a tourist attraction. Who knows where this could go?”

They all laughed, but Rorie cautioned, “It could be months before I hear, so don’t go having your father commission any signs.”

“You should’ve seen her after she got the call,” Clay said, his eyes twinkling with merriment. “I didn’t know what to think. Rorie came running out of the house and started shrieking and jumping up and down.”

“So I was a little excited.”

Playfully Clay rolled his eyes. “A little! That’s got to be the understatement of the year.”

“I’d behave the same way,” Kate said. “And you seem pretty thrilled about all this yourself, Clay Franklin.”

Clay admitted it, and then the discussion turned to the awards Clay had accumulated in several national horse shows in the past year.

A few minutes later, Mary announced that dinner was ready and they moved into the dining room. The meal was lively, and conversation flowed easily around the table.

Kate had been dreading this dinner from the moment Rorie had issued the invitation. Now she was pleasantly surprised by how enjoyable the evening had become. She’d been convinced that seeing Clay and Rorie’s happiness would deepen her own pain. It hadn’t happened. She’d expected to spend this evening nursing her wounds behind a brave front. Instead she felt giddy with a sense of release.

She had loved Clay, loved him with a youthful innocence. But she didn’t feel the same way toward him now. Clay belonged to Rorie and Rorie to him. The tender relationship Kate had once shared with him was part of the past. He would always be a special person in her life, but those old feelings, that adulation she’d felt for him, were relegated to her adolescent fantasies.

Kate Logan was a woman now.

She wasn’t sure exactly when the transformation had taken place, but it had. She’d struggled with it, fought the metamorphosis, because change, as always, was both painful and difficult. Kate realized for the first time that all the pain, all the uncertainty, had not been for nothing.

“Kate?” Luke called, as he let himself into the kitchen. “You around?”

“Here.” She was at the back of the house, packing away the library of books her father kept in his den. Every night she did a little more to get the main house ready for Luke to move in and her to move out.

She straightened and tucked in a few wisps of hair that had escaped the red bandanna. She wore blue jeans and an old gray sweatshirt and no doubt looked terrible. Despite that, she was pleased to see Luke, eager to talk to him. She was wiping her dusty palms on her jeans when he walked in.