On the Record- the Complete Collection

by Lee Winter

  Catherine shrugged, but she was warmed by her lover’s reaction. She’d always liked to cook as a solo pursuit, but when you had someone to cook for, it was surprisingly gratifying. Even eating her own portion alone at a more reasonable hour, all Catherine had thought of was what Lauren would think of it. Of course, the salad was something she assumed any Iowan girl would appreciate. It had corn in it, after all.

  Lauren kissed Catherine again, on the lips this time, and whispered in her ear, “Love you.”

  It made Catherine’s heart quicken. “Mm. That’s possibly your stomach talking.”

  Crawling back to her feet, Lauren nodded. “Oh yep, that, too.” She plodded toward the kitchen.

  Catherine smiled, rose, and followed.

  With a yawn, Lauren rummaged around for cutlery. Catherine took the warmed meal from the oven to the square wooden kitchen table. After pouring herself a wine, she joined Lauren at the table.

  “Thank God we’re on vacation next week,” Lauren said, digging into the meal with enthusiasm. “I know, I know. We have to pack tonight and ask the neighbors to collect the mail and blah blah blah, but I can’t wait to just finally stop. Relax. Unwind and suck in the fresh air back home.” She paused and chewed more slowly. “God. This is fantastic. You should write down the recipe. Hell, sell it.”

  Pleased, Catherine sipped her wine and allowed the conversation to flow on to light topics as Lauren finished the rest of her food with a series of excited murmurs.

  “So,” Catherine finally said when Lauren pushed the plate away, “can we talk about why you’re still changing the topic within a minute every time Iowa comes up?”

  The haste with which Lauren swallowed down her wine was probably an insult to the vintage. She scooped up the empty glass and plate and headed for the sink. “I don’t think I am. Hey, did I mention how much we have to do? The planning? The packing? I really hate the packing. I truly lack that gene.”

  The whoosh of water and clanking filled the air as she rinsed off her dishes in a whirlwind of elbows. Lauren finished up, offered a tight grin, and bolted from the kitchen.

  Catherine watched her go with a small frown.

  Lauren threw things into her bag in a frenzy, glad to have something to focus on. Well, something else. Underwear, socks, and jeans were pummeled into place. T-shirts were poked into corners as if with a jackhammer.

  “What did that shirt ever do to you?” Catherine neatly prepped her own bag on the bed beside her.

  Lauren glanced at it. Of course. It was like something from a magazine spread. How to Pack—The Ultimate Traveler’s Guide.

  “It existed,” Lauren grunted. She hadn’t properly slept in two days. And one thought kept niggling its way into her head and torturing her. What if they got there and everyone hated Catherine? Yes, Catherine could be pleasant when she wanted. But Lauren had never seen her be forgiving when she was pushed. Lauren knew that better than anyone. So, what if her family pushed a little, then Catherine pushed back, and her family told Lauren to take sides? If her dad took Lauren to one side and said…

  “Choose.”

  Lauren’s head whipped around. “Huh?”

  Catherine jangled two different boots. One, a black pair of designer footwear that would look stylish anywhere but would last all of three seconds in a rural setting.

  “The brown ones.” Lauren pointed.

  “But they look like I should be on a horse. Which is fair since I last wore them on one. When I was twenty.”

  “Which means they’ll cope with a bit of wear and tear. We’re not off to a fashion expo.”

  Catherine slid the brown boots into her bag. “All right, what’s wrong?”

  “Why are weddings such a big deal?” Lauren whined. “I thought Mrs. Potts was nuts when she said the earliest bookings left for most wedding venues were in November. And how can December and January be already gone? It’s Iowa. How much demand can there be?”

  “Iowans do get married in as vast numbers as anywhere else, I imagine.”

  “But she made such a big deal out of it. It’s a wedding, not an inauguration.” She glared at her T-shirts that were stubbornly refusing to stay tucked at the suitcase corners. “I’m not ready for this!” She rammed her T-shirts again.

  “Not ready to get married?” Catherine asked quietly, turning to look at her.

  “Not ready for Iowa,” Lauren whispered. “Not ready to have everyone…”

  “Have everyone what? Judge you? Lauren, you’re a successful, award-winning journalist. You have nothing to be…”

  “Not me.” Her words were a bare whisper.

  Catherine inhaled sharply. “Ah. You think they’ll judge me?”

  She looked away.

  “Lauren, I know what my reputation is, but you know very well I can be nice when I want to be.”

  “Like that senator you dared to microchip himself?” Lauren’s voice was tinged with skepticism.

  “Well, to be fair, I didn’t want to be nice to him.”

  Lauren appreciated the attempt at humor but couldn’t find it funny right now. She rammed more things into her bag.

  “I see. Is it the me being from Boston thing, the lesbian thing, or the White House media thing that you think might be a problem?”

  “It’s not really any one thing. I mean, you’re just different from what they’re used to. More…complicated.”

  Even as she thought about it, Catherine meeting her family filled Lauren with dread. She loved Catherine, for all her protective walls and acerbic tongue. She was beautiful, brilliant, and every kind of fascinating. The Kings were nothing like Catherine and had almost certainly never met anyone like her before, either.

  “Complicated.” Catherine tasted the word. “You’re worried I won’t play well with your family? We’ve just been over this. I can do nice.”

  “What if they’re being idiots to you? I have the worst nightmares about this…you all not getting on.”

  “You know what my job is. I am well used to dealing with big personalities.” She gave her a reassuring smile. “But I get it. There’s me with all my elite, liberal, media baggage. And there’s you with your five mechanic brothers and father. Who you’re terribly afraid will embarrass you somehow. And who will judge me. And I them. And as a result, I’ll possibly judge you.”

  Lauren froze. Sickness filled her. “Is that what you think will happen?”

  “No. I think it’s what you’re afraid of, though, and it’s what’s keeping you up at night. Now that the meet-the-family date is upon us, you’re suddenly panicking.”

  “I am not panicking. And if you knew my brothers, you would so, um, not-panic, too.”

  “Mm.” Catherine looked amused. “That was convincing.”

  Lauren’s lips twitched.

  “But if it makes you feel better,” Catherine continued, “my nightmares involve my sister, who thinks she’s as liberal as the next woman…well, the next rich, elite, white Boston woman with dressage as a hobby. Phoebe believes, in her usual oblivious way, that she’s as down to earth as anyone, but she’s never even met anyone from the flyover states. Her clueless entitlement is a thing to behold and will in no way endear her to anyone in the Midwest.”

  Lauren swallowed. “Oh, crap.”

  “But in my waking hours I remember something I think you’ve forgotten. Your family and I have something in common: we both wish you to be happy.” Her serious look turned teasing. “But me especially. So…come here.” Catherine’s voice dared her to obey.

  After a small pause as Lauren debated whether to comply or not, she swayed toward her. There was something about that exact tone of voice that always did funny things to Lauren’s insides.

  Catherine gave Lauren a kiss so reassuring that she lost herself for a moment.

  “Trust me, Lauren,” she murmured, “it will be fin
e.” Catherine leaned back. “So, is that everything you’re worried about?”

  Lauren offered a wan look. “I guess. I’m sorry. I’m losing my mind and driving us both crazy.”

  “Yes, you are,” Catherine agreed. “Fortunately, I am somewhat fond of you.”

  Lauren shifted her ball of socks to a roomier corner in her suitcase. “So funny,” she muttered. She had to stop pre-disastering their trip. Catherine would be nice. Her brothers would behave. Meemaw and Dad would like her. It’d be fine. “It’s just a wedding-organizing trip, anyway.”

  “It’s also so we’ll get the family introductions out of the way now so that all we will be thinking about on our wedding day is each other.”

  “You are wise, Obi-Wan.” Lauren glanced at Catherine’s suitcase as her lover resumed packing. “Although I might revise my opinion if I see you in that in Iowa.”

  “Too much?”

  “Overkill.”

  Catherine removed her designer mohair sweater from the suitcase.

  “Pity,” Lauren added. “I really like you in that. Always makes me want to stroke it.”

  “I know.” Catherine suddenly sounded much huskier. “Why do you think I was packing it?”

  “Oh no, none of that!” Lauren looked askance. “We are not getting up to any funny business while we’re there. Not with Dad, Meemaw, and two of my brothers all just down the hall from the guest room.”

  Catherine gave her a skeptical look, and her eyes became half-lidded at the challenge.

  “I know that look. I’m not changing my mind, either.” Lauren shook a warning finger at her.

  “Sure you are.” Catherine’s sexiest, ivory-colored satin briefs were pointedly tucked into her bag.

  “I’m really not,” Lauren whispered as the matching bra went in, too.

  “Ten long days and you’ll keep your hands off me the whole time?” Catherine’s suggestive voice was doing thrilling things to the pit of Lauren’s stomach. “Really.”

  “Y-yes. Really.”

  Catherine’s throaty laugh at Lauren’s fading willpower was the final straw.

  She pounced. Catherine was flat on her back, pinned to their bed in seconds, two suitcases flying to the floor with a crash.

  “That does mean I will need to store up a lot of memories to last me for the next ten days.” Lauren gazed down at her, memorizing her face. Her excited fingers undid Catherine’s shirt buttons and slid inside, dusting her bra. “So, get ready.”

  The bright smile on Catherine’s face was far too knowing.

  Until Lauren covered it with her lips.

  Chapter 4 –

  Brave New World

  A bellowed “Lauren!” reverberated through the arrivals area as they plucked their bag off the conveyor belt. It sent a shiver down Catherine’s spine.

  “Matthew!” Lauren cried out.

  Catherine turned and glanced up—and up. Matthew, she knew from Lauren’s many stories, was Lauren’s oldest brother at age twenty-nine. He wore a tattered red cap with a beer logo, and a broad grin that added to his handsome looks. The hulk of a man engulfed his sister in a hug that lifted her off the ground.

  He turned to Catherine. “So, this is the one?” he asked Lauren, giving Catherine a wink.

  “I am,” Catherine replied with a small smile. She gave his tree-trunk-wide arms a nervous glance, well aware she was a lot less robust than her athletic girlfriend at withstanding stuffing-squeezings.

  “Okay, then.” He swept her up in a hug, too, but mercifully kept her feet on the ground. “Welcome to the land of the Kings, Cat. I’m Matthew.”

  She nodded, praying the circulation would return to her upper body. Anacondas probably had a less brutal PSI. “Good to meet you. And it’s Catherine,” she said, injecting a tight smile. She had promised to be nice, after all.

  “Sure thing. Boys are waiting in the truck.” His shaggy brown hair bounced vigorously before he turned to Lauren. “Tommy’s a no-show ’cause he’s met some hot new girl. Dad’s still working’, but he can’t wait to see you. Meemaw’s put on some lunch and says we can’t hang around here or the pork tenderloin sandwiches’ll get cold.”

  He smiled at Catherine. “You’re in for a treat. Meemaw makes the best. Pork’s crumbed, deep-fried, and it’s big—like, gotta hang over the bun.” He held his hands a foot apart. “She won prizes at the fair and all back in the day.”

  Catherine smiled hard until it hurt. “I can’t wait.”

  Lauren, who had been subject multiple times to Catherine’s views on an oil-dipped lunch, shot her a long glance.

  After grabbing Catherine’s bags without even asking permission—apparently, gallantry didn’t need such social lubrication—Matthew spun around and began to wheel her Louis Vuittons out of the airport. “Follow me before the boys get bored and start tipping cars.” He strode out at a fierce pace, no doubt fueled by the alluring power of Meemaw’s pork.

  Catherine turned to Lauren. “Is he joking?” she asked, gazing after him. “About tipping cars?”

  “Probably.” Lauren slid a nervous look her way. “Last chance to back out.”

  Catherine idly wondered how bad it would be if she suggested staying at a hotel. “I’m still trying to work out how four of your brothers, plus the two of us, are going to fit in one car.”

  “Well, I’m sure they’ve brought the Beast Senior. That’s Matthew’s Silverado 1500.” There was a slight pause as Lauren clearly remembered to translate. “It’s a pickup truck.” She gave Catherine’s slight frame the once-over. “Although load distribution could be a problem.”

  “Will I be expected to sit in the back with the chickens?”

  Lauren laughed. “Nope. Won’t come to that. I don’t think. Come on.”

  They headed through the exit doors and looked around. Matthew had disappeared. Catherine slid on her sunglasses against the harsh sunlight and scanned the parking lot. Where on earth had the man gone? The oldest King boy wasn’t exactly hard to miss. “It appears your brother has many skills.”

  “Don’t ask me where he got to. He’s got legs like a lumberjack’s. He’s probably halfway across the lot by now.” Lauren folded her arms and squinted.

  A flash of red caught Catherine’s eye, and a Chevy swung around a corner, then roared up, screeching to a halt in front of them. Two men in the rear bed started yahooing the moment they clapped eyes on Lauren.

  A shudder passed through Catherine. It was like a John Wayne convention.

  “Laur!” one King shouted. He thumped the side of the truck.

  The other brother hurdled easily over the side of the truck, his muscled right arm acting as a pivot point. He gave Lauren her second crushing hug of the day.

  Catherine leaned away, not anxious for a repeat anaconda experience.

  He glanced at her and stepped back.

  Catherine eyed him curiously as his cheeks reddened.

  He scratched his neck and his head dropped, eyes darting away.

  Lauren smiled. “That’s John.” She laughed at some inside joke. “You’ll find he doesn’t say much.”

  “Hello,” she said. “I’m Catherine.”

  He nodded, then looked down, the tips of his ears glowing like a lava pit.

  A mute King. What a welcome change. She smiled to herself.

  Another brother leaped out, making an alarming beeline straight for Catherine, bypassing Lauren, arms outstretched in open challenge. “Well, hey there, pretty lady! You must be Cat!”

  “Catherine,” she murmured and took a wary step back. “It’s Catherine.”

  Lauren flung herself between them before he made contact. “Nope, leave her stuffing intact, Lucas,” she told him. “She’s not used to monster hugs from you big bruisers.”

  One of the back passenger doors flung open, and a third male stuck his head out, l
aughing. “She’s not used to their smell, either!”

  This King brother unfolded to the same cloud-poking heights of the others and looked much the same as the rest did. Dear God, it was like a cloning program. Some experiment in muscle-bound Iowan swizzle sticks. Which reminded her—she could really use a drink.

  “I’m Mark.” He ambled over and politely held out his hand to Catherine. “I’m glad to finally meet the famous Catherine Ayers.”

  She shook it, pleased one of the brothers embraced basic etiquette. “My reputation precedes me.”

  “And how. You actually won over Lauren, who’s picky as all hell. Bonus points for not dumping her the first time you heard her do karaoke.”

  “Oh?” Catherine felt a perverse surge of devilry at this interesting fact. She slid her gaze to Lauren. “I don’t believe I’ve yet had the pleasure.”

  “Nothing pleasurable about it, trust me.” Mark chuckled.

  Lauren slapped his arm and laughed. She swallowed him up in a hug, hanging onto him much longer than the others.

  Ah. So, Lauren had a favorite.

  The horn sounded. “Sorry!” Matthew called cheerfully from the driver’s window. “It was my knee.”

  Lucas scoffed. “You just want to get home to Meemaw’s pork.”

  “That, too. So, get your asses on board, okay? Oh, Cat. Sorry ’bout the language.”

  “I’ve heard worse. And it’s Catherine.”

  “Oh, right. Sure thing. Sorry. I’ll try and remember.” He actually sounded sincere, so Catherine chose not to think evil thoughts.

  “I dunno. Cat seems like a great name to me.” Lucas leaned back against the truck. “Kitty Cat. I like it.”

  Catherine fixed him with a look that could turn hardened senators into puddles.

  His eyebrows lifted at the challenge. He folded his arms and opened his mouth, no doubt to unleash his next comeback.