by Robyn Neeley
“What brings you back to this country town?” Kalin asked. “I’m surprised there’s anything here that attracts you.”
Casey spread more frosting on her cake. “I’m surprised word hasn’t traveled faster around this country town,” she said. “My grandmother had a stroke two days ago. I came home to be with her.”
Kalin’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Is that so? I’m sorry about your grandmother. Now that you’re home, she’s liable to get well fast.” He left the door and came toward her. “Let me look at you. How old are you now? Twenty-three? It doesn’t seem possible. So you’re now a professional chef. Well, well.”
He came so close, Casey fancied she could feel the heat of his body. She had once associated Kalin with love and warmth.
She rushed into speech. “I understand you just sold your first book. Congratulations, Kalin.”
His blue eyes scanned her “Thank you. It took a while, but it was worth it.” He took his gaze off her long enough to look around the kitchen at the dishes remaining to be washed and the cake Casey was putting the finishing touches on. Then he added, “I figure that when I can average two books a year, I can quit practicing law.”
“But you’ve only been in practice a couple of years,” Clay exclaimed incredulously. “With your name … ” He trailed off when Kalin cast him a look of impatient contempt.
“I never wanted to practice law in the first place,” Kalin said, adding no explanation.
Bonnie was the only one to respond. “Too bad your Dad wasted all that money sending you to law school.”
Kalin shifted to look down at the small brunette, his smile suddenly going crooked. “I always thought so.”
Casey saw no reason to intervene. Let Kalin take care of himself, she reasoned, and evened off her frosting.
Clay, who had been staring at Kalin with an expression somewhere between contempt and disbelief, said suddenly, “I told you he wasn’t all there.”
Kalin’s attention zeroed in on Clay with a vengeance. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those idiots who thinks a law degree is the key to success and status forever.”
“It’s a start,” Clay returned. “Here, Casey, let me hold that pan. It’s too heavy for you.”
Casey glanced up in surprise. She had transferred her attention to the pastry shell, now cooled and ready for the filling she had set aside to cool in an ice bath.
She dried the water off the bottom of the pan. “I’d better do it myself. My wrists are stronger than they look.”
The small group watched in silence as Casey poured the filling into the shell, spread it evenly, and began placing pecan halves in even, diagonal rows across the top.
“That’s amazing, how fast you can do that,” Bonnie said. “I’d spend an hour just on the pecans.”
“It’s not hard, once you’ve done it a few times.” Casey finished the pecans, opened a jar of apple jelly, dumped a few spoonsful into a pan, and melted it.
Merrick, who hadn’t said a word since Kalin’s arrival, straightened, still staring at Kalin with disbelief. “I don’t believe this. Five years.”
Casey looked up from her pan, then back, conscious only of the necessity of concentrating very hard on her cooking. She couldn’t begin to decipher the meaning buried in those words.
Kalin’s thick brows drew together. “Yes, it has been five years, hasn’t it? Believe me, I’ve been counting.”
Merrick cleared her throat, nonplused. “Are you about done, Casey? I thought you said one hour.”
Casey bit back a smile. “So I did. I decided to make a pecan tart to go with the cake. Sorry.”
“Cheez, Merrick.” Clay glanced at his phone. “It’s only been an hour and fifteen minutes. Give us a break.”
Merrick, brilliantly red, subsided.
Casey took pity on Merrick. “This is the final touch.” She used a brush to spread the melted jelly over the pecans.
“That’s spectacular.” Clay cast a glance at Kalin. “One hour and twenty minutes. Where have you been all my life, sweetheart?”
Casey laughed. “In cooking school, where else?”
She caught the unsmiling, challenging stare Kalin directed at Clay and bit her lip to cover her shock. Apparently, old habits died hard with Kalin.
Merrick eyed the food with the attitude of one who scarcely knew what to do next. “How do we carry them?”
Clay lifted the gateau. “This cake is light.”
“These are wonderful, Casey,” Merrick said at last. “Thank you. Don’t you want to help serve them?”
“I’m sure you’ll do a great job.” Casey smiled graciously and carried the copper bowl to the sink.
Ordinarily she’d serve her own cooking, but Kalin had the look of a man who intended to help her. She needed to readjust to Kalin’s physical presence slowly. No sense in overloading her circuits, she thought, smiling wryly.
Kalin came up behind her and leaned back against the counter so he could see her face. “Aren’t you going to taste your own creations?”
Casey glanced up fleetingly. “I know what they taste like.”
“Why don’t you leave those dishes for Merrick? Consider it part of the general after-party clean-up she’ll have to do.”
Casey rinsed the bowl and reached for paper towels. “This is Mrs. Johnson’s good copper bowl. I’d better clean it myself.”
“I’ll never understand this holy-holy attitude of cooks toward copper.” He scanned her face, frowning. “If I know you, you traveled all night without a break, then waited on your grandmother all afternoon, and now you’re going to cook for a crowd and clean up all the dishes.”
Bonnie had risen and approached the sink. “Good for you, Kalin. She hasn’t quit from the time she walked in the door.”
“Here,” Kalin said. “I’ll finish the dishes. Sit down.”
Casey, moved gently aside by Kalin, walked to a kitchen chair and pulled it out, then stood beside it watching Kalin unbutton his cuffs and roll up his sleeves. The breathless feeling in her chest intensified.
Bonnie stood ready to dry the dishes and put them away.
Casey decided to leave while she was ahead. She removed the big apron and rehung it, grabbed up her purse and jacket and headed for the door. She’d never dreamed her first meeting with Kalin after five years would go like this. She had proved she could face Kalin McBryde again, but she hadn’t bargained for this rush of overwhelming feeling.
She’d expected innuendos or out-and-out contempt. Her worst-case scenario had included Kalin’s expectation that she might fling herself at his feet once more. She hadn’t been prepared for this resumption of his old protective attitude.
In the dining room, both items she had baked were surrounded by enthusiasts who had left only crumbs of each. She’d almost made it to the living room when Clay spotted her.
“You aren’t leaving, are you?” he exclaimed, blocking her path. “This is the best cake I’ve ever eaten in my life, and you’re the best looking professional chef I’ve ever seen. Tell me, babe, are you into lawyers?”
“Since when are you a lawyer, Rowe?” Kalin asked.
Casey whirled. He closed in on her fast, with his cuffs still rolled up, drying his hands on paper towels.
“As soon as I pass the bar exam,” Clay said. “I already have a job lined up at Morgan, Brewster, and Kron.”
“I had an offer to go there when I graduated. If that’s where you plan to work, you aren’t going to have time to pursue good-looking chefs. You’d better concentrate on your books.”
“Is that why you turned them down?” Clay asked with contempt.
“Of course.” Kalin grinned suddenly. “They wanted me to work weekends. Everyone knows I fish and hunt on the weekends. Come on, Casey. There’s dancing in the den.” He d
ropped the paper towels on the dining room table and took her arm.
Casey had no intention of dancing with Kalin. “Sorry. I was just leaving. It’s been a long day.”
“It’s barely nine o’clock.” Kalin’s hand rested on her back in the old, familiar way.
“Maybe you’d like to sit out a dance with me before you go,” Clay said wickedly, grinning at her.
“Tend to your own business, Rowe,” Kalin snapped.
“This good-looking lady chef is now my business. Come along, babe. Let’s get to know each other in the den.”
Casey had no idea how things had escalated to the point where two rival males were squaring off. Kalin was about to throw a punch at Clay; she’d seen the signs often enough in the past.
“I really do have to go.” She moved between the two men. “Where’s Merrick?”
“God knows,” Clay said. “Is this clod putting you off lawyers, sweetheart?”
“I need to find Merrick,” she said firmly. “I want to ask her about an application for law school before I leave.”
“An application for law school?” Kalin repeated in open astonishment. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“She’s decided to steal all your clients, McBryde,” Clay said. “If you have any.”
Kalin ignored Clay and took Casey’s arm. “I thought culinary school was nirvana to you.”
Casey stepped away from him, smiling. “I’ve decided to sue any cook daring to encroach upon one of my recipes.”
A couple of small groups abandoned their discussions to watch the scene. Casey recognized several people who would remember her final, public breakup with Kalin.
“What?” Kalin looked baffled.
“Alienation of affection.” Casey said, choosing words at random. “Like most Americans, I’ve grown litigious. Only I’m too cheap to pay a lawyer. I’d rather become a lawyer myself.”
This statement resulted in a spattering of laughter from around the living room.
Kalin grinned and closed in on her once more. “You’ve come to the right place. I’m very into alienation of affection suits. Let’s talk about it in the den.”
“I prefer to talk to Merrick out here.” Casey backed away. “She promised to help me apply.”
“So I’ll put on a wig and take the LSAT for you,” Kalin promised, still smiling. “Come on.”
The image of Kalin wearing a wig and taking the Law School Admission Test in her place almost overset Casey’s gravity.
“You’d look cute in a wig, McBryde,” one man called.
Kalin didn’t take his eyes off Casey. “I’d pass the bar exam for her on the first try, too.” He took her arm before she could hide it behind her back.
People hooted and laughed. Judging from the comments, the speaker had just flunked the bar exam.
Kalin guided Casey through the living room and into the darkened den, where he seated her on a small sofa. Taking her belongings, he placed them in the corner and sat beside her, his long, hard thigh pressed tightly against hers.
A stereo played dance tunes for the few couples who cared to dance in the darkened den. Casey took several deep breaths and stared around the room. It was almost unchanged from the time she and Kalin had used dancing as an excuse to exchange kisses at a similar party when she was in high school.
“Law school?” Kalin asked in a gentle voice.
“Actually, it was a joke.” Casey searched for her purse. “I’d better be going.”
The search gave her an excuse to avoid looking at him. She wished he’d move aside so he wouldn’t be touching her.
“Not yet. I want to dance with you. For old times’ sake. Where did you meet Clayton Rowe?”
He sounded jealous, but that was impossible.
“In the kitchen.” She found her purse, tucked it back under her arm, and slid to the edge of the sofa.
Kalin removed it and stood, bringing her up with him as he dropped the purse on the sofa.
“Dance with me,” he said, and took her in his arms.
Her defenses went into shock as Kalin moved her slowly to the music. He pressed her against his hard, warm body despite her initial attempts to maintain her distance. The scent of his woodsy aftershave filled her senses and the steadily tightening pressure of his arm around her waist created a feeling in her that was somewhere between terror and longing.
He shouldn’t have this much power over her after all this time, she thought, dazed. It was unfair.
“What took you so long to come home?” Kalin asked softly.
“I’ve been busy.” She lifted her head from the temptation of his shoulder. “Tell me some more about your book. I was thrilled to hear you’d sold it.”
Once, Kalin would have talked for hours with that invitation. “You should be. I used all your suggestions in rewriting it. Would you like a cut of the royalties?”
“No, thanks.” Casey stiffened and remembered how he had accused her of being out for what she could get. In spite of her control, some of the emotion she felt ravaged her voice.
“What have I said?” Kalin rubbed his hand across her back.
“Nothing.” She moved back. “I’d better be going.”
“Take it easy,” he said with maddening gentleness. “I only want to dance with you. After Merrick went through all the trouble to set this up, we don’t want to disappoint her.”
Heat flooded her face. “She’s yours to please, not mine.”
“Ssshhh. She’ll hear you.”
His whisper was stagy in the extreme, and Casey knew Merrick stood in the doorway watching them.
Unbidden, a memory rose in Casey’s mind, of herself clinging to Kalin’s arm and tearfully begging him not to leave her like that. Merrick had hovered nearby, avidly watching the scene.
She turned her face away from the door.
Kalin executed a fancy step that took them behind another couple. “What are you thinking about?” he asked in stern tones.
She jerked her attention back, feeling his touch all the way to her bones, and lowered her eyes before they encountered his. “Nothing you’d find interesting. By the way, Merrick is very concerned that you aren’t upholding the family tradition.”
“I’ve noticed. Now that I’m an unimportant lawyer, she finally avoids introducing me as her cousin who’s going to be as important as his famous father.” He invited her to laugh with him as he drew her close once more.
Casey obliged with a perfunctory smile. “She wanted to know what I had done to you.”
“What you had done to me?” Kalin repeated and chuckled. “It was the other way around, I think. I drove you into leaving Winnie at least two months before you planned, didn’t I?”
Casey drew her sagging dignity around her like a shawl. “I decided to leave early before things got even more unpleasant.” Where was her sense of humor when she needed it? Gone into shock, no doubt, along with the rest of her faculties.
“Don’t you think you were overreacting?”
At that, Casey tried vainly to put some distance between them. “Watch yourself, Kalin. If you’re not careful, I’ll get my hooks into you again. I’m on the lookout for a man destined to become either a bestselling author or a rich criminal lawyer whose best clients are Mafia dons.”
Kalin, rather than snapping back at her in kind, responded with genuine laughter, which had every head not already watching them turning their way.
“Now that is the clearest, most succinct summary of my father’s career that I have ever been privileged to hear, except that most of his money came from drug smugglers.”
Casey, confused, stumbled over his foot and had to hold on to him to right herself. “Whatever. On the other hand, maybe I’d better go after Clayton Rowe. He wouldn’t stick at defending a d
rug smuggler or a murderer.”
“Forget it. Think of the challenge in prodding me into working weekends and taking on cases I’d rather avoid.”
Kalin suddenly brimmed over with the joy of living. The hard, closed-in expression of earlier had vanished.
“That would be a challenge beyond my modest capabilities. I’m out of prodding and into relaxation.”
“Be reasonable, Casey.” Kalin’s low laughter as he swung her around to a beat of the music annoyed her further. “Doesn’t fishing count as relaxation anymore? Or has it been so long since you’ve held a fishing pole that you’ve forgotten how?”
These words conjured up memories of Kalin teaching her to set hooks, run crab nets, and watch the tip of a fishing pole with his arm around her. “I’m now into things that don’t require mosquito repellant or chicken necks.”
“When Uncle Jack sees you, he’s probably going to write you a prescription for a fishing trip. When was the last time you slept a full eight hours, or read a good book?”
The implications of these questions, after she’d spent time and effort over her makeup and hair for this occasion, disheartened her. “I had — have a high stress job in New York.”
Kalin caught the nuance. “So how long are you planning to stay in Winnie?”
“That depends on Granny. Several weeks, a few months. I don’t know yet.”
“I see you still overwork yourself to the point of collapse,” he said.
The music stopped, and Casey backed away. Kalin kept a hand at her waist and urged her to sit once more on the sofa.
“I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow night,” he said slowly. “Do you think — ”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Casey interrupted, nerves jittering. “But thank you all the same. I’m going to be taking care of Granny and doing a lot of other things.”
“Look at me, Casey.”
She winced. Kalin was probably beginning to realize she hadn’t looked him directly in the face at all that evening, except for the one straightforward glance she had accorded him when he first walked into the kitchen.