running the way it should.”
“Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks again.” Slowly Rorie replaced the receiver. She leaned against the wall sighing deeply. At Kate’s questioning gaze, she smiled weakly and explained, “That was the mechanic. The water pump for my car arrived and he’s going to be working on it first thing in the morning.”
“Rorie, that’s great.”
“I think so, too.” She did—and she didn’t. Part of her longed to flee Elk Run, and another part of her realized that no matter how far she traveled, no matter how many years passed, she’d never forget these days with Clay Franklin.
“Then tonight’s going to be your last evening here,” Kate murmured. “Selfish as it sounds, I really hate the thought of you leaving.”
“We can keep in touch.”
“Oh, yes, I’d like that. I’ll send you a wedding invitation.”
That reminder was the last thing Rorie needed. But once she was on the road again, she could start forgetting, she told herself grimly.
“Since this is going to be your last night, we should make it special,” Kate announced brightly. “We’re going to use the best china and set out the crystal wineglasses.”
Rorie laughed, imagining Mary’s face when she heard about it.
Even as she spoke, Kate was walking toward the dining-room china cabinet. In a few minutes, she’d set the table, cooked the sauce for the pie and poured it into the cooling pie shell that sat on the counter. The woman was a marvel!
Rorie was busy adding the final touches to the fettuccine when Clay and Skip came in through the back door.
“When’s dinner?” Skip wanted to know. “I’m starved.”
“Soon.” Rorie tested the boiling noodles to be sure they’d cooked all the way through but weren’t overdone.
“Upstairs with the both of you,” Kate said, shooing them out of the kitchen. “I want you to change into something nice.”
“We’re supposed to dress up for dinner?” Skip complained. He’d obviously recovered from any need to impress her with his sartorial elegance, Rorie noted, remembering that he’d worn his Sunday best that first night. “We already washed—what more do you want?”
“For you to change your clothes. We’re having a celebration tonight.”
“We are?” The boy looked from Kate to Rorie and then back again.
“That’s right,” Kate continued, undaunted by his lack of enthusiasm. “And when we’re through with dinner, there’s going to be a farewell party for Rorie. We’re going to send her off country-style.”
“Rorie’s leaving?” Skip sounded shocked. “But she just got here.”
“The repair shop from Riversdale called. Her car will be finished tomorrow and she’ll be on her way.”
Clay’s eyes burned into Rorie’s. She tried to avoid looking at him, but when she did chance to meet his gaze, she could feel his distress. His jaw went rigid, and his mouth tightened as though he was bracing himself against Kate’s words.
“Now hurry up, you two. Dinner’s nearly ready,” Kate said with a laugh. “Rorie’s been cooking her heart out all afternoon.”
Both men disappeared and Rorie set out the fresh green salad she’d made earlier, along with the seven-grain dinner rolls she’d warmed in the oven.
Once everyone was seated at the table and waiting, Rorie ceremonially carried in the platter of fettuccine, thick with seafood. She’d spent at least ten minutes arranging it to look as attractive as possible.
“Whatever it is smells good,” Skip called out as she entered the dining room. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“Funny, Skip, very funny,” Kate said.
Rorie set the serving dish in the middle of the table and stepped back, anticipating their praise.
Skip raised himself halfway out of his seat as he glared at her masterpiece. “That’s it?” His voice was filled with disappointment.
Rorie blinked, uncertain how she should respond.
“You’ve been cooking all afternoon and you mean to tell me that’s everything?”
“It’s seafood fettuccine,” she explained.
“It just looks like a bunch of noodles to me.”
“I’ll have another piece of lemon pie,” Skip said, eagerly extending his plate.
“If you’re still hungry, Skip,” Clay remarked casually, “there are a few dinner rolls left.”
Skip’s gaze darted to the small wicker basket and he wrinkled his nose. “No, thanks. Too many seeds in those things. I got one caught in my tooth earlier and spent five minutes trying to suck it out.”
Rorie did her best to smile.
Skip must have noticed how miserable she was because he added, “The salad was real good though. What kind of dressing was that?”
“Vinaigrette.”
“Really? It tasted fruity.”
“It was raspberry flavored.”
Skip’s eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of that kind of vinegar. Did you buy it here in Nightingale?”
“Not exactly. I got the ingredients while Kate and I were out the other day and mixed it up last night.”
“That tasted real good.” Which was Skip’s less-than-subtle method of telling her nothing else had. He’d barely touched the main course. Clay had made a show of asking for seconds, but Rorie was all too aware that his display of enthusiasm had been an effort to salve her injured ego.
Rorie wasn’t fooled—no one had enjoyed her special dinner. Even old Blue had turned his nose up at it when she’d offered him a taste of the leftovers.
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