Divided Hearts Page 5

  But he hadn’t. Never, in all the years he had lived with his parents had he ever seen his mother and father exchange anything more than a dry peck on the cheek.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Matthew said. “I’ll wait in the family room.”

  Nathan winked at him. “I’ll bring your drink in a minute. I promise I won’t bother Mary anymore.”

  Matthew nodded, bemused.

  As he walked back to the family room, he couldn’t help but compare what the Stanleys seemed to have with his parents’ relationship. He loved his mother and father and was sure they both loved each other. Otherwise, they wouldn’t still be together.

  But, he had always known that he wanted more from a relationship than what his parents had.

  He thought of his past girlfriends. They all had what he thought would be the necessary qualifications for a good relationship. Most of them were kind and considerate. Attractive. Tricia was the first one, however, that he had dated more than a couple of months. She had been patient and understanding.

  Their dates were enjoyable. They had much in common and never ran out of things to talk about.

  Yet he always felt something was missing. If he had truly cared about her, he would have found time for her. He didn’t know the problem was him or his job or the women he chose.

  Or maybe a bad combination of all three.

  “Here’s your juice.”

  Matthew turned and took the tall, cool glass from a still-flustered Mary. “Thanks,” he said, raising it to her and with a smile. “Here’s to many more years together and many more stolen kisses in the kitchen.”

  “Hear, hear,” Nathan said, dropping into his recliner. “Come on, Mary. Don’t look so embarrassed. It’s not like we’ve never done that before.”

  Mary declined to comment and instead sat in a chair across the room from her husband, smoothing out her skirt. But Matthew caught the secret smile she sent her husband.

  “Back to the McKnight grind tomorrow?” Nathan asked.

  “I’m afraid so.” Matthew couldn’t help but sigh.

  “What did you do today?”

  “I caught up with Clint Fletcher. I’m his lawyer, and I just wanted to go over a few things with him. I went for another walk along the river. Found a nice quiet spot and just sat there.” After listening to Clint, Matthew had an urge to be by himself in a quiet place. The river had satisfied that for him.

  “Watching water is good for the soul,” Nathan said. “Do you ever go fishing?”

  Matthew shook his head. “No time.”

  “That is almost sinful, my boy.”

  “You should talk,” Mary reprimanded him. “You haven’t been fishing yet this year.”

  Nathan acknowledged the comment with a shrug. “I was hoping to do some this summer, but that’s out of the question now.”

  “Why?” Matthew asked.

  “I was supposed to get a summer law student to help me out, but she changed her mind when a city firm made an offer. Just can’t get many young lawyers to come out here. So, looks like I’ll be working McKnight hours myself or dropping some clients, which I really can’t do.” He laughed, but Matthew could tell that neither prospect pleased him.

  “Why don’t you retire?” he asked.

  “I should,” he agreed. “I’ve made my money. I’m past retirement age. But I can’t leave my clients in the lurch.” He looked at Matthew with a grin. “I should get you to take over the practice. Don’t you think it would be nice to live in a small town? Deal with people you know?”

  Matthew smiled politely, acknowledging the question, thinking once again of Clint and allowing himself a few moments of possibilities of staying here.

  You already have a busy practice. And your father would be upset.

  Working in a practice like Nathan’s would be a step down from what he was doing now, a lesser position. There wouldn’t be the prestige that came with working for a large firm like his father’s. But, it was peaceful, and living in a small town could give him something that staying in Edmonton under the steady watchfulness of his father couldn’t.

  Independence. A place he could establish his own identity.

  Matthew took another sip of his juice as his thoughts bounced back and forth.

  “I think our caterer is here,” Mary said, angling her head so she could see out the patio doors to the driveway beside the house.

  They could hear the engine of the car. It turned off and a door opened.

  “My goodness. Cory is by herself.”

  Matthew couldn’t stop the quick lift of his heart at her words, then he quashed that as well. He’d be lucky to get more than three civil words from her.

  Matthew set his cup down and followed Nathan and Mary out the door.

  Cory had the back door of the station wagon open and was manhandling a large tray from the back. Matthew allowed himself an appreciative look of how feminine it made her look.

  How it showed off the curve of her long legs.

  “Let me help you with that,” Nathan said, hurrying forward to take the tray from her.

  “No, I can manage,” Cory said.

  “Don’t be silly. Where’s your mother?”

  Matthew saw Cory hesitate. “She’s not feeling well right now.”

  “Well, then we’ll have to help.”

  “No. Please. You’re hosting the party.”

  “So? That means we can help. Might even get some credit from our guests for those delicious smells I am smelling right now.”

  With a light laugh, Cory relinquished her hold on the tray. “Thanks. These are the cold cuts for later, so just set them someplace cool for now.”

  She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and smiled at Mary as she handed her a tray as well.

  Cory turned her head, and Matthew could tell the instant she saw him. Her smile melted away and surprise flitted across her face. Surprise and something else, something warm and inviting—then her lips pressed together and her eyes grew hard, and Matthew knew he had just imagined it.

  He sighed but stepped forward to help. “Hello, again,” he said, taking another tray from her.

  The only acknowledgment was a lift of her chin as she reached into the car to take out a large steaming container.

  In ten minutes all the necessary food was inside the house, and Mary and Cory were ensconced in the kitchen, planning out the evening. Matthew and Nathan were relegated to putting cloths on the tables and setting out plates and cutlery.

  As they moved back and forth, Cory avoided him. Matthew didn’t know why he cared, but her distant attitude annoyed him. Her continued antagonism was getting a little hard to take.

  He intended to call her out on it at some time, but people were arriving.

  As he mingled with the guests, he introduced himself as a friend of the family. There weren’t about twenty people invited for the supper, so it didn’t take long. Most of them were older than him, and Matthew felt younger with every introduction.

  “I believe our meal is ready,” Nathan announced a little while later. He stood on the deck, looking down at the assembled people below. “We’ll be eating outside, so if you’ll gather ’round, we’ll have a word of grace, and then our lovely caterer can bring out the food.”

  The guests all bowed their heads as Nathan prayed aloud, thanking the Lord for the weather, the gathering, and the celebration of their wedding.

  His words were muted in the outdoors—an occasional breeze wafted his words away—but as he prayed, Matthew felt Nathan’s utter sincerity. When he had said amen, he paused a moment, and then Cory brought out the salads. Mary moved to help her, but Matthew caught her arm.

  “It’s your anniversary party. Mingle with your guests. I’ll help her,” he said, smiling down at her.

  “That’s sweet of you,” Mary said, patting his arm.

  Matthew didn’t feel too sweet as he entered the kitchen. He was sure Cory wouldn’t appreciate the help and for a moment he regretted his offer.


  “What can I do?” he asked as she bent over the oven, pulling out a pan.

  She jumped and spun around, her hand pressed to her chest. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat in the kitchen and perspiration filmed her forehead. Matthew was struck again at how attractive she was…when she wasn’t scowling at him.

  But then as she recognized him her hand lowered and she pulled her eyebrows together.

  “It’s okay. I can manage.” Her words were clipped.

  Matthew was tired of her antagonism and her anger. “Stop trying to be so stubborn and just give me the stupid pan, already,” he said. “I’m not sitting in a corner and eating it all.”

  Cory set the pan on the stove and pulled another one out, ignoring him.

  Matthew grabbed the first pan. “Yow.” He yanked his hands back, shaking them. “Those things are hot.”

  “Of course. They’ve been in the oven. Heat transfer and all that. I thought a smart lawyer like you could figure that out.” Cory glanced at him, a genuine smile hovering around the corners of her mouth despite her sharp words.

  “Different set of laws than the ones I studied,” he groused, inspecting his throbbing hand.

  “Did you burn it?”

  “I don’t know. Hurts.”

  To his surprise, she caught his hand in hers and turned it so she could see his palm. A bright red line was showing across it. He was more aware of the warmth of her hand and the surprising softness of her skin than he was of the burn on his palm.

  One twist of his wrist and her hands would be captured by his, her delicate fingers woven with his.

  “Do you want some salve on that?” she asked. “I have some with me.”

  He pulled his hand back, astonished at the direction of his thoughts. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Suit yourself.” She reached into a box beside the stove. “Here’s a pair of oven mitts.”

  Matthew took the bright-red oven mitts and held them against his tan shirt, trying to gain back control of the situation. “What do you think? Is this me?”

  Cory looked at the mitts, then back at him. That hovering smile of hers was back. “Oh, definitely. Red is considered a power color after all.”

  “Then I’ll take them.” He slipped them on, picking up on her rare flash of humor.

  His eyes held hers, and something intangible arced between them, an echo of what he thought he had seen previously. She averted her eyes, and the moment was gone.

  You’re just here to help, Matthew reminded himself, picking up the pan. Don’t read anything into the situation.

  They had to work quickly to get the food on the table all at once, and he was glad for the distraction. They worked in silence, but Matthew sensed that the mood between them had shifted.

  When all the food was out, he reverted to his role of a guest and took a plate for himself.

  The chicken looked crispy and smelled amazing, and the buns were soft. A pan of meatballs in sauce was almost empty, as were the vegetables and the salad bowls. He hadn’t thought these middle-aged people could eat so much.

  “Excellent food, Nathan,” he heard one of the guests say, his plate heaped full. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Nathan said.

  Matthew felt a flash of pride for Cory and her mother, and he reminded himself to tell her.

  He sat beside a woman named Lenore Andrews. When she asked him about his work, he gave vague answers, surprisingly unwilling to discuss work. Instead, he quizzed her about Sweet Creek. He found out that she had several children living either in Sweet Creek or somewhere in the pass, and that she was looking forward to a new grandchild. She shared stories of living on a ranch and the changes that technology had wrought for her husband and her son, Mark and son-in-law Nate, who had taken over.

  To his surprise, he enjoyed her stories and found himself envious of her close-knit family and the way they worked together. He and his parents also worked together, but the nature of their business was vastly different. As was their interaction.

  Soon, his food was gone, and he wondered how Cory was faring. He excused himself and walked to the kitchen. She stood with her back to him, washing a big pot. When she had come, her shirt was buttoned to her neck, cinched with a tie. Her hair had been pulled up into a twist on top of her head.

  Now, the tie was gone, the sleeves were rolled up, and a few strands of hair had loosened from the twist, giving her a disheveled and wholly appealing look.

  Matthew leaned in the doorway, watching her, again unable to look away. Her expression was unguarded and, as he studied her, he noticed the droop to her shoulders, the slowness of her movements. She looked tired, and no wonder. She had already put in a full day of work before she had pulled up here. Then, most of the evening was on her feet, doing a job that should have taken two people. It had to be exhausting.

  She dried the pot and, as she turned to put it away, caught him looking at her. Again she jumped.

  “My goodness!” she exclaimed. “Would you stop sneaking up on me like that?”

  “Sorry,” he said, pushing himself off the doorway and walking over to her side. “I came to see if you needed any more help.”

  “You’re a guest. Go out there and be one.”

  “You can hire me to help you,” he said with a grin.

  “I can’t afford you.”

  Matthew sensed the hidden reference in her words but ignored it.

  “I’m a bachelor. I do dishes for leftovers.”

  Cory gave him a wink of a smile.

  “Please,” he asked, pressing the small advantage he sensed he had gained. “All those people are older than my parents. I’ve told all my jokes, and I’ve listened to all the stories about cows and ranches and how the town needs to update the swimming pool.” And he didn’t like to see her working so hard, looking so tired.

  She frowned down at the pot she was washing. “Well, if you’re hanging around anyway, you may as well bring in the dirty dishes.”

  “Do I get the leftovers?”

  “A couple of drumsticks, okay?”

  “What do I have to do for some of those squares?” He pointed to a pile of plastic containers.

  Cory’s eyes followed the direction of his finger, then she looked back at him, that same not-quite smile curling her lips.

  “You have to dry the dishes.”

  “Utensils too?”

  “It’s a package.”

  “You drive a hard bargain. But it’s a deal.” He gave her a mock salute and walked from the kitchen, smiling.

  Cory didn’t want to watch Matthew walking through the guests with a tray, picking up plates. The evening sun blessed him as he moved, picking up highlights in his slightly disheveled hair, accenting the angles of his face and the whiteness of his teeth when he smiled.

  He looked relaxed in his cotton shirt, which was open at the neck, and khaki pants. In his suit, he looked more official, like a lawyer. Today, he looked almost human. And just a few minutes ago, their conversation had approached normal, lighthearted. It was the kind of banter that she easily exchanged with customers in the restaurant, the kind of banter that she never thought she could have with Matthew McKnight.

  As she watched, he winked at one older lady, and Cory saw her smile coyly back. What a smooth operator, she thought, watching as he moved on. Cory caught herself leaning forward, following his progress.

  Grow up, Cory, she told herself, pulling back. He’s Matthew McKnight: Lawyer. He talked to the judge the same way he talks to those people out there. You fell for that same slippery charm a moment ago.

  She gave the pot she was scrubbing another swipe and set it on the drain board. What were you thinking, letting him help you?

  She turned to pick up the towel.

  The kitchen spun a moment. It righted itself as she caught the sink. She really had to get something to eat. From six o’clock that morning, she had been on her feet, and her last meal had been lunch. When she had come home and found
her mother in bed, her body racked with pain, Cory knew she was in for a busy night.

  A lone, leftover bun lay on a plate. She grabbed it and took a bite, wiping the pan as she chewed. It wasn’t much, but it would hold her until the rest came back.

  Whenever she and her mother catered, she counted on putting a plateful of food together from the leftovers. But from the sight of the empty platters and bowls that Matthew was bringing back, it would be a dieter’s supper tonight. She wouldn’t have enough leftovers to pay Matthew for helping, she thought wryly, scrubbing a casserole dish.

  She should have stood her ground and not let him help. He was leaving town in a day or so, and then her life could go back to normal. She didn’t want to have him around, reminding her of the past. Daily she struggled with the fact that she had to learn to forgive and let go of past bitterness. Daily she prayed that God would teach her this.

  But all it took was one sight of Matthew to confuse her: Anger vied with attraction, fear with fascination. Just like it always had.

  “Here’s the lot.”

  Cory turned to see Matthew set the tray with dirty plates on the counter beside her.

  “I just have to get the bowls.”

  “That’s good enough....” but Cory’s sentence died away as he left again.

  It was kind of him to help, but she didn’t want to see him as kind. It was easier to think of him as Matthew, defender of evil stepfathers. Having him coming and going in the kitchen made him too human.

  Too appealing.

  “So, how do we start?”

  Cory kept her back to him, scrubbing the dish in the sink, frustrated with her own seesawing emotions. “Just scrape all the leftovers into the garbage can,” she said. “I’ll wash the plates as soon as I’m done with this.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He whistled over the clink of the cutlery and china. Cory wondered how he could be so relaxed when she was stretched like an elastic, ready to snap. She didn’t know how to react to him or what to say.

  For years, he had been the nemesis. Now he was here, helping her do the dishes as if all the tension of the previous years, all the battles, had never happened.