Country Brides - Debbie Macomber [34]
“Do you think I like it any better?” he challenged.
Rorie blinked wildly at the tears that burned for release.
“I wish to God your car had broken down a hundred miles from Elk Run,” he said. “Before you bombarded your way into my home, my life was set. I knew what I wanted, where I was headed. In the course of a few days you’ve upended my whole world.”
Emotion clogged Rorie’s throat at the unfairness of his accusations. She hadn’t asked for the MGB to break down where it had. The minute she could, she planned to get out of his life and back to her own.
No, she decided, they couldn’t wait that long—it was much too painful for them both. She had to leave now. “I’ll pack my things and be gone before evening.”
“Just where do you plan to go?”
Rorie didn’t know. “Somewhere…anywhere.” She had to leave for his sake, as well as hers.
“Go back inside the house, Rorie, before I say or do something else I’ll regret. You’re right—we can’t be in the same room together. At least not alone.”
She started to walk past him, eyes downcast, her heart heavy with misery. Unexpectedly his hand shot out and caught her fingers, stopping her.
“I didn’t mean what I said.” His voice rasped, warm and hoarse. “None of it. Forgive me, Rorie.”
Her heart raced when his hand touched hers. It took all the restraint Rorie could muster, which at the moment wasn’t much, to resist throwing herself into his arms and holding on for the rest of her life.
“Forgive me, too,” she whispered.
“Forgive you?” he asked, incredulous. “No, Rorie. I’ll thank God every day of my life for having met you.” With that, he released her fingers, slowly, reluctantly. “Go now, before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”
Rorie ran from the office as though a raging fire were licking at her heels, threatening to consume her.
And in a way, it was.
For two days, Rorie managed to stay completely out of his way. They saw each other only briefly and always in the company of others. Rorie was sure they gave Academy Award performances every time they were together. They laughed and teased and joked and the only one who seemed to suspect things weren’t quite right was Mary.
Rorie was grateful the housekeeper didn’t question her, but the looks she gave Rorie were frowningly thoughtful.
Three days after the Grange dance, Mary’s sister arrived in Riversdale. Revealing more excitement than Rorie had seen in their acquaintance, Mary fussed with her hair and dress, and as soon as she’d finished the lunch dishes she was off.
Putting on Mary’s well-worn apron, Rorie looped the long strands around her waist twice and set to work. Kate joined her mid-afternoon, carrying a large bag of ingredients for the dessert she was going to prepare.
“I’ve been cooking from the moment Mary left,” Rorie told Kate, pushing the damp hair from her forehead as she stirred wine into a simmering sauce. Rorie intended to dazzle Clay and Skip with her one speciality—seafood fettuccine. She hadn’t admitted to Mary how limited her repertoire of dishes was, although the housekeeper had repeatedly quizzed her about what she planned to make for dinner. Rorie had insisted it was a surprise. She’d decided that this rich and tasty dish stood a good chance of impressing the Franklin men.
“And I’m making Clay his favorite dessert—homemade lemon meringue pie.” Kate reached for the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and six bright yellow lemons rolled out.
Rorie was impressed. The one and only time she’d tried to bake a lemon pie, she’d used a pudding mix. Apparently, Kate took the homemade part seriously.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells wonderful,” Kate said, stepping over to the stove. Crab, large succulent shrimp and small bite-sized pieces of sole were waiting in the refrigerator, to be added to the sauce just before the dish was served.
Kate was busy whipping up a pie crust when the phone rang several minutes later. She glanced anxiously at the wall, her fingers sticky with flour and