Hometown Family. Mia Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       As John and Lisa added their own sentiments, a small hand settled over his and gave a little squeeze. Caty hadn’t lifted her head, but he appreciated the kind gesture. Her hand was a distinct contrast to his own. Dainty and polished, it looked vulnerable next to his much larger one.

       Then again, he’d learned there was nothing vulnerable about Caty McKenzie. In her own way, she was just as tough as he was. She didn’t back down when she probably should, and she did everything she could for people who needed her. Even when they didn’t deserve it.

       When he’d all but begged for her help, he’d fully expected some kind of runaround about it not being her job. Or she wouldn’t have time, or some other excuse. When she’d agreed, a huge weight had lifted from his shoulders, and he’d felt that he could breathe again. There was something about her. More than sympathy, more than kindness, it was something he couldn’t quite define. Then it hit him.

       He trusted her.

       Wary by nature, it usually took him a long time to trust people, but Caty had earned his confidence in just a few short hours. By refusing to let him push her away, she’d proven she would stand firm when things got hard. That kind of attitude probably came in handy when you dealt with other people’s problems all day long.

       He figured it also made her a real handful, which explained why she was single. No man in his right mind would get tangled up with a woman like her. Still, after so many years of relying only on himself, it was nice to know the spunky lawyer had his back.

       “Amen,” Marianne finished, the others echoing her in hushed voices.

       Matt unfolded his hands to find them white from clenching so hard. He rubbed them together and stood. “Ready when you are, Caty.”

       He was halfway out the door when Marianne called his name. Braced for a scolding, he turned back. “What?”

       She gave him a smile so rare, he’d forgotten what it looked like. “Thank you.”

       Some of the frost between them melted, and he returned the smile. “You’re welcome.”

      * * *

       When she heard the rock music coming from Matt’s truck stereo, Caty asked to change the station.

       “Go ahead,” he replied. “I don’t really hear it anyway.”

       She scanned until she found a popular local morning show, and he groaned. “You like country?”

       “I like all kinds of music recorded in this century.”

       “Perfect.”

       “You said you don’t hear it,” she reminded him sweetly. “Would you like me to switch it back?”

       “No, it’s fine.”

       He did the male version of an eye roll, and she muted a laugh into a smile. When they got to the town square, she had to laugh. “My car looks kind of ridiculous, parked in the middle of nothing like that.”

       “Just a little,” he agreed with a faint smile.

       Before she could unlock the door, he came around to open it for her. These days, old-fashioned manners were hard to come by, and she’d gotten used to fending for herself. She had to admit, Matt’s chivalrous streak was pretty appealing. As if being darkly handsome and built like an oak tree wasn’t enough, she groused silently.

       After she got out, he appraised her MG with an appreciative whistle. “This is one gorgeous car. How’d you get it?”

       “My grandfather found it in a junkyard and towed it home with the parts in boxes. He restored it for me as a gift for finishing law school. He died a month later.” Her voice wavered, and she stopped talking. Her life had gone on, but it was still hard to face losing him.

       “So it’s more than a set of wheels to you,” Matt said gently.

       “A lot more.”

       “Yeah, I get that. Never knew a woman that did, though.” Then he gave her a knowing look. “So…what’s the big secret?”

       Her heart thudded to a stop. He lived in Charlotte, so it was possible he’d heard about it. Maybe some obscure article had shown up in the newspaper or online. The thought of it made her stomach turn. Falling back on her legal training, she counted to three and stalled.

       “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

       “I hope you’re better in court than you are at lying.”

       “I’m a fabulous lawyer! An honest one,” she added with venom.

       He didn’t react one tiny bit, and she blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re mean.”

       “I’ve been called worse, believe me.” His eyes had gone a murky bluish-gray that could only mean trouble. “You don’t want to tell me, fine. But I know something’s wrong.”

       Caty looked down at her gold MG key ring, rolling it around in her hand while she debated. When she met his eyes, she saw something that surprised her: concern. Matt was worried about her. She couldn’t imagine why he cared, but if she kept quiet, he’d only worry more. With everything else going on, that was the last thing he needed.

       “You trusted me, didn’t you?” she asked.

       He nodded. “I promise to keep it to myself.”

       It hadn’t occurred to her that he wouldn’t, which shocked her. People had to work hard to earn her trust, but he’d already done it, without her even noticing.

       “Okay, but not here.” She nervously glanced around to see if anyone was watching them.

       His frown deepened into a scowl. “How bad is it?”

       “Bad enough that I don’t want the entire town to know, at least not just yet. Do you remember where my grandparents’ house is?”

       “Oak Street. I’ll follow you.”

       Traffic had hit its usual midmorning lull, and they made it across town in no time. She parked in the cracked driveway, and Matt pulled in behind her.

       As he got out of his truck, he stared at the house with a skeptical look. “How long’s this place been empty?”

       “Three years,” she replied as she took a suitcase out of the tiny trunk. “I was living in Boston when Grandpa died. After the funeral, I just locked the door.”

       “Boston,” he echoed in disgust. “Only use for all that snow is skiing, if you ask me.”

       “I’m with you on that one.”

       “Took you long enough to agree with me on something,” he grumbled.

       “We Scots are genetically stubborn.”

       He chuckled. “Is that we like ‘us,’ or wee like ‘small’?”

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