Kentucky Home (2 page)

Mal patted the front of her skirt self-consciously. She had decided to leave with just one suitcase—this was just a short trip, a temporary stop to get her head together, so she didn't need her whole wardrobe. Still, this skirt was not right at all. Oh, sure, the cotton floral print hit right below the knee and the flare of the A-line was the most flattering cut for her curvy shape, or so she had read. But a fall nip was in the air and her legs were freezing, and every time the wind blew, it seemed determined to feel her up. She pulled at the hem of her green T-shirt, then pulled her pink cardigan tight across her chest. She felt like a watermelon. A flowery, freezing watermelon.

“Don't worry, darlin', you look fine.” Luke put his arm around her waist and pecked her cheek. He might not be her type, but he sure was warm. She looked up at him, his green eyes shining with laughter.

Mal hated meeting new people. Not that she didn't like people, most people, anyway, but the first meetings were always the worst. Since she was a child she had been told that she did not give a good first impression. When she got nervous, she either ran her mouth off, sounding like an idiot or offending someone's deep-held personal beliefs, or she froze and came across as a stuck-up bitch. That was how Michael described their first meeting. “Never could unfreeze you,” he used to say.

Well, she was definitely still freezing.

She had never been to Kentucky before, and she was totally unprepared for how beautiful it was. Luke insisted that Hollow Bend was a nothing town in the middle of nowhere; and in Kentucky, that's twice as nowhere as anywhere else in the country. It took them almost ten hours to drive from DC. As they got closer to the Kentucky border, Mal began to think that they would pull off the interstate into a trailer park where she would be greeted by his cousin and his cousin's wife, also his cousin. The interstate was beautiful—well, the interstate was pretty normal-looking asphalt, but it was surrounded by rolling green hills and those iconic white horse fences that she thought people just made up to put in scenic calendars.

Luke was right, though. Hollow Bend was in the middle of nowhere. When they pulled off the interstate, they drove about half an hour on a road that went from four lanes to two, then down to one across a bridge over a river that actually babbled. She knew they were in town, not just because of the line of shabby storefronts, but because there were other cars on the road. Luke kept punching the steering wheel, complaining about heavy traffic. Having lived in the DC suburbs for years, Mal didn't think she would ever refer to a dozen pickup trucks as heavy traffic, but Luke did, so she thought she'd do her best to fit in. Damn country drivers, don't know how to read a stop sign.

The Carsons lived twenty minutes out of town (on the outskirts of the middle of nowhere, maybe), down a bumpy road that didn't have a name and that Luke assured her was easier to drive when it was dirt rather than mud. She saw the barn first, a long red one surrounded by those white fences. Horses grazed the fields closer to the road.

“You have horses?”

“This is Kentucky. Everyone has horses. Anyway, most of these aren't ours, we just board them. We have one of those romantic failing family horse farms. It's called Tara.”

“It's called what?”

“Tara. The house from
Gone with the Wind
? You really are a Yankee, aren't you?”

“Even I know that's Georgia.”

“Hmm. Pretty smart for a Yankee.”

They drove past a small sign attached to the fence: WILD ROSE FARM AND STABLES.

“Wild Rose?”

“For my mom,” Luke said. He had mentioned that she'd died from breast cancer when he was pretty young. “My dad bought it for her when they got married.”

“He bought her a horse farm? Wow.”

“Well, he bought the land. They built the house. Is that just a Kentucky thing? Having land is a big deal.”

When Mal got married, they moved into a big shiny new house in a gated community. There was a yard, but she had never worked in it. Maybe the land was a Kentucky thing, after all.

“Don't get all dreamy, Mal. It's not as romantic as all that, at least not anymore. It's crumbling and nearly bankrupt.”

Mal gazed out the window as they bumped past the horses, coats shining, looking up at the noise of the car and shaking their manes. “I've never been on a horse,” she whispered.

Luke's father's house did look like a romantic, crumbling farm house. The black shutters were a little dull, and the yard was more mud than grass. But it was a beautiful house, small but sturdy, with a big wraparound porch that had a weather-beaten wooden rocker and a porch swing. There were lace curtains in all the windows and flowering bushes on either side of the walkway—wild roses, perhaps. From the porch, she could see a smaller, plain house behind the barn, and just as red. The air smelled like there was a fireplace roaring somewhere inside. The whole thing looked like a postcard, cozy and welcoming and warm.

It was not, unfortunately, warm. Miss Libby—call her Libby, she said—met them at the door, bustling and blinking back tears, hustling them inside before they caught their death. Then she bustled off to the kitchen, chasing after a dinging timer and admonishing Luke to make Mal feel at home. Libby was really fast for such a tiny, wide woman.

Mal wished she had listened to Luke and kept her jeans on as she tried to back closer to the fireplace without losing her grip on Luke's arm. She fingered the cheap metal ring she wore. It definitely wasn't gold, although this one wasn't turning her finger green like the one they got out of the vending machine. Still, there was no way anyone would think it was real.

“I don't know about this. I don't want to impose on your family. I don't know them, I can't—”

“Hush. I told you it'd be fine. They would do anything for the woman I love.”

“Can't we just say I'm a friend who needs a place to stay?”

“Now what fun would the truth be? Anyway, this will make it easier for them to get to know you, and once they do, they'll love you and do anything for you purely on your own merits and not because you tried to tame the wild beast that is Luke Carson.”

As he said the last, he puffed out his chest and squeezed her tighter. She laughed up into his green eyes. Luke had always been able to do that, ever since he tried to pick her up at that fund-raiser in Bethesda almost a year ago. He teased her, but that laugh in his eyes always made her feel, well, comfortable. Good thing she had had her fill of charming, handsome men. Otherwise, she would be in big trouble.

Suddenly a fiery blond streak came charging through the living room and launched itself into his arms. Mal was almost knocked over by the force, but then she found herself clutched into the embrace as well.

“Whoa! Mal, meet my little sister, Katie.”

“Luke, you jerk! What is this about you bringing home a fiancée?” The blonde turned to Mal. “Hi there. I don't know how you put up with an animal like my brother, but I love you for it. And if you hurt him, I'll break your legs.”

Kate—Katie—was as tall as Luke, maybe an inch taller, and she was long and lean. Mal was pretty sure she was heavier than Katie, but she decided that when the time came for the real story to come out, she was going to be far away from this one. Preferably in a different state. “Hi, I'm Mal.” She shook Katie's outstretched hand.

“A firm handshake, I like it. OK, enough nicey-nice, let's eat.”

Katie led them into the dining room, which was much more formal than Mal was expecting from the country-comforting interior she saw, not to mention the downright rundown state of the outside of the house. The table sat six, and over a gleaming dark wood tabletop was a brocade table runner in fall hues of red, orange, and green.

Apparently Mal was not the only one impressed. Luke let out a whistle. “Miss Libby went all out. What are those, napkin rings?”

Luke reached for her hand and guided her to a seat next to his. She was grateful for the comfort and she didn't let it go, not even when he tried to pull the chair out for her. “Sorry,” she murmured when she realized what she was doing.

“You're OK, baby,” he said, and pecked her on the cheek. Mal blushed, not sure how such public displays of affection would go over in this formal setting. Well, formal except for the fact that Mal was the only one not wearing jeans.

She looked up as a chair scraped across the hardwood floor. A tall, imposing man stood and nodded at her. She could definitely see him in Luke—the slope of the nose, the high cheekbones, the green of the eyes. But where Luke had laughter in his eyes, this man revealed nothing but weariness, and maybe a little boredom, like this was nothing he had not seen before. How many women had Luke brought home?

“Dad, this is Mallory, my fiancée. Mal, this is my father, Cal.”

He nodded, then nodded at her seat, indicating she should sit. Luke leaned to her ear and said, “What did I tell you, nothing to it.”

Mal smiled meekly at Cal, then studiously admired the details on the napkin ring.

Just as she was about to make an insightful comment on making crafts by hand versus machine, which she was sure the horse farmer and the charming bartender would be really interested in, the door to the kitchen swung open and Libby's ample bottom came through.

“Oh, Mallory! Mal, right? OK, let me put down this ridiculous platter and give you another hug.” Cal stood to take the plate from her and placed it in front of himself, at the head of the table. Before Mal could say anything, before she could really even stand properly, she was enveloped in strong, soft arms, her back rubbed in that maternal way that brought tears to the eyes of people who didn't get enough mothering. She blinked hard.

“Hi,” she said into the shoulder, inhaling some old-lady rose perfume that went completely against the vivaciousness of the woman holding her. “I've heard so much about you.”

Miss Libby pulled back, blushing, and cupped Mal's cheeks in her hands. “Well, don't believe a word of it. We're thrilled to have you here. You must be one special gal to have tamed this wild one.” She reached over one hand and patted Luke's cheek. One hand on each of their cheeks, she looked at Mal, then at Luke, then back again. “Aren't you two just the sweetest—” Libby's eyes misted over. Mal looked to Luke for help, which was not forthcoming. “Luke, if your mother could see you . . .”

“That's enough,” Cal practically barked from his place at the head of the table. “Let's eat.”

“All right, all right. Katie, come help me bring out the rest of the food.”

“Can I help with anything?” Mal asked.

Katie laughed. “No, dearie,” she said in a pretty good imitation of Miss Libby's voice, “you're the guest of honor and you won't lift a finger. Whereas Katie could use a few lessons in being a proper lady so she'll bow and scrape and serve the men like all good women of the twenty-first century ought to.”

Katie let out a very unladylike snort, but followed Libby through the swinging doors. Mal meticulously unrolled her napkin from the ring and spread it over her lap.

“So, Mr. Carson, I saw that you have horses here?”

Cal looked up at her, then at Luke, his eyes narrowing a little. “Call me Cal,” he said to her.

When he didn't offer anything else, Mal continued, “I was telling Luke that this is my first time in Kentucky, and I can't believe how beautiful it is. This house is amazing. How old is it? It looks like it's at least a hundred years old, but Luke said you built it? I love old houses, I feel like there are so many stories inside . . .” She trailed off when she realized Cal was staring at her.

“Your girl sure talks a lot,” he said to Luke. Great first impression, Mal.

She turned her head and said meekly to Luke, “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it, baby, ol' Cal here must've just left his manners in the barn.”

“Buried under the shit you should be helping me muck out.”

Well. That was something, a nice pre-dinner guilt trip. Mal was about to cut the tension with several comments about how little she knew about horses, when the kitchen door swung open again, but it wasn't Katie or Libby. It was all Mal could do to stifle a gasp. He was a big guy, a real-man kind of man. The kind who split wood for fun, or whatever people in the country do to show how strong they are. His strength radiated from under his plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. His jeans were well worn, distressed from use, not from the factory. His brown hair was darker than Luke's, and shaggier, like he needed a haircut. It suited him. Mal blinked, shocked by his careless, unconscious manliness.

Of course, nothing was manlier than the set of floral potholder mitts he was using to carry a steaming bowl of potatoes.

He put the bowl down on an empty trivet and nodded to Luke. Was Luke the only man in this family who spoke?

“Keith, this is my fiancée, Mal. Mal, my older brother, Keith.”

Huh. Luke hadn't mentioned having a brother. But there was no mistaking the family resemblance. The lines around his bright green eyes matched Luke's, from too much sun or too much laughter. No, Mal thought, not too much laughter. His eyes were like Cal's, a little tired and a little sad.

“Hi.” She stood up and reached out a hand to him. He extended his hand to her, then retracted it fast, pulling the oven mitt off. His gaze locked on hers, searching, maybe a little suspicious. She broke the handshake first, pulling her hand away a little fast, and swinging wide to indicate how nice the house was (true), how welcome she felt here (lie), and a million other things she had to say to counter the stifling silence of these big men. In her enthusiasm, though, she knocked her hand into one of the candlesticks. Before it could even finish its wobble, Keith grabbed the base and set it right. She looked at him, blushing, starting to come up with the words to express how much she would regret burning down such a nice house, especially on her first day there.