My Sunshine (22 page)

It was an exchange that Mary had had with all her sons at every holiday gathering since their childhood. “Out of here,” she grumped. “Or else I'll put you to work.”

Normally Isaiah ran when that challenge was issued, but today he was tempted to stay. He glanced at Laura's slender backside. “What can I do?”

Mary raised her eyebrows. She, too, looked at Laura. Then she gave him another sly smile. “You can grate orange peel for the cranberry sauce if you like.”

Isaiah liked. Afterward he helped Laura chop up fruit for something called ambrosia. Then he trimmed the smoked turkey, which his folks had picked up at the meat market completely prepared and would serve warm from the microwave. After that he poured oil into the kettle outside on the deck and lighted the propane flame beneath it for the deep-fried turkey, a dish that had been added to the Coulter Thanksgiving menu a couple of years before.

“Three turkeys?” Laura said in amazement.

Isaiah laughed. “We have a lot of people to feed. You ever tried fried turkey?”

“No.”

“Delicious,” he'd said, kissing his fingertips. “So moist and flavorful you can't believe your taste buds. It's also a fairly quick process, compared to baking a turkey the old-fashioned way.”

Cooking wasn't usually his thing, but as always when he was with Laura, he enjoyed himself. There was also the added benefit that he could sneak bites of food without getting caught. Every once in a while Laura would rearrange the appetizers on the trays to hide the fact that he'd been grazing.

That worked until Bethany joined them in the kitchen to nurse her seven-month-old daughter, Chastity Ann. When she saw Isaiah snitch a deviled egg from the refrigerator while their mother's back was turned, she cried in a singsong voice loud enough to wake snakes in five counties, “Mom, Isaiah's sneaking food!” The accusation was reminiscent of childhood, and she spoiled the effect by laughing. “You said we couldn't have any yet, and he's not minding!”

Mary sent Isaiah a scolding look. “If I don't have enough appetizers for my guests, I'll have your head.”

“Tattletale,” Isaiah said to his sister. Then to his mother, he raised his voice to a squeaky alto and complained, “Mom, make Bethie stop telling on me!”

Mary laughed and rolled her eyes. “Thank God those days are over.”

Laura straightened away from the oven, her cheeks flushed from the heat, her eyes sparkling. “Did they fight a lot when they were small?” she asked.

“A lot? With six kids underfoot, the quarreling never stopped.”

“Brat.” Isaiah stepped across the room to tweak his sister's dark hair and then bent to kiss
Chastity's sable ringlets. Crouching beside the wheelchair, he admired his niece for a moment and then whispered, “She's so beautiful, Bethany Ann.” He lifted this gaze to his sister's face. “The very picture of her mama.”

Bethany, modestly holding a hand towel over her breast while the baby nursed, beamed a proud grin at him. “She doesn't look that much like me. I think she has her daddy's nose.”

“Bite your tongue!” Ryan entered the room. Leaning over his wife's shoulder, he studied his baby girl and then said in a dictatorial tone, “No daughter of mine will have the Kendrick schnozzle.”

“I love your nose,” Bethany protested.

“Yeah, well,” Ryan replied, “I'm not a girl.”

“A fact for which I'm very grateful,” Bethany quipped.

The doorbell rang just then, and the rest of the Kendrick family entered. Ryan left to greet his parents, Keefe and Ann Kendrick, and then his older brother, Rafe, a tall, lean man with jet-black hair and dark skin who might have been his double. Rafe's wife, Maggie, a petite and very attractive brunette, stood at her husband's side. Flanking the couple were their children, Jaimie, who'd turned seven in September, and Amelia, who'd turned five only a couple of weeks ago.

As Isaiah pointed people out to Laura, she interrupted to say, “You know how old each person is?”

He thought about it and laughed. “You know all those birthday presents I'm always shopping for? Now you know why. Seldom a week goes by that there isn't a party.”

The living room was now filled to bursting. Etta Parks, Laura's grandmother, arrived on the arm of a dapper, elderly gentleman she introduced as Frank. Isaiah decided that his mother was certifiably insane to have invited so many people. He led Laura through the throng to a chair.

“You're one of the guests,” he insisted. “You've done enough in the kitchen. Stay out here and get to know everybody.”

Laura's eyes widened as she scanned the crowd. “Oh, I don't think—”

Before Laura could complete the protest, Jake's wife, Molly, sat down beside her. “So you're the fabulous kennel keeper I keep hearing about.”

“Oh, well.” Laura blushed. “You've heard about me?”

Molly laughed and motioned for Maggie and Natalie to join them. By the time Isaiah walked away to offer his mother more help in the kitchen, Laura was deeply engaged in conversation.

 

The dinner was fabulous. The living room had been emptied the prior day of all regular furniture, and when all the meat was done to a turn, the men set up ten six-foot tables, end to end, to accommodate the diners. The moment the tables were out the women went to work, spreading tablecloths and arranging place settings. Nothing matched. Every set of dishes Mary Coulter owned was called into service, including Grandma McBride's wedding china, plus two forty-piece sets of dishes belonging to Ann Kendrick. Some people got clear plastic wine goblets instead of genuine crystal. There
wasn't quite enough flatware, so everyone got only one fork.

But the food was plentiful and wonderfully prepared, and everyone had fun. Jokes were told, and everyone laughed whether they were funny or not. Gossip was shared. Children spilled their milk. More than once during the meal, Isaiah glanced sideways at Laura and apologized for all the confusion.

She smiled back and said, “I love it.”

Isaiah glanced around at all the faces, some as familiar to him as his own, others not. Hank and Carly's son sat in a high chair between them, forcing the couple to lean forward or back to hear whispered exchanges. Zeke and his wife, Natalie, were glued together at the hip, still so much in love that they had eyes for no one else but their kids, who occasionally demanded their attention. Jake and Molly, who'd been married the second longest, were content to lock gazes only occasionally, the looks passing between them filled with a deep and abiding love. Because of her wheelchair, Bethany sat at the end of one table, her husband, Ryan, to her right, her son to her left. Ryan held their daughter on his knee, feeding her mashed potatoes and gravy in between bites for himself.

At each end of the center table, which accommodated all the older folks, Isaiah's parents sat in places of honor, talking in louder-than-normal voices so as not to exclude their guests. Mary Coulter looked sweet and matronly in her pretty blue dress as she chatted gaily with Laura's grandmother, who sat to her right, and Ann Kendrick, to
her left. At the opposite end, Harv was an older version of his sons, a lean but well-muscled man with dark skin, his graying sable hair now gone completely silver at the temples. He carried on a lively debate with Natalie's father, Pete, and Keefe Kendrick while he ate, only occasionally pausing to repeat himself when Gramps, Natalie's grandfather, cupped a hand behind his ear and bellowed, “What's that you say?”

Family.
This was what it was all about, Isaiah thought, feeling suddenly nostalgic. The kids grew up, fell in love, got married, and had kids of their own, until pretty soon one good-sized living room could barely hold them all. Before long, when he and Tucker got married, they'd have to rent a hall to celebrate the holidays. But that would be fine. It wasn't about the surroundings, be they fine or makeshift. It was about being together. It was about spilled milk, deaf grandparents, sibling rivalry, and the trials of everyday life, which were overcome or overlooked because, beneath it all, love made the little irritations seem like blessings.

More than once Isaiah caught Laura gazing at the babies and young children with a wistful smile curving her lips. When Isaiah followed her gaze, he wanted to feel smug and self-satisfied. There were no soiled diapers for him to change. He'd let his brothers have that pleasure. But instead he felt oddly sad, too.

It was just the occasion, he assured himself. Over a holiday, all the festivities and family gatherings could make anyone feel a little sentimental. Only Isaiah knew it wasn't just that. Watching his
married brothers, seeing the love and pride in their expressions when they looked at their wives and kids forced him to admit, if only to himself, that he was growing weary of being single. As soon as his practice was rock solid, he needed to start thinking seriously about settling down.

Tonight, when the party ended, Jake, Zeke, and Hank wouldn't leave alone, and when they got home they wouldn't wander by themselves through oversize, unfurnished rooms that echoed like tombs. Instead they would each leave with a sleeping child in their arms, taking a measure of the noise and laughter and confusion home with them.

Isaiah glanced thoughtfully at Laura, and the feeling that had grabbed him by the throat when she'd first arrived came over him again. He tried to push it away, and failing that, tried his damnedest to ignore it. But he couldn't drag his gaze from her lovely profile.
Sweet.
The word circled in his mind whenever he looked at her. He loved the way she laughed, the sound light, musical, and unaffected. Over time he'd even come to appreciate the way she talked—always so slowly, every word carefully chosen. The cadence of her speech soothed him, perhaps because it forced him to slow down himself.

Keefe Kendrick pushed to his feet and rapped his crystal wineglass with the edge of his dinner knife. “Before this wonderful meal is over, I'd like to express my thanks to Mary and Harv for so kindly opening their home to all of us.” He glanced around the room. “Quite a crowd. Putting a meal on the table for so many isn't an easy feat.” He smiled and inclined his head toward Mary. “A
fabulous meal, Mary. Not even my Annie could do better, and she's one of the best cooks this side of the Divide.”

Ann Kendrick blushed and pooh-poohed the compliment with a moue of her lips and a flap of her wrist. “You're buttering me up for something.”

Keefe grinned and winked at her. Then he turned toward his host. “Unfortunately, a woman can't show off her culinary skills to so many without making a serious dent in her husband's pocketbook, so some of the thanks must go to the ornery old cuss that Mary's hooked up with. Thank you, Harv. And now, I gotta know. Where in hell did you get the idea to deep-fry a turkey?”

“Infomercials,” Gramps informed him. “Don't you ever watch televison?”

Everyone laughed and echoed Keefe's sentiments about the meal. When the talk died down a bit, Harv said, “Enough of this sappy stuff. Mary, it's time for dessert!”

Groans erupted from every table, but they were followed by laughter and loudly stated preferences. “Pumpkin pie for me!” “You can have the pumpkin. I want a piece of that pecan.” “Ice cream on mine, please!”

After the meal, Laura and Isaiah's mother were banned from the kitchen because they'd both worked so hard to prepare the meal. Tucker's date, a long, tall drink of water named Grace who'd come to dinner in skintight Wrangler jeans and a fringed Western shirt, insisted on helping with the cleanup. While Ryan watched the baby, Bethany cleared the tables, zipping her wheelchair tirelessly back and
forth from the table to the kitchen with soiled plates and flatware piled on her towel-draped lap. Isaiah's father and two of his brothers, Tucker and Jake, rolled up their shirtsleeves to do their part.

“Get out of here,” Isaiah was told by his father when he tried to enter the kitchen. “You helped cook.”

Isaiah hadn't done that much, but he accepted the edict gratefully and invited Laura to go for a walk. After helping her on with her coat and donning his jacket, he led her out into the deepening twilight.

“Ah, the quiet,” he said appreciatively when they gained the front porch. He didn't actually mind the noise, but to someone who wasn't used to it, it seemed a polite thing to say.

She shivered and turned up her coat collar. Along both sides of the street, houses with lighted windows created a golden, cheery backdrop for the gnarly, denuded oaks that grew along the grass median.

“I like all the noise,” she retorted with a laugh. “With so many people, you never get bored.”

“True, but so many talking at once makes my ears tired after a while.”

As they traversed the cement walkway that ran from the front porch to the sidewalk, she tipped her face up to the leaden sky, the gray of which was quickly darkening to charcoal. “I think winter is here.”

“Afraid so.” Isaiah zipped his jacket. In the crisp twilight, their footsteps sounded sharply on the frozen cement, her boots tapping out a feminine, slightly faster rhythm than his. Man and woman.
He could smell her perfume, a light, sunshiny scent that suited her. Whenever he ventured a look at her, he couldn't keep his gaze from straying to the graceful curve of her jaw and the ivory smoothness of her throat above her coat collar. “Won't be long before the snow starts to fly.”