Page 122 of A Matter of Time

“Yeah.”

“Oh for crissakes, Colt, let him in.”

He stepped sideways, and I walked past him, turning to wait for him to close the door.

“Hi,” a woman said, stepping in close to me, offering her hand. “I’m Cretia Ward, Truman’s daughter.”

I shook her hand. “Jory Keyes.”

“Well, Jory.” She nodded, beaming at me. “You are so not what we were expecting.”

“No?”

“No.” She chuckled. “Give me your coat.”

I thought, because of what the house looked like and where I was, the Ward family would be in all the latest fashions. I was pleasantly surprised to find Cretia in jeans, an oversized, off-the-shoulder pale pink sweater, and chunky high-heeled boots. Her thick blonde hair was pulled up into a chignon and back from her face, making her blue eyes pop.

“You were thinkin’ I was gonna be taller?” I teased her, sliding my cashmere topcoat off my shoulders to hand to her.

Her smile was wide. “My father said ‘colleague from work.’ I was not expecting a runway model.”

I laughed and passed her the bottle of wine Dane had made me take when I told him where I was going.

“Oh, thank you. Let’s go give it to my mom.”

“Wait.”

We both turned to the guy who had his hand out for me to take, in corduroys and a flannel shirt, the epitome of casual.

“I didn’t meet you.”

I smiled warmly and took the offered hand, covering it with my other. “Jory.”

“Colton.” He nodded, and his eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Pleasure.”

“You too, Jory.”

I took a breath and let Cretia grab my hand and pull me after her.

My apartment would have fit in the kitchen, and when I made that observation aloud, Cretia smiled and wrapped both arms around my one. I heard my name almost shouted and couldn’t contain the smile as Mr. Ward walked over and pulled me into a tight bear hug.

“You made it. I’m so pleased.”

When he pushed me out to arm’s length, I could tell he was sincerely pleased to see me.

“Come meet my wife.”

Mrs. Ward was a beautiful woman with a short silver bob, looking stylish in her black palazzo pants and black boat-neck sweater, the long diamond chandelier earrings a lovely touch. She wanted me to call her Bette, and she too couldn’t seem to keep her hands off me, instead taking my hand and showing me her home. She was impressed that I knew that the china in her glass cabinets was actually Limoge from France.

“Jory,” she said, looking into my eyes, “you’re full of useless information just like me, aren’t you.”

I laughed with her. “Pretty much.”

I sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter talking to her, and Cretia came in and assured me that not one of her children was allowed to do that.

“It’s because he’s so pretty,” Bette told her daughter.