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Ryder wasn’t there!
Her heart sank, her mind racing ahead to returning to Seattle to find him, to talk to him, to make him listen.
“Good morning,” her mother greeted from the sink where she washed dishes.
“Morning,” McKenzie said back, heading straight for the coffee pot. She needed coffee. Then she’d figure out her next move.
“Coffee’s fresh,” Julianna assured her from where she lorded over her three-year-old, trying to make Casey eat. “And dark.”
“Perfect.”
“Your fellow is out in the garage helping Mark and Jeff figure out what’s wrong with my car,” Aunt Myrtle informed her, not looking up from her crossword puzzle.
Ryder was still there? He hadn’t left? Thank God!
The emotions flooding her that he hadn’t left had her grabbing hold of the countertop, sending a happy tremble down her spine.
“I wondered where he was,” she said to no one in particular, just needing to let some of the joy inside her escape.
“They all went out there right after Myrtle arrived and complained about the noises her engine was making,” her mother said, rinsing a mug and placing it onto a towel.
Did Ryder know anything about working on cars? Did her brother and cousin, for that matter?
What did it matter so long as Ryder was still there?
“What’s wrong with your car, Aunt Myrtle?” McKenzie asked as she poured a steaming cup of coffee, then added just the right amount of cream and sugar.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need them to figure that out.”
Julianna glanced up from where she fed her youngest, her gaze meeting McKenzie’s. Both women suppressed a smile at their quirky great-aunt.
“Hope they get it figured out. I’ve a pinochle game next week I’d hate to miss.”
McKenzie leaned back against the countertop, sipping her coffee, taking in the commotion around the kitchen. Home. The sights, the smells, the feeling. She was home.
“You want me to help with the dishes, Mama?”
“No, thanks, honey. I’m about finished.” Her mother placed a cup in a drainer, then dried her hands on a dishtowel.
At that moment, Ryder, Mark and Jeff came into the house. All of their hands covered in grease, and they were talking and laughing among themselves.
McKenzie’s breath hung in her throat at seeing Ryder, at hearing his voice, his laughter. Thank goodness she’d not had coffee in her mouth, or she’d have possibly choked.
Oh, Ryder, I’m so sorry about last night.
Not that he could read her mind, or had even looked her way, but she willed him to know how sorry she was and to forgive her.
“Mark!” her mother squealed when her son moved toward her as if he was going to give her a hug.
“Don’t touch a thing!” Jeff’s wife added.
“Y’all don’t look ready to go to a wedding,” Aunt Myrtle said matter-of-factly from where she frowned at them over the top of her newspaper.
“Dibs on the bathroom,” Jeff called, heading down the hallway.
Mark walked over to the kitchen sink, picked up the dishwashing detergent and squirted a big glob in his hand.
“Mom, I’m going to scrub up, then hop in your shower.”
