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“All right.” Bridget smiled, stepping out of the car when he switched off the engine.
She had barely rounded the corner of the house when she was hailed with a chorus of greetings. A half a dozen couples, some wearing jackets and some wearing coats, had already arrived. Hamburgers were sizzling on the grills set up near the picnic tables in the backyard. It wasn’t really warm enough to eat outdoors, but their hosts couldn’t very well set up the big grill inside. One table was already laden with an assortment of other foods for a buffet.
“It’s about time you came. We were going to eat without you,” Bob threatened laughingly.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Bridget countered, “Jim is bringing the beer.”
At that moment, Jim rounded the corner, toting the keg of beer on his shoulder. Thirsty volunteers gave him a hand in setting it down and breaking it open. With good-natured jostling, they argued over who would draw the first draft.
Evelyn emerged from the rear entrance of the house, pot holders offering a protective grip for the handles of the hot dish she was carrying. She started to greet Bridget, but she coughed at the smoke hanging in the air and didn’t complete it.
“Bob!” she wailed in protest. “You were supposed to be watching the hamburgers!”
“Sorry.” Bob, tall and dark with a waistline that was beginning to thicken, raced to the smoking grills. “I hope everybody wants their hamburgers well-done,” he joked as he began the rescue efforts.
“He’s worse than a child,” Evelyn murmured to Bridget with a rueful shake of her head. “You can’t turn your back on him for a minute.”
“Can I help with something?” Bridget asked.
“You can fix the relish tray. Everything is in the refrigerator and the dish is on the counter,” her hostess suggested.
The barbecue parties the Tylers gave were always informal gatherings with everyone lending a hand. It was almost a family affair. Most of the couples had known each other since school days.
“Consider it done.” Bridget started toward the house.
“I just unmolded the jello salad to end all jello salads. Keep the cat away from it, okay?” Evelyn called after her. “I don’t know what he thinks it is, but he’s fascinated by it.”
“Will do.” She laughed the promise.
The pumpkin-colored tomcat was crouched on a kitchen chair when Bridget entered the house. A gleaming jellied salad, the object of the cat’s interest, was sitting on the table. His tail swished in resentment as she shooed him from the chair before walking to the refrigerator.
Humming softly to herself, she began setting out the celery, carrot sticks, and various other ingredients she found and began arranging them on the partitioned plate. As she was spooning olives from the jar, she heard footsteps enter the kitchen from another room of the house. Anticipating one of the three Tyler children, she didn’t bother to look.
“Hello, Bridget.”
The spoon of olives halted in midair. For an instant she couldn’t breathe. Her gaze darted to the man pausing beside her to lean a shoulder against the refrigerator door. First searing fire, then ice ran through her veins.
“Hello, Jonas.” Was that her voice responding so calmly? “I see you’ve finally managed to accept Bob’s invitation for a visit.”
Her hand was amazingly steady as it carried the spoon to the relish tray, but she was painfully aware of him standing beside her. The clean male scent of him filled her senses.
His hair glistened damply as if he had recently stepped from the shower, darkening its normal dark brown shade. A white shirt was opened at the throat, its long sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. A pair of crisp new Levi’s covered his long legs.
“Yes. I canceled my March visit.” Jonas reached past her to steal an olive. “But I imagine you know that,” he added dryly.
“Evelyn mentioned you’d called at the last minute to postpone it,” Bridget admitted. It would have been useless to deny it.
“And you didn’t say anything about seeing me.” It was a statement, not really needing any confirmation.
“I didn’t see the point.” She added more olives to the tray. “They were already disappointed that you hadn’t come. I know they must be delighted to have you here now.”
“I guess that woman—was her name Dotty?—didn’t talk about seeing me in the store.”
“Oh right. Dotty Pomfret.” Bridget shrugged. “I don’t think she knew who you were. Maybe she took you for a lost tourist or something. We didn’t discuss it.”
“Guess I’m just not that important.”
Bridget didn’t want to take that bait. She kept her eyes on the relish platter. There was room for radishes, but she didn’t bother with them. She wanted to get out of the house and mingle with the crowd outside. There was safety in numbers.
