Mia Ross - Hometown Family

“And now, let us pray.” When everyone had bowed their heads, he continued. “Merciful Father, hear our prayers and comfort the Sawyer family in their time of need. Renew our trust in Your Son, whom You raised from the dead. Strengthen our faith that Ethan Sawyer, who died in the love of Christ, will share in His resurrection and live with You, now and forever. Amen.”

Silently, Caty added her own prayer for Ethan’s family. The aftermath of her grandfather’s death was still clear in her memory, and she knew they’d need all the good wishes they could get.

Matt and his younger brother, John, stepped forward to take the lead positions to carry their father’s casket out to the waiting hearse. John was clearly struggling to keep his composure, and Matt gave him a look of encouragement as they made their solemn way through the assembly. In response, John straightened and nodded back.

Caty had no idea how they endured that emotionally charged walk. Glancing up, she got the distinct feeling that Ethan was watching them with incredible pride. After the hearse door closed, the funeral director began organizing everyone for the trip out to the cemetery. Caty headed for her car, only to find it corralled tightly between a Cadillac and an enormous black SUV.

“Blocked in?”

She turned to find Matt behind her and tried to laugh it off. “The top’s down, so maybe I can just climb in without opening the doors.”

He gave her a quick once-over, from her white blouse and slim black skirt, straight down to her four-inch black heels. Her “funeral uniform,” it got more use than she liked. The skirt fell way below her knees, but for some reason his quick appraisal still made her blush.

“Not very likely.” Now he gave her car the same assessing look. “Nice MG. What year is it?”

“A ’68.” From the way he’d asked the question, she could tell she didn’t look familiar to him. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

* * *

He really shouldn’t admit it, Matt cautioned himself. Ladies liked to think they were unforgettable, and he always obliged. So he took a minute to study her. The longer he looked, the better he liked the view. She wasn’t model material, but the sunlight picked up strands of red in her brown hair, set off by fair skin and the dark green of her eyes. Looking closer, he noticed the freckles sprinkled across her nose. Totally at odds with her classy outfit, they made him think of summertime, but he still couldn’t place her.

Finally, he admitted defeat and shook his head. “Sorry.”

“At least you’re honest.” She held out her hand. “Caitlin McKenzie.”

As he shook her hand, he rolled the name around in his mind a few times but still came up blank. That probably meant he hadn’t met her recently, so he took a shot. “From Harland.”

He’d meant to make it a statement, stalling for time until he could place her. Instead it came out as a question, and he cringed at how lame he sounded. Then again, he’d already botched their little reunion so badly, he figured it didn’t matter much.

“John and I were friends growing up,” she explained patiently. “We graduated together.”

“So you’re a few years younger than me.” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded as though he was dragging his feet in this conversation. Which, of course, he was.

Suddenly, something far back in his memory clicked. “I remember Hank and Martha McKenzie.”

“My grandparents.”

“And a quiet little girl with glasses.” Considering how confident and classy she looked today, he had a hard time connecting her to that mousy kid. “That was you?”

“A long time ago.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his key fob and pressed the button. Across the parking lot, a dark blue pickup chirped in response. “You can ride with me if you want.”

As a limo pulled into line behind the hearse, she asked, “You’re not going with your family?”

He shrugged. “Not enough room for all of us.”

She gave him a doubtful look, but fortunately she didn’t press. “Okay. Thanks.”

When they got to his truck, he opened the passenger door for her. “Thanks for coming today.”

“I’m glad to do it. I just wish it wasn’t necessary,” she said as she climbed into the truck.

Standing inside the open door, he looked in at her. Her response sounded so polished, he knew she’d rehearsed it many times. “You’ve said that about a thousand times, haven’t you?”

“I guess so,” she admitted with a frown. “I’m sorry if I sounded like a robot. I just never know what else to say.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, staring at the hearse as it slowly left the lot. “Me, neither.”

As Matt settled into the driver’s seat, he finally placed her. “Caty Lee McKenzie. Valedictorian, right?”

She didn’t exactly smile, but it was closer to a grin than anything he’d gotten since she had introduced herself. “Right.”

Trying to salvage the conversation, he added, “Guess we didn’t run in the same circles at school.”

“I wasn’t a cheerleader.” Her smile evaporated, and she gave him a chilly look before turning to stare out the window.

She really knew how to hurt a guy. Then again, he thought as he put his truck in gear, he’d never really been into brainy women. They were way too much work.

* * *

After the mercifully brief graveside service, the long parade of cars headed through town to the Sawyer farm. As they drove along Main Street, well-kept houses stretched out on either side. Alongside the pavement were the original cobblestones, flanked by a canopy of oaks that dated back to the Civil War. In Harland, gardens were immaculate, porches were welcoming and the sweet tea was always fresh. Even though she’d left to realize her dream of becoming a lawyer, Caty had always been drawn back to the place that had made her who she was.

“I’m sorry for the reason, but it’s good to be home again,” Caty told him with a smile. “Someday I want to come back for good. How ’bout you?”

“I plan to stay as far from Harland as I can get.”

The certainty in his voice startled her, but she plowed ahead. “So, where are you living these days?”

“Charlotte.”

“Really? Me, too.” As of yesterday, that wasn’t technically true anymore, but she didn’t think he really cared that much. “How long have you been there?”

“A few months now,” he answered without taking his eyes off the road.

He didn’t elaborate, and she tried again. “I haven’t seen you since high school. What have you been up to?”

“I’m a mechanic.”

Oh, he was a real talker, this guy. “Whereabouts?”

“California, Arizona, Texas. Spent about a month in Michigan. Way too cold.”

She realized he’d answered her questions without revealing a single personal detail. He’d done it artfully, as if he’d had a lot of practice. Fortunately, her legal training had made her adept at worming information out of reluctant people.

“Do you like Charlotte?”

“Yeah.” Just when she thought he’d leave it at that, he added, “My boss hired me to work on classics at his body shop, which is great. I love old cars.”

Progress, she congratulated herself with a little smile. “How did you get into that?”

“Got certified for regular work, then started playing around with some clunkers at the shop I worked at in Houston. When I was done, the owner sold ’em for more than he spent on the wrecks. He cut me in on the profits, so I did some more. When I decided to move back to North Carolina, he called a friend of his and gave me a reference.”

She hoped to keep him talking by giving him a harmless compliment. “That takes a lot of skill. You must make good money.”