Husband for a Weekend

The awkward silence that fell between them gave her a clue to the answer. Mike cleared his throat. “Ashley didn’t accompany me this weekend.”

So her mother’s gossip about the state of Mike’s marriage had been true. One never knew with Betsy. Kim regretted that her mother had been correct about this.

She and her uncle and cousins exchanged small talk for a few more minutes, then Kim retrieved Daryn from Sandi. “I’d like to say hello to Grandma now. She’s in the kitchen, right?”

“Mom’s always in the kitchen,” Nelson said. “Mike, you better catch that boy of yours before he pulls those blinds right off the window.”

Nodding to Tate in a signal to follow her, Kim turned and carried her daughter from the den. It had been a few years since she’d visited her grandmother’s house, but she knew how to find the kitchen. She released a light sigh after stepping out of the den and into the long hallway toward the back of the house. The initial greetings hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected, but for just a moment, it was nice not to be on display.

“That was interesting,” Tate murmured, keeping his voice low as he walked by her side.

She smiled. “I don’t expect you to remember everyone’s names.”

“Treva’s daughters are Patty and Cara Lynn. Patty’s kids are Harper and Abby, not necessarily in that birth order. Your uncle Nelson is dating Sandi and is the father of Rusty and Mike, whose son is Lucas.”

Pausing, she turned to look at him in surprise.

He chuckled. “I’m good with names.”

“No kidding.”

“Everyone seems to be getting along well enough.”

“So far.”

“Your aunt and your mother are the masters of backhanded compliments, aren’t they?”

She grimaced. “Definitely. I’m sorry you’re being subjected to all this.”

“It was my choice, remember?” He caught her forearm to detain her when she would have moved on. “You know, Kim, all big families have tensions and drama. Maybe your family has commitment issues, but others have problems and baggage of their own. I could tell you some stories about some of my maternal relatives that would make your family look like they live in a Norman Rockwell painting.”

She nodded. “I hope you don’t think I’m being judgmental about my family,” she murmured, glancing quickly around to make sure no one could overhear. “I don’t really care what they do with their personal lives. I just don’t care for all the games they try to play with me. And I guess I’m overly sensitive this time because Mom put me in such a difficult position, having to lie to everyone.”

“You haven’t actually lied to anyone,” he pointed out with a low laugh. “You’ve introduced me simply as Tate, without once referring to me as your husband. I’ve been admiring how skillfully you’ve handled it.”

She couldn’t help smiling a little in response to his teasing, which was undoubtedly his purpose. “Yes, well, the day is just getting started.”

He chuckled. “That’s true. There’s still hope that I’ll be ordering the Emperor’s Platter Wednesday—with your fifty.”

She tossed her head. “I plan to use your fifty to order the platter and dessert.”

Both of them were smiling when they entered the kitchen, which Kim figured could only help their cause, even though her smile was genuine.

* * *

From the first glance, it was obvious that the kitchen was the true heart of Grandma Dyess’s home. Tate’s initial impression was of warm colors and gleaming surfaces, immaculate floors and sparkling windows, functional appliances and retro wallpaper. His other senses were inundated with delicious aromas and the clattering sounds of cookware and cutlery and women talking over each other.

Bob was the only male in the room. He was quietly assembling food and supplies for the upcoming meal while his wife, sister-in-law and mother-in-law barked instructions at him. He even managed to look like he was enjoying himself. Tate had to admire the guy.

Kim’s grandmother sat in a chair at the small, round oak table nestled into a breakfast bay. A stainless-steel walker with wheels on the front and yellow tennis balls on the back stood within her reach.

Again, Tate spotted the family resemblances, seeing in the older woman the daughters who looked so much like her. If she’d ever shared their predilection for hair dye, she’d given it up, letting her thin hair go stark white. Judging from experience with his own mother and grandmother, he would bet that Grandma Dyess, as he’d come to think of her, still visited a beauty salon with once-a-week faithfulness. Her hair was crimped and curled and sprayed to a tidy helmet around her narrow, lined face. Large, plastic-framed, peach-toned glasses sparkled at the corners with tiny rhinestones. Her purple dress could have been chosen to make her look regal and imposing, but instead it only emphasized her fragility.

He could see now why a desire to see her grandmother had weakened Kim’s resistance to her mother’s machinations. Even on the basis of a moment’s impression, Tate would have bet that Grandma Dyess wouldn’t be around for the next family reunion.

While Betsy looked on approvingly, Kim crossed the room and leaned over to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. Tate found himself analyzing Kim’s expression, deciding he saw affection, wistfulness and a hint of intimidation there. But maybe he was reading too much.

Grandma Dyess patted Daryn’s chubby, bare leg with a gnarled, unsteady hand. “I always think those hairband bows look a little silly, since it’s obvious the child doesn’t have enough hair for a real bow. Patty always stuck them on her girls, too, and them bald as billiard balls when they were babies. Still, this one’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? Looks just like you at her age, Kim.”