Carolyn held her breath when her father opened his mouth.
“Go on and get in the house, Carolyn. We’ll talk about your lapse in judgment later.”
“No. I’m not a child. You can’t send me to my room. I’m dating Carson. End of discussion. You all better find a way to deal with it, but if you can’t that’s your issue, not mine.”
“Bullshit. You’re so damn naïve, Carolyn. You haven’t been around. You have no idea what kind of lowlife scum he is.”
She glared at Harland. “You haven’t been around me either, so I won’t allow you to sit in judgment of me. Or him. Worry about your own love life and go home to the wife you have waiting there.”
Her brothers huffed and puffed but didn’t retort.
Then her father spit a stream of tobacco juice that almost landed on Carson’s boot tip. “I’m just supposed to accept you’re with him? No can do. I raised you better than this.”
“Near as I can tell, you didn’t raise her at all,” Carson said evenly. “You sent her off to Catholic school to be raised.”
“So we should’ve expected because she was sheltered that she’d fall for the first big, dumb cowboy to come along?” Harland sneered.
Carson faced Carolyn. “Sugar, you didn’t tell me you were datin’ someone else before you met me.”
She bit her tongue to stop the laugh.
“See you got the same smart mouth as your father,” her dad said.
Enough. Carolyn pointed at her brothers. “Move so I can get dinner on the table before it burns.”
“You go on in. But him?” Her dad gave Carson the stink eye. “A McKay ain’t welcome in my home. Ever.”
“That’s enough.”
Her brothers and her father turned and looked at Clara West, venturing out the front door.
Carolyn hid her shock. Her mother wore a dress and shoes—not pajamas and slippers. She’d fixed her hair and put on makeup. She leaned heavily on her walker but she was also smiling.
“But Ma—”
“Hush,” she said to Harland without taking her eyes off Carson. “Excuse my sons’ behavior. Perhaps we should’ve sent them off to Catholic school too.”
Carson removed his hat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. West. I see that Carolyn inherited her beauty and gentility from you.”
She ignored her brothers rolled eyes, snorts and hostility at the comment as she was focused on the pleasure shining in her mother’s eyes.
“Carolyn is a fine cook. I’m pleased you’ll get a sample of that today. Please come in and share a meal with us.” She looked at her husband. “This is my home too and he is welcome in it. So bring another chair to the table.”
“Won’t need it,” Harland said. “I lost my appetite and I ain’t staying.”
“Me neither,” said Darren.
Their rude behavior hurt, mostly because she didn’t understand it.
Stuart and Marshall looked torn. They’d have to pay for food in town if they took off. Shooting a last look at their departing brothers, they started up the porch steps.
Only Thomas offered Carson his hand. “Glad to see you came to your senses—even when it looks like most of them got beat outta you last night.”
“Sometimes that’s what it takes.”
Carolyn grabbed Thomas’s sleeve. “Why were Harland and Darren here?”
“Father Dorian called to talk to Mom about you bringing such a nice Catholic man to church with you and Dad overheard the conversation. He called Harland and Darren for a family meeting. And he was pissed when he found out we all knew about you two seeing each other.”
“Doesn’t matter now.” She tugged on Carson’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Her mother sat at the dining room table, speaking in low tones with Marshall and Stuart. They both scowled at Carson.
Great. She’d have to leave Carson in their company while she readied the food.
“Only six place settings, Liebchen. Your father won’t be joining us.”
His loss. If he didn’t eat now she wasn’t feeding him later.
Carolyn couldn’t keep track of the conversation with the electric mixer whirring as she whipped the potatoes.
While the gravy thickened, she stacked the place settings and delivered them to the table. Her family knew the drill and distributed plates and silverware.
She brought out the food—roast pork, mashed potatoes, gravy, wheat rolls and a medley of cooked carrots, onions and sugar snap peas. She slid in next to Carson.
“This surely does look like a feast,” he said, his eyes firmly on the juicy meat.
“Before we eat, we give thanks,” Marshall said. “McKay, since you’re such a nice Catholic man, would you do the honors?”
Carson looked startled a split second before he smiled. “Be happy to.” He removed his hat, set it on the sideboard, and bowed his head. “Lord, we thank you for this bounty we are about to receive. We thank you for the rain that sprouted the vegetables and the sun that grew them to their peak of ripeness, and Carolyn’s cookin’ skills that turned them into this mouthwatering delight. We thank you for the soil that nurtured the silage that sustained the pig, for the farmers who deal with the muck, mess and stench of a pig farm every day so that we might enjoy this tender, succulent roasted pork, simmering in its own juices and spices. We thank you for the wheat farmers who toil over their grain harvest every fall, for the mills that grind that grain into flour, and the skill of the baker who can mix water, salt, yeast, sugar and flour into the warm, crunchy, melt in your mouth buttery rolls before us. Thank you for the family you’ve seen fit to bless us with, and may we always remember to give thanks where thanks are due.”
When Carson took a breath, as if to keep going, Carolyn lifted her head. She crossed herself and said, “Amen.”
Her brothers and mother followed suit.
Her mother said, “Thank you, Carson, for such a lovely and heartfelt blessing.”
Carolyn glanced at her brother who’d offered the dare and smiled to see he’d been put in his place. But her smile dried when she realized she was sitting too far away from her mother to help slice her food into manageable bites. Her arthritis made it difficult to hold utensils and she ate everything with a spoon.
But her mother had a lot of pride which is why she rarely left the house, or ate meals at the table, so Carolyn couldn’t treat her like a child in front of company.