Only You by Crystal Hubbard

Author:Crystal Hubbard
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-58571-537-4
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2006-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Cars lined both sides of the rain-glossed street and the Winters house was packed with family and friends from church, Abby’s school, Clara’s lab, Ciel’s law firm, Cady’s newspaper, and Raines-Hartley. Extra tables and chairs had been set up in the living room and in Abby’s enclosed rear patio to accommodate all the guests. Thanksgiving dinner itself would be a buffet-style affair comprised of three twenty-pound toms—one smoked, contributed by Clara and Christopher; one deep-fried, courtesy of Ciel and Lee; and the one Abby roasted—and a record thirty-one side dishes, more than half of which had been brought by Abby’s guests. The library, which traditionally doubled as the kiddie room for ordinary Sunday dinners, found still another use as the dessert room. Sixteen desserts lay in wait. Abby and her daughters had made pumpkin, apple and sweet potato pies from scratch, but their guests had contributed a wider variety of sweets, everything from plates of homemade turkey-shaped sugar cookies to a chocolate silk torte speckled with flecks of genuine 14K gold.

After having spent seven hours being ordered about the kitchen by their mother, Clara, Ciel, Cady and Kyla joined Abby in her hostessing duties once the dinner guests began to arrive. Kyla assumed the role of bartender while her sisters entertained in the living and dining rooms.

“Put a little more bourbon in Reverend Kurl’s iced tea,” Abby directed.

“It’s practically all bourbon now.” Kyla waved her hand over the glass to diffuse the scent of the strong liquor.

Abby took the neck of the bottle and sloshed a bit more bourbon into the tall glass, which was garnished with fresh mint and a lemon slice. “I’d rather he fall asleep before he gets warmed up enough to give a sermon. Let him save it for Sunday.”

Given her mother’s reasoning, Kyla would have tipped even more bourbon into the glass if Clara, Ciel and Cady hadn’t hustled into the kitchen like a flock of geese to grab Kyla and Abby. They pulled them to the kitchen door and opened it a tiny crack. Five pairs of eyes in varying shades of brown lined the narrow opening and peered into the dining room.

“Who’s the guy in the black sweater?” Ciel asked. “He’s not one of my guests.”

“He’s not mine, either,” Clara said.

“None of my guests are that cute,” Cady said. “Everybody else in St. Louis is here today. Maybe he just wandered in off the street.”

“He’s one of mine,” Abby said primly, stepping away from the door and returning to a ceramic pitcher of spiced apple cider. “He’s a speech and language therapist at my school.”

Clara and Ciel went to the counter Abby worked at. Clara began slicing Macintosh apple rings into the pitcher while Ciel propped cinnamon sticks in the mugs lining a wicker tray. Kyla stayed at the door with Cady and continued to eyeball the attractive young man.

“What’s his name?” Kyla asked.

“Who, dear?” Abby asked as she carefully poured the cider into the mugs.

“Your speech guy.”

“Evan Stewart.”

Kyla heard the smile in her mother’s voice as she studied Evan.

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