The Marriage Recipe. Michele Dunaway

cheat on her, or a boyfriend on her daughter, or something like that.”

      “Ah,” Rachel said, although she still didn’t quite understand. Still, Colin seemed certain, and she’d always been able to trust him. “So you don’t expect them to really file anything?”

      He shook his head, a strand of blond hair falling across his right eye. He brushed it back, and a gold cuff link twinkled. “I don’t think they will. Once court is involved, things get pricey and everyone’s out a lot of money.”

      “Except the lawyers. I guess this is why only the lawyers get rich,” Rachel said.

      “Yeah, Marco’s lawyer will bill for his time no matter where this goes. At this stage the case is easy money. Write a letter and send the client a bill.”

      “Sounds mercenary,” Rachel said. “No wonder Shakespeare wrote, ‘First thing we do is kill all the lawyers.’”

      He shot her a look that said, Give me a break. “Gee, thanks. I’ll save your recipes, maybe get you some money in the process, and I’ll still be in a scummy profession.”

      “I didn’t say that. You know me. I was just quoting.” Rachel reached for her coat, her sobbing fit concluded. Back in place was the strong woman of action who refused to be defeated. The pity party was over. Colin would not see her as a weakling again.

      “By the way, that wasn’t what Shakespeare meant. You used the words out of context. Characters in the play were trying to plan a rebellion and figured they needed to take down the legal system to do it. You and your quotations.” Colin grinned. “It’s good to know some things haven’t changed. Do you remember that night we had the champagne? I’ve never had anyone spout as many quotations in my ear as you did. That’s how I knew you were tipsy.”

      “I was young. It didn’t take much alcohol to make me drunk,” Rachel said brusquely. They’d kissed, and now was not the time to rehash how memorable that had been—not. “I’m no longer a lightweight. One thing about working at an Italian restaurant, I drank a lot of wine.”

      “Maybe we’ll have to discover what type of stuff you’re made of one night when neither of us is driving,” Colin said. His phone rang, and he picked it up and listened to his paralegal. “Just have her hold for a moment. I’m wrapping up now.”

      Rachel couldn’t help herself. “Girlfriend?”

      “Client,” Colin said. He shot her a wicked grin. “Why? Interested?”

      She shrugged, cool and composed. “Only for the sake of having some fresh gossip to toss about the diner. It might take everyone’s attention off me.”

      “Ah.” He nodded, as if not buying her explanation in the slightest. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and let you know about fees. I usually do lunch at Kim’s on Thursdays.”

      “Prime-rib special,” Rachel said. “Been that way every week for at least twenty years.”

      “And I try not to miss it. Tomorrow every seat will be full. Your mom and grandmother serve the best prime rib in town, even better than the stuff at the Sherman House in Batesville, and that’s fantastic. Do you want me to walk you out?”

      She turned her head to ascertain if he was serious. She was used to walking the streets of New York at night. She could handle small-town Morrisville, one of the safest places on the planet. “No,” she said. “I’m not that bad off. Attend to your call. I can find the way.”

      He sent her an appreciative smile. “Great. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      She’d just reached the door, when his voice had her glancing around. “Rachel?”

      He held the phone, his hand covering the mouthpiece. “Yes?” she said.

      “In case I forget to tell you this later, it’s good to have you back. And don’t worry, we’ll get him.” He stood there at his desk, impeccable in his blue broadcloth shirt, matching tie and dress pants.

      “Don’t keep your caller waiting,” she chided, trying to tame her racing heart. She tugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder.

      She did not need to start entertaining any silly notions about Colin. Her time in Morrisville was temporary. Not a life sentence. Just a quick hit before she went back to New York, even if she had to stay the full six months before her noncompete clause expired. She gave Colin one last glance. He was silhouetted against the windows, a man secure in his element and this small provincial town.

      One she’d left long ago.

      Chapter Three

      “Hi, honey. I’m glad you’re here,” Colin’s mother, Loretta, said when he arrived at his parents’ place later that evening. She accepted the kiss he planted on her cheek. “Your father’s in the library. Dinner will be ready in about twenty-five minutes. Kristin’s bringing the twins. She’s running about ten minutes late.”

      “Is Jack working?” Colin asked. His older sister’s husband was a psychologist. They had two seven-year-old identical twin girls, who, while adorable, were a handful.

      “He’s got patients scheduled until nine, I think Kristin said. Now, shoo. No men here in the kitchen while I cook.”

      Colin snagged a crouton from atop a plate of salad and laughed as he left the enormous kitchen, remodeled long ago. His mother loved to cook and her pantry was the size of a bedroom, and she kept it well stocked. When Colin and his three sisters had all lived at home, his mother had fed them and their friends.

      She still fed her family, which now included spouses and a horde of grandchildren that multiplied every year. This time it was older sister Amanda who was incubating baby number three. His other sister, Anne Louise, already had four kids. She’d had one boy, then a set of twins and then another girl, who’d turned two in June. Her husband was currently Indiana’s junior senator, and they were talking a total of six. Colin had always told his younger sister she was nuts, but she’d only laughed at him and told him to get a life.

      Besides get-togethers, his mother cooked every year for the Morris family annual Thanksgiving celebration, which had over thirty people for the traditional turkey dinner and at least a hundred friends, associates and townsfolk stopping by the house throughout the day. Easter was coming in mid-March this year, and that holiday would be almost as crazy. The only difference was that the townspeople wouldn’t stop by.

      “Hey, Dad,” Colin greeted his father, entering the library. Whereas the kitchen was totally a woman’s area, the library was a man’s room. Reginald and Loretta Morris had always joked that their marriage worked because they kept certain rooms “one sex only.” They’d celebrated their thirty-eighth wedding anniversary last year, so Colin figured that whatever household arrangement they had was a good one. He’d never doubted the bond his parents shared.

      “Hi, Colin,” Reginald said. He lifted his Scotch-and-water in salute. “Shall I pour you one?”

      Colin shook his head. “Not tonight.” Ever since one of his and Bruce’s friends had died during high school, driving under the influence, he and Bruce hardly touched alcohol, especially if either would be behind the wheel later.

      “Ah,” Reginald said, nodding his understanding. “So tell me, how’s the plane search going?”

      Colin grinned. When he’d turned eighteen, his parents had given him a present of six flying lessons. The hobby had stuck. “We found one we like and we’re buying it.”

      Reginald tapped a forefinger on the glass. “Really?”

      Colin’s grin widened. It wasn’t every day your son announced he was buying a half-million-dollar Cessna with a group of friends. “Yeah. We’re drawing up the legal contracts now as to shares, usage, payments, insurance, etcetera. We’ll keep the plane at the airport here.”

      The Morrisville Airport was unmanned and uncontrolled. Colin had learned