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waist, he gave her a lingering kiss before heading for the door, drumstick in hand.
    “Collin, wait!” Marcy crumbled the last of the bacon on top of the baked beans and grabbed two pot holders. She hurried to hand the casserole dish off to him at the door. “Here, you can pay for your thievery by taking this to the table. And would you mind herding everyone into the dining room, please? We’ll be right in.”
    “Yesh, ma’am,” Collin mumbled, drumstick lodged between his teeth.
    “Charity, will you and Faith get the children settled outside while Lizzie and I carry food to the table? Katie Rose, you can pour the drinks – we have iced tea or lemonade.” Marcy shoved two pewter pitchers into Katie’s hands, then wisped a strand of silver-blond hair from her face. Her blue eyes sparkled with humor. “And for pity’s sake, don’t spill any on Cluny, you hear?”
    Katie took the pitchers and gave her mother a thin smile. “Yes, ma’am, but don’t blame me if he spills it on himself. I didn’t call him Clumsy Cluny for nothing, you know.”
    “Katie . . .” Lizzie’s voice brimmed with warning.
    “ Just – kidding ,” Katie replied in a singsong tone. She shot her sister a grin and pushed through the door with her backside, both pitchers anchored tightly in hand. Male voices rumbled in the dining room, and Katie zeroed in on Brady with a bright smile. “Happy Birthday, Bra – ”
    The smile died an ugly death as the pitchers slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. Sticky puddles pooled at her feet, but all she could do was gape, drawing in little or no air despite the extended drop of her jaw.
    Pandemonium erupted – Collin yelling for a towel and her mother rushing in, and everyone blotting and mopping and babbling words Katie couldn’t comprehend. Instead, she stood like a statue, mounted to the sticky floor as surely as if lemonade and tea were glue. The heat of humiliation curdled her stomach, rose to her throat, and bled into her cheeks, confirming once again that Cluny McGee – aka “Soda Jerk” – possessed a true talent for misery.
    His shock mirrored her own for the briefest of seconds before those wide lips eased into an annoying grin. Striking pale blue eyes crinkled in humor while he assessed her head to toe, finally settling on her face in painful perusal.
    “Well, Katie Rose,” he drawled in a teasing tone that hinted at a twang, “I see you still know how to make a splash.”
    Brady latched an arm around Cluny’s shoulders. The man matched her brother-in-law’s six-foot-three height, head to head. “You remember this little runt, don’t ya, Katie? Cluny McGee? He’s a big-shot lawyer now, but I remember how he used to pester the daylights out of you.”
    Cluny grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth against a deep tan. “I think it was the other way around, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones if you are . . . Katydid .” He extended a muscled arm in a handshake truce. “No sense in crying over spilled milk . . . or milkshake, whatever the case may be. And by the way, the name has changed – I go by Luke now.”
    God help her, she wanted to whop him right upside that towhead of his! She gritted her teeth, completely incensed that he looked like a male model for Vanity Fair . The white thatch was now stylishly combed back with just the right touch of Brilliantine, and a double-breasted blue blazer slung casually over his arm, the perfect complement for tan linen slacks. His crisp, striped cotton shirt did little to hide his obviously muscular form, and Katie was appalled when more heat whooshed to her cheeks. She stared at the hand that had captured her wrist outside the diner last night and swallowed hard, contemplating slapping it away. But for Brady’s sake, she reined in her temper and cautiously placed her hand in his. Upon contact, the heat of his palm unnerved her, and she jerked hers away, hoping the gummy remains of lemonade would cling to his