the authorities by paying them off in barrels of the stuff?"
Kitty smiled grimly as she lifted his plate off the table. "Don't forget, those 'authorities' would be some of your ancestors."
He smiled back and winked. "Naah. My ancestors were smarter than that. A Matthews would have exacted more interesting payoff from a Wilder than still-stew."
Aunt Cat laughed. "You'd be right, Dylan. There's always been a little something going on between the Matthews men and the Wilder women."
Kitty rolled her eyes. "Not enough to rub off a little of the Matthews respectability."
"But, Kitty" - Aunt Cat turned in her chair to catch her before she escaped into the kitchen - "that's what you've never truly understood. The Wilders never needed respectability."
But I do. Kitty bit back the words and ducked out. In the kitchen, she tied an apron over her jean shorts and white, sleeveless blouse. Aunt Cat had raised Kitty with love and with honesty, passing down the Wilder history as well as trying to pass down the Wilders' legendary indifference to love and marriage.
Kitty shook her head, because she still didn't get the Wilder women, even after all these years. It was the old saw of the chicken or the egg, but which came first didn't matter when the result was the same - Kitty couldn't understand their indifference because she longed for the traditional.
As she rinsed the plates, then stacked them in the dishwasher, she could hear Aunt Cat continuing to talk, punctuated by Dylan's deep laugh. Probably at some Wilder woman's expense, she thought sourly. What else was new?
A few minutes later, any more of the conversation between the other two was lost in the loud drone-and-clatter of the dishwasher. Once the pots and pans were hand-washed, Kitty started coffee and stepped back into the dining room. "Who wants - "
Her mother looked up from the place at the table beside Dylan. "Hello, Kitty," Samantha said.
The room was silent until Aunt Cat's voice broke through the sudden tension. "Samantha brought a chocolate cake. She made it herself."
Kitty looked over at her great-aunt. "She bakes?" she said, as if Samantha weren't in the room. It was a stupid thing to say, but she felt stupid. Surprised and stupid and graceless.
And Dylan was witnessing her vulnerability once again.
"I have to go," Kitty found herself saying. A mirror hung on the wall opposite her and she could see her reflection in it. Her face looked dead, her expression numb. Her gaze met her aunt's. "Thank you for dinner."
Aunt Cat nodded, unflappable as always, a quality Kitty supposed one gained when raising an infant at an age when most people were contemplating retirement. Kitty was always the flappable one, and that was exactly how she felt right now. Flap, flap, she thought hysterically. She wanted to move her arms up and down and fly right out of there, but her shoes seemed stuck to the floor.
Dylan stood up. "I'll see you home," he said.
Kitty stared at him. See her? See her? That was not what she wanted. "You don't need to. I'll be fine."
"Of course," he answered, but kept on coming. His hand enclosed hers in a firm, warm grip. "Thank you for dinner, Ms. Wilder. Good night." He squeezed Kitty's fingers. "And nice seeing you again, Samantha."
Then he guided Kitty out the front door, his touch firm but impersonal. On the sidewalk, he ignored his motorcycle and set off in the direction of her house on foot.
"You don't have to do this."
"Shut up," he said. But he said it pleasantly.
They walked in silence for a few minutes. "You've met her before?" Kitty finally had to ask.
"Mmm. At Bum Luck. I went there for a drink with my father."
"Ah."
The warm night air washed over Kitty's face, bringing her numbed skin back to life. As they turned up the next street, a butterscotch-colored dog woofed, then galloped up to a front fence. Kitty slipped her hand out of Dylan's, pretending she needed both hands free in order to properly pet the Murphys' Labrador, Chaos. Which, if you asked Chaos, was probably true.
Both she and Dylan admired the dog and stroked his fur. When Chaos presented them with his slimy green tennis ball, Dylan took it without complaint and gave it a toss. In response, the dog regarded Dylan with good-natured incomprehension. Dylan slanted Kitty a quizzical look. "The Murphys used to have a dog named Nugget," he said. "She was the smartest dog in town."