Читать книгу A Weaver Proposal - Allison Leigh - Страница 9

Sydney had come to Weaver for lots of reasons. Some were more immediate than others, but none of them were unimportant. Rebuilding a relationship with her brother was one. Or—she thought with brutal honesty—establishing a relationship with her brother was a better way to put it since—aside from the occasional racehorse she found for Forrest’s Crossing, which Jake still ran even though he’d moved to Wyoming—they’d had little to do with one another for years.

And yes, she had missed his wedding to J. D. Clay. She still felt guilty about it, because she could have made it if she’d really tried. But she truly hadn’t believed that he would care much one way or another, and despite her Aunt Susan’s urging, she’d pulled her usual Sydney act. She’d commissioned a crystal statuette of Latitude—a Thoroughbred her brother was particularly fond of—and had it delivered to him and J.D. before the wedding.

But she hadn’t left Antoine’s side where they’d been staying in Antibes at the home of a particularly discriminating art collector. Mostly because she was well aware that Antoine was taking his newest assistant with him on the trip, and said assistant was ten years younger than Sydney, particularly pretty and clearly looking to be more than an assistant.

Despite Sydney’s absence from the nuptials, J.D. had called her, thanking her for the incredibly beautiful gift. Sydney wasn’t surprised by that. She’d met J.D. on a few occasions when she’d been working for Jake at Forrest’s Crossing. The other woman had always been professionally courteous. But after J.D.’s call had come Jake’s, and he’d been rather less courteous when he’d told Sydney that J.D. assumed Sydney didn’t approve of their marriage.

It couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Which was why Sydney was now picking her way through the snow behind her cabin to the shed that acted as a garage and storage for a bunch of tractor-size tools.

Maggie Clay—J.D.’s mother and yet another one of the seemingly endless Clays that Weaver possessed—had called her the evening before to insist that she join the family for dinner out at the family’s ranch. “Sunday” dinner, which Sydney knew from her brother was usually a family affair. Since Sydney had some bridges to build, she knew she might as well start doing it now, even if J.D. and Jake were in California.

And if nothing else, the place where the meal was being held—the Double-C—was bound to be warm, which was more than could be said of her cabin right now, since the furnace had quit on her again this morning.

So she climbed into her little red convertible two-seater and prayed the engine would start.

The import was nearly thirty years old and had belonged to her mother. A gift from Sydney’s father, until he’d taken it back from her during the divorce. He’d later given it to Sydney as a gift—not because he was bestowing some treasured thing upon her—but because it was a manual transmission. After she’d backed one of Forrest’s Crossing’s trucks through a paddock fence, he’d mockingly laughed that, like her mother, she’d never be able to drive it properly, anyway.

“Just a little paternal adoration,” she murmured now as she coaxed the engine to life.

Bringing the car with her here to Wyoming had probably been the height of folly. But no more, possibly, than bringing herself had been.

When it came down to it, she was about as equipped for the practical matters of life here as her red demon was equipped for snow-covered roads and frozen temperatures.

“But we’ll both do it, won’t we? We have to.” She ignored the faint edge of desperation she felt and patted the steering wheel when the engine finally caught.

She wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done if it hadn’t started. Did Weaver even possess a cab company?

Somehow, she doubted it.

Fortunately, it hadn’t snowed since she’d arrived, so the bumpy drive that led from the highway to the cabin was still clear and she made it out of the shed and down to the main road with no engine stalls. Then it was just a matter of following the instructions Maggie had given her to reach the “big house” on the family’s cattle ranch.

Sydney realized soon enough that the place was no more “in Weaver” than the cabin was. When she finally pulled to a stop in front of a sprawling stone house, there were already a half-dozen cars parked in the curving drive in front of it. She pulled as close to the snow-plowed edge of the drive as she dared, parking behind an enormous black SUV, and climbed out, smoothing down her cashmere coat as she eyed the vehicles. Everything from economy cars to luxury SUVs. Jake had told her the Clays were a diverse bunch.

Even their automobiles reflected it.

She carefully picked her way between the vehicles toward the snowy ground separating the plowed drive from the house, wincing a little as her high, stacked heels sank into the snow. Her boots were suede and not meant for getting wet. She needed to shop. And soon.

“We were about ready to send out a search crew.”

The low, masculine voice startled her and she jerked her head up to see Derek Clay standing on the wide porch that stretched across the front of the house. He was wearing jeans again—though this time at least they looked clean. The down coat was gone, but all that did was show off the shoulders stretching the limits of his untucked, navy blue pullover. Evidently the down coat he’d worn the day before hadn’t been solely responsible for the wide shoulders.

Sydney also noted the arm he had looped possessively over the shoulder of a very pretty young woman. Whether this was another cousin of the “kissing” variety or not, Sydney could see she was considerably younger than Derek. She was guessing he was closer to Sydney’s thirty-one than the girl’s probable twenty-one.

Men were men, obviously. And for a good many of them, the younger their companions were, the better.

Not that she cared one whit that Derek seemed no better than Antoine had been in that regard.

She yanked the lapels of her coat more tightly around her waist as she gingerly picked her way through the snow until she reached the shoveled walkway.

“As you can see, I made it.” She even managed a smile, though how she did after their encounter the day before was a minor miracle.

“Small wonder,” he returned and nodded his head toward her car. “We have snowdrifts bigger than that toy.” He might have cleaned up in the clothing department, but the dark blond waves of his hair were still as unkempt as ever. “J.D. and Jake have plenty of suitable vehicles up at their place. Why not use one?”

His tone made it perfectly clear that he considered her brainless for not having done so, and Sydney’s jaw ached as she locked her insincere smile in place. “I’m surprised Jake didn’t tell you already. I like unsuitable,” she assured him blithely, though nothing could have been further from the truth.

Yes, she’d frequently indulged in the unsuitable. More often than not. But that was exactly what had led her to this particular point in her life.

Nausea nudged at her, deep inside, like the low tide getting ready to come in.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath of cold, bracing air as she crossed the walkway to the shallow steps leading up to the house.

“Unsuitable doesn’t fly real well in these parts,” Derek said when she reached the top. “Thinking about safety does.”

His companion—who looked even more dewy and fresh up close—didn’t bother trying to hide the elbow that she poked into his side. “Be nice,” she said, and stuck out her hand toward Sydney. “I’m Tabby Taggart. And not all of us are quite the sticks in the mud as this guy is.”

Sydney shook the girl’s hand. “I’m Sydney.” She wasn’t going to comment on the sticks business, even if she did happen to agree. “It’s nice to meet you, Tabby.” She let her gaze take in both of them. “I apologize for running a little late.”

“No worries.” Tabby waved an unconcerned hand and without losing Derek’s arm, pulled open the enormous front door with obvious familiarity. “When there’s a crowd around here for Sunday dinner it always takes a bit of doing to get the meal on the table, anyway. And can I just say that I love those boots of yours? I hope you’ve treated the suede for getting wet, though.”

Over the girl’s head, Sydney’s gaze ran into Derek’s and she cursed herself for being caught looking his way.

“Wouldn’t worry about the boots, Tab,” he said as they headed inside. “Sydney’s an honest-to-God heiress, remember? If she wanted to pretend they’re disposable after one wearing, she could.”

Tabby looked up at him, grabbed his face in her hand and planted a kiss on his lips. “Funny guy, aren’t you?” Then she gave his cheek a playful slap.

“Deathly,” Sydney murmured, watching the girl move off. Tabby could think her boyfriend was joking, but Sydney knew he wasn’t. She wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather any more than her car was suited to it.

In his eyes it was obviously just one more strike against her.

She wondered what he’d think if he knew that his strikes were small potatoes in comparison to the ones she’d had leveled at her since childhood. But then again, she’d rather he didn’t know. Thinking she was a snob was much better than knowing what she really was.

A pregnant, rejected fool who’d never accomplished anything on her own.

Fortunately, her arrival had been noticed, not just by Maggie Clay, the woman who’d invited her, but by countless others who quickly surrounded her. Maggie, who was just as blonde as her daughter, J.D., grabbed Sydney’s hand as if she were five and began introducing everyone even as she took Sydney’s coat and thrust it at Derek with instructions to hang it up.

As Sydney struggled to keep up with the introductions—some familiar and some not—a part of her couldn’t help wondering if she’d find her coat later hanging from some tree outside when he disappeared with it.

“Oh, my goodness, what a fabulous dress! Is it actually leather?” The petite brunette, whom Maggie had just introduced as Tara, was definitely not one of the individuals that Sydney recalled from Susan and Stan’s wedding. The other woman barely waited for Sydney’s nod before she continued gushing. “If I could get some items like that for the shop, I’d sell them out in a heartbeat no matter what price tag I put on them.” She grinned ruefully as she ran her hand over the noticeably pregnant bulge stretching out the front of her cherry-red sweater. “Not that I’m likely to ever be able to wear anything cut so narrowly again.”

Sydney could have laughed—or cried—at the irony.

“Tara owns Classic Charms down on Main Street,” Maggie explained. “She has the most wonderfully eclectic collection. Everything from furniture to clothing.”

Tara shrugged dismissively. “Not everything. But I do like to have some unusual items, and that dress would definitely be one. Vintage?”

Again, Sydney nodded. She glanced down at the caramel-colored leather dress that draped from her shoulders to just above her knees. “I found it in a secondhand shop in Paris a few years ago.” She loved it and was determined to wear it as long as she could. “But I can see that I am overdressed,” she admitted. Nearly everyone there was dressed in jeans and sweaters.

“You think?” A deep voice murmured from behind her and she didn’t have to look back to know it was Derek. She’d recognize his voice anywhere now.

She ignored him and looked at Maggie beside her. “I think I should have taken notes with the introductions,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I’ll keep everyone straight.”

Maggie laughed and squeezed Sydney’s hand. “Unless you’ve been born into the group, we’ve all thought the same thing at one time or another. We’re an overwhelming bunch. But you’ll get used to it.”

“If she’s here long enough,” Derek added. His tone didn’t imply it, but Sydney didn’t have to guess very hard to know that he was hoping she wouldn’t be.

“Actually, I plan to be here a long, long while.” Smiling a confident smile she didn’t feel at all, she directed her comment toward the friendly Maggie.

“I know how much Jake and J.D. are hoping so,” the older woman returned comfortably.

“How’s that furnace holding out?”

“Just fine,” she lied, finally looking Derek’s way. Instead of the nubile Tabby under his arm, he was now holding a wildly giggling dark-haired imp upside down.

Her stomach took a dangerous dive and she quickly looked away. She wasn’t sure if it was the baby-related nausea or the sight of that odious man looking so perfectly natural jiggling around an obviously delighted toddler.

“Derek told us you had a little problem with it.” Maggie drew Sydney farther along the scarred wood floors. “He’s a whiz at fixing everything. Always helps out when he’s able. He’s wonderful that way.”

Sydney managed not to choke.

They’d reached a long dining room that was dominated by the china-and-crystal-laden table that took center stage. Three-fourths of the chairs around it were being claimed by the people who had already greeted Sydney, and Maggie led her to two on the side near the head of the table. “Come and sit here beside me. You can tell me how you’re settling in at J.D. and Jake’s cabin.” She pulled out one chair and took the other.

“It’s going fine. I’m just not sure what I’m going to do with myself now that I’ve finished unpacking,” she admitted a little ruefully. She sat where directed and waved off the wine that Maggie offered in favor of water and turned to smile at the blond-haired teenage boy sitting on her other side, who was not very discreetly throwing wadded bits of his paper napkin at the girl sitting directly across from him.

He dropped his hands guiltily to his lap, though, when Sydney sat and almost did a double take as he gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey. I’m Eli.”

“Yeah, Eli. Stop drooling over the lady and move it. You’re in my seat,” Derek said behind them. He set a long-necked bottle of beer next to the empty wine glass near his plate and jerked his thumb.

Sydney’s stomach sank as the lanky boy slid out of the chair and moved to the other side of the table. “Nobody wants to sit next to their sister,” he complained, giving the target of his napkin wads a little shove before slouching into the chair next to her.

“Nearly everyone at this table is a sister or brother of someone,” Maggie said without heat.

“And if not that, then cousins,” Derek added as he took the vacated seat.

Sydney ignored him. She noticed that Tabby was sitting on the other side of the table, several seats down from Derek, between Tara on one side and a toffee-haired young man on the other. Maggie had mentioned his name. Jared. Justin. Something like that. But he was Maggie’s nephew, that she was certain of. And the young man was graced with the unfair quantity of “wow” genes that all of the Clays seemed to possess.

Maggie was nodding toward the empty seats at the end of the table. “It’s too bad that Gloria and Squire are gone right now.” Her hand had come to rest over the bronzed hand of her husband, sitting on her other side and now, she patted it. “Daniel’s father. I know you met at your aunt’s wedding. I’m sure they’re looking forward to seeing you again.”

They hadn’t had time to speak much at the wedding since Sydney had only been there for a matter of hours, but she did remember the iron-haired man who was the patriarch of this large, rambunctious family and his wife. “Jake mentioned they were away for a few weeks?”

“Yeah, Squire doesn’t like the cold winters so much anymore,” added another man as he entered and took the chair at the head of the table. He was blond as well, though with plenty of silver shot through the brutally short, thick strands, and his eyes were the palest blue she’d ever seen. For someone old enough to be her father, he, too, was ridiculously handsome.

“I’m Matthew,” he said. “Welcome to the Double-C.”

“Daniel’s brother,” Maggie provided from her side.

“My father,” Derek added from her other.

Sydney’s gaze flicked back to the older man. It irritated the life out of her when she realized she was looking for some resemblance between him and his son. Aside from the fair hair—which on Derek was a whole lot darker than his father—the likeness was slim. Despite the dark stubble liberally shadowing Derek’s jaw, she figured his face was less squarely, ruggedly male than his father’s.

No less good-looking, whether she wanted to admit that or not, but in a prettier way.

Then, she couldn’t help a small smile. She didn’t know much about Derek Clay, but she couldn’t help but figure he wouldn’t appreciate being called pretty. “Thank you,” she told Matthew, glad that her private amusement at Derek’s expense would simply be taken at face value. “Your ranch is quite something to see.”

“Oh, darling, you have barely scratched the surface.” Jaimie—the auburn-haired woman who’d obviously passed on her finer features to her son Derek—angled between their chairs to set an enormous platter in the center of the table. She swatted Derek’s hand when he reached out to grab one of the pizza boxes that were incongruously stacked high on the china platter. “Wait until after grace,” she chided.

Sydney sent him a sideways look as his mother moved away to take her place adjacent to her husband’s. But instead of looking cowed by his mother, he was just eyeing Sydney with that vaguely challenging, amused look. She was beginning to wonder if he had it all the time, or if he’d reserved it just for her.

But then, when Maggie clasped her hand and she noticed that everyone around the table was doing the same, she realized what “grace” meant to these people.

She reluctantly set her palm into the upturned one that Derek had rested on the table between their two plates and it took all of her willpower not to jerk it back when his long fingers closed over hers, capturing it but good.

He, she noted, didn’t close his eyes or bow his head even a fraction, as his father gave a brief blessing for the meal.

And when the amen was said and everyone turned their attention to the meal, and pizza boxes were thrown open and passed hither and yon, Sydney spread her napkin on her lap and eyed him. “Not showing a lot of reverence there, were you?” She kept her voice low, even though she doubted her words would be carried beyond his ears, since everyone’s mouths—if they weren’t already occupied with eating—were running a mile a minute. She couldn’t even begin to unravel the half-dozen conversations that seemed to be running concurrently.

“Neither were you,” he countered. A few lines radiated from the corners of the green eyes that he’d clearly inherited from his mother. “Or you wouldn’t have noticed what I was doing.”

The fact that he was right didn’t comfort her any. She managed not to snatch the pizza box he was holding aloft for her as she passed it smoothly to Maggie on her other side.

“Pizza too common-folk for you?” He jerked his chin at her empty plate.

“Not at all,” she returned truthfully. She loved the stuff. But the smell of the pepperoni was luring the threatening tide inside her as surely as the moon lured the ocean. Instead, she reached for the enormous salad bowl that was sitting almost directly in front of her, and put some on her plate.

Even that, though, wasn’t exactly nirvana for her senses, because there was a plentiful amount of chopped black olives among the lettuce and tomatoes.

She’d always liked black olives.

But right now, they looked as appetizing as an infestation of little black bugs.

Her fork dropped on the plate with a clatter as she hurriedly grabbed her filled water glass and, with an appalling lack of dignity, chugged half of its contents before she set it down.

Derek was watching her, the corners of his lips turned down. “What do you do? Maintain a rabbit’s diet just so you can fit into look-at-me dresses like that?” His gaze dropped from her face to the dress in question and she was certain it was only irritation that made her skin beneath the garment feel hot.

“Stop teasing,” Jaimie said from down the table. She was pinching off pieces of her pizza crust and setting them in front of the fat-cheeked baby occupying a high chair next to her. “As I was starting to say before, Sydney’s hardly seen a fraction of the Double-C. Derek, you ought to show her around after dinner.”

“Tramping through snow and cow piles with those boots of hers?” Derek shook his head as he reached out a long arm and grabbed a slice of plain cheese pizza from another box. “Probably not a good idea.” He plopped the slice on Sydney’s plate and pointedly moved the box as if he feared she’d be rude enough to put the slice back.

“Don’t be silly.” Jaimie’s face was wreathed in a smile. If she recognized her son’s obvious reluctance, she was ignoring it. “You can borrow something more suitable,” she told Sydney. “It’s worth the trouble,” she promised. “Even covered in snow, the Double-C is impressive.”

Sydney knew that Jake had been impressed, which was no mean feat. “I’m sure it is,” she said. “But I don’t want to put anyone out.”

“Face it, Mom,” Derek said with just enough dry humor not to sound as odious as Sydney knew he really was. “She was raised at Forrest’s Crossing. She might not be that interested in our little cow operation here considering she grew up around prize-winning Thoroughbreds.”

Her jaw was tightening again. She was well aware that there was nothing “little” about the Double-C. It was the largest cattle operation in the state. She also could feel the look that Matthew was sending their way and knew, without question, that he at least was picking up on something between them.

Jake would never forgive her if she managed to alienate a single one of his beloved J.D.’s family.

She forced a smile toward Derek. “But I am interested,” she assured him brightly. “I just don’t want to be an imposition.”

She hoped to heaven she was the only one who heard the faint snort he gave.

“Don’t be silly,” Jaimie said again. “You’re family now, darling. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Cousins, remember?” Derek was smiling, too, though it looked a little thin around the edges as far as Sydney could tell.

“Right.” She didn’t even realize she’d picked up the slice of pizza until it was in her fingers and the aroma—thankfully tantalizing this time—reached her. She bit off the narrow point of the slice and nearly closed her eyes with glee as the chewy, cheesy mess practically melted on her tongue.

She heard Derek make a strangled sound and looked his way. “Are you all right?”

“Peachy.” He dumped a load of salad on his own plate, jabbed his fork viciously into a tomato slice and shoved it into his mouth.

She glanced down the table toward Tabby. The girl was laughing and looking particularly animated as she talked with the good-looking young guy sitting next to her. “You have competition,” she murmured to Derek. “Is that what’s making you crankier than usual?”

He gave her a strange look. “What the hell are you going on about?”

She nodded toward Tabby. “Not that it’s any business of mine, but he seems more suited to her. Age-wise, that is.”

“You think Tabby and I are—”

“Aren’t you?”

The corner of his lips jerked a little, then settled into a curl. “I’ve known her since she was in diapers.”

Sydney gave him a derisive look. “Is that supposed to excuse robbing the cradle?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Tab is Evan’s little sister. Evan’s married to my cousin, Leandra. They’re not here today.” He jabbed his fork in the direction of his mother and the high chair–corralled baby beside her. “But that’s their youngest kid, Katie. And Justin—” his fork air-jabbed the young man next to Tabby “—and Tabby have been friends since their sandbox days.”

Then he lowered his fork and ran his gaze over her in a way that had her nerve endings heating up all over again. “Trust me, cupcake.” His voice dropped a notch. “I like my women all grown-up.”

The pizza she’d swallowed seemed suddenly stuck like a lump in her throat. It took every inch of effort she possessed to smile casually. “I guess I misunderstood.”

His eyebrow peaked, making him look devilish. “You think?”

She grabbed her water glass and downed the remainder of its contents. “I’m not going to apologize again,” she said under her breath. “You deliberately misled me yesterday. And you’ve been needling me since.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re carrying around a pincushion of needles of your own, though God knows where you have the room in that dress you’re wearing.” He looked over at his mother when she called his name and asked him to bring in the rest of the pizza.

Startled, Sydney looked over the long tabletop. “There’s more?”

Maggie laughed outright. “There’s always more, Sydney. One thing this family has learned how to do right together is eat.” Then she asked, “Tara, do you still need me to help out at the shop tomorrow?”

Sydney tried not to pay too much notice as Derek left the table, but it was hard considering his arm brushed against hers as he did so. She was positive he’d done it deliberately.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Tara was saying. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to hire more help whether I want to or not.”

“You have that much business?” The second the question left her lips, Sydney realized how it might sound.

But Tara was just smiling ruefully. “Surprising, I know. But Weaver draws more people than you would think just from driving down our little old Main Street. I’m open seven days a week now, and—”

“And it’s too damn many hours,” her husband, Axel, said flatly. He was holding a squirming little boy who was clearly anxious to get down from his daddy’s lap.

“So speaks the King.” Tara held out her hands. “Give me Aidan.” Her husband immediately handed over the tot.

“Well, darling,” Jaimie inserted, “you are pregnant again. And getting more so by the day.”

Derek had returned and dumped three more enormous pizza boxes on top of the empties. Sydney watched with some amazement as eager hands reached out and threw them open, passing the food all over again.

“Thought you already ran an advertisement for some help,” Jaimie said.

Tara shrugged. “I did a few months ago. No takers, though.”

“Hire Sydney,” Derek said, sitting down once more beside her. “She was just telling Mom she needed something to fill her time.”

Sydney’s jaw loosened a little.

He gave a little frown that she didn’t buy for a second. “But then working in a local shop might be too tame for you, with your love of racehorses and ahhht.”