Читать книгу A Marriage Made In Joeville - Anne Eames, Anne Eames - Страница 10

One

Dawn broke over the familiar pair of snow-crested mountains to the east, bringing Ryder Malone to a rolling stop on his favorite promontory. He cut the ignition to his pickup, opened the door and stepped outside, the pungent, clean scent of sage filling his nostrils.

Spring in Montana. A time for hope, new beginnings. The cynic in him said he was crazy to think anything different would happen this year, that something or someone would fill the hole in his soul he’d almost learned to live with. He’d survived another winter. It was as simple as that.

Still, coming home to live under the same roof with the man he blamed for his dour disposition, had to make some kind of difference. Good or bad, it remained to be seen.

He walked to the edge of the rough sandstone bluff and looked out over the rolling plains of the ranch below. Home. Too infrequently, he felt the meaning of the word. Until last month there had been only brief visits during college and after that, eight years of working at a ranch hundreds of miles to the north. Not since before high school days in Detroit had he actually lived here. Yet something still drew him back, some part of him felt this was home.

He arched his back, the stiffness lingering from another sleepless night on Maddy’s lumpy sofa bed. He stretched and yawned loudly, knowing the velvet-antlered deer a few yards away couldn’t care less. They watched him cautiously, but didn’t skitter off as he stared back, his thoughts drifting to Maddy and little Billy. He couldn’t think of one without the other. He pictured the freckle-faced towhead with a missing front tooth and the area around his heart constricted. There was so much pain ahead for that little guy. How would he ever...

Ryder blinked and looked at the front gate, letting it pull his focus outward, away from a problem that couldn’t be fixed today. A large arch spelled out the words: The Montana Malones. Beyond the scattered livestock, he viewed the main house—a sprawling log building, an addition at the back rising a story above the original structure, virtually tripling the living space. There were private quarters for the housekeeper, Hannah, plus his younger brother, Joshua, and himself. There was space for Shane, too, but he preferred living with Bucking Horse in the small cabin behind the stables, where the old Crow had taught the firstborn everything he knew about horses. Their father had his own wing in the main house, separate from his three sons. As usual. Shane had probably made the right decision, Ryder thought, an old anger welling up inside him. If there had been room in the little cabin, he would have stayed there, too. But there wasn’t.

Smoke puffed from the chimney in the kitchen, and his stomach growled. The others would be at the table by now, Hannah hovering over them in her typical mother hen fashion. If he hurried, breakfast would be hot and plentiful. But hurrying held no appeal this morning. The warm spring sun, rising in the sky, casting shadows on his favorite twin mountains, did. He walked ahead, his gaze fixed.

He’d always thought the rugged cliffs looked like two giant molars, a pair of large Ms mirrored cleanly in the still waters that lay peacefully in front of them—two Ms that signaled the settling place for the Montana Malones. At least that’s what his great-granddaddy had written in his journal all those years ago. In spite of all else, it was a sight he never grew weary of watching. It was an ever-changing view, yet a constant in times of turmoil. On days like today, there seemed little point in dredging up the past. His father had hurt them all as boys—not so much with his words, but with his absence.

And other things.

But he was no longer a boy, Ryder reminded himself, resuming his stroll, and the old man was nearing retirement. Maybe it was time to let it go. Besides, his father had nothing to do with his reasons for moving back to the ranch. Shane’s letter had provided the last nudge he needed to move closer to little Billy. He’d written that Joshua planned to start a farm soon, leaving too much for Shane to manage. So big brother had reminded him in not-too-subtle terms that, since each stood to inherit a third of the ranch someday, it seemed only fitting he begin pulling his own weight. And Shane was right. Besides, he had no beef with his brothers, and the years and distance had made them practically strangers. The time was right on all fronts for things to change.

Ryder stopped and sat gingerly on the precipice, dangled his feet over the edge and spotted a small cloud of dust miles down the road. He watched the car move closer, idly wondering who it might be so early on a Monday morning. But then his thoughts returned to his brothers...and finally to young Billy. Never far from his thoughts was poor Billy.

“This is the last batch,” Hannah groused, dropping another platter of pancakes in the center of the table. “It’s not like cookin’ is the only thing I gotta do ’round here, ya know.” She grabbed a coffee urn off a side table and made the rounds refilling cups. “And another thing, if I don’t get help pretty soon, yer gonna trip over me lyin’ on the floor one day.”

“Now, Hannah.” Max wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and tried to look stern at his housekeeper of nearly forty years. “I told you last night, we have another young woman coming out this morning.” He looked at his watch: 5:45 a.m. “In fact, she should be here any time.”

“Young woman?” Joshua arched a brow.

Max smiled at his youngest son, who eyed him with a hopeful grin over the rim of his coffee. “Well, she sounded young.”

“Everyone sounds young to you.” Shane snapped, sharing a knowing look with his brother, before stabbing a couple of pancakes off the platter.

“I don’t see where it matters one way or t’other,” Hannah said. “She’d just be another hired hand, not some plaything for you boys.”

Max watched the exchange between his sons. At thirty-two and twenty-five, they were hardly what he’d call boys. But to Hannah, he knew, they always would be. He glanced over at the empty seat and frowned. They may be men now, but his middle son still acted like a middle child. Where was he this time? Or with whom, was more the point?

“Maybe that’s her now.” Hannah stood at the window with a stack of empty bowls in both hands. “I’ll go see.”

Max stood abruptly. “No. I’ll take care of it this time.”

Hannah didn’t budge. “You? Whadaya know about cookin’, anyhoo?”

“Not a damn thing...except how to hire someone who can.” He softened his tone, not having meant to sound so brusque. Still, Hannah had scared away at least six women so far. He wasn’t about to make this one number seven. He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Let me handle it, okay?”

“Humph.” She spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen, not looking too convinced she shouldn’t be involved.

Shane and Joshua craned their necks for a better view of the path to the door, but Max waved them back to their food, not wanting their interference, either. He ignored their complaints as he closed the double doors to the dining room and headed for the front of the house.

A once white Grand Am made its way up the dusty road and finally came to a stop at the end of the bark-strewn walk to the porch. Max sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward when the latest candidate stepped from the car. She was young, all right, and too damn good-looking. Not for himself, but for the three men he’d never been able to keep in tow. He watched her smooth her short, tight denim skirt down another inch, which still left it high above her knees. Her peach knit top fit snugly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hannah would have his hide if he hired this one. Yet how much longer could Hannah handle everything on her own?

Max walked down the path to greet the young woman, seeing a warm and genuine smile lighting her face as he grew near. A good omen, he decided. Friendly counted for a lot in these parts. If she could string two words together in a halfway acceptable fashion, he’d offer her the job.

Savannah gave one last tug at Jenny’s embarrassing skirt, then pasted on her best smile and walked toward the man she assumed was Max Malone—the one and same person she’d spoken to on the phone last night; the one and same person she’d heard so much about in high school. Two more steps and she thought she saw Ryder’s dark eyes in his father’s, an observation that made her stomach do another cartwheel. How was she ever going to pull this off? The man stopped a yard in front of her and extended a hand.

“Max Malone. You must be Essie.”

She grasped his large, but smooth, hand and pumped it enthusiastically, grateful his gaze stayed at eye level. She’d kill Jenny for her silly stunt—substituting all of her smaller clothes for Savannah’s more modest wardrobe. What must this man be thinking?

“Well, you passed the first two tests.” His laugh was warm and easy. “You found the place and made it here by six a.m.”

She wouldn’t tell him she’d left the motel at four-thirty, or how many wrong turns she’d made before she got it right. She was here and that’s what counted. “Yes, and I brought the reference letter I mentioned on the phone. I hope one is enough.” He looked over his shoulder at the house, then back.

“Do you mind if we talk outside for a while? I’m afraid I don’t get out of my office as often as I’d like...and it’s such a beautiful day.”

“Your office?”

“I’m a doctor. I see a few patients in my office at the back of the house. The paperwork is what keeps me inside, not the number of patients.” She nodded her understanding as he took her letter and gestured to the bench behind him. The wide seat was thick, weathered wood, held up on either side by large wagon wheels. She preceded him and sat carefully, keeping her knees locked together and pointed in the opposite direction from Ryder’s father, who sat sideways beside her, crossing an ankle over a knee. He read the letter slowly, his gaze traveling back to the top of the page.

“S. E. Smith. Is that how you came to be called Essie?”

He was rereading Jenny’s souped-up letter, which gave her a moment to regroup. She’d never told him her name was Essie. He must have heard it that way when she said S. E. on the phone. Essie. Essie Smith. Not her favorite, but it would work.

“Yes, that’s right. Odd little name, but it’s mine.” She widened her smile.

“I bet the S stands for something you’re not too crazy about.” He looked up at last, his face tanned and handsome. And very much like Ryder’s.

She pulled herself back to the conversation. “Y-yes.” She waved her hand in a dismissive way. “You know, sometimes old family names are...well, out of step with the present.” This was never going to work.

“Where do you live, Essie?”

“Uh...well, I’m new to the area.” She’d practiced this one earlier, deciding to avoid any mention of Michigan on the off chance he’d play the old do-you-happen-to-know game. “Been staying at the Big Beak Motel till I find a job, then I’ll get a place close by.”

“Big Beak? That’s quite a hike from here. Have you considered working as live-in help? I mean...if you find something you like.”

She laughed before she answered. “Haven’t seen too many apartment buildings around.” She hadn’t seen much of anything around. “Yes. If someone has room and makes an offer, I probably would.”

Max slapped his knees and stood abruptly. “Well, Essie, your letter says you can cook, and we’re in dire need of help. But in all fairness to you, maybe you should come in and meet the brood, look around before you decide. How would you like to join us for breakfast? There’s bound to be something left.”

Just like that. She had the job. It’s what she wanted, but now that it was time to go inside and meet the “brood” as he’d put it, she found it difficult to swallow, let alone move. Would Ryder recognize her? Would the jig be up before it was started? She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Thank you. I’d love to. Just let me get my purse.” She turned and walked back to her car. Through the rear window she saw a pickup truck barreling down on her and she jumped clear of the vehicle. There was no sign of the driver slowing. He was going to hit her car.

She stumbled backward onto the bark walkway, waving dust from her face and holding her breath. Brakes squealed and the back end of the pickup swerved. But it stopped inches from her bumper. Out jumped a rumpled-looking cowboy, his Stetson low over mirrored sunglasses. He strode toward her with a long, deliberate gait, a cocky swagger that reeked of arrogance.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

“I hope we have a new cook...if you don’t scare her off before she steps foot in the place.” Max scowled at the cowboy.

Essie crossed her arms across her chest—first, because she didn’t like his attitude, and second, because the glasses were aimed at her cleavage. The cowboy removed his hat and beat it against his faded jeans, sending more dust in her direction. With one hand he raked his fingers through his tangled brown hair, and with the other, removed his shades.

She gaped at the familiar face, her heart sinking to her shaking knees.

“Sorry all to hell, ma’am,” he said, his scowl now fixed on his father. “Any grub left?”

“Last time I looked there was plenty.” Max looked around his son. “Essie, this is my son, Ryder. You’ll have to excuse his manners.” He looked back to Ryder. “Or lack of them.”

Savannah watched the pair glowering at each other as though she didn’t exist, their anger so transparent she felt embarrassed witnessing it. More than that, she felt sad. After all these years, she’d hoped this part of Ryder’s life had changed.

Finally, Ryder glanced over his shoulder at her, his jaw muscles knotting. Then without a word, he looked away and started for the front door. Savannah stared after him, swallowing the lump at the back of her throat. This wasn’t what she’d hoped to find. Not even close.

“Coming, Essie?” Max held out his arm and waited for her to pass.

As far as she was concerned, she should crawl into her car and head back to Michigan. She’d seen enough to know Ryder wasn’t a man ready for any relationship. The chip she’d remembered in high school had only grown larger with time. But Max was standing there, smiling and waiting patiently for her to join them. She hadn’t eaten much last night and hadn’t had time this morning. Okay, she decided. One good breakfast and she was out of here.

Then she could forget about cooking.

Forget about Montana.

And once and for all forget about Ryder Malone.

She smiled at Max and preceded him into the house, with each heavy step trying to muster up some anger to replace the pain of her bitter disappointment.

Max seated Essie at the side of the long table, before taking his place next to her at the head, looking every inch the patriarch of the family. More uncomfortable than ever, her gaze flitted from the gaping men to the mounds of food on the table. Her chin dropped as she took in the spread—eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, pancakes, some mush that looked like oatmeal, muffins and fresh-squeezed orange juice. If she had any doubts before, looking at the amount of food on the table confirmed her decision to get out of Dodge while she could. This was a disaster waiting to happen. She’d never cooked this much food in a month, let alone at one time. She tugged at the back of her tank top, which hiked the front a little higher, fully aware that while she was staring at the food, the men were looking elsewhere.

“Essie, I’d like you to meet my other two sons.” Max gestured to the far end of the table. “There on the end is Shane. He’s the oldest. And next to him is Joshua, the youngest.”

Joshua was first to perk up. “It’s nice meeting you, Essie.” He rose from his chair and moved to the side table. Holding up the urn, he asked, “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.” Well, at least one of them had manners.

Joshua poured while Shane studied her silently. She took a sip of coffee and looked at the oldest brother again. He was still blatantly staring at her and didn’t blink an eye when she caught him. It was as though he had thirty seconds to size her up and he wasn’t going to miss his deadline.

Ryder had gone to wash up and change clothes, he’d said, which added to her suspicion that he had probably just arrived home from the night before. It could have been with the guys, she told herself when he returned, his dark brown hair even darker around the wet edges, the ends skimming the collar of his fresh, blue chambray shirt. She eyed the empty chair across from her, hoping he’d sit there instead of in the one next to her.

No such luck.

When he sat next to her, she decided it was easier to avoid him this way, which she did. With words, anyway. Unfortunately, her pulse had a mind of its own. He had grown taller since school and seemed more solid, less lanky. She didn’t have to look at him to feel his nearness. She was certain the slightest movement of her leg would make contact with his. Max passed her a platter of sausage, and she forked a couple of links, forcing her attention back to food.

“If that’s not hot enough, I’ll have Hannah warm it for you.”

Hannah? There was already a cook in the kitchen? Working as a kitchen helper didn’t sound nearly as intimidating. But what did it matter? She wasn’t staying, anyway. She tested the sausage. “This is fine. Thanks.”

Without invitation, Ryder tossed a piece of toast on her plate. She eyed his long fingers as they busied themselves at his own plate. Slow, sure movements. She managed to empty her mouth without choking and drank more coffee.

“Whatsa matter? Ya don’t like my toast?” Essie jumped, not having noticed the older, portly woman who had entered the room behind her.

“N-no. I mean...I was just waiting for someone to pass me the jelly,” she lied.

“Jelly!” Hannah shouted. “That’s not jelly! It took me hours to put up strawberries. Them’s preserves, young lady. Not jelly.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Hannah. You sound like that silly commercial.” Max glowered at her, sending her a clear message to behave herself. “Hannah, this is Essie Smith.” Hannah walked closer and scowled at the applicant, her formidable frame sending off waves of instant disapproval.

Essie pushed out her chair and stood, tugging at her skirt before extending her hand. “Nice to meet you, Hannah.” Her hand hung out there, untouched, as Hannah’s fists stayed put on her barrel hips. Essie just smiled and waited. Things hadn’t gone exactly as she’d planned so far, but she would win this one if it took all day. Finally she saw Hannah’s squinted eyelids flicker. Then, grudgingly, a chafed, stubby hand grasped hers and gave it one hearty shake. Essie exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“Can I help you clear the table?”

Hannah shrugged. “If ya want.” The woman waddled back through the kitchen door, muttering under her breath.

“Don’t mind Hannah,” Max said. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

Hope to God I never find out, Essie thought, shaking off the mental image of a set of dentures embedded in her backside. She started stacking empty plates one atop another.

“Don’t you want to eat more? The dishes can wait.”

She looked back at Max’s warm smile. He seemed like such a kind man. Still, where had be been when Ryder needed him in high school?

“That’s okay. I guess I’m not very hungry this morning.” The truth was Jenny’s clothes left little room to breathe, let alone eat. Now she knew why her friend had insisted on separate boxes for her loaners. Jenny knew Essie would never wear them unless she had no choice. As she piled on another dirty plate, she wondered when the little vixen had made the box switch.

Remembering where she was, she glanced around the table and caught Shane’s steady gaze. Was he trying to read her mind, or what?

This one would be hard to fool.

Her breath hitched at the back of her throat as she realized what this last thought meant. She wasn’t leaving after all. She piled on more dishes and exhaled. She’d come this far, why not give it a whirl? If for no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity. Who were these men she’d heard so much about? And Ryder! To think she’d held up this man as the standard for all others! How could she have been so wrong about him?

She made her way around the table and avoided Ryder’s face...as if he remembered she was even there. Except for the casual toast toss, he’d all but ignored her. She looked at Joshua, instead, who was spreading jelly...uh, preserves... and giving her a sympathetic smile. She gave him a small smile back, till suddenly she felt the muscles in her arms quiver from her load. Before she could make a fool of herself and drop the whole pile, she pushed open the kitchen door with her back and deposited the dishes next to the sink. Hannah went about her business, not looking up. Essie watched her a moment, then left for another load, mentally sizing up her situation.

Two friendly faces, one questionable, one crude, and one crusty old lady who she’d bet her bottom dollar had a soft side.

Essie filled her arms again and returned to the kitchen, deciding once and for all that she would stay and make the best of things. She’d come to Montana for another look at Ryder Malone. One bad first impression didn’t come close to answering all the questions she had about this man. Why, after all these years, was that large chip still on his broad shoulders? She stopped and stared out the back window at a pair of mountains aglow with the morning sun. And how could anyone be unhappy in a paradise such as this?

Before she could change her mind, she marched back into the dining room and stood next to Max. “If the offer’s still open, I’ll take it,” she said, watching the surprise register on his face.

With a wide smile, he pushed out his chair and grasped her hand in both of his. “We’re happy to have you, Essie. Would you like to see your room? You will stay here, won’t you?”

She looked around the table one last time. Shane’s face told her nothing, Joshua looked like someone just bought him a puppy, and Ryder was still shoveling it in, acting as though he hadn’t heard the question, or if he had, didn’t care. All the way out here, she’d prayed he wouldn’t recognize her. Now that he didn’t and the initial disappointment at his behavior had subsided, she wanted to whop him upside the head with a two-by-four.

She squared her shoulders and faced Max. “Yes, sir. I would. I’d love to stay here.”

Max patted her shoulder and heaved a sigh. “Great, Essie. Let me show you around.”

That was a first, Essie thought, leaving Max at the front door and heading for her car. In Detroit, she’d haggled over every merit raise, as if each nickel would make a difference. Here, she’d accepted a job without knowing how much it would pay, exactly what her duties or hours would be or even what her accommodation would look like.

She started down the bark walkway thinking her instincts had been right. The room had turned out to be a cozy little suite—a bedroom, a sitting room with a fireplace and her own bathroom. It meant the wages were lower than what she was used to, but what would she need money for out here in the wilderness? She paused and turned back to the log house that would soon be her home. Over the roof line she could see the matching pair of mountains she’d spotted earlier. She wondered how far away they were. They seemed close, yet...

“We call ’em the MoJoes.”

Startled, she swung around and saw Ryder, squatted behind the hand-carved sign she’d noticed earlier at the end of the walkway. He was toweling it off, of all things, fingering all the grooves. She took her time closing the distance between them, afraid what she might encounter this time.

“Mo, because we think they look like giant molars.” He continued cleaning the grooves, not looking at her. “And Joe, since they overlook the fair city of Joeville.”

Essie stopped alongside Ryder and read the oval crest. Arched across the top were the words “The Montana Malones.” In the center was carved a beautiful replica of the snow-crested MoJoes, their reflections mirrored in the painted blue waters below. At the bottom of the sign were the words “Joeville, Montana, founded 1876.” She wasn’t sure she was ready to engage this man in conversation, but since he had started, she trod softly.

“How did this area ever come to be named Joeville?”

Ryder eyed her before answering, then returned to his task. “My great-granddaddy’s name was Joe. He was the first to settle here and start the ranch.” He chuckled. “In school I got the idea to change it to Joe, Montana.” A small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Never made it official, but that’s what we call it now.”

Essie watched the sun play on his handsome face and remembered all those Friday-night football games. Without thinking, she asked, “Do you still throw a ball around...or go to any games?” She saw his face go rigid and, instantly, she realized her mistake. He looked at her sideways, the question taking shape behind his dark eyes before his lips ever moved.

“How did you know I played ball?”

She picked up a stone and skipped it across the small pond in the front yard, giving her heart a chance to beat again. “The trophy case in your dad’s study. I just got the tour, remember?”

Ryder pushed off his knees and beat more dust from his jeans. Out of the corner of her eye she could see he was no longer studying her. Now he seemed lost in another time and place.

“Yeah, trophies. He likes to collect ’em. Since he was never there, guess that’s all he has.” He ran his fingers through his hair, repositioned his hat low on his forehead, turned and walked to his pickup.

Damn. She hadn’t meant to awaken that demon. But why, if they lived under the same roof for all these years, hadn’t he and his father come to terms? With one hand on the door handle and the other holding his sunglasses, Ryder looked back at her and her chest constricted again.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you around, then...uh, what did you say your name was?”

She met his even stare, wondering if he truly didn’t remember her name or if this was another of his games. She imagined he played many. “Essie. Essie Smith.” She leaned a little heavy on her last name, watching to see if it triggered anything.

If it did, he masked it well. With his gaze still on hers, he slid his glasses in place and lowered the brim of his hat another notch. “See ya around, Essie Smith.”

His tone and grin were suggestive, leaving her breathless and angry, all at the same time. After the slightest pause, he hopped into his pickup, backed it into a stone-throwing arc, and tore down the road the way he’d come.