“Ryder Doesn’t Know Who I Really Am,” Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication About the Author Letter to Reader Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Copyright

“Ryder Doesn’t Know Who I Really Am,”

Savannah said between sobs to Hannah, the Malone family housekeeper, as Ryder’s announcement rang in her ears. I’m proud to introduce my fiancée....

“I’ve loved Ryder since high school, but I looked different back then, and he doesn’t recognize me. And just two nights ago we’d...we’d—Oh, Hannah...I thought he cared about me—” Embarrassed, Savannah stopped and the sobs came faster.

The housekeeper had sucked in air with each new revelation, her eyes wide and her hand covering her mouth. “Savannah, you’ve got to tell the man the truth—everything. That...woman can’t make my Ryder happy. You mark my words—a mistake has been made. And a mistake can be fixed. You just hush those sobs, miss.”

Savannah forced a small smile, a tiny ray of hope in her heart.

Dear Reader,

A book from Joan Hohl is always a delight, so I’m thrilled that this month we have her latest MAN OF THE MONTH, A Memorable Man. Naturally, this story is chock-full of Joan’s trademark sensuality and it’s got some wonderful plot twists that are sure to please you!

Also this month, Cindy Gerard’s latest in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, A Bride for Crimson Falls, and Beverly Barton’s “Southern sizzle” is highlighted in A Child of Her Own. Anne Eames has the wonderful ability to combine sensuality and humor, and A Marriage Made in Joeville features this talent.

The Baby Blizzard by Caroline Cross is sure to melt your heart this month—it’s an extraordinary love story with a hero and heroine you’ll never forget! And the month is completed with a sexy romp by Diana Mars, Matchmaking Mona.

In months to come, look for spectacular Silhouette Desire books by Diana Palmer, Jennifer Greene, Lass Small and many other fantastic Desire stars! And I’m always here to listen to your thoughts and opinions about the books. You can write to me at the address below.

Enjoy! I wish you hours of happy reading!

Lucia Macro

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

A Marriage Made In Joeville

Anne Eames

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the most beautiful Savannah of all.

ANNE EAMES

joined Romance Writers of America in 1991 and set a five-year goal: to sell her first novel. A year ahead of schedule, Anne sold Two Weddings and a Bride, followed quickly by You’re What?! and Christmas Elopement. As a bonus, her debut novel landed on the USA Today bestseller list the same day that Silhouette bought her fourth novel, A Marriage Made in Joeville.

Anne and her engineer husband, Bill, live in southeastern Michigan, and share a blended family of five—two hers (Tim and Tom), two his (Erin and David) and one theirs (an adorable miniature dachshund, Punkin).

Dear Reader,

When I first embarked on this trilogy set in Montana, I nearly panicked. The closest I’d ever been to this state was watching Legends of the Fall (and even then I noticed more of Brad Pitt than the scenery)! So the research began, and soon I had videos and maps and beautiful photo books strewn all over my office. Before I realized what was happening, I’d fallen in love with an area I had barely thought about previously. And the next thing I knew, my husband, Bill, and I were on a plane headed for Bozeman, Montana, with a string of bed-and-breakfast reservations covering points east and south. I hope in reading my next three stories, you will experience some of the beauty and grandeur we enjoyed during our travels through this truly awesome state.

In book one of The Montana Malones, you will meet Ryder and Savannah, once high school best friends, reunited after twelve years of separation. (You might want a box of tissues handy for this one.) Also in this book, you’ll get to know the rest of the family: brothers Shane and Joshua, and their father, Maxwell Malone, a semiretired orthopedic surgeon with secrets of his own that are interwoven into all three books. And then there’s Hannah, the cantankerous housekeeper, plus Bucking Horse, a member of the Crow tribe who lives on the ranch and manages to wield his influence over more than the horses that he trains.

I hope you enjoy The Montana Malones and that these people become as real to you as they have become to me.

I love to hear from readers! So for those who write and enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope, I will send along a little surprise. In the meantime, a special “thank you” to each and every one of you for taking my books to the USA Today bestseller list. It’s loyal readers like yourself who have made another dream come true.

Warmest regards,

Anne Eames

Write c/o: 4217 Highland Road #252

Waterford, MI 48328

Prologue

“A lotta good it did to save myself, huh?” Savannah folded a pair of jeans and slapped them into her suitcase. “All these years of waiting for the right guy and another one bites the dust.” She flung a couple of sweatshirts in the general vicinity of the bed.

Jenny leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “At least the wedding invitations weren’t sent out yet.”

Savannah stopped packing and dropped cross-legged on the braided oval rug. “He could have told me a long time ago there was someone else.” She shook her head, feeling the familiar sting of betrayal.

“You told me you weren’t sure he was the one, anyway. So why the long face?”

Savannah bowed her head, the heat of a sudden blush traveling up her neck. She stole a peek at Jenny’s cocked eyebrow, then lowered her gaze again. “Because now I’m the dumpee, not the dumper.” And after a lifetime of self-doubts, she still felt like that frumpy little fat girl of her youth, regardless of her metamorphosis.

“I’d prefer to think you made the decision and he simply forced your hand.” Jenny’s tone softened as she pushed off the jamb and moved closer. “All things considered, isn’t it for the best?”

Savannah glanced up and caught Jenny’s tender look. “I guess so.” Then with more enthusiasm, she added, “You’re right, as usual.”

Jenny nodded her head and knelt down. “Smart girl.” After a brief reflection, she tugged at Savannah’s arm and pulled them both to their feet.

“Come on, kiddo. That was over a month ago. No point beating yourself up over it again.” She wrapped an arm around Savannah’s shoulder and ushered her to the white wicker love seat angled in the corner of the room. They sat sideways on overstuffed chintz cushions, tucked their legs beneath them and eyed each other.

“Tell me, Jen. Have you ever been passionately in love? You know, the kind of goose-bumpy feeling whenever he walks into a room, or brushes a part of you accidentally?”

Jen looked away with exaggerated wistfulness, then back in a flash. “No.”

“Never?”

“Passionately in lust? Oh, yeah. But not what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’m the incurable romantic for holding out so long, but geesh, Jen, somebody better come along pretty soon. I’m almost thirty, for Pete’s sake!” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I can almost hear my mother saying, ‘If you don’t use it, it’ll get rusty.’ ”

“Your mother.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Now there’s a woman to emulate. Where exactly in Europe is she this month?”

“This isn’t about my mother.” Savannah heard the defensiveness in her voice and was surprised it was there. Jenny had every reason to sound critical of a mother who’d abandoned a teenage daughter before the ink was dry on her father’s life insurance check.

Jenny poked Savannah’s knee with an index finger. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have dug up that old bone.” She squirmed in the corner of the sofa in a way that left no doubt they were changing the subject. In an airy, optimistic voice she said, “Look at it this way, something good came out of it. At long last you’re going to Montana to check out this passionate love I’ve been hearing about.”

Savannah looked across the clothes-strewn bed and wondered if her latest decision had been the right one...or just another impulsive folly.

“You don’t look too convinced, amigo,” Jenny said, looking askance. “Okay, let’s go through it one more time.” She turned and faced Savannah squarely. “In the seven years since I’ve known you, who do we end up talking about every time you break up with another guy?”

Savannah grabbed the pillow next to her and hugged it to her chest.

“Come on. Say it.”

“Ryder. Ryder Malone.” Savannah peeked out from under her lashes, her heart skipping faster at the mere mention of Ryder’s name. Amazing. Twelve years since he’d left Detroit, and he still had this powerful effect on her. “But you keep forgetting something, Jen. I was just his buddy, nothing more.” She expelled a weary sigh. “Time’s marched on. I’d be lucky if he even remembered me.”

“You know he’d remember you. That’s not why you’re worried.” She scooted closer and patted Savannah’s knee. “You’re afraid he won’t care.”

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“I’m your friend, remember?” She tilted her head lower and waited for eye contact.

Savannah rewarded her with a smile. “How could I forget?” She squeezed Jenny’s hand then pushed off the love seat. “I’ll never get my packing done at this rate. And we still have that haircut and dye job to do.” She reached back and pulled Jenny’s hand. “Come on, friend. Get your butt in gear. You talked me into this little charade. The least you can do is help.”

Now it was Jenny’s turn to look dejected. She stood motionless in front of a wicker armrest.

“What? What did I say?” Savannah stared at the moisture rimming above Jenny’s lower lashes.

“I know it’s the right thing...you going to Montana, taking that job, getting to know Ryder again...but, God, Savannah. This apartment is going to seem awfully empty without you.”

“It’s just for the summer, maybe less—”

“No,” Jenny interrupted. “You’re never coming back.” She swept at a lone tear with the back of her hand.

The simple statement sucked Savannah’s breath away. Not the words, but the certainty with which they’d been spoken. Jenny had a way of saying things as though they were fact. And with an eerie insight she never quite understood, Savannah knew Jenny was always right when she used that distant, unwavering tone. She’d joke it was the Crow thing—the one-half native American blood that channeled through her veins, sending prophetic messages to her brain. Whatever it was, it rocked Savannah to the core. She lowered herself onto the foot of the bed.

“You could always move to Joeville with me,” Savannah said, not thinking for a second it would happen, but not wanting the separation, either. Jenny had been more than a friend. She’d been the sister Savannah never had, her confidante, her own personal clairvoyant. Even if things went perfectly with Ryder, which she found hard to believe, she couldn’t imagine going months or years without seeing her best friend.

Jenny sniffed and walked toward the headboard. “Ha! Could you picture me in Joeville, Montana? With all those cowboys and Indians?”

Yes, she could, but more importantly she didn’t miss the use of the word Indians. Jenny’s political incorrectness was intentional. It always was whenever her ancestry entered the conversation. Her father’s abandonment and mother’s bitterness toward an entire race had hung over Jenny like a large gray cloud in the shape of giant question mark. No. That wasn’t true. Only Savannah saw the cloud as a question mark. Jenny wouldn’t allow herself to question. To question was to bleed some more.

Jenny lifted a maroon and gold volume from the nightstand, finding the diversion she sought, and turned back with a devilish smile. “Hmm. What have we here? Class of ’85—”

“Oh, please. Don’t.” Savannah winced and prepared for the inevitable.

Jenny thumbed to the index in the back. “Let’s see...senior photo, page twenty-seven.” She fanned the pages backward, then stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. “So this is why you never showed me!”

“I know, I know. What a sight, huh?” Savannah crossed to Jenny’s side and grimaced at the image of her former self: braces, shoulder-length mousy brown hair, and at least an extra fifty pounds.

Jenny looked from the photo to Savannah then back to the page. “Too bad you don’t wear contacts so we could change those baby blues to green.” Looking up again, she said, “Still, just a little more work and he’ll never know it’s you.” She put the book down and swept Savannah’s hair back from her face with both hands. “Yep. Shorter and darker ought to do the trick.”

“Let’s do it now...before I lose my nerve.” They looked into each other’s eyes a moment, then burst into nervous laughter as they scurried for the bathroom, pushing and poking each other as they went, pretending to forget goodbyes were less than twenty-four hours away.

Savannah shed her sweater, settled atop the toilet seat and made a pocket with the towel Jenny pinned around her neck to catch the clippings.

“Should we do medium length first or go for broke?”

She looked up at Jenny’s blue-black hair. It was cropped short with jagged ends trailing slightly down her neck. Equally jagged bangs and sides all pointed to large, doelike brown eyes. If she could look half as good as her friend with this same style, she’d be happy.

“Just like yours.”

“You’re sure about this?” Jenny tested the shears with a couple of quick snips in midair.

“Just hurry up. Do it.” Savannah closed her eyes and held the towel out around her.

A half hour later, her butt numb from the hard plastic lid, and her arms aching from catching all the hair, she blew air at a stray lock that itched her nose. “When can I see?”

Jenny unpinned the towel and carefully removed it. “Hold your horses. I’m a long way from finished.” She slipped on disposable plastic gloves and went to work with the pointy-nosed bottle of dye. “We can pack during the twenty-five minutes this goop is on your head.”

She finished in a flurry, then removed the gloves and fanned her face. “Gadzooks! You look worse than that stuff smells.” She chuckled and grabbed her friend’s hand, tugging her back toward the bedroom. “Okay, let’s pack...and no peeking.” Savannah started to turn toward the mirror, but Jenny nudged her forward and shut the bathroom door behind them. “Now, about these clothes you’re taking—”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They look like you.”

“I can’t afford a whole new wardrobe—”

“No, but you could take a few of my things.”

“They’re a size too small!”

“Exactly. What’s the last thing Ryder would expect the old Savannah to wear?”

She looked at her bulky sweaters and oversize flannel shirts flung on the bed. She liked clothes loose and comfortable. She never felt secure showing off her more-than-ample bust, which to her own eyes seemed disproportionate to the rest of her trimmer self. “You can’t possibly mean for me—”

“To wear tight tank tops or form-fitting blouses? Yep. Trust me. It’s just what you need.”

When Jenny left the room, no doubt to retrieve her sexier clothes, Savannah looked down at the open yearbook and turned to Ryder’s photo, her heart beating erratically once again.

Was disguising herself the right thing to do? True, she didn’t want him to know who she was till the time was right... if that day ever came. First, she wanted to study the man he’d become, to see if he was anything like the fantasy she’d lived with for so long. And she wanted him to get to know her again, too, without his feeling some sense of obligation to be kind to an old friend. Anything less than honest feelings would be a waste of time.

Honest. What a dichotomy. She hated being dishonest with Ryder, yet she saw no other way of learning the truth.

She focused on his photo again and remembered the other thing that worried her. National Locators had found where he lived and told her about the job opening at the ranch. They’d also said he wasn’t married. But what if he was involved with someone? After all of this, what would she do?

She closed the book with a resounding thud. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough on her mind, least of which was the ridiculous job she’d be applying for once she found the ranch.

Jenny rushed back into the room, a smile from ear to ear and clothes draped across both extended arms.

Savannah laughed and accepted the offering. “Okay, I’ll take a few of your things. Maybe I’ll even use them.”

They continued emptying drawers and the closet, filling another suitcase with underwear, nightshirts and shoes, while Savannah continued fretting about the week ahead. “Jenny, do you really think I can pull off this cook job? I’ve never been anything but a secretary at Detroit Tire.”

“The one and same warehouse that laid you off with a couple of hundred others. Don’t you think that was another sign this was meant to be?”

That had seemed rather fortuitous. She never liked that job, anyway, and had recently sent out résumés. “Still, you’re the one who cooks for a living. I’m the one who nukes and does carryout.”

“You got about a dozen basic meals down pat, and there’s lots more in that cookbook I gave you. If you get in a jam, I’m only a phone call away.” She looked at her watch. “Time to hit the shower. Close your eyes.”

Savannah stripped with her back to the mirror while the water warmed. When she stepped inside, she lowered her head under the spray and watched dark brown water swirl around the drain at her feet. Another ball of anxiety gripped her stomach. Of all the hare-brained ideas she’d had over the years, this one had to take the cake. She lathered quickly and rinsed. A new persona, a new part of the country she’d never seen, and a job she knew little about. With a groan, she shut off the water and stepped out.

Jenny stood waiting—blow dryer in one hand, brush in the other, and the ever-present look of caring in those big brown eyes. God, how she’d miss this woman. Tears blurred her vision, and she blotted them away as she dried herself and tied the bath sheet into a large knot at one side.

“All right,” she said on a sigh. She shot Jenny a dubious glance, then did her best to sound lighthearted. “I’m ready. Work your magic.”

With the heavy scent of coconut mousse filling the air and every available surface cluttered with makeup, Jenny ran to the next room and back, getting what she said was the perfect outfit to finish the picture. Playing along, Savannah shrugged into a too-small rust-colored tank top, tucked it into a tight fitting pair of cutoffs and spun toward the mirror for the long-awaited unveiling.

“Oh...my...God.” She fell back a step, not recognizing the image in front of her. “I look like a totally shameless slut!”

Jenny looked at their reflections and shook her head back and forth. “Uh-uh.” Finally, she turned her friend around, gripped her by the shoulders and spoke sternly. “Savannah Elizabeth Smith...you look drop-dead gorgeous.”

Savannah puffed out her cheeks, exhaled a loud breath and stole another peek over her shoulder. “Isn’t it a little on the trashy side?”

“Sure, but you’re going to Montana, remember?” Jenny laughed at her own joke, then stepped back and admired her work. “Cowboys like their women a little on the trashy side. Hell, there’s even a song that says so.”

Savannah rolled her eyes and chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I think I heard it a while back.”

“Then relax, girlfriend. Everything’s going to work out just the way you want it.” Jenny pulled her into a tight embrace and laughed over her shoulder. “Yep,” she said, thumping Savannah’s back and rocking her side to side. “Ryder Malone won’t know what hit him.”

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.

Two

Less than an hour after he’d arrived, Ryder drove away from the Purple Palace, eyeing it through a veil of dust in the rearview mirror, worrying again about Billy. The months ahead would be difficult, but somehow Ryder would find a way to ease the little guy’s fears. At last a plan had been put into motion that should help. At least he hoped it would—if mother nature and the attorneys didn’t ruin things before they started.

When he passed under the Malone arch, he put that problem aside and thought of another. In the month since his return home, he still hadn’t found his place in the scheme of things. He wanted to help Shane and Josh, but they’d each carved out their own niches, leaving him little but the scraps of daily errands. In part that came in handy, since Maddy and Billy needed him more than ever these days. Yet he missed the comfort of routine.

At the ranch in Helena, where he’d spent most of his adult years, he’d always known how he would spend his days. He had complete charge of the cattle and horses. It was a place where men looked up to him for direction, and women tried to compete with his dim memory of a young girl—a girl he’d thought was his only true friend. Oh, some of the women had succeeded in distracting him short-term. They’d strutted their stuff and he’d danced their dance. For a while. But something was always missing.

Ryder parked his pickup near the stables and headed directly for the corral beyond, the memory of this morning’s new cook niggling at a corner of his memory. There was a vague familiarity in the way she talked, or was it the sound of her voice? He couldn’t quite get a handle on it. Still...she didn’t look like anyone he’d ever met, either in Helena or Joeville.

Shane spotted him and waved his hat high above his head. Old Bucking Horse stood nearby, but he didn’t look up. Ryder sauntered toward them, knowing the old Crow heard him approaching. He heard everything, yet said little. Not exactly a fault in Ryder’s book, since he was a man of few words himself. He hitched his elbows up onto the fence and scraped the bottom of a boot on a lower rung.

Shane made his way over, running his fingers through his nearly black hair, then resettling his hat in place. “Looking for something to do?”

Yeah, something permanent that he could call his own, he thought, but he didn’t say it. He would wait. In time he would find his place. He pushed his hat back on his forehead. “Sure. What do you have?”

“We’ll be moving the cattle to summer pasture in a couple weeks. Could use some help on the fence out there. Got a few downed rails.” When Ryder didn’t jump on that one, Shane offered another. “Or you can help Josh with the Cat. He’s about ready to dig irrigation ditches for the hay, but the equipment’s been acting up.”

“I’ll give Josh a hand first, then see to the fence.” He scraped off his other boot and looked off at Buck working a horse around the ring. “There’s some new quarter horses up for bid in Billings. I was thinking of driving over tomorrow for a look...unless you want to handle it yourself.”

Shane regarded him for a moment, then turned his back to the rail and hooked his elbows over the side. “Nah. You go ahead. If you find anything, we could use about four.”

Ryder knew the significance of Shane’s trust. Horses were his first love—his and Buck’s. In the tradition of the Crow tribe, Buck knew his horses, and he’d always shared his vast knowledge with Shane. Their special bond had angered Ryder when he was a kid. Now he understood it was envy, not anger. Buck was the dad Shane had needed at the time. At least his brother had found someone.

Ryder studied Shane’s rugged profile, noticing the deep lines at the corner of his eye etched against wind-and sunbrowned skin. He closed his eyes and tilted his high cheekbones to the sun, looking as untroubled as ever. He was seven years Joshua’s senior and only three, Ryder’s. Ryder looked at his boots and turned over a few stones. Maybe if he’d been the mature son like Shane, instead of the rebellious teenager, he could have stayed at the ranch, too. Detroit may as well have been Siberia, except for that special friend of his....

“Well...” Shane pushed off the fence. “If we’re going to get anything done, we can’t stand around here working on our tan.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “By the way, what do you think of the new cook?”

Ryder flashed him his best bad-boy smile. “Many fine attributes...but I’m sure you noticed.”

“Yeah, I noticed. I also noticed she couldn’t keep her eyes off you.”

“Really?” This was news to him. If anything, he thought he sensed an air of hostility.

“Probably wouldn’t help any to encourage her, now would it?” Shane leveled a stern look on him that reminded him of their father, a look that set his teeth on edge.

“I think I’m old enough to handle my own affairs, bro.” He turned and walked toward the equipment bam, but he heard Shane’s muttered response behind him.

“Yeah, we’ve all heard about your affairs, little brother. Just don’t make this one another.”

The business of repacking her Pontiac at the motel took .no time at all. Except for the two suitcases she used last night, the rest of her belongings were still bunched snugly in the trunk of her car. She’d cut the tape on the boxes, looking for the ones that held her own clothes, but since she’d found none, she’d felt no need to drag them into Big Beak Motel. Fortunately she had a few of her things in her suitcases—nightshirts, underwear, shoes and her favorite Michigan sweatshirt.

Essie eyed the Michigan logo a moment before closing the lid. So far she’d avoided mention of her home state. If she wore the sweatshirt, the questions would surely come. She could always say it was a gift from her best friend, Jenny, who went to school there. After all, it was true. Yes. That’s exactly what she’d do if the need arose.

She took her time placing the bags in her car before ambling down to the office and paying her bill.

“Leavin’ already?” The clerk with the missing teeth showed no sign of vanity as he smiled broadly at her.

“I got a job in Joeville.” She looked around his tacky office. Dusty animal heads of every variety covered the dark paneled walls. The ranch was definitely a step up, way up, though she’d miss this old geezer. He’d made her feel right at home from the second she’d signed in.

“Joeville!” His tired eyes widened. He suddenly seemed concerned. “Hope ya mean at the Malone place.”

“Yep. That’s the place.” She pocketed her receipt and watched his worry lines relax. “Why? Is there another?”

“Well...uh, well, there’s the Purple Palace.” He gave her a dismissive wave. “I was sure ya didn’t mean there.” He kept his head down, busying himself with mail. “You’ll be real happy at the Malones’.” He looked up and flashed her another smile.

She thought about asking him about this Purple Palace, but she was eager to begin her journey. She walked to her car, feeling a little awkward for leaving, as if she were abandoning this lonely guy for greener pastures, which was exactly what she was doing.

He shouted after her. “Stop by and say howdy if ya ever nearby.”

She waved back at him and kept moving. “I will.” She got into her car and drove off, her mood an odd mix of sadness and excitement. She’d only spent two nights at Big Beak, but the old guy acted as though she were family, a trait she’d noticed often the farther west she’d traveled. Out here people looked her in the eye and seemed to care when they said hello. There was no rush, no harried business that couldn’t wait. So unlike Detroit. Not that she didn’t like Detroit, she admonished herself. Its pulse kept her moving, working, searching....

Another mile and Essie edged off the highway and killed the ignition, a little rattled by her last thought.

Searching? Now where did that come from? She let the word tumble and chum awhile, testing its validity. She stared through the gritty windshield, then finally expelled a long breath. Yes, it was true. All her life she’d been searching, not just for another Ryder Malone, as foolish as that seemed now, but for something far more important. And now here, in this ranging wilderness, she felt certain she knew what that something was.

Peace of mind.

As though emerging from a dream, she stepped from her car and took in the endless blue sky, an eerie awareness seeping into her.

Jenny had been right. She was never going back.

Even though the noonday sun shimmered heat waves off the asphalt, Essie hugged herself and shivered. The vastness of the sky and rolling planes gobbled her up, making her one with it. Through the bottoms of her thin-soled sandals, she felt the pebbled earth beneath her, its depth and firmness coalescing, already sprouting the roots she’d subconsciously sought.

She’d never felt so at peace.

Somehow she placed herself behind the wheel of her car and continued on. She’d driven this road only this morning, but then she’d been nervous, filled with apprehension and anxiety, afraid what might happen when she saw Ryder after all these years. She was still afraid, mostly that time would change nothing, that he would never be the man she’d dreamed of. Yet she knew it was too soon for such thoughts. If she’d lived through twelve years of fantasies, certainly he was worth twelve weeks of observation. After that, or before if need be, she would find a place of her own. But one thing was indisputable: Ryder or no Ryder, Montana would forever be her home. How she knew this with such certainty, or how Jenny had known it before, seemed insignificant.

It was true.

She backed off the accelerator and studied the vista, familiarizing herself with her new home, growing more comfortable with each passing mile of wildflowers. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she was aware of the deception that lay ahead—not just the times when she would actually have to prepare meals, but, worse, when she would have to face Ryder with her true identity. She tucked these worries away, determined to enjoy the moment. Carpe diem. When was the last time she’d seized the day? She couldn’t remember. Smiling, she drove on.

At long last she knew the source of Ryder’s wistful smile—the one she’d remembered so long ago whenever he spoke of home, and the generations of Malones who worked and loved this God-touched wilderness. The closer she got to the ranch, the more she felt the pieces of his heritage seep into her, and she knew her decision to stay had been the right one.

Just as she had planned, Hannah had things well in hand for supper by the time Essie had moved the last box from her car to her new digs upstairs and then strolled into the kitchen.

Hannah threw her a derisive glance, then went about her business. “Nice of ya ta stop by,” she said, whacking at a helpless onion, wiping her red eyes on her sweat-stained sleeve.

Essie smiled and ignored the sarcasm, still enjoying the glow of her drive in. “What would you like me to help with?”

“Help?” Hannah nearly shouted. “This here is yer job. I’m supposed ta be doin’ other things.”

Essie felt her heart sink to her growling stomach. As gruff as this old lady was, Essie much preferred the idea of being her helper than head chef.

“I—I’m sorry I’m so late. Maybe I can help you with your chores when we’re done here.” She cast a hopeful glance in the woman’s direction.

“Humph.” She continued taking out her vengeance on the poor onion.

It was then Essie noticed the large mixing bowl of ground beef. She had a sinking suspicion one of her few good meals was about to be scratched from this week’s list. “Meat loaf?” she asked, hoping against hope she was wrong.

“‘Less ya got somethin’ else in mind.”

“N-no. Meat loaf’s fine.”

“Good. Then ya kin work on the scalloped potatoes.”

Without a box? She looked around for a clue as to where to start.

“Taters are in the wood bin...end o’ counter.” Hannah nodded with her head while she used the side of her knife to scrape diced onions into the mixing bowl.

Essie found the bin and retrieved twelve large potatoes, taking them to the sink to peel.

“Which ones cain’t eat?” Hannah barked over her shoulder.

“Not enough?” Essie darted back to the bin, feeling about as out of place as Jenny would in front of a computer. Damn her ideas, anyway. How could a person pull out a cookbook with Hannah the Horrible breathing down her neck? The idea of making scalloped potatoes from scratch was as alien as butchering her own meat. Oh, God. Would she have to do that, too?

“Try doublin’ that and ya’ll be close.”

Essie toted another dozen to the sink, found the right utensil in a half-opened drawer, and went to work under a running faucet.

“Don’t know where ya from, but we all conserve water ’round here. Fill the sink, if ya have ta, but turn off that tap.”

Essie did as she was told, keeping her face forward to hide the anger and embarrassment that was coloring her cheeks. As much as she dreaded the thought of solo kitchen duty, the sooner this woman was in another part of the house, the better.

She could feel Hannah’s critical eyes boring into her back, and she double-timed the potato peeler, venting her frustrations while hoping to appear as if she knew what she was doing. At least Ryder was nowhere in sight to witness this impending disaster.

The screen door squeaked, then banged shut behind heavy boots thudding across the wooden plank floor. The boots stopped, and Essie kept peeling, head down, praying it was anyone other than Ryder.

“How’s it going, Hannah?”

Great. The familiar voice tightened the knot in Essie’s stomach.

“Ma bunions are killin’ me, but that ain’t nothin’ new,” Hannah said, with a half chuckle.

Essie peeled and prayed. Please make him go away. I’ve got enough on my hands.

“Whatcha been up ta all day, young Ryder?” Hannah practically purred, her voice taking on a dulcet tone.

“Oh, a little of this, less of that.”

“Shane tells me ya goin’ to Billings to look at some quarter horses t’morrow.”

“Yep. Need something?”

This brought Essie’s head around. She didn’t want Ryder to go grocery shopping. She had to do it. Alone.

Ryder looked her way, touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Evening, Essie.” He was looking at what she wore, his gaze never quite making it to her eyes.

“Hello,” she said tightly, then turned back to her chore, angry with him for his lecherous leering, more angry with herself for still caring.

“The pantry’s runnin’ low, but I’m sure ya’d rather not go a-shoppin’.” Hannah actually laughed. There was no sound of rebuke in her voice, but instead, a fond tolerance.

“You make a list and I’ll get whatever your big heart desires.”

Essie swallowed a chuckle, not believing the exchange behind her. Manure was in abundance in these parts, she reminded herself. Obviously it had found its way from the bottom of his boots to his tongue.

“Maybe Essie should go with ya...show’er where ta go and all.”

No! Bad idea. How could she buy boxed mixes and all the other shortcuts she’d decided on, and—

“Fine by me,” Ryder said. “What do you think, Essie? You’re pretty quiet back there.”

I think I’m out of my mind. She turned to meet his gaze, but his focus was somewhere in the vicinity of her backside. She pretended not to notice. “If you have other business, maybe I should go alone...then it won’t take all day.” His head came up and he finally met her glare.

Hannah’s fingers kneaded the ingredients in the bowl and missed the exchange. “Y’all go ahead. What’s one more day? Ya have ta learn yer way ’round sooner or later, girl. Might as well be sooner.”

Essie watched the woman’s sure hands grease a couple of long bread pans, then divide the meat in two, preferring this view to anything she might find on Ryder’s face.

Without breaking stride, and acting as though the previous discussion was settled, Hannah spoke to Ryder, her shoulders rolling with her work. “Have ya got a date yet?”

Date? Essie turned back to the sink, feeling a choke hold on her windpipe. Behind her, she heard Ryder sigh and plant his elbows on the counter near Hannah.

“Any chance you’ll let me off the hook on this one?” he asked, not sounding too put out.

“Now what would a birthday party be without a date?”

“Don’t you think I’m a little old for a birthday party?”

“Humph. When yer my age, talk ta me ’bout old.”

Ryder laughed easily. “Okay, okay. As long as you promise...no pointy hats or horns or the like.”

“Good. That’s settled. Now who ya gonna ask?”

“I was thinking about asking Maddy and her son, Billy.”

“Maddy...Maddy. Now where do I know that name from? Don’t spect ya met her at church.” Ryder laughed and she tried again. “She one of them divorcees, then?”

“More like widowed, I’d say.” Then quickly he changed the subject. “Billy’s young, but he won’t be any problem. Very well-behaved kid.”

“Humph.”

Essie quickened the stroke on her peeler. Why should she care? Ryder was not the man she’d hoped to find, and she was probably deluding herself to hope otherwise. Let Maddy, or the rest of Montana, have him. She dropped a skinned potato into the water and found another fresh one, the sudden tightness in her chest calling her a liar.

Damn it, anyway. Why couldn’t she forget that melancholy young man she had known so well in Detroit? Was he anywhere to be found under all those layers of dust and anger? Her hands stopped. Or was it a moot point? Maybe this Maddy was the reason for the rumpled clothes and the mid-breakfast arrival this morning. And what about Billy? Could he be Ryder’s? No. She was letting her imagination run away with her.

“Well,” Ryder began, then yawned loudly, as if she needed to be reminded he probably hadn’t slept all night, “I got work to do. Better get a move on.”

Essie heard his boots inching closer and she stiffened. Then she heard him plant a noisy kiss on Hannah’s cheek, which elicited a girlish giggle from the woman.

“Get outta here,” she said, lightheartedly.

“See you two ladies at supper.” The boots clomped to the back door, and the screen slammed shut behind him.

Essie breathed a sigh of relief. Supper was enough to manage without the likes of Ryder Malone lurking around. She eyed the last potato in her hands and forced herself to forget him, at least for now. Later she’d analyze the thudding in her ears and the irregular beat of her heart. Right now she had a job to do.

The next step was slicing, but beyond that she hadn’t a clue. She needed to run upstairs and look at her cookbook. If she didn’t get Hannah out of here soon, she’d be in a world of trouble.

“Hannah,” she started tentatively, then rushed on before the woman could stop her. “Why don’t you let me finish up here. I know you have other work.” Behind her she heard balls of meat being pounded into submission inside baking pans.

“There. Them are ready.”

Essie braved a backward glance. Hannah was untying her apron. A good sign.

“Okay, girl. It’s all yers.” She stopped and looked at her squarely, as if estimating the risk she was taking if she left the task in the rookie’s hands. Then she turned and waddled toward the hallway. “The men like ta eat at six sharp.”

The second she was out of sight, Essie dried her hands and ran up the back stairs to her room. A few minutes later, with instructions scribbled on a scrap of paper, she tucked it in the pocket of her jeans and darted back to the kitchen, grateful it was still empty. Breathing heavily, she reread the directions, cursed Jenny under her breath and went to work.

At suppertime the four men sat around the table in stony silence, their forks moving from their plates to their mouths slowly, heads bent. Essie moved around the table refilling iced tea glasses, wishing someone would say something. Everything looked pretty good, if she did say so herself. She’d found enough leftover rolls to warm in the microwave. The peas had been easy enough. There were a few lumps of flour in the scalloped potatoes, but beyond that, she thought she’d fared well for her first performance. Max glanced at her over his tea, and she smiled at him, feeling proud. He set his glass down and smiled back, but didn’t speak.

She returned to the kitchen and dropped onto one of the chairs at the square little table in the corner facing a cozy bay window and a perfect view of the MoJoes. She stared at the mountains a moment, then down at the two plates she’d set out for Hannah and herself, debating whether she should wait for her companion. Before she had time to decide, Hannah ambled in, looking older and more stooped than before. For a moment Essie forgot the woman’s gruffness and felt a pang of empathy. She was too old for all this work. Her eyelids drooped as heavily as her shoulders.

Without benefit of a single word, Hannah scooped potatoes and peas onto her plate, sliced off some meat loaf and dropped a roll in the only clean spot left. Silently she bowed her head a moment, then began to shovel it in like there was no tomorrow.

Essie watched and waited from the opposite side of the table, but Hannah never slowed her pace or lifted her eyes. Maybe this was how they ate out here, Essie thought. All the fresh air and hard work made for a healthy appetite. Words could wait. She went about filling her own plate, eager to taste the fruits of her labor. She blew on a forkful of potatoes and then slid it into her mouth, closing her eyes, ready to savor her masterpiece.

Her teeth, which refused to meet in the middle, discovered the first problem. The potatoes were as hard as granite, almost raw. She persevered, chewed hard and swallowed.

Next was the meat loaf. Hannah had made it; at least it had to be good. Except when she cut into the center it almost mooed at her. She ate around the edges and reached for a roll and a dab of butter. The knife sawed back and forth but wouldn’t penetrate the crust. The blade must be dull, she concluded. She bit into it, instead. With her lips attached to one side of it, she eyed Hannah’s abandoned roll at the edge of her plate and saw teeth marks. Now how could this be? She’d tasted a cold one before warming them. They seemed fine. She’d even left them in the microwave a couple of extra minutes to be sure they were heated through.

Essie ate some peas, not sure if they’d passed the test, either. Canned tasted so much different, she wasn’t sure. They were hot and not too hard and Hannah had finished all of hers and was reaching for a second helping.

“Them peas are just right,” she said, making fleeting eye contact. “Taters are tasty. Jes need another half hour or so in the oven. Spect there’ll be plenty a’ leftovers. Be jes right next time.”

Essie could feel the moisture on her bottom lashes. She blinked furiously, feeling an enormous gratitude. She’d blown it. Hannah knew it, but didn’t issue the tonguelashing she deserved. Essie’s appraisal of this woman this morning had already proven true. There was a marshmallow under all those dimples and rolls...and a degree of sensitivity that surprised and touched her.

“Did ya make dessert?” Hannah ate the edges around another slice of meat loaf and Essie dropped her fork on her plate.

She sighed in defeat. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Hannah’s hand stop midair and felt the woman’s weary stare.

“Ice cream’s in the freezer on the porch. Got some berries in the fridge...if ya wanna pour some over.”

Essie looked up, hoping the tears wouldn’t spill and she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. But Hannah was tackling another mouthful of potatoes, head down.

“Thank you,” Essie said, and went to the freezer.

When she entered the dining room with her tray of four bowls, the men were busily engaged in a discussion about quarter horses and didn’t stop when she took their unfinished plates and replaced them with the ice cream.

As she pushed her back against the door to the kitchen, Ryder’s gaze locked on her face and she felt the color drain from it.

“Pick you up at the kitchen door in the morning. How’s eight o’clock?”

“F-fine.” She averted her eyes and carried her load to the kitchen. Behind her she heard a burst of laughter and could only imagine what was being said about supper and the new cook. She started rinsing and stacking dirty dishes, glad her back was to Hannah and whomever else might walk through.

Oh, Jenny. How I wish you were here.

She paused and looked out the window. The sun was low in the sky, casting a reddish glow over the mountains. Even though it was early June, snow still blanketed the upper ridges, while fields of wildflowers stretched the distance between here and there, a cool evening breeze tilting their colorful heads eastward. A modicum of the peace she felt earlier returned. Montana was a sight to behold. There was no doubt she’d remain in this paradise, but how long would she survive under this roof? Already they knew her credentials were shaky. When would they ask her to leave?

But of more immediate concern was how she would handle tomorrow with Ryder...alone in the close confines of his truck.

Three

“Jes as I spected! She don’t know squat ‘bout cookin’.”

Max crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “Last night was her first night. Maybe she was just nervous. It’s not like we have dozens of applicants to choose from, Hannah. You can’t continue doing it all yourself—”

“So that’s why I decided I’d have ta teach her,” she said, interrupting him.

Max’s chin dropped. Before he could recover, Essie walked down the back stairs, her eyes bloodshot and red rimmed.

When she spotted the pair, she stopped on the last step and took in their smiling faces. Smiles? They were the last things she expected to find this morning. And why was Hannah in the kitchen instead of doing her housework?

“Good morning, Essie,” Max said, his smile still fixed in place.

“Good morning, Mr. Malone.”

“Max. Please.”

She stepped into the kitchen, not sure what to expect next. “Max,” she repeated, and braved a look at Hannah. “Morning, Hannah.”

“Mornin’.” She rubbed her hands together, then said, “Maxwell? If y’all will scuse us, we got breakfast ta get on the table.”

Max did a mock salute and left the room. Hannah banged a couple of skillets on top of burners, turned up the heat, then began unloading food from the refrigerator to the center counter chopping block.

“Well, don’t jes stand there with yer mouth hangin’ open. Put on yer apron and let’s get ta work.”

Breakfast was a huge success, thanks to Hannah’s tutelage. Essie only wished the conversation could have gone as smoothly. Unfortunately Hannah had one thing on her mind this morning: Ryder’s birthday party on Saturday. If the remarks had been limited to the menu, Essie would have begun to relax. It was the rest of it that had her stomach in knots again: “It’s ’bout time he settled down...maybe this Maddy is jes the right woman for Ryder...he seems ta like the li’l boy...if he’s the one I seen ’im with a couple times out back.”

By the time Essie finally climbed into the passenger’s seat of Ryder’s pickup, she’d decided on a little harmless probing. The drive to Billings would take over an hour. Plenty of time to find out how important this Maddy was to him. She’d bide her time, though, and let the conversation take its natural course.

The farther northeast they traveled, the darker the clouds that hung heavy in the sky, looking as though their loads were about to burst. Country music blasted from the dashboard making conversation difficult—which was exactly the way Ryder liked it. When thunder began rumbling, and lightning sliced through the darkness, he saw Essie reach for the knob and turn the volume down.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.