A Marriage Made In Joeville. Anne Eames

      “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,