A Marriage Made In Joeville. Anne Eames

      “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