A Wedding in the Family. Susan Fox

      Lillian forced her mouth into a pleasant line, then stepped forward, letting her sandals make a quiet tap-tap on the wood floor to alert everyone in the kitchen that she was about to walk in.

      The kitchen was even larger than she’d expected. The cook was in the midst of meal preparations, but he’d confined the various utensils, pans and serving dishes he was using to his immediate work area. Though the room was predominantly white, it had a surprising amount of color, from the assortment of pans that hung over a center island counter to the collection of cookbooks, knick knacks and potted herbs arranged here and there. The view of the patio and pool beyond the sliding-glass doors added even more color to the generously proportioned room.

      The dining area of the kitchen was spacious enough for a large round oak table and chairs, as well as a small sofa and recliner. The room boasted a wall-mounted TV next to the wide door to the dining room and was placed high enough that it could be seen from anywhere in the kitchen.

      Rye sat at the table, his plate, napkin and silverware pushed toward the middle of the table so his coffee cup could sit closer to the edge. He nodded to her when she walked in, then spoke to the cook.

      “Here she is now, Dovey.”

      The cook was a short, muscular, middle-aged man with a well-tended crew cut that gave the impression he’d been in the military at one time. Lillian gave him a smile as Rye stood to his feet and introduced her.

      “Miz Lillian Renard, meet Dovey Smithers. He mostly cooks, but he also runs the house. Dovey, this is Miz Rocky’s older sister.”

      She made her smile widen as she crossed to the cook and offered her hand to shake his. Dovey hastily wiped his hand on a nearby dish towel so he could shake her hand.

      “I’m right pleased to meet you, Miz Renard. Hope you enjoy yer stay with us.” He released her hand then added, “Now if there’s any kinda food you’d like to have while yer here, or if you’d rather have somethin’ other than what I’ve cooked, don’t you be afraid to say so. Ain’t no one goes hungry when I’m doing the cookin’.”

      Rye spoke up. “If she’s as particular as Miz Rocky, you might have to turn into a short-order cook to keep them happy, Dovey.”

      Dovey gave his boss a mock frown, but his dark eyes twinkled good-naturedly. “Now, boss, this little gal looks about as sweet and easy to get along with as vanilla icing on a white cake.”

      Lillian was prompted to speak up. “I’m certain whatever you’ve planned to cook will be fine, Mr. Smithers. In fact, what you’ve prepared now smells wonderful.”

      “Name’s Dovey to you, Miz Lillian. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll get supper on the table—unless you’d rather I set the table in the dining room. Won’t be no trouble if you’d rather eat formal.”

      Lillian shook her head, but her soft, “In here will be fine,” was nearly drowned out by Rye’s brisk, “The hell it’s not.”

      The silence that followed was awkward and loud. Lillian felt her face go hot. “I wouldn’t be comfortable making more work for you...Dovey.” She gave him a nervous smile. “I’d prefer not being formal if there’s a choice.”

      Dovey sent Rye another frown. “See there, boss? She’s as easy to get along with as she looks.” The cook hurried around the island counter to the table and pulled out the chair next to Rye. “If you’d like to sit down, Miz Lillian...”

      Lillian walked to the table and slid obligingly onto the chair he held for her, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” once she was seated.

      She offered a stiff smile to Rye, who watched her almost warily, then she glanced toward the news report on the television. The sound was on low, but she could easily hear it.

      The swish of the sliding door drew her attention and she turned her head in time to see the boy try to squeeze through the opening without letting the pup in. But the pup, a short-haired black and tan breed with huge feet, who was more the size of a small pony, was determined to wiggle in.

      “Buster!” the boy shouted as the animal shoved past his legs and burst into the room.

      Buster—who was more a muscular dog than puppy—barked loudly at Lillian then suddenly lunged toward her, his dark eyes wild and his huge mouth hanging open to show lethally sharp teeth.

      As alarmed as she was appalled, Lillian sprang from her chair to use it as a barricade. The huge puppy pounded around the chair, yapping hysterically as he tried to catch her. She’d let go of the chair to dash around the table, when a thickly muscled arm slid around her waist and lifted her off her feet to swing her out of harm’s way.

      “No.”

      Rye’s command wasn’t exactly a shout, but it rumbled in the large room. Though Lillian was held high against his side, she was watching when the monstrous puppy skidded to a stop on the vinyl floor, his paws slamming up against the toes of Rye’s big boots.

      “Down.”

      The puppy reacted to the second command as if he’d been shot. He instantly dropped down at Rye’s feet and gave a soft whimper before he looked up at the steRN rancher with no less than adoration in his big brown eyes.

      “Good dog.”

      As if he knew he was forgiven, the dog opened his huge mouth and let his tongue roll out in a goofy parody of a smile, but he didn’t offer to get up.

      Meanwhile, Lillian’s heart was pounding, as much from the amazing feeling of being held so effortlessly against Rye’s hard-muscled body as out of terror about the dog. He’d picked her up as if she weighed nothing and the sheer manliness of the protective gesture made her insides quiver.

      “Gosh, I’m sorry, Rye. I didn’t mean to let Buster get in.” The boy’s face was the picture of anxiety.

      Rye swung Lillian past the huge dog and set her on her feet next to her chair. His gruff, “Under the table,” made the monstrous young dog crawl swiftly beneath it and settle against one of the claw-foot legs of the wood pedestal.

      Lillian, still a bit shaken, brushed self-consciously at her clothes, smoothing out the tiny wrinkles of her blouse before she ran her hands down the upper thigh of her slacks. She’d just raised her hands to run her fingers over her hair when the heavy silence in the big kitchen registered.

      Her heart dipped a bit as she slid a quick glance toward Rye. Heat scorched her face as she noted the intense way he was looking at her. She knew then that he’d been watching every move she’d made. When his gaze met hers, the gleam of amusement that shone in their blue depths was a shameful reminder of what she’d overheard him say earlier about mussed hair and wrinkled clothes.

      When he suddenly glanced from her to the boy, he gave the impression he’d somehow dismissed her.

      Lillian’s wide gaze shot from Rye’s harsh expression to the boy’s pale face. The child was obviously terrified, and her heart went out to him. She suddenly decided Rye Parrish might be a bully. His next words were a complete surprise.

      “I don’t want Buster to eat our houseguests, Joey. Let’s see to it he sticks to dog food.”

      The effect Rye’s words had on the worried little boy was astonishing. Lillian was watching when the child’s tense face relaxed and he broke into a huge grin. A quick glance toward Rye showed that his grin was just as big.

      The sound of the boy’s giggles brought an instant smile to Lillian and a lightness of heart that surprised her. That was the moment she forgave Rye for his rudeness to her. If he was always as patient with the boy and his dog as he’d been these past minutes, then he wasn’t quite the uncouth boor he tried to be.

      Unfortunately, that made him more appealing to Lillian than was prudent.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “Miz Lillian, this is my cousin, Joey Parrish,” Rye