A Wedding in the Family. Susan Fox

this is Miz Lillian. She’s Miz Rocky’s older sister.”

      Joey’s mumbled, “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am,” charmed Lillian.

      “And I’m pleased to meet you, Joey,” she said with a gentle smile as she held out her hand to shake his. “That’s some dog you have there. Is he a good playmate?”

      Because her first instinct was to make the boy feel comfortable and to let him know she was friendly, she’d tried to add as much pleasant interest as she could to her response.

      Joey shyly took her hand and gave it one firm shake before he let go and pulled back.

      “He’s my friend,” he said with childish candor as he wedged his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. His straight golden brown hair came to his collar in a sleek cut and framed a small, freckled face that was surprisingly angelic. His large, thickly fringed hazel eyes sparkled with an engaging mixture of earnestness and intelligence as he looked up at her, and Lillian liked him instantly.

      Before she could think of something else to say that would make them both feel more at ease, Rye said gruffly, “Go ahead and sit down, Joey. Dovey’s waitin’ to serve.”

      As if relieved to get away, Joey turned from her and rushed around the table to the place set for him. Lillian sat down and reached for her napkin as Rye sat and moved his coffee cup out of the way to drag his plate and silverware closer.

      Dovey served a layered lettuce salad, fat baked potatoes, fresh tomatoes and thick sirloin steaks that had been broiled medium-well. Generous slabs of steamy homemade bread that had been buttered and broiled on one side rested on the slim edge of their large dinner plates.

      Lillian couldn’t help but be privately appalled at the huge plate of food. After more than half a lifetime of having her food scrutinized by a grandmother who disdained anything but small portions, she felt uncomfortable with such large servings.

      “Something wrong with the food?”

      Rye’s brusque words startled her. Lillian automatically glanced his way, saw the disapproval that tightened his jaw, then quickly shook her head.

      “No—not at all,” she said, then made herself smile and look over at the cook, who was wiping down the counter. The way Dovey’s gaze shot away from hers—as if he’d been listening, but didn’t want to be caught—made her realize he might be worried about whether she liked his cooking.

      She hastily added, “It all looks so wonderful, I can’t decide where to start.” She was rewarded with a broad grin and a wink from the cook.

      She looked down at her plate, straightened the napkin on her lap, then reached determinedly for her knife and fork.

      

      

      Lillian managed to follow Rye’s and Joey’s lead and clear her plate. Actually, the food had been so good that she’d been a bit shocked at how easily she’d packed it away. But later, as she sat on a lawn chair on the patio, she felt elephantine. She could almost hear her grandmother chiding her for making a pig of herself.

      Actually, her grandmother would have done more than merely chide her. “Lillian, I will not tolerate a fat child.” How many times did she still hear her grandmother’s blunt reminders about gaining so much as an ounce of weight?

      In truth, Eugenia Renard had an extensive list of things she would not tolerate. It still hurt to know that the list seemed to be comprised exclusively of the things she might have wanted to do or try. But the harshest items on the list had to do with Lillian’s looks.

      The sudden plunge of her spirits made Lillian force her thoughts away from that subject. She turned her head to glance toward the shallow end of the pool where the boy was, and gasped.

      The huge pup—Buster—had been sitting silently beside her. He’d been so quiet, she’d not known he was there. To turn her head and come face-to-face with the brute startled her badly. Coupled with his loud, “Woof,” she sprang up from the lawn chair.

      

      Rye stood in the ranch kitchen watching out the patio door. He’d been looking on as the dog slipped up beside Lillian and sat down beside her. He’d been waiting with secret amusement to see what she’d do when she discovered how close Buster was. He had no worry about the dog, who clearly seemed smitten by the new human in his territory. The old nursery rhyme about Little Miss Muffet made a singsong pass through his mind.

      Suddenly, “Miss Muffet” turned her head, saw the dog, then shot up off the lawn chair as if it were spring-loaded.

      Rye chuckled, then got tickled again as he watched Lillian eye the big dog while she kept the lawn chair between them. He told himself it was because of Joey that he decided to rescue her. The boy was sensitive about the dog, and if Miz High Society raised hell, it would upset them all.

      Just as he was about to slide the big door open and step out, he saw Lillian stretch a small hand toward Buster. Though he could see the tremor in those delicate fingers, the fact that she was making even a small overture toward the dog surprised him.

      Buster’s big mouth dropped open and his tongue rolled out to give those timid fingers an enthusiastic lick, but Lillian snatched her hand back. The distaste on her face as she looked down her perfectly formed little nose nettled Rye.

      He slid the door open, stepped through, then let it slide quietly closed. His low whistle got Buster’s attention. The big dog turned from Lillian, and bounded toward him. He allowed the animal to dance excitedly around him a moment before he leaned down to give him an affectionate rub around the ears and neck.

      Rye’s gruff, “Where’s the stick?” and the brisk wave of his hand sent Buster charging to the far end of the patio and through the open gate. Rye straightened, his gaze going immediately to Lillian’s. The look of near fascination he’d caught before her gaze fled his gave him an odd little tingle.

      More than once he’d caught those haunting blue eyes looking at him, watching him. Though he didn’t consider himself a vain man, he knew female attraction when he saw it. The little aristocrat must have found something about him worth watching, but he didn’t feel flattered. Women like her had nothing more exciting to offer a man than tantrums and hellish salon and boutique bills. Sex was simply a means to manipulate or coerce, and love for anyone beyond herself would be impossible. He’d be damned if he fell into the same trap his father had.

      “My brother called a few minutes ago,” he said, then hesitated when he realized how harshly he’d spoken. It was surprisingly hard for him to soften his tone. His “Rocky decided she wanted to hare off to Dallas,” was only marginally better. “Better entertainment there, I reckon.”

      Lillian ignored his sarcasm, but nodded stiffly. “Has he told her I’ve arrived?”

      “No tellin’ what he’s told her.”

      Because he sounded so irritable, Lillian felt about as welcome as the plague. She glanced away a moment and resisted the urge to fidget. Lord she hated to have intruded on this man. Not because he was a gracious host, because he certainly was not, but because he seemed to have a singular talent for making her feel unwanted.

      Considering the fact that she’d felt that way most of her life, it didn’t really surprise her that this uncouth stranger behaved no differently toward her than did the members of her own family.

      It seemed she would never be free of that mysterious something that kept others from feeling affection for her—from even liking her. Though sometimes she was convinced it was possible to die from lack of love, the fact that she’d survived this far without much of it made her believe she could go on a good many more years the way she always had.

      Overwhelmed by emotion suddenly, she glanced determinedly toward the boy, who appeared to be struggling with one of the little sails on his boat. She forced out a hoarse, “I think the boy could use some help,” then started off toward the far end of the pool.

      But