A Marriage Made In Joeville

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—”