A Weaver Proposal

In his eyes it was obviously just one more strike against her.

She wondered what he’d think if he knew that his strikes were small potatoes in comparison to the ones she’d had leveled at her since childhood. But then again, she’d rather he didn’t know. Thinking she was a snob was much better than knowing what she really was.

A pregnant, rejected fool who’d never accomplished anything on her own.

Fortunately, her arrival had been noticed, not just by Maggie Clay, the woman who’d invited her, but by countless others who quickly surrounded her. Maggie, who was just as blonde as her daughter, J.D., grabbed Sydney’s hand as if she were five and began introducing everyone even as she took Sydney’s coat and thrust it at Derek with instructions to hang it up.

As Sydney struggled to keep up with the introductions—some familiar and some not—a part of her couldn’t help wondering if she’d find her coat later hanging from some tree outside when he disappeared with it.

“Oh, my goodness, what a fabulous dress! Is it actually leather?” The petite brunette, whom Maggie had just introduced as Tara, was definitely not one of the individuals that Sydney recalled from Susan and Stan’s wedding. The other woman barely waited for Sydney’s nod before she continued gushing. “If I could get some items like that for the shop, I’d sell them out in a heartbeat no matter what price tag I put on them.” She grinned ruefully as she ran her hand over the noticeably pregnant bulge stretching out the front of her cherry-red sweater. “Not that I’m likely to ever be able to wear anything cut so narrowly again.”

Sydney could have laughed—or cried—at the irony.

“Tara owns Classic Charms down on Main Street,” Maggie explained. “She has the most wonderfully eclectic collection. Everything from furniture to clothing.”

Tara shrugged dismissively. “Not everything. But I do like to have some unusual items, and that dress would definitely be one. Vintage?”

Again, Sydney nodded. She glanced down at the caramel-colored leather dress that draped from her shoulders to just above her knees. “I found it in a secondhand shop in Paris a few years ago.” She loved it and was determined to wear it as long as she could. “But I can see that I am overdressed,” she admitted. Nearly everyone there was dressed in jeans and sweaters.

“You think?” A deep voice murmured from behind her and she didn’t have to look back to know it was Derek. She’d recognize his voice anywhere now.

She ignored him and looked at Maggie beside her. “I think I should have taken notes with the introductions,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I’ll keep everyone straight.”

Maggie laughed and squeezed Sydney’s hand. “Unless you’ve been born into the group, we’ve all thought the same thing at one time or another. We’re an overwhelming bunch. But you’ll get used to it.”

“If she’s here long enough,” Derek added. His tone didn’t imply it, but Sydney didn’t have to guess very hard to know that he was hoping she wouldn’t be.

“Actually, I plan to be here a long, long while.” Smiling a confident smile she didn’t feel at all, she directed her comment toward the friendly Maggie.

“I know how much Jake and J.D. are hoping so,” the older woman returned comfortably.

“How’s that furnace holding out?”

“Just fine,” she lied, finally looking Derek’s way. Instead of the nubile Tabby under his arm, he was now holding a wildly giggling dark-haired imp upside down.

Her stomach took a dangerous dive and she quickly looked away. She wasn’t sure if it was the baby-related nausea or the sight of that odious man looking so perfectly natural jiggling around an obviously delighted toddler.

“Derek told us you had a little problem with it.” Maggie drew Sydney farther along the scarred wood floors. “He’s a whiz at fixing everything. Always helps out when he’s able. He’s wonderful that way.”

Sydney managed not to choke.

They’d reached a long dining room that was dominated by the china-and-crystal-laden table that took center stage. Three-fourths of the chairs around it were being claimed by the people who had already greeted Sydney, and Maggie led her to two on the side near the head of the table. “Come and sit here beside me. You can tell me how you’re settling in at J.D. and Jake’s cabin.” She pulled out one chair and took the other.

“It’s going fine. I’m just not sure what I’m going to do with myself now that I’ve finished unpacking,” she admitted a little ruefully. She sat where directed and waved off the wine that Maggie offered in favor of water and turned to smile at the blond-haired teenage boy sitting on her other side, who was not very discreetly throwing wadded bits of his paper napkin at the girl sitting directly across from him.

He dropped his hands guiltily to his lap, though, when Sydney sat and almost did a double take as he gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey. I’m Eli.”

“Yeah, Eli. Stop drooling over the lady and move it. You’re in my seat,” Derek said behind them. He set a long-necked bottle of beer next to the empty wine glass near his plate and jerked his thumb.

Sydney’s stomach sank as the lanky boy slid out of the chair and moved to the other side of the table. “Nobody wants to sit next to their sister,” he complained, giving the target of his napkin wads a little shove before slouching into the chair next to her.

“Nearly everyone at this table is a sister or brother of someone,” Maggie said without heat.

“And if not that, then cousins,” Derek added as he took the vacated seat.

Sydney ignored him. She noticed that Tabby was sitting on the other side of the table, several seats down from Derek, between Tara on one side and a toffee-haired young man on the other. Maggie had mentioned his name. Jared. Justin. Something like that. But he was Maggie’s nephew, that she was certain of. And the young man was graced with the unfair quantity of “wow” genes that all of the Clays seemed to possess.

Maggie was nodding toward the empty seats at the end of the table. “It’s too bad that Gloria and Squire are gone right now.” Her hand had come to rest over the bronzed hand of her husband, sitting on her other side and now, she patted it. “Daniel’s father. I know you met at your aunt’s wedding. I’m sure they’re looking forward to seeing you again.”

They hadn’t had time to speak much at the wedding since Sydney had only been there for a matter of hours, but she did remember the iron-haired man who was the patriarch of this large, rambunctious family and his wife. “Jake mentioned they were away for a few weeks?”

“Yeah, Squire doesn’t like the cold winters so much anymore,” added another man as he entered and took the chair at the head of the table. He was blond as well, though with plenty of silver shot through the brutally short, thick strands, and his eyes were the palest blue she’d ever seen. For someone old enough to be her father, he, too, was ridiculously handsome.

“I’m Matthew,” he said. “Welcome to the Double-C.”

“Daniel’s brother,” Maggie provided from her side.

“My father,” Derek added from her other.

Sydney’s gaze flicked back to the older man. It irritated the life out of her when she realized she was looking for some resemblance between him and his son. Aside from the fair hair—which on Derek was a whole lot darker than his father—the likeness was slim. Despite the dark stubble liberally shadowing Derek’s jaw, she figured his face was less squarely, ruggedly male than his father’s.

No less good-looking, whether she wanted to admit that or not, but in a prettier way.

Then, she couldn’t help a small smile. She didn’t know much about Derek Clay, but she couldn’t help but figure he wouldn’t appreciate being called pretty. “Thank you,” she told Matthew, glad that her private amusement at Derek’s expense would simply be taken at face value. “Your ranch is quite something to see.”

“Oh, darling, you have barely scratched the surface.” Jaimie—the auburn-haired woman who’d obviously passed on her finer features to her son Derek—angled between their chairs to set an enormous platter in the center of the table. She swatted Derek’s hand when he reached out to grab one of the pizza boxes that were incongruously stacked high on the china platter. “Wait until after grace,” she chided.

Sydney sent him a sideways look as his mother moved away to take her place adjacent to her husband’s. But instead of looking cowed by his mother, he was just eyeing Sydney with that vaguely challenging, amused look. She was beginning to wonder if he had it all the time, or if he’d reserved it just for her.

But then, when Maggie clasped her hand and she noticed that everyone around the table was doing the same, she realized what “grace” meant to these people.

She reluctantly set her palm into the upturned one that Derek had rested on the table between their two plates and it took all of her willpower not to jerk it back when his long fingers closed over hers, capturing it but good.

He, she noted, didn’t close his eyes or bow his head even a fraction, as his father gave a brief blessing for the meal.

And when the amen was said and everyone turned their attention to the meal, and pizza boxes were thrown open and passed hither and yon, Sydney spread her napkin on her lap and eyed him. “Not showing a lot of reverence there, were you?” She kept her voice low, even though she doubted her words would be carried beyond his ears, since everyone’s mouths—if they weren’t already occupied with eating—were running a mile a minute. She couldn’t even begin to unravel the half-dozen conversations that seemed to be running concurrently.

“Neither were you,” he countered. A few lines radiated from the corners of the green eyes that he’d clearly inherited from his mother. “Or you wouldn’t have noticed what I was doing.”

The fact that he was right didn’t comfort her any. She managed not to snatch the pizza box he was holding aloft for her as she passed it smoothly to Maggie on her other side.

“Pizza too common-folk for you?” He jerked his chin at her empty plate.

“Not at all,” she returned truthfully. She loved the stuff. But the smell of the pepperoni was luring the threatening tide inside her as surely as the moon lured the ocean. Instead, she reached for the enormous salad bowl that was sitting almost directly in front of her, and put some on her plate.

Even that, though, wasn’t exactly nirvana for her senses, because there was a plentiful amount of chopped black olives among the lettuce and tomatoes.

She’d always liked black olives.