A Marriage Made In Joeville

Jenny rushed back into the room, a smile from ear to ear and clothes draped across both extended arms.

Savannah laughed and accepted the offering. “Okay, I’ll take a few of your things. Maybe I’ll even use them.”

They continued emptying drawers and the closet, filling another suitcase with underwear, nightshirts and shoes, while Savannah continued fretting about the week ahead. “Jenny, do you really think I can pull off this cook job? I’ve never been anything but a secretary at Detroit Tire.”

“The one and same warehouse that laid you off with a couple of hundred others. Don’t you think that was another sign this was meant to be?”

That had seemed rather fortuitous. She never liked that job, anyway, and had recently sent out résumés. “Still, you’re the one who cooks for a living. I’m the one who nukes and does carryout.”

“You got about a dozen basic meals down pat, and there’s lots more in that cookbook I gave you. If you get in a jam, I’m only a phone call away.” She looked at her watch. “Time to hit the shower. Close your eyes.”

Savannah stripped with her back to the mirror while the water warmed. When she stepped inside, she lowered her head under the spray and watched dark brown water swirl around the drain at her feet. Another ball of anxiety gripped her stomach. Of all the hare-brained ideas she’d had over the years, this one had to take the cake. She lathered quickly and rinsed. A new persona, a new part of the country she’d never seen, and a job she knew little about. With a groan, she shut off the water and stepped out.

Jenny stood waiting—blow dryer in one hand, brush in the other, and the ever-present look of caring in those big brown eyes. God, how she’d miss this woman. Tears blurred her vision, and she blotted them away as she dried herself and tied the bath sheet into a large knot at one side.

“All right,” she said on a sigh. She shot Jenny a dubious glance, then did her best to sound lighthearted. “I’m ready. Work your magic.”

With the heavy scent of coconut mousse filling the air and every available surface cluttered with makeup, Jenny ran to the next room and back, getting what she said was the perfect outfit to finish the picture. Playing along, Savannah shrugged into a too-small rust-colored tank top, tucked it into a tight fitting pair of cutoffs and spun toward the mirror for the long-awaited unveiling.

“Oh...my...God.” She fell back a step, not recognizing the image in front of her. “I look like a totally shameless slut!”

Jenny looked at their reflections and shook her head back and forth. “Uh-uh.” Finally, she turned her friend around, gripped her by the shoulders and spoke sternly. “Savannah Elizabeth Smith...you look drop-dead gorgeous.”

Savannah puffed out her cheeks, exhaled a loud breath and stole another peek over her shoulder. “Isn’t it a little on the trashy side?”

“Sure, but you’re going to Montana, remember?” Jenny laughed at her own joke, then stepped back and admired her work. “Cowboys like their women a little on the trashy side. Hell, there’s even a song that says so.”

Savannah rolled her eyes and chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I think I heard it a while back.”

“Then relax, girlfriend. Everything’s going to work out just the way you want it.” Jenny pulled her into a tight embrace and laughed over her shoulder. “Yep,” she said, thumping Savannah’s back and rocking her side to side. “Ryder Malone won’t know what hit him.”

One

Dawn broke over the familiar pair of snow-crested mountains to the east, bringing Ryder Malone to a rolling stop on his favorite promontory. He cut the ignition to his pickup, opened the door and stepped outside, the pungent, clean scent of sage filling his nostrils.

Spring in Montana. A time for hope, new beginnings. The cynic in him said he was crazy to think anything different would happen this year, that something or someone would fill the hole in his soul he’d almost learned to live with. He’d survived another winter. It was as simple as that.

Still, coming home to live under the same roof with the man he blamed for his dour disposition, had to make some kind of difference. Good or bad, it remained to be seen.

He walked to the edge of the rough sandstone bluff and looked out over the rolling plains of the ranch below. Home. Too infrequently, he felt the meaning of the word. Until last month there had been only brief visits during college and after that, eight years of working at a ranch hundreds of miles to the north. Not since before high school days in Detroit had he actually lived here. Yet something still drew him back, some part of him felt this was home.

He arched his back, the stiffness lingering from another sleepless night on Maddy’s lumpy sofa bed. He stretched and yawned loudly, knowing the velvet-antlered deer a few yards away couldn’t care less. They watched him cautiously, but didn’t skitter off as he stared back, his thoughts drifting to Maddy and little Billy. He couldn’t think of one without the other. He pictured the freckle-faced towhead with a missing front tooth and the area around his heart constricted. There was so much pain ahead for that little guy. How would he ever...

Ryder blinked and looked at the front gate, letting it pull his focus outward, away from a problem that couldn’t be fixed today. A large arch spelled out the words: The Montana Malones. Beyond the scattered livestock, he viewed the main house—a sprawling log building, an addition at the back rising a story above the original structure, virtually tripling the living space. There were private quarters for the housekeeper, Hannah, plus his younger brother, Joshua, and himself. There was space for Shane, too, but he preferred living with Bucking Horse in the small cabin behind the stables, where the old Crow had taught the firstborn everything he knew about horses. Their father had his own wing in the main house, separate from his three sons. As usual. Shane had probably made the right decision, Ryder thought, an old anger welling up inside him. If there had been room in the little cabin, he would have stayed there, too. But there wasn’t.

Smoke puffed from the chimney in the kitchen, and his stomach growled. The others would be at the table by now, Hannah hovering over them in her typical mother hen fashion. If he hurried, breakfast would be hot and plentiful. But hurrying held no appeal this morning. The warm spring sun, rising in the sky, casting shadows on his favorite twin mountains, did. He walked ahead, his gaze fixed.

He’d always thought the rugged cliffs looked like two giant molars, a pair of large Ms mirrored cleanly in the still waters that lay peacefully in front of them—two Ms that signaled the settling place for the Montana Malones. At least that’s what his great-granddaddy had written in his journal all those years ago. In spite of all else, it was a sight he never grew weary of watching. It was an ever-changing view, yet a constant in times of turmoil. On days like today, there seemed little point in dredging up the past. His father had hurt them all as boys—not so much with his words, but with his absence.

And other things.

But he was no longer a boy, Ryder reminded himself, resuming his stroll, and the old man was nearing retirement. Maybe it was time to let it go. Besides, his father had nothing to do with his reasons for moving back to the ranch. Shane’s letter had provided the last nudge he needed to move closer to little Billy. He’d written that Joshua planned to start a farm soon, leaving too much for Shane to manage. So big brother had reminded him in not-too-subtle terms that, since each stood to inherit a third of the ranch someday, it seemed only fitting he begin pulling his own weight. And Shane was right. Besides, he had no beef with his brothers, and the years and distance had made them practically strangers. The time was right on all fronts for things to change.

Ryder stopped and sat gingerly on the precipice, dangled his feet over the edge and spotted a small cloud of dust miles down the road. He watched the car move closer, idly wondering who it might be so early on a Monday morning. But then his thoughts returned to his brothers...and finally to young Billy. Never far from his thoughts was poor Billy.

“This is the last batch,” Hannah groused, dropping another platter of pancakes in the center of the table. “It’s not like cookin’ is the only thing I gotta do ’round here, ya know.” She grabbed a coffee urn off a side table and made the rounds refilling cups. “And another thing, if I don’t get help pretty soon, yer gonna trip over me lyin’ on the floor one day.”

“Now, Hannah.” Max wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and tried to look stern at his housekeeper of nearly forty years. “I told you last night, we have another young woman coming out this morning.” He looked at his watch: 5:45 a.m. “In fact, she should be here any time.”

“Young woman?” Joshua arched a brow.

Max smiled at his youngest son, who eyed him with a hopeful grin over the rim of his coffee. “Well, she sounded young.”

“Everyone sounds young to you.” Shane snapped, sharing a knowing look with his brother, before stabbing a couple of pancakes off the platter.

“I don’t see where it matters one way or t’other,” Hannah said. “She’d just be another hired hand, not some plaything for you boys.”

Max watched the exchange between his sons. At thirty-two and twenty-five, they were hardly what he’d call boys. But to Hannah, he knew, they always would be. He glanced over at the empty seat and frowned. They may be men now, but his middle son still acted like a middle child. Where was he this time? Or with whom, was more the point?

“Maybe that’s her now.” Hannah stood at the window with a stack of empty bowls in both hands. “I’ll go see.”

Max stood abruptly. “No. I’ll take care of it this time.”

Hannah didn’t budge. “You? Whadaya know about cookin’, anyhoo?”

“Not a damn thing...except how to hire someone who can.” He softened his tone, not having meant to sound so brusque. Still, Hannah had scared away at least six women so far. He wasn’t about to make this one number seven. He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Let me handle it, okay?”

“Humph.” She spun on her heel and headed for the kitchen, not looking too convinced she shouldn’t be involved.

Shane and Joshua craned their necks for a better view of the path to the door, but Max waved them back to their food, not wanting their interference, either. He ignored their complaints as he closed the double doors to the dining room and headed for the front of the house.

A once white Grand Am made its way up the dusty road and finally came to a stop at the end of the bark-strewn walk to the porch. Max sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward when the latest candidate stepped from the car. She was young, all right, and too damn good-looking. Not for himself, but for the three men he’d never been able to keep in tow. He watched her smooth her short, tight denim skirt down another inch, which still left it high above her knees. Her peach knit top fit snugly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hannah would have his hide if he hired this one. Yet how much longer could Hannah handle everything on her own?

Max walked down the path to greet the young woman, seeing a warm and genuine smile lighting her face as he grew near. A good omen, he decided. Friendly counted for a lot in these parts. If she could string two words together in a halfway acceptable fashion, he’d offer her the job.

Savannah gave one last tug at Jenny’s embarrassing skirt, then pasted on her best smile and walked toward the man she assumed was Max Malone—the one and same person she’d spoken to on the phone last night; the one and same person she’d heard so much about in high school. Two more steps and she thought she saw Ryder’s dark eyes in his father’s, an observation that made her stomach do another cartwheel. How was she ever going to pull this off? The man stopped a yard in front of her and extended a hand.

“Max Malone. You must be Essie.”

She grasped his large, but smooth, hand and pumped it enthusiastically, grateful his gaze stayed at eye level. She’d kill Jenny for her silly stunt—substituting all of her smaller clothes for Savannah’s more modest wardrobe. What must this man be thinking?

“Well, you passed the first two tests.” His laugh was warm and easy. “You found the place and made it here by six a.m.”

She wouldn’t tell him she’d left the motel at four-thirty, or how many wrong turns she’d made before she got it right. She was here and that’s what counted. “Yes, and I brought the reference letter I mentioned on the phone. I hope one is enough.” He looked over his shoulder at the house, then back.

“Do you mind if we talk outside for a while? I’m afraid I don’t get out of my office as often as I’d like...and it’s such a beautiful day.”

“Your office?”