Small Town Cinderella

“You’ve grown over the past couple of days, Sue.”

“Must be all the somersaults. He’s flinging himself every which way.” She had told Emily they were sure the baby was a boy. Something about heart-rate and needles swinging over pulse points and deep-down instinct. They weren’t acting like scientists at all.

“If only Liz hadn’t left for her honeymoon yet,” Aunt Edith said to Eleanor. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have the three girls here with us?”

“We did, all week—”

“Barely long enough to tease.” Edith helped herself to a cookie. “You won’t believe what happened yesterday, Emily. In broad daylight. Here, in Three Creeks.”

This must be the news Martin had promised.

It seemed Eleanor had already heard. “The first thing Jack did when he moved into the Ramsey place was install better locks. He advised me to do the same.” She looked at Edith pointedly. “And to use them.”

“Someone broke into your house, Aunt Edith?”

“Well, not exactly broke—”

“The doors weren’t locked,” Susannah explained.

“Someone went in without our permission, though. Corporal Reed says that’s still called break and enter.” Edith was becoming more animated with every word.

“When we got back from the lake yesterday evening—oh, and it was a lovely day, Emily, you should have come—the door was open, the house was full of flies and bees, the cat—who knows perfectly well she’s not allowed in—was comfortable as can be on the sofa and refusing to budge, and everything in your uncle’s desk, all his bills and receipts and bank statements, were pulled out of place.”

“Aunt Edith!”

“Pulled out of place,” she repeated with satisfaction.

“They didn’t take anything,” Susannah added. “Dad thought they must have been looking for credit card receipts or checks they could use.”

“Such nasty people. They were long gone by the time we got home. A pity, with Will and Alex ready to take them on. They’ve gone to town to buy dead bolts.”

Emily looked at her grandmother. “I thought we’d be able to move into the long, lazy part of summer now that the wedding’s over. When do you suppose that will happen?”

Susannah stretched. “Right now. Every moment from now until the first contraction is going to be peaceful.”

“And not a single moment afterward, my girl,” Edith said. “Never again.”

A look of irritation crossed Susannah’s face. Emily decided it was a good time to jump in with her news. She rarely heard anything first, so she tried to draw it out.

“A stranger has come to town.”

Three curious faces turned her way.

“A handsome stranger?” Susannah asked, in a Twenty Questions voice.

“I suppose you could say handsome.”

“We are talking about a handsome man?”

“Definitely a man.” No need to think about that. In spite of his overall coldness, Matthew Rutherford had radiated more masculine energy than Emily had ever experienced from a single source. “Just standing in the doorway doing nothing he made Daniel’s house feel smaller.”

Three sets of eyebrows twitched.

“You know how men can be,” Emily said quickly. “So…” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes, indeed,” Edith said.

“But what was this handsome, virile stranger doing in Daniel’s house?” Susannah asked.

Emily explained who he was, concluding that he had agreed to come to dinner the next day. Eleanor and Edith went back and forth listing Rutherfords and birth dates and agreed they didn’t know a Matthew.

Susannah held out her cup for more tea. “Tell me, Em, what was that inflection I heard in your voice just now?”

“I heard it, too,” Aunt Edith said. “Is he anything like his uncle? I think I remember Daniel being a very attractive man when he was younger.”

“He still is,” Eleanor protested.

“You can stop matchmaking, all of you. This nephew is only here for a week. Anyway, he hardly spoke to me. He seems used to being in charge, not answering to anyone. He sort of guards information.” That was exactly what he did. As if it was his own personal treasure. “I couldn’t even find out where Daniel went, or why. Whenever I asked him a direct question he ignored me!”

“I’ll ask him. He can’t ignore a woman who’s about to give birth.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Then I’ll ask him,” Eleanor said. “He can’t ignore an octogenarian. Can he?”

“Wait until you meet him, Grandma. Then you’ll see.”

Edith passed around the cookie plate. “He doesn’t sound like a very nice man. Of course, the Rutherfords were always like that. Standoffish.”

“It’s more that they’re slow to warm to a person,” Eleanor said. “They’re good in a pinch, though.”

That was a perfect description of Daniel. Emily wasn’t sure it applied to the nephew, not with that analytical look in his eye. By the time he’d finished evaluating the pros and cons of getting involved the pinch would be over.

The conversation turned to the problem of feeding a rather large man when temperatures were so high. Now that she had promised a proper home-cooked meal, Emily would have to provide something more impressive than the sandwiches she and her mother usually ate on hot summer evenings. When she left her grandmother’s, she had a jar of pickled mixed vegetables in one hand, a bag of frozen potato scones in the other and a promise of a green bean salad from her aunt.

“And do lock your door whenever you leave the house,” Aunt Edith said. “With people driving so fast these days we’re not as far from the city as we used to be. Who knows how many troublemakers are around?”

CHAPTER THREE

EMILY HAD ALWAYS LOCKED the door at night, so talk of troublemakers and break-ins didn’t disturb her sleep. The thought of Matthew Rutherford did, though. It was the suit, she decided, while getting dressed the next morning. Who wore a suit to drive all the way from Ontario?

It was the attitude that went with the suit, too. Leaving her standing on the step while he looked her up and down appraisingly—as if she was the stranger! If she’d thought of it earlier she would have invited her whole family for dinner. Let him appraise them. See how he liked being appraised right back by a room full of Robb men.

She took an empty ice cream pail from the pantry and went outside to pick berries for dessert. She had just the thing in mind, something she’d seen once in a magazine—five or six layers of meringue with whipped cream in between and fresh fruit on top. Simple, but special.

Hamish and the cat followed her along the driveway. The dog stopped once, head raised, looking into the woods across the road. A few years ago he would have bounded after whatever he sensed there, but now he turned and continued down the path to the garden. As soon as they reached soil he stretched out, flattening himself against the cool dirt.

The cat stayed close to Emily. When she stood still to pick a few berries it sat down, and when she moved more than a few steps it jumped up and trotted after her.