A Wedding in the Family

The large sunken living room that began a few feet from the tiled entry was part of the center portion of the huge home. Along the wall opposite the entry were two wide doorways. The door on the left led to what looked to be a large, well-appointed kitchen with commercial-size appliances. The delicious smell of food cooking made her mouth water. The double doors on the right opened to a formal dining room to reveal a long, polished table. Lillian could see the deep shine from where she stood.

The living room itself was decorated with heavy leather and wood furniture that complemented the rough timber beams that striped the ceiling. Brightly colored Native American rugs decorated the dark lustrous wood of the floor, drawing out the vivid colors of the Western paintings on the white walls.

It was a room that could have come directly from the pages of a glossy decorating magazine and she was duly impressed. Though it was worlds removed from the formal elegance of her grandmother’s homes, which she’d always felt had a sterile look, the colors and arrangement of this room were as visually interesting as they were inviting. In spite of her reluctance to come here, she couldn’t wait to see the rest of the huge home.

The only thing that spoiled the view was the rancher who’d paused at the wide hallway to the left to glance back at her. “You comin’?”

With nothing more gracious than that, he disappeared through the doorway, the heels of his boots thudding confidently on the rug runner in the hall.

Lillian followed him down the west hall of the ranch house. Halfway to the end, Rye turned and stepped through an open door with his load. Seconds later, Lillian walked into one of the loveliest bedrooms she’d ever seen.

The room was larger than she expected. Decorated with three large leafy plants that were nearly as tall as she, the room was utterly feminine. Gauzy ivory fabric was draped in deep swags from the high points of the four-poster bed and above the French doors to the inner patio. Heavy, intricate lace lay elegantly across the dark polished wood of the dresser, chests and night tables. The area rug was a soft peach shade on the wood floor, but the walls were decorated with cheery watercolors of flowered scenes. Two antique oval pictures were hung tastefully, the attractive women in the sepia-toned photographs clearly Parrish matriarchs. Though the old photos made it impossible to detect eye color, the dark hair and facial structure of each bore a faint resemblance to the present day owner of the Parrish ranch.

Lillian looked quietly at the old pictures, intrigued by what she could only describe as the feminine ruggedness of the two frontier women. Rye’s low voice drew her attention.

“Bathroom’s over there.” He gestured to her right. He walked over and put out a hand to draw back one side of the gauzy drapes over the French doors. “Patio and pool out that way. This room is the other half of the master suite.” He released the drape and nodded toward the door to her left. “Other half’s through there and mine.”

She’d glanced obligingly toward the closed door before the “and mine” fully registered. When it did, her gaze swung back to meet the gleam in his.

“If you get spooked by something howlin’ in the night, or some low-to-the-ground critter wanders in, I’ll be handy.” The faint curve of his mouth gave away his exaggeration.

Lillian felt a stir of annoyance at his none-too-subtle effort to put her off. She arched a brow. “Unless you’re claiming responsibility for your nocturnal habits ahead of time, Mr. Parrish, I’m certain I’ll be fine.” The stiff smile she managed mirrored his as she maintained contact with the remarkable blue of his eyes.

It was oddly satisfying to see the brief spark of surprise on his face before his expression hardened. The hostility she’d sensed in him earlier reasserted itself as he strode toward the hall door.

“Dovey’s waitin’ supper. We’ll eat when you get done primping.” With that, he walked into the hall and pulled the heavy door closed behind him.

Lillian, a veteran of her grandmother’s impatience, checked her appearance in the bathroom mirror, ran a brush through her hair, then washed her hands and rushed out to the hall. Once there, she slowed and walked quietly toward the living room. The stillness of the home, despite its size, gave her the sense that Rachel was nowhere close by.

Though her nervousness about intruding on her sister wasn’t particularly high at the moment, she couldn’t help the undercurrent of dread she felt. The thought that she’d be spared the fallout from the “surprise” of her arrival for a little longer put her more at ease, though a part of her wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

She was tired of walking on eggshells around her family. She was weary to death of being the hapless target of someone else’s bad temper. The fact that she’d sensed a vast potential for bad temper in her reluctant host sent her spirits downward.

On the other hand, the reminder that she was obligated to tolerate only so much from nonfamily was welcome. There was an end to her forced contact with Rye Parrish. In as little as a few days, she’d be on her way back to the airport and civilization. The idea made her feel better.

She entered the large living room and walked toward the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. She’d almost reached the door when what she heard made her hesitate.

“You ain’t said much about what she’s like, boss,” a gravelly male voice was saying.

A child’s voice cut in, “Is she bratty and mean like Rocky?”

The question pained Lillian, but the silence that followed made her strain to hear what Rye would say.

“Don’t you need to take that bowl of food out to your pup, Joey?” There was a mild rebuke in Rye’s tone and she could instantly imagine the steRN look that went with it.

Joey’s voice was suddenly subdued. “Yes, sir. I’ll do it now.”

Lillian heard the hiss of a sliding-glass door as it opened and the thud when it closed. She’d just taken a step toward the kitchen door when Rye spoke again.

“She seems as pampered and useless as any other female of her type,” he said grimly, “but she’s more a sissy than a brat. She’ll probably fall over in a faint if her hair gets mussed or her clothes get wrinkled.”

Lillian felt heat surge into her cheeks as the other man chuckled. Rye went on.

“I’d just as soon we kept Joey away from her. And keep Buster away from her, too. Hell, she’s probably never been around a dog you couldn’t put a bow on or hold in your hand. God knows how she’d take it if he got too close or he jumped up on her.”

“Ol’ Chad sure picked up a burr,” the gravelly voice commented.

Rye said nothing more. Lillian was outraged, but the shame she felt was just as strong. It distressed her to think Rye Parrish had so accurately pegged her. She was nothing if not a sissy. What other kind of woman would have allowed her grandmother and sister to walk all over her for so many years? She hadn’t exactly been pampered, though by his standards she probably was. She was fairly useless as far as supporting herself or making her own way in the world, but her careful grooming and attention to her figure had been an absolute necessity. She didn’t dare appear less than perfect. He was even right about big dogs.

He was not right, however, about keeping the child away from her. Though she’d rarely had an opportunity to be around children, she felt no animosity toward them. It hurt that he thought he needed to protect a child from her.

On the other hand, the boy’s comment about Rachel being mean and bratty probably meant he was worried that she’d behave the same way. The notion that Rye might be sensitive to the boy’s feelings and that he was perhaps trying to protect the child made her a little less angry.

Lillian forced her mouth into a pleasant line, then stepped forward, letting her sandals make a quiet tap-tap on the wood floor to alert everyone in the kitchen that she was about to walk in.

The kitchen was even larger than she’d expected. The cook was in the midst of meal preparations, but he’d confined the various utensils, pans and serving dishes he was using to his immediate work area. Though the room was predominantly white, it had a surprising amount of color, from the assortment of pans that hung over a center island counter to the collection of cookbooks, knick knacks and potted herbs arranged here and there. The view of the patio and pool beyond the sliding-glass doors added even more color to the generously proportioned room.

The dining area of the kitchen was spacious enough for a large round oak table and chairs, as well as a small sofa and recliner. The room boasted a wall-mounted TV next to the wide door to the dining room and was placed high enough that it could be seen from anywhere in the kitchen.

Rye sat at the table, his plate, napkin and silverware pushed toward the middle of the table so his coffee cup could sit closer to the edge. He nodded to her when she walked in, then spoke to the cook.

“Here she is now, Dovey.”

The cook was a short, muscular, middle-aged man with a well-tended crew cut that gave the impression he’d been in the military at one time. Lillian gave him a smile as Rye stood to his feet and introduced her.

“Miz Lillian Renard, meet Dovey Smithers. He mostly cooks, but he also runs the house. Dovey, this is Miz Rocky’s older sister.”

She made her smile widen as she crossed to the cook and offered her hand to shake his. Dovey hastily wiped his hand on a nearby dish towel so he could shake her hand.

“I’m right pleased to meet you, Miz Renard. Hope you enjoy yer stay with us.” He released her hand then added, “Now if there’s any kinda food you’d like to have while yer here, or if you’d rather have somethin’ other than what I’ve cooked, don’t you be afraid to say so. Ain’t no one goes hungry when I’m doing the cookin’.”

Rye spoke up. “If she’s as particular as Miz Rocky, you might have to turn into a short-order cook to keep them happy, Dovey.”

Dovey gave his boss a mock frown, but his dark eyes twinkled good-naturedly. “Now, boss, this little gal looks about as sweet and easy to get along with as vanilla icing on a white cake.”

Lillian was prompted to speak up. “I’m certain whatever you’ve planned to cook will be fine, Mr. Smithers. In fact, what you’ve prepared now smells wonderful.”

“Name’s Dovey to you, Miz Lillian. If you’d like to sit down, I’ll get supper on the table—unless you’d rather I set the table in the dining room. Won’t be no trouble if you’d rather eat formal.”

Lillian shook her head, but her soft, “In here will be fine,” was nearly drowned out by Rye’s brisk, “The hell it’s not.”

The silence that followed was awkward and loud. Lillian felt her face go hot. “I wouldn’t be comfortable making more work for you...Dovey.” She gave him a nervous smile. “I’d prefer not being formal if there’s a choice.”

Dovey sent Rye another frown. “See there, boss? She’s as easy to get along with as she looks.” The cook hurried around the island counter to the table and pulled out the chair next to Rye. “If you’d like to sit down, Miz Lillian...”

Lillian walked to the table and slid obligingly onto the chair he held for her, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” once she was seated.

She offered a stiff smile to Rye, who watched her almost warily, then she glanced toward the news report on the television. The sound was on low, but she could easily hear it.