A Wedding in the Family

The swish of the sliding door drew her attention and she turned her head in time to see the boy try to squeeze through the opening without letting the pup in. But the pup, a short-haired black and tan breed with huge feet, who was more the size of a small pony, was determined to wiggle in.

“Buster!” the boy shouted as the animal shoved past his legs and burst into the room.

Buster—who was more a muscular dog than puppy—barked loudly at Lillian then suddenly lunged toward her, his dark eyes wild and his huge mouth hanging open to show lethally sharp teeth.

As alarmed as she was appalled, Lillian sprang from her chair to use it as a barricade. The huge puppy pounded around the chair, yapping hysterically as he tried to catch her. She’d let go of the chair to dash around the table, when a thickly muscled arm slid around her waist and lifted her off her feet to swing her out of harm’s way.

“No.”

Rye’s command wasn’t exactly a shout, but it rumbled in the large room. Though Lillian was held high against his side, she was watching when the monstrous puppy skidded to a stop on the vinyl floor, his paws slamming up against the toes of Rye’s big boots.

“Down.”

The puppy reacted to the second command as if he’d been shot. He instantly dropped down at Rye’s feet and gave a soft whimper before he looked up at the steRN rancher with no less than adoration in his big brown eyes.

“Good dog.”

As if he knew he was forgiven, the dog opened his huge mouth and let his tongue roll out in a goofy parody of a smile, but he didn’t offer to get up.

Meanwhile, Lillian’s heart was pounding, as much from the amazing feeling of being held so effortlessly against Rye’s hard-muscled body as out of terror about the dog. He’d picked her up as if she weighed nothing and the sheer manliness of the protective gesture made her insides quiver.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Rye. I didn’t mean to let Buster get in.” The boy’s face was the picture of anxiety.

Rye swung Lillian past the huge dog and set her on her feet next to her chair. His gruff, “Under the table,” made the monstrous young dog crawl swiftly beneath it and settle against one of the claw-foot legs of the wood pedestal.

Lillian, still a bit shaken, brushed self-consciously at her clothes, smoothing out the tiny wrinkles of her blouse before she ran her hands down the upper thigh of her slacks. She’d just raised her hands to run her fingers over her hair when the heavy silence in the big kitchen registered.

Her heart dipped a bit as she slid a quick glance toward Rye. Heat scorched her face as she noted the intense way he was looking at her. She knew then that he’d been watching every move she’d made. When his gaze met hers, the gleam of amusement that shone in their blue depths was a shameful reminder of what she’d overheard him say earlier about mussed hair and wrinkled clothes.

When he suddenly glanced from her to the boy, he gave the impression he’d somehow dismissed her.

Lillian’s wide gaze shot from Rye’s harsh expression to the boy’s pale face. The child was obviously terrified, and her heart went out to him. She suddenly decided Rye Parrish might be a bully. His next words were a complete surprise.

“I don’t want Buster to eat our houseguests, Joey. Let’s see to it he sticks to dog food.”

The effect Rye’s words had on the worried little boy was astonishing. Lillian was watching when the child’s tense face relaxed and he broke into a huge grin. A quick glance toward Rye showed that his grin was just as big.

The sound of the boy’s giggles brought an instant smile to Lillian and a lightness of heart that surprised her. That was the moment she forgave Rye for his rudeness to her. If he was always as patient with the boy and his dog as he’d been these past minutes, then he wasn’t quite the uncouth boor he tried to be.

Unfortunately, that made him more appealing to Lillian than was prudent.

CHAPTER THREE

“Miz Lillian, this is my cousin, Joey Parrish,” Rye said, then motioned the boy to step closer. Joey complied, but stopped at arm’s length from her while Rye finished the introductions.

“Joey, this is Miz Lillian. She’s Miz Rocky’s older sister.”

Joey’s mumbled, “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am,” charmed Lillian.

“And I’m pleased to meet you, Joey,” she said with a gentle smile as she held out her hand to shake his. “That’s some dog you have there. Is he a good playmate?”

Because her first instinct was to make the boy feel comfortable and to let him know she was friendly, she’d tried to add as much pleasant interest as she could to her response.

Joey shyly took her hand and gave it one firm shake before he let go and pulled back.

“He’s my friend,” he said with childish candor as he wedged his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans. His straight golden brown hair came to his collar in a sleek cut and framed a small, freckled face that was surprisingly angelic. His large, thickly fringed hazel eyes sparkled with an engaging mixture of earnestness and intelligence as he looked up at her, and Lillian liked him instantly.

Before she could think of something else to say that would make them both feel more at ease, Rye said gruffly, “Go ahead and sit down, Joey. Dovey’s waitin’ to serve.”

As if relieved to get away, Joey turned from her and rushed around the table to the place set for him. Lillian sat down and reached for her napkin as Rye sat and moved his coffee cup out of the way to drag his plate and silverware closer.

Dovey served a layered lettuce salad, fat baked potatoes, fresh tomatoes and thick sirloin steaks that had been broiled medium-well. Generous slabs of steamy homemade bread that had been buttered and broiled on one side rested on the slim edge of their large dinner plates.

Lillian couldn’t help but be privately appalled at the huge plate of food. After more than half a lifetime of having her food scrutinized by a grandmother who disdained anything but small portions, she felt uncomfortable with such large servings.

“Something wrong with the food?”

Rye’s brusque words startled her. Lillian automatically glanced his way, saw the disapproval that tightened his jaw, then quickly shook her head.

“No—not at all,” she said, then made herself smile and look over at the cook, who was wiping down the counter. The way Dovey’s gaze shot away from hers—as if he’d been listening, but didn’t want to be caught—made her realize he might be worried about whether she liked his cooking.

She hastily added, “It all looks so wonderful, I can’t decide where to start.” She was rewarded with a broad grin and a wink from the cook.

She looked down at her plate, straightened the napkin on her lap, then reached determinedly for her knife and fork.

Lillian managed to follow Rye’s and Joey’s lead and clear her plate. Actually, the food had been so good that she’d been a bit shocked at how easily she’d packed it away. But later, as she sat on a lawn chair on the patio, she felt elephantine. She could almost hear her grandmother chiding her for making a pig of herself.

Actually, her grandmother would have done more than merely chide her. “Lillian, I will not tolerate a fat child.” How many times did she still hear her grandmother’s blunt reminders about gaining so much as an ounce of weight?

In truth, Eugenia Renard had an extensive list of things she would not tolerate. It still hurt to know that the list seemed to be comprised exclusively of the things she might have wanted to do or try. But the harshest items on the list had to do with Lillian’s looks.

The sudden plunge of her spirits made Lillian force her thoughts away from that subject. She turned her head to glance toward the shallow end of the pool where the boy was, and gasped.

The huge pup—Buster—had been sitting silently beside her. He’d been so quiet, she’d not known he was there. To turn her head and come face-to-face with the brute startled her badly. Coupled with his loud, “Woof,” she sprang up from the lawn chair.

Rye stood in the ranch kitchen watching out the patio door. He’d been looking on as the dog slipped up beside Lillian and sat down beside her. He’d been waiting with secret amusement to see what she’d do when she discovered how close Buster was. He had no worry about the dog, who clearly seemed smitten by the new human in his territory. The old nursery rhyme about Little Miss Muffet made a singsong pass through his mind.

Suddenly, “Miss Muffet” turned her head, saw the dog, then shot up off the lawn chair as if it were spring-loaded.

Rye chuckled, then got tickled again as he watched Lillian eye the big dog while she kept the lawn chair between them. He told himself it was because of Joey that he decided to rescue her. The boy was sensitive about the dog, and if Miz High Society raised hell, it would upset them all.

Just as he was about to slide the big door open and step out, he saw Lillian stretch a small hand toward Buster. Though he could see the tremor in those delicate fingers, the fact that she was making even a small overture toward the dog surprised him.

Buster’s big mouth dropped open and his tongue rolled out to give those timid fingers an enthusiastic lick, but Lillian snatched her hand back. The distaste on her face as she looked down her perfectly formed little nose nettled Rye.

He slid the door open, stepped through, then let it slide quietly closed. His low whistle got Buster’s attention. The big dog turned from Lillian, and bounded toward him. He allowed the animal to dance excitedly around him a moment before he leaned down to give him an affectionate rub around the ears and neck.

Rye’s gruff, “Where’s the stick?” and the brisk wave of his hand sent Buster charging to the far end of the patio and through the open gate. Rye straightened, his gaze going immediately to Lillian’s. The look of near fascination he’d caught before her gaze fled his gave him an odd little tingle.