Leigh Riker - Twins Under The Tree

“I do, too,” Jenna said. For a long time she had worried about her mom and the life she’d lived with Jenna’s dad. Even now, she pushed food at Jenna as if to make up for the times when she hadn’t been able to feed her family. But Jack? He’d drifted—like Hadley—in and out of his uncle’s life over the years. “This is a good sign,” she said. “You’re taking care of yourself. I hope you’ll keep that in mind.”

Wanda’s dark gaze sharpened. “Shadow told me you’re not okay with our engagement. I decided to come by, get to the bottom of this.”

Jenna groaned. “My sister doesn’t know how to keep a confidence.”

“No reason to,” Wanda murmured. “We’re family. If you don’t like Jack for some reason—”

“I do like him. I’m not sure he’s good for you, that’s all.” She paused. “What if he doesn’t make a go of the Bon Appetit or gets bored after a year? He does that French thing, pretending he speaks the language, so maybe he’s always thinking about somewhere else. Barren isn’t the most exciting place in the world.”

“If Jack decides it’s not interesting enough for him here, I’ll move with him.”

Assuming Jack would let her or, like David with Jenna, decide his new adventures didn’t include her. “I’m sure the engagement is exciting, Mama, but what comes after that? When you’re really married…”

“We already live together. We know each other.” Wanda finished her pizza. “Jack would never hurt me the way—”

Jenna flinched. “David hurt me? Have you and Shadow talked about that, too? I’m not projecting my failures onto you. I only want to make sure you know what you’re doing and what the risks may be.”

Jenna had barely eaten at all, and when her mother held out another slice to her as if she were a baby bird that needed to be hand-fed, she drew back. Wanda nudged the pizza closer until, finally, Jenna took it. “All right, okay. Just this one.” She took a bite, hardly tasting the melted cheese and oregano-laced tomato sauce.

“Honey, I’m fine. Please don’t worry.” As if to reassure Jenna—or herself?—her mother’s engagement ring sparkled again, creating a rainbow on the far wall. Wanda studied the stone for a moment before a smile bloomed. “I’ve never been happier in my life, and I intend to stay that way. Shadow and I agree about where these concerns are truly coming from. Put that dreadful man behind you, Jenna.” For a second, Jenna thought she was referring to Hadley. “If there was a more self-centered person than David Collins, I’ve never met one.”

Except Daddy , Jenna thought. At least her ex had held a steady job, made decent money, and they’d shared a well-appointed home rather than a falling-down wreck. Finn and his wife, Annabelle, owned the Moran house now, and the renovations they were doing to it and the old farm buildings warmed her heart. Soon, there’d be few reminders of Jenna’s childhood, her father’s neglect or her parents’ dysfunctional marriage. How could Mama want to change her name again? Jenna sure didn’t intend to try another relationship.

So why did an unbidden image of Hadley run through her mind? Certainly, after today’s meeting at the bank, it was even more evident that he was not relationship material. Like her father, he’d never held a job for long, as evidenced by his recently quitting at the NLS to take over Clara’s ranch. How long would he stick with that? Or stay in Barren? Jenna would do better to remember the dark look on his face when he’d learned about Amy’s account, putting yet another barrier between Jenna and Hadley.

CORY TOSSED HIS gear bag onto the fresh pile of straw in the barn loft and held his breath. This might not be the most luxurious of accommodations, but he needed work, and the McMann ranch—if he could term it that, since nothing was mooing in the nearby pasture or growing in the fields—seemed better than most ideas he’d had. Besides, what other option was there?

He rummaged through his bag, yanked out the pillow he traveled with, then the plaid woolen blanket he favored.

From the house the dinner bell clanged, but Cory didn’t answer the summons. He’d eaten a fast-food burger in Farrier before he drove out to meet Hadley Smith, having heard about the job from another rancher. More to the point, he didn’t want Clara McMann in his face. The old woman had already pumped him for information Cory wouldn’t share. He knew how to ride horses and rope cows—had the wins to prove it—but he had no experience with mothers or grandmothers. He patted his gaudy prize buckle, silently insisting he wasn’t missing anything.

He rearranged his bedding, set down the Disney alarm clock he carried with him everywhere, then started to settle down in the straw.

“Mr. Jennings?” The McMann woman’s soft voice called to him from below.

Tempted to ignore her, Cory dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah?”

“Please join us for dinner. I hope you like enchiladas.”

His stomach growled. “Ate my share of Tex-Mex on the circuit,” he said, but his mouth watered. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

She didn’t take the hint. “Let me fix you a sandwich, then, or I have leftover pot roast to reheat.” Another rumble rolled through his gut. Apparently the burger had worked its way through his system and he was hungry after all. Then she threw in the ultimate temptation. “Do you like apple pie? With vanilla ice cream?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Before he thought better of it, he’d climbed down the ladder to the barn floor and was walking with Clara McMann across the yard to the kitchen door. As soon as it opened, the scents of fruit and cinnamon, jalapeños and corn wrapped him in a cocoon of hunger. The warmth in the room felt like a too-cozy blanket.

At the table Hadley Smith was already dripping hot sauce all over an enchilada. He looked up at Cory with a grin that transformed his normally stern face. “I could have told you. Clara doesn’t let anyone go without a good meal.”

“Sit down, Mr. Jennings.” She pointed at a chair and the place already set with sturdy stoneware and silver. She took her seat, unfolded her napkin with a nod at the one he hadn’t touched, then said, “Now. We’ll eat—and get to know you.”

Cory bit back a groan. He should have guessed. The true reason for this invitation was to weasel more details out of him. That wouldn’t happen. In his experience the more lies he spun, the more he had to remember so he didn’t trip himself up later.

Cory took the platter of enchiladas from her, dished up a pair of them and slathered on some salsa verde. He grabbed a square of corn bread, still hot and moist from the oven, then hunched over his plate.

Hadley tapped his shoulder. He held out a beer.

Cory shook his head. “Not a drinker,” he said. At least not here. Alcohol loosened his tongue. “I’d rather have a glass of milk.” He sent Mrs. McMann a smile. “Kills the heat I created on my enchilada.”

Hadley brought the glass to him, then returned to his chair. For a few minutes, silence reigned while everyone ate. Then the woman spoke again.

“Where are you from, Mr. Jennings?”

“Call me Cory, ma’am.” He coated the corn bread with another layer of butter, the real stuff. “Here and there,” he finally said, causing one of Hadley’s eyebrows to rise. “I was born in Texas.”

Cory avoided Hadley’s gaze, and Mrs. McMann’s. Note to self . He’d used the state before, not that hard to remember. It went with his past rodeo career, even with the job he’d be doing here for her and Smith.