Victoria Pade - The Cowboy's Gift-Wrapped Bride

Buzz joined her, sitting at the other end of the U, but sideways so he could stretch his leg out along the bench seat as if that eased an ache of his own.

He was still studying her. Scrutinizing her, really.

“You look a little familiar,” he finally decreed. “I’m bettin’ you were headed for Elk Creek, not just passin’ through. Prob’ly to see family.”

Matt made three trips bringing fried chicken, coleslaw, biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, honey and two glasses of water to the table before he slipped into the breakfast nook, too.

“Who’s she look like, then?” he asked as the old man continued to study Jenn.

“Don’t know. But she looks familiar. Name doesn’t ring a bell, though. No Johnsons ’round here. Maybe you lived in Elk Creek as a girl and Johnson’s yer married name.”

“Married?” Matt repeated as if he didn’t like the idea.

But then, for some reason, neither did Jenn.

“I don’t think I’m married,” she said with more forcefulness than was warranted. “I mean, I don’t feel married and there’s no wedding ring or mark on my wedding finger left by a ring. And there’s also no pictures in my wallet of a husband or kids.”

“And a husband would have missed her by now,” Matt added as he filled both his plate and hers with food. “Either she’d have been meeting him or he would have wanted her to call when she got where she was going to make sure she’d made it through this storm. And I just checked in with the sheriff a few minutes ago—nobody’s contacted him lookin’ for her. Granted, the phone lines are still down.”

“Could be a husband she left and he ain’t lookin’ fer her.”

“I don’t feel married,” Jenn repeated, thinking that if she were married, surely she wouldn’t be so attracted to Matt McDermot.

“How’s ’bout signs of childbirth? Got any of them stretch marks?”

“Buzz!” Matt chided his grandfather.

“Well, that’d be a clue, wouldn’t it?” the old man defended.

Jenn knew her face was coloring but she answered Buzz’s question anyway. “No, no stretch marks.” And she would have seen them if any existed because when she’d changed her clothes she’d checked out her body thoroughly to familiarize herself with it, finding not only no stretch marks but a narrow waist and a taut, flat stomach.

“Prob’ly no kids, then,” Buzz concluded from what she’d said about having no stretch marks. “How’s ’bout any birthmarks or scars?”

“None of those, either.”

“Got any tattoos?”

“Jeez, Buzz,” Matt groaned, rolling his eyes.

But Jenn only laughed at that one. “No, no tattoos, either.”

“How many toes you got? Knew a family moved on a long time ago—everyone of ’em had six toes on each foot.”

Jenn laughed again, enjoying the elderly man despite his bluntness. “Sorry. Only five per foot.”

“And you ain’t got that rosy hook-nosed beak of the Masseys from way back, so you prob’ly don’t belong to them neither.”

Buzz continued in that vein all the while Jenn and Matt ate, quizzing her, staring at her, trying to figure out who she was.

But he never did.

“Nope, can’t place you,” he finally concluded when both Matt and Jenn had finished eating. “There’s somethin’ ’bout you tickles my brain, though. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Maybe it’ll come to you,” Matt suggested.

“Sooner or later,” Buzz agreed. “I’ll keep workin’ on it.” The elderly man craned around to look at the clock on the back wall of the breakfast nook and then pushed himself to the end of the seat and used his cane to help himself get to his feet. “But now it’s time for my program. Think I’ll watch it under my heat blanket in bed.”

“Good idea,” Matt said, although he watched the old man with fondness and didn’t seem eager for him to go. “’Night, Buzz.”

“’Night. See you in the mornin’.” Then to Jenn he said, “And don’t worry ’bout nothin’, girl. You’re welcome to stay here long as you need to.”

“Thank you,” she said, telling the older man good-night as he limped out of the kitchen.

“Sorry about that stretch-mark business earlier,” Matt said when his grandfather was out of earshot.

“That’s okay. He was right. It would have been a sign of having kids. But there aren’t any,” she reiterated. “And even though I know it isn’t really a basis for anything, I honestly don’t have any sense of being married, either, so I really don’t think I am.”

Matt just nodded his head, accepting her conclusion but not necessarily committing to it. “Buzz will likely come up with something. He may not be young but he’s still sharp as a tack.”

“Do you always call him by his first name?” Jenn asked then, curious about it.

“I guess we all do.”

“Is that a remnant of not having known him when you were growing up?”

Once again Matt looked baffled. “You know about that, too?”

“I know he didn’t like the man your mother wanted to marry—your father—so she eloped and didn’t have anything to do with Buzz or her mother for years and years. That when they finally healed the rift she had a whole family of grown sons and a daughter that Buzz had never met before. But that you’ve all become close now.”

“Sometimes this is a little eerie,” was Matt’s only comment, referring to the facts about his family.

But his remark again gave Jenn second thoughts about the wisdom of spewing this information she had without knowing where it came from and so she changed the subject.

“Where is everybody else?” she asked. “From the sounds I heard when we came in tonight I expected a lot of people to be around. Did I scare them all away?”

“No. My brothers went out to shovel the walks, and their wives and my sister decided to stay out of the way for the night so they didn’t overwhelm you right off the bat, when you’ve already had a tough day.”

Matt mimicked his grandfather by glancing up at the clock. “And speaking of which, I think we should get you to bed.”

Jenn had to admit—to herself if not to him—that she’d begun to feel as if she were wilting.

“Let’s do the dishes and then I will,” she said.

“No way. No dishes for you. But how ’bout I make you a cup of tea with honey and lemon to take to bed with you?”

“That sounds good.”

Matt grabbed the honey pot and as many dishes as he could carry and slid out of the nook. “Sit tight while I get your tea ready,” he ordered.

Jenn didn’t protest. She was suddenly feeling very weak and worn-out and she honestly didn’t know if she had the strength to do more than get back to her bedroom. So she did as she’d been told and sat tight as Matt put the dirty dishes in the sink and filled a mug with water to heat in the microwave.

Then he took a fresh lemon from the refrigerator, washed it thoroughly and rolled it against the wooden cutting board with his palm and the heel of his hand before slicing a wedge from it.

Jenn knew she was really tired because something about his actions almost hypnotized her and she ended up watching his every move in silence.

Mainly her focus was on his hands. Big, capable hands that seemed to dwarf everything they came into contact with.

And in Jenn’s mind she pictured him rolling the strained muscles of her shoulders the way he’d rolled the lemon—pushing with his palm and the heel of his hand in a gentle, insistent, adept massage.

Those hands would be strong against her tight muscles. Firm. Tender. They’d squeeze the stress out of her the same way they squeezed the juice from the lemon, with just the right amount of pressure.

And she’d grow pliable beneath his touch. She’d melt inside and her head would fall back and she’d give herself over to those hands…