Susan Fox - A Wedding in the Family

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.

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.