Anne Eames - A Marriage Made In Joeville

Just as she had planned, Hannah had things well in hand for supper by the time Essie had moved the last box from her car to her new digs upstairs and then strolled into the kitchen.

Hannah threw her a derisive glance, then went about her business. “Nice of ya ta stop by,” she said, whacking at a helpless onion, wiping her red eyes on her sweat-stained sleeve.

Essie smiled and ignored the sarcasm, still enjoying the glow of her drive in. “What would you like me to help with?”

“Help?” Hannah nearly shouted. “This here is yer job. I’m supposed ta be doin’ other things.”

Essie felt her heart sink to her growling stomach. As gruff as this old lady was, Essie much preferred the idea of being her helper than head chef.

“I—I’m sorry I’m so late. Maybe I can help you with your chores when we’re done here.” She cast a hopeful glance in the woman’s direction.

“Humph.” She continued taking out her vengeance on the poor onion.

It was then Essie noticed the large mixing bowl of ground beef. She had a sinking suspicion one of her few good meals was about to be scratched from this week’s list. “Meat loaf?” she asked, hoping against hope she was wrong.

“‘Less ya got somethin’ else in mind.”

“N-no. Meat loaf’s fine.”

“Good. Then ya kin work on the scalloped potatoes.”

Without a box? She looked around for a clue as to where to start.

“Taters are in the wood bin...end o’ counter.” Hannah nodded with her head while she used the side of her knife to scrape diced onions into the mixing bowl.

Essie found the bin and retrieved twelve large potatoes, taking them to the sink to peel.

“Which ones cain’t eat?” Hannah barked over her shoulder.

“Not enough?” Essie darted back to the bin, feeling about as out of place as Jenny would in front of a computer. Damn her ideas, anyway. How could a person pull out a cookbook with Hannah the Horrible breathing down her neck? The idea of making scalloped potatoes from scratch was as alien as butchering her own meat. Oh, God. Would she have to do that, too?

“Try doublin’ that and ya’ll be close.”

Essie toted another dozen to the sink, found the right utensil in a half-opened drawer, and went to work under a running faucet.

“Don’t know where ya from, but we all conserve water ’round here. Fill the sink, if ya have ta, but turn off that tap.”

Essie did as she was told, keeping her face forward to hide the anger and embarrassment that was coloring her cheeks. As much as she dreaded the thought of solo kitchen duty, the sooner this woman was in another part of the house, the better.

She could feel Hannah’s critical eyes boring into her back, and she double-timed the potato peeler, venting her frustrations while hoping to appear as if she knew what she was doing. At least Ryder was nowhere in sight to witness this impending disaster.

The screen door squeaked, then banged shut behind heavy boots thudding across the wooden plank floor. The boots stopped, and Essie kept peeling, head down, praying it was anyone other than Ryder.

“How’s it going, Hannah?”

Great. The familiar voice tightened the knot in Essie’s stomach.

“Ma bunions are killin’ me, but that ain’t nothin’ new,” Hannah said, with a half chuckle.

Essie peeled and prayed. Please make him go away. I’ve got enough on my hands.

“Whatcha been up ta all day, young Ryder?” Hannah practically purred, her voice taking on a dulcet tone.

“Oh, a little of this, less of that.”

“Shane tells me ya goin’ to Billings to look at some quarter horses t’morrow.”

“Yep. Need something?”

This brought Essie’s head around. She didn’t want Ryder to go grocery shopping. She had to do it. Alone.

Ryder looked her way, touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Evening, Essie.” He was looking at what she wore, his gaze never quite making it to her eyes.

“Hello,” she said tightly, then turned back to her chore, angry with him for his lecherous leering, more angry with herself for still caring.

“The pantry’s runnin’ low, but I’m sure ya’d rather not go a-shoppin’.” Hannah actually laughed. There was no sound of rebuke in her voice, but instead, a fond tolerance.

“You make a list and I’ll get whatever your big heart desires.”

Essie swallowed a chuckle, not believing the exchange behind her. Manure was in abundance in these parts, she reminded herself. Obviously it had found its way from the bottom of his boots to his tongue.

“Maybe Essie should go with ya...show’er where ta go and all.”

No! Bad idea. How could she buy boxed mixes and all the other shortcuts she’d decided on, and—

“Fine by me,” Ryder said. “What do you think, Essie? You’re pretty quiet back there.”

I think I’m out of my mind. She turned to meet his gaze, but his focus was somewhere in the vicinity of her backside. She pretended not to notice. “If you have other business, maybe I should go alone...then it won’t take all day.” His head came up and he finally met her glare.

Hannah’s fingers kneaded the ingredients in the bowl and missed the exchange. “Y’all go ahead. What’s one more day? Ya have ta learn yer way ’round sooner or later, girl. Might as well be sooner.”

Essie watched the woman’s sure hands grease a couple of long bread pans, then divide the meat in two, preferring this view to anything she might find on Ryder’s face.

Without breaking stride, and acting as though the previous discussion was settled, Hannah spoke to Ryder, her shoulders rolling with her work. “Have ya got a date yet?”

Date? Essie turned back to the sink, feeling a choke hold on her windpipe. Behind her, she heard Ryder sigh and plant his elbows on the counter near Hannah.

“Any chance you’ll let me off the hook on this one?” he asked, not sounding too put out.

“Now what would a birthday party be without a date?”

“Don’t you think I’m a little old for a birthday party?”

“Humph. When yer my age, talk ta me ’bout old.”

Ryder laughed easily. “Okay, okay. As long as you promise...no pointy hats or horns or the like.”

“Good. That’s settled. Now who ya gonna ask?”

“I was thinking about asking Maddy and her son, Billy.”

“Maddy...Maddy. Now where do I know that name from? Don’t spect ya met her at church.” Ryder laughed and she tried again. “She one of them divorcees, then?”

“More like widowed, I’d say.” Then quickly he changed the subject. “Billy’s young, but he won’t be any problem. Very well-behaved kid.”

“Humph.”

Essie quickened the stroke on her peeler. Why should she care? Ryder was not the man she’d hoped to find, and she was probably deluding herself to hope otherwise. Let Maddy, or the rest of Montana, have him. She dropped a skinned potato into the water and found another fresh one, the sudden tightness in her chest calling her a liar.

Damn it, anyway. Why couldn’t she forget that melancholy young man she had known so well in Detroit? Was he anywhere to be found under all those layers of dust and anger? Her hands stopped. Or was it a moot point? Maybe this Maddy was the reason for the rumpled clothes and the mid-breakfast arrival this morning. And what about Billy? Could he be Ryder’s? No. She was letting her imagination run away with her.

“Well,” Ryder began, then yawned loudly, as if she needed to be reminded he probably hadn’t slept all night, “I got work to do. Better get a move on.”

Essie heard his boots inching closer and she stiffened. Then she heard him plant a noisy kiss on Hannah’s cheek, which elicited a girlish giggle from the woman.

“Get outta here,” she said, lightheartedly.