A Weaver Proposal. Allison Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ import was nearly thirty years old and had belonged to her mother. A gift from Sydney’s father, until he’d taken it back from her during the divorce. He’d later given it to Sydney as a gift—not because he was bestowing some treasured thing upon her—but because it was a manual transmission. After she’d backed one of Forrest’s Crossing’s trucks through a paddock fence, he’d mockingly laughed that, like her mother, she’d never be able to drive it properly, anyway.

      “Just a little paternal adoration,” she murmured now as she coaxed the engine to life.

      Bringing the car with her here to Wyoming had probably been the height of folly. But no more, possibly, than bringing herself had been.

      When it came down to it, she was about as equipped for the practical matters of life here as her red demon was equipped for snow-covered roads and frozen temperatures.

      “But we’ll both do it, won’t we? We have to.” She ignored the faint edge of desperation she felt and patted the steering wheel when the engine finally caught.

      She wasn’t quite sure what she’d have done if it hadn’t started. Did Weaver even possess a cab company?

      Somehow, she doubted it.

      Fortunately, it hadn’t snowed since she’d arrived, so the bumpy drive that led from the highway to the cabin was still clear and she made it out of the shed and down to the main road with no engine stalls. Then it was just a matter of following the instructions Maggie had given her to reach the “big house” on the family’s cattle ranch.

      Sydney realized soon enough that the place was no more “in Weaver” than the cabin was. When she finally pulled to a stop in front of a sprawling stone house, there were already a half-dozen cars parked in the curving drive in front of it. She pulled as close to the snow-plowed edge of the drive as she dared, parking behind an enormous black SUV, and climbed out, smoothing down her cashmere coat as she eyed the vehicles. Everything from economy cars to luxury SUVs. Jake had told her the Clays were a diverse bunch.

      Even their automobiles reflected it.

      She carefully picked her way between the vehicles toward the snowy ground separating the plowed drive from the house, wincing a little as her high, stacked heels sank into the snow. Her boots were suede and not meant for getting wet. She needed to shop. And soon.

      “We were about ready to send out a search crew.”

      The low, masculine voice startled her and she jerked her head up to see Derek Clay standing on the wide porch that stretched across the front of the house. He was wearing jeans again—though this time at least they looked clean. The down coat was gone, but all that did was show off the shoulders stretching the limits of his untucked, navy blue pullover. Evidently the down coat he’d worn the day before hadn’t been solely responsible for the wide shoulders.

      Sydney also noted the arm he had looped possessively over the shoulder of a very pretty young woman. Whether this was another cousin of the “kissing” variety or not, Sydney could see she was considerably younger than Derek. She was guessing he was closer to Sydney’s thirty-one than the girl’s probable twenty-one.

      Men were men, obviously. And for a good many of them, the younger their companions were, the better.

      Not that she cared one whit that Derek seemed no better than Antoine had been in that regard.

      She yanked the lapels of her coat more tightly around her waist as she gingerly picked her way through the snow until she reached the shoveled walkway.

      “As you can see, I made it.” She even managed a smile, though how she did after their encounter the day before was a minor miracle.

      “Small wonder,” he returned and nodded his head toward her car. “We have snowdrifts bigger than that toy.” He might have cleaned up in the clothing department, but the dark blond waves of his hair were still as unkempt as ever. “J.D. and Jake have plenty of suitable vehicles up at their place. Why not use one?”

      His tone made it perfectly clear that he considered her brainless for not having done so, and Sydney’s jaw ached as she locked her insincere smile in place. “I’m surprised Jake didn’t tell you already. I like unsuitable,” she assured him blithely, though nothing could have been further from the truth.

      Yes, she’d frequently indulged in the unsuitable. More often than not. But that was exactly what had led her to this particular point in her life.

      Nausea nudged at her, deep inside, like the low tide getting ready to come in.

      She swallowed hard and took a deep breath of cold, bracing air as she crossed the walkway to the shallow steps leading up to the house.

      “Unsuitable doesn’t fly real well in these parts,” Derek said when she reached the top. “Thinking about safety does.”

      His companion—who looked even more dewy and fresh up close—didn’t bother trying to hide the elbow that she poked into his side. “Be nice,” she said, and stuck out her hand toward Sydney. “I’m Tabby Taggart. And not all of us are quite the sticks in the mud as this guy is.”

      Sydney shook the girl’s hand. “I’m Sydney.” She wasn’t going to comment on the sticks business, even if she did happen to agree. “It’s nice to meet you, Tabby.” She let her gaze take in both of them. “I apologize for running a little late.”

      “No worries.” Tabby waved an unconcerned hand and without losing Derek’s arm, pulled open the enormous front door with obvious familiarity. “When there’s a crowd around here for Sunday dinner it always takes a bit of doing to get the meal on the table, anyway. And can I just say that I love those boots of yours? I hope you’ve treated the suede for getting wet, though.”

      Over the girl’s head, Sydney’s gaze ran into Derek’s and she cursed herself for being caught looking his way.

      “Wouldn’t worry about the boots, Tab,” he said as they headed inside. “Sydney’s an honest-to-God heiress, remember? If she wanted to pretend they’re disposable after one wearing, she could.”

      Tabby looked up at him, grabbed his face in her hand and planted a kiss on his lips. “Funny guy, aren’t you?” Then she gave his cheek a playful slap.

      “Deathly,” Sydney murmured, watching the girl move off. Tabby could think her boyfriend was joking, but Sydney knew he wasn’t. She wasn’t dressed appropriately for the weather any more than her car was suited to it.

      In his eyes it was obviously just one more strike against her.

      She wondered what he’d think if he knew that his strikes were small potatoes in comparison to the ones she’d had leveled at her since childhood. But then again, she’d rather he didn’t know. Thinking she was a snob was much better than knowing what she really was.

      A pregnant, rejected fool who’d never accomplished anything on her own.

      Fortunately, her arrival had been noticed, not just by Maggie Clay, the woman who’d invited her, but by countless others who quickly surrounded her. Maggie, who was just as blonde as her daughter, J.D., grabbed Sydney’s hand as if she were five and began introducing everyone even as she took Sydney’s coat and thrust it at Derek with instructions to hang it up.

      As Sydney struggled to keep up with the introductions—some СКАЧАТЬ