Joe counted to three, and then five, as he stacked the plates and dirty cutlery. His mom was about as warm as an iceberg. “Coffee, anyone?” he asked. “We’ve got some lemon cake, too. I picked it up from the bakery this afternoon.”
“Nothing for me,” Granddad said. “I’ve got a show I want to watch.”
“None for me,” his mom chimed in, even though every night she drank a cup of black coffee after the meal. It was her evening ritual.
“You’re sure, Mom?” he asked, standing in the doorway. “You love Rachel’s lemon cake.”
“I’m sure.” She gave him another strained smile, and he cursed inwardly, baffled and frustrated by the wall she’d put up tonight. “But thank you, Joe. I might have a slice of that lemon cake for breakfast.”
Joe turned to Sophie. “Sophie, what about you? Coffee? Tea? We have some herbal tea in there somewhere if you prefer that.”
“I’m good, thank you. Let me help you clear,” she said, rising and reaching for the platter.
His mom’s hand flew out, stopping Sophie. “Don’t do that, Sophie, sit. Please.”
Sophie hesitated, forehead creasing. “I’d like to help. I’m not used to being waited on.”
“That might be true, but guests don’t work, not in my house,” his mother answered, smiling tightly.
Joe couldn’t remember when he was last so uncomfortable. He loved and respected his mom, but he was so disappointed in her right now, and ashamed that his family wasn’t being more welcoming to Sophie.
Sophie glanced from his mom to him. “But it’s not work,” she replied. “I’m grateful—”
“Sophie,” Joe interrupted, quietly. “It’s okay, I’ve got this. I’ll be right back.”
*
Sophie sat back down at the table, exhaling silently. She wouldn’t call dinner miserable, but it hadn’t been fun. Joe had carried most of the conversation, talking about general subjects like the weather, his brothers who were competing around now on the professional rodeo circuit, and if any of them might make an appearance for Easter which was less than two weeks away. She’d asked when his brothers had last been home, and his mom had said they always came home every year for Christmas, which must have meant that the three younger Wyatt brothers hadn’t been home since December. It was hard to say.
Joe’s grandfather, Melvin—whom Joe rather resembled if aged forty plus years—pushed up from the table, excusing himself, leaving Sophie and Mrs. Wyatt alone together.
Joe’s mom didn’t try to make conversation, though, and they both sat at the table in silence. Sophie hated it. She suddenly wondered how any of this was going to work. What had she gotten into, coming to Montana, agreeing to marry Joe and live on his family’s ranch?
Joe returned then, emerging through the swinging door from the kitchen. He came to stand behind her chair, his knuckles lightly brushing her shoulder, letting her know he was there.
But she knew he was there. Joe had an intensely masculine energy that made her aware of him the moment he entered or left a room. She could feel him behind her now, his energy so potent it felt as if he was still touching her.
“Mom, is there anything I can do for you before I steal Sophie away?” he asked.
Mrs. Wyatt’s gaze swept over her and then lifted to look at her son. “Where are you going?”
“Thought I’d grab Sophie’s luggage from the truck and get her settled in. She’s had a long day. I’m sure she’d be happy to just unpack and relax.”
Mrs. Wyatt’s hand clenched where it rested on the dining table. “Could we have a minute, Joe?” She glanced to Sophie. “Would you mind, dear?”
“Not at all,” Sophie said, sliding out of her chair. “I can go outside—”
“Not outside,” Joe interrupted. “It’s cold. And Runt might make you nervous. The family room would be better. Granddad’s in there watching TV.”
“I don’t want to interfere with his show,” Sophie answered. “What if I wait in the kitchen?”
Joe nodded and she slipped out, but even with the swinging door closed, Sophie could hear Mrs. Wyatt’s voice. There didn’t seem to be a way to escape the conversation.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Joe. Springing this on us. Why wouldn’t you tell us?”
“I did tell you,” he answered. “You knew I was going to Bozeman to pick her up from the airport.”
“But I didn’t know she would be staying here.”
“Come on, Mom, that’s not true. You knew I’d changed the sheets on Sam’s bed, and opened the windows to air the room out.”
Silence fell, the silence too long to be anything good.
“So how long is she staying?” his mother asked.
Exasperation sharpened Joe’s tone. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
Sophie couldn’t hear his mother’s answer, or maybe Mrs. Wyatt didn’t answer. Either way, a heaviness filled her, making her stomach hurt. This wasn’t what she’d expected. She didn’t know what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t… this.
It wasn’t that long before Joe found her in the kitchen. His expression was grim, his hard jaw set. Sophie could see how unhappy he was; he wasn’t unhappy with her, but with his family, and that didn’t bode well… not for them, not for the future.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “It really is.”
“You heard?” he asked.
“Enough to know that me being here is a problem.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” He turned away, paced the floor. “I live here, work here, rarely leave here,” he said, almost under his breath. “I’m chained to this place, body and soul, and it shouldn’t be an issue for me to invite someone here.”
“But it is,” she answered, “and we just need to adjust our plans. We don’t want to add to the tension. If your mom is this resistant to me visiting, how will she ever reconcile herself to the news that we’re getting married?”
He abruptly stopped pacing. “Let’s go outside and talk. I’ll get your coat.”
The log cabin house had a long covered veranda that ran the length of the house. A pair of rocking chairs were pushed up against one end of the wall while a bench was against another. Joe chose to sit on the railing instead, facing her, arms again bundled over his chest.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He stared at a point just over his head, jaw set, eyes narrowed, expression grim. “Sorry. I hate that this is so damn awkward right now. I hate that they’re making you uncomfortable.”
“You’re uncomfortable too,” she said. “And this isn’t going to work if everyone’s upset, because here’s what I know. You’re loyal to your family, just as you should be. You and I are strangers. We don’t have history. We don’t have a relationship—”
“But we will,” he interrupted.
“With time.”
Joe didn’t reply to that, and Sophie watched him, concerned. She’d been through so much these last few months that this tension, this awkwardness, in the big picture was nothing. This wasn’t personal either. She had a feeling his mom would react this way to any woman coming into the house. His mom was afraid of being replaced, and having an outsider—a young woman—here was a threat to her and her comfortable routines. Sophie represented change, and from the sound of it, there hadn’t been a lot of change here at the Wyatts’ ranch in a very long time.