It was a long speech for him, Sophie thought, a lot of words strung together and there wasn’t really room for her to argue or protest. She wasn’t wanted or needed at the ranch, and he wasn’t going to be available for a day.
She told herself it didn’t hurt.
She told herself it was fine.
But it didn’t feel fine.
She felt terrible as a matter of fact. She practically hummed with regret, but there was no way she’d let him know that. “No worries. Be safe tomorrow.”
“I will, and we’ll have a nice dinner tomorrow.”
For a split second, she almost begged him to drive down tonight. For a split second, she almost told him how scared she was, but Sophie’s pride kept her from revealing how vulnerable she felt and so she faked a cheerful, “Sounds great, Joe.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Another wave of pain washed over her. What was she doing here? How could she have possibly thought Montana would be the answer? How could she have imagined it’d be so easy to start over?
But Sophie had her pride, so much pride, and so she swallowed hard and blinked back foolish tears. “Me, too.”
*
So far, nothing was going the way he’d planned, and Joe felt increasingly frustrated, but he couldn’t let his mother know. His mom hated being dependent on others, and she hated that she couldn’t cook like she used to or deep clean anymore. She missed driving and grocery shopping and she worried about being a burden, and so Joe juggled his responsibilities tonight, just as he did every night.
As he used the pancake turner to break up the browning ground beef as it sizzled with the diced onions in the cast-iron skillet, he kept an eye on the clock, aware he was getting a later start to town than he’d planned, but so far, he wasn’t really late. He could make up some time on the drive, but he wasn’t going to be late, because he wasn’t going to make Sophie wait. It was bad enough he couldn’t see her last night. She’d only just arrived in Montana and yet she was spending all of her time alone.
“You don’t have to make dinner before you go,” his mom said, slowly entering the kitchen, her cane lightly scarping the wooden floor.
“It’s what I do every night, Mom. Just because I’m not eating here, doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you and Granddad hungry.”
“We could fend for ourselves,” she answered, making her way to the breakfast table and carefully sitting down.
“You could, but since I’m here, I might as well get it ready so all you have to do is dish it up when you’re hungry.” He glanced over his shoulder, taking in his mom’s posture. “You’re hurting tonight, aren’t you?”
“No more than usual.”
“I think we should get you back in to see Dr. Johnson.”
“He’ll just give me more medicine and the medicine will make me sleepy or dizzy or depressed—”
“Is the pain better, Mom?”
“At least I know I’m alive.”
“There are other ways to know you’re alive,” he said, taking a potholder from the counter to wrap the skillet handle before carrying the skillet to the sink. “Pain shouldn’t be the measure of one’s existence.”
She didn’t answer him, but he could feel her gaze on him as he drained the fat from the meat. Her gaze felt sharp, pointed, and she dying to say something. Joe wished she’d just come out and say it. It was hard enough communicating with her without the extra silences.
Returning the skillet to the stove, he turned the heat down and dumped in the sour cream and seasonings and gave it a good stir. “The noodles are cooked. This just needs to simmer a few minutes and then you should be good to go.” He covered the stroganoff with an oversized lid and turned around. “Anything you need me to do before I head out?”
His mom just looked at him, expression guarded, fine lines etched at her eyes, and yet he could feel her tension, as well as her resistance. She didn’t want him to go. She hadn’t been happy yesterday evening, either, but tonight she seemed even more upset.
“Just say it, Mom. You know you want to.”
“I don’t want to fight with you tonight. I was so upset after you left last night.”
“Fine. Don’t say anything. I need to get on the road. We have a six thirty reservation at Rocco’s.” He felt his jeans back pocket, wallet, and then his front pocket, keys. Good to go. “See you in the morning,” he said, crossing to her, and kissing her forehead. “Don’t try to stay up. I might be late.” He headed to the back door where the coats were hung up on pegs drilled into the split-log wall.
He was just sliding his coat on when his mother said, “Why her?”
Joe tensed, air bottled in his lungs. This was exactly how it started last night. Right as he tried to walk out. Right as he tried to carve some time for himself. Last night he’d been frustrated. Tonight he was angry.
“Why not her?” he replied evenly, as he adjusted the collar on the sheepskin coat. “I like her. A lot.”
“I just don’t understand why you had to meet someone online. Why not someone from around here? There are plenty of really nice girls in Marietta.”
“Because I didn’t meet her in Marietta. I met her online and we clicked.”
“But why? She’s not from Montana. She’s not even like us—”
“What does that mean?” he interrupted roughly, temper flaring. “Not like us?”
His mother bit her lower lip and said nothing.
“And her name is Sophie,” he added. “Sophie’s wonderful. She’s smart, educated, successful. She has a great career, comes from a three-generation farming family. She understands my values, and how much the ranch means to me.”
“And she’s going to give up her job and her family to come here? She’s going to live here and be happy here?” His mom made a scoffing noise. “I don’t think so.”
Joe didn’t bother to dignify his mother’s response with an answer. Instead, he opened the door and walked out, but for the entire thirty-minute drive to town, her words played over and over in his head.
*
Joe would be arriving any minute but Sophie hastily changed her blouse, and then peeled off her jeans and stepped into a long skirt, and stepped back to examine her reflection in the mirror on the closet door. No. Not good. Quickly she stripped off the skirt and tugged her jeans back on, and then changed back to her original blouse.
This was so stupid.
She scooped her loose hair into a ponytail and tightened the elastic, and turned her head right, left, studied her profile and then with a shake of her head, pulled the elastic out and let her hair spill down her back.
She couldn’t do this. Be whatever it was she thought he wanted. She shouldn’t be trying so hard. She barely knew him. How could she possibly make herself into whatever it was he wanted?
On the plane, she’d had butterflies. On the plane, she’d felt anxiety. But her anxiety tonight was different. Her anxiety was deeper, her pulse faster, her heart thudding with the awareness that Joe was gorgeous, and masculine, and full of hard edges. He wasn’t going to be a man that was easily managed. He wasn’t going to be overtly charming like Leo. He was himself, and she wasn’t going to change him or dress him up or make him into something she wanted. She would have to take him, or leave him, period.