A Weaver Proposal. Allison Leigh
“It’s too bad that Gloria and Squire are gone right now.” Her hand had come to rest over the bronzed hand of her husband, sitting on her other side and now, she patted it. “Daniel’s father. I know you met at your aunt’s wedding. I’m sure they’re looking forward to seeing you again.”
They hadn’t had time to speak much at the wedding since Sydney had only been there for a matter of hours, but she did remember the iron-haired man who was the patriarch of this large, rambunctious family and his wife. “Jake mentioned they were away for a few weeks?”
“Yeah, Squire doesn’t like the cold winters so much anymore,” added another man as he entered and took the chair at the head of the table. He was blond as well, though with plenty of silver shot through the brutally short, thick strands, and his eyes were the palest blue she’d ever seen. For someone old enough to be her father, he, too, was ridiculously handsome.
“I’m Matthew,” he said. “Welcome to the Double-C.”
“Daniel’s brother,” Maggie provided from her side.
“My father,” Derek added from her other.
Sydney’s gaze flicked back to the older man. It irritated the life out of her when she realized she was looking for some resemblance between him and his son. Aside from the fair hair—which on Derek was a whole lot darker than his father—the likeness was slim. Despite the dark stubble liberally shadowing Derek’s jaw, she figured his face was less squarely, ruggedly male than his father’s.
No less good-looking, whether she wanted to admit that or not, but in a prettier way.
Then, she couldn’t help a small smile. She didn’t know much about Derek Clay, but she couldn’t help but figure he wouldn’t appreciate being called pretty. “Thank you,” she told Matthew, glad that her private amusement at Derek’s expense would simply be taken at face value. “Your ranch is quite something to see.”
“Oh, darling, you have barely scratched the surface.” Jaimie—the auburn-haired woman who’d obviously passed on her finer features to her son Derek—angled between their chairs to set an enormous platter in the center of the table. She swatted Derek’s hand when he reached out to grab one of the pizza boxes that were incongruously stacked high on the china platter. “Wait until after grace,” she chided.
Sydney sent him a sideways look as his mother moved away to take her place adjacent to her husband’s. But instead of looking cowed by his mother, he was just eyeing Sydney with that vaguely challenging, amused look. She was beginning to wonder if he had it all the time, or if he’d reserved it just for her.
But then, when Maggie clasped her hand and she noticed that everyone around the table was doing the same, she realized what “grace” meant to these people.
She reluctantly set her palm into the upturned one that Derek had rested on the table between their two plates and it took all of her willpower not to jerk it back when his long fingers closed over hers, capturing it but good.
He, she noted, didn’t close his eyes or bow his head even a fraction, as his father gave a brief blessing for the meal.
And when the amen was said and everyone turned their attention to the meal, and pizza boxes were thrown open and passed hither and yon, Sydney spread her napkin on her lap and eyed him. “Not showing a lot of reverence there, were you?” She kept her voice low, even though she doubted her words would be carried beyond his ears, since everyone’s mouths—if they weren’t already occupied with eating—were running a mile a minute. She couldn’t even begin to unravel the half-dozen conversations that seemed to be running concurrently.
“Neither were you,” he countered. A few lines radiated from the corners of the green eyes that he’d clearly inherited from his mother. “Or you wouldn’t have noticed what I was doing.”
The fact that he was right didn’t comfort her any. She managed not to snatch the pizza box he was holding aloft for her as she passed it smoothly to Maggie on her other side.
“Pizza too common-folk for you?” He jerked his chin at her empty plate.
“Not at all,” she returned truthfully. She loved the stuff. But the smell of the pepperoni was luring the threatening tide inside her as surely as the moon lured the ocean. Instead, she reached for the enormous salad bowl that was sitting almost directly in front of her, and put some on her plate.
Even that, though, wasn’t exactly nirvana for her senses, because there was a plentiful amount of chopped black olives among the lettuce and tomatoes.
She’d always liked black olives.
But right now, they looked as appetizing as an infestation of little black bugs.
Her fork dropped on the plate with a clatter as she hurriedly grabbed her filled water glass and, with an appalling lack of dignity, chugged half of its contents before she set it down.
Derek was watching her, the corners of his lips turned down. “What do you do? Maintain a rabbit’s diet just so you can fit into look-at-me dresses like that?” His gaze dropped from her face to the dress in question and she was certain it was only irritation that made her skin beneath the garment feel hot.
“Stop teasing,” Jaimie said from down the table. She was pinching off pieces of her pizza crust and setting them in front of the fat-cheeked baby occupying a high chair next to her. “As I was starting to say before, Sydney’s hardly seen a fraction of the Double-C. Derek, you ought to show her around after dinner.”
“Tramping through snow and cow piles with those boots of hers?” Derek shook his head as he reached out a long arm and grabbed a slice of plain cheese pizza from another box. “Probably not a good idea.” He plopped the slice on Sydney’s plate and pointedly moved the box as if he feared she’d be rude enough to put the slice back.
“Don’t be silly.” Jaimie’s face was wreathed in a smile. If she recognized her son’s obvious reluctance, she was ignoring it. “You can borrow something more suitable,” she told Sydney. “It’s worth the trouble,” she promised. “Even covered in snow, the Double-C is impressive.”
Sydney knew that Jake had been impressed, which was no mean feat. “I’m sure it is,” she said. “But I don’t want to put anyone out.”
“Face it, Mom,” Derek said with just enough dry humor not to sound as odious as Sydney knew he really was. “She was raised at Forrest’s Crossing. She might not be that interested in our little cow operation here considering she grew up around prize-winning Thoroughbreds.”
Her jaw was tightening again. She was well aware that there was nothing “little” about the Double-C. It was the largest cattle operation in the state. She also could feel the look that Matthew was sending their way and knew, without question, that he at least was picking up on something between them.
Jake would never forgive her if she managed to alienate a single one of his beloved J.D.’s family.
She forced a smile toward Derek. “But I am interested,” she assured him brightly. “I just don’t want to be an imposition.”
She hoped to heaven she was the only one who heard the faint snort he gave.
“Don’t be silly,” Jaimie said again. “You’re family now, darling. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Cousins, remember?” Derek was smiling, too, though it looked a little thin around the edges as far as Sydney could tell.
“Right.” She didn’t even realize she’d picked up the slice of pizza until it was in her fingers and the aroma—thankfully tantalizing this time—reached her. She bit off the narrow point of the slice and nearly closed her eyes with glee as the chewy, cheesy mess practically melted on her tongue.
She heard Derek make a strangled sound and looked his way. “Are you all right?”
“Peachy.” He dumped a load of salad on his own plate, jabbed his fork viciously into