A Weaver Proposal

Definitely a looker. But he knew from Jake that she liked living in the fast lane. Along with that, she was snooty. And undoubtedly high-maintenance coming from the moneyed background that she had. None of these qualities was high on his list of attractive attributes in a woman, no matter how good she looked.

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate the prompt payment,” he offered, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Derek, by the way.”

She eyed his hand—which admittedly had a smear of grease on the back of it and had since he’d been wrangling with an ancient tractor engine inside which his mom’s latest cat had decided to have her kittens—with clear distaste. But then she seemed to swallow hard and stuck her slender hand briefly into his. “Sydney Forrest,” she offered.

“I know. You’re Jake’s sis.”

Her fine, dark eyebrows drew together over a narrow nose that tilted up just a bit at the end, saving her oval face from being too classically pretty. “You know my brother?”

Her tone implied that anyone of his ilk couldn’t possibly, and despite his efforts, his ornery grin cracked through. “‘Fraid so, Syd.” He couldn’t help laying on the hick, given her obviously appalled reaction. “You and me? We’re practically kin seein’ how your brother’s hitched to my cousin.”

He didn’t think her ivory face could get any whiter, but it did. “You’re … related to J.D.?” Her rosy lips spread in a thin smile that wasn’t reflected at all in her dark blue eyes.

“Yup. Derek Clay. So some might even call you and me kissin’ cousins,” he added, because she obviously was not going to see the humor in any of this.

Still, something about the situation left him feeling itchy and irritated because—snooty or not—she was pretty damn beautiful.

Her eyes were a deep, dark blue and now, as a steely glint came into them, they iced over. They reminded him of black ice.

“You could have just told me who you were.” Her voice was cold as a witch’s behind, but the cadence of her words nevertheless had an almost hypnotic molasses-smooth sway.

“You maybe could have waited three seconds for me to do so before jumping on that high horse of assumptions you ride,” he returned blandly. “Don’t worry your pretty head any, though. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“You can tell whomever you like.” Her vaguely pointy chin was set. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“No, ma’am,” Derek agreed. She was no more in the right or wrong than he was, when it came down to it. Still, her snooty attitude wouldn’t get her anywhere in Weaver, even though she was Jake’s sister and thereby connected to the Clay family, which was generally well thought of in the community. “I guess you haven’t.”

And since she was connected to the Clays—to him—he pushed aside his general irritation with himself and her and reminded himself of the way he was raised.

He looked past her sweater-bundled shoulder into the cabin’s interior. “Watch that pilot light,” he warned. “If the thermocouple is failing, it’ll go out again no matter how careful you are. And don’t wait an entire day to ask for help when you need it.”

She crossed her arms and managed to look down her narrow, turned-up, sexy nose at him, even though she stood about a head shorter than his six-three. “I did call for help,” she reminded him as if he were dense enough to have somehow missed that point.

“Did you call the number for the Double-C that Jake left you?” He didn’t need to see the chagrin she tried to hide to know that she hadn’t. He’d been at the Double-C since before dawn that day working with his father, Matthew Clay, who ran the family ranch. If Jake’s sister had called, he’d have known about it.

She hadn’t called.

“I didn’t want to impose.” Now that enticing sway to her voice had gone all stiff.

And he was irritated all over again with himself because he felt some regret for that. “Nobody in the Clay family would consider it an imposition. Maybe you’d know that if you’d have bothered to come to Jake and J.D.’s wedding last summer and taken time to get to know us.”

Her jaw dropped a little. “Is that what Jake said? Or is this just your know-it-all take on it?”

Jake hadn’t said a word against his sister. “Weddings tend to bring out the crowds in my family.”

“As they do in mine,” she returned coolly. “If I could have made it, I would have. I was here for my Aunt Susan’s wedding to Stan Ventura a few months ago. He’s sort of family to you Clays now, isn’t he, yet I don’t recall seeing you there.”

He had missed that wedding, but not because he’d wanted to. “I was in Cheyenne. On business.” He gave the lie with no regret. He’d been attending a funeral.

She smiled with no humor. “Is that an excuse that only applies to you? Maybe I was away on business when Jake and J.D. were married.”

“Were you?”

Her head tilted slightly and her shining blue-black hair slid away from her high, patrician cheekbone. “Yes.”

“And what is your business, Sydney Forrest? I hadn’t heard that you worked for Forco.”

Her chin rose a little. “My sister and brother run Forco. I sit on the board.”

“Anything else?”

“Racehorses and art.”

In her Southern warm-honey voice, art came out more like ahhht, and it sent heat down his spine that he didn’t welcome. “Art like those monstrosities you hung on the wall in there?” He jerked his chin over her shoulder.

“I suppose you prefer a paint-by-the-numbers nude lounging on black velvet?”

“Don’t go knocking the combination of velvet and naked skin until you’ve tried it.” He leaned closer. “Kissin’ cousin.”

She jerked back, a flash coming and going in her eyes. “I cannot believe you are even related to J.D. She is perfectly lovely and you are—”

“—not a woman, that’s for sure.”

“Odious,” she finished, witheringly.

“And you’re a snob,” he countered. “You work on that little problem, cupcake, and I’ll work on mine.”

“Cupcake?” Her eyes narrowed to slits and she took a step back, shutting the door smack in his face.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

If he had a door to slam in her face, he’d probably do it, too.

“Nice meeting you, cuz,” he said loudly through the door. Then he turned away and headed toward his truck.

He’d give her about a week, and then she’d be hightailing it back to her pampered life in Georgia.

As far as he’d ever been able to tell, that’s what spoiled rich girls always did when the going got tough. Ran.

He reached the truck and swung up into the driver’s seat, looking back at the cabin despite his intention not to.

She was looking back at him.

Hard to tell which one of them looked away first.

Derek’s pride hoped it wasn’t him. But with the tires crunching over the snow as he turned a wide circle, he had to admit that it might well have been.

Chapter Two

Sydney had come to Weaver for lots of reasons. Some were more immediate than others, but none of them were unimportant. Rebuilding a relationship with her brother was one. Or—she thought with brutal honesty—establishing a relationship with her brother was a better way to put it since—aside from the occasional racehorse she found for Forrest’s Crossing, which Jake still ran even though he’d moved to Wyoming—they’d had little to do with one another for years.

And yes, she had missed his wedding to J. D. Clay. She still felt guilty about it, because she could have made it if she’d really tried. But she truly hadn’t believed that he would care much one way or another, and despite her Aunt Susan’s urging, she’d pulled her usual Sydney act. She’d commissioned a crystal statuette of Latitude—a Thoroughbred her brother was particularly fond of—and had it delivered to him and J.D. before the wedding.

But she hadn’t left Antoine’s side where they’d been staying in Antibes at the home of a particularly discriminating art collector. Mostly because she was well aware that Antoine was taking his newest assistant with him on the trip, and said assistant was ten years younger than Sydney, particularly pretty and clearly looking to be more than an assistant.

Despite Sydney’s absence from the nuptials, J.D. had called her, thanking her for the incredibly beautiful gift. Sydney wasn’t surprised by that. She’d met J.D. on a few occasions when she’d been working for Jake at Forrest’s Crossing. The other woman had always been professionally courteous. But after J.D.’s call had come Jake’s, and he’d been rather less courteous when he’d told Sydney that J.D. assumed Sydney didn’t approve of their marriage.

It couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Which was why Sydney was now picking her way through the snow behind her cabin to the shed that acted as a garage and storage for a bunch of tractor-size tools.

Maggie Clay—J.D.’s mother and yet another one of the seemingly endless Clays that Weaver possessed—had called her the evening before to insist that she join the family for dinner out at the family’s ranch. “Sunday” dinner, which Sydney knew from her brother was usually a family affair. Since Sydney had some bridges to build, she knew she might as well start doing it now, even if J.D. and Jake were in California.

And if nothing else, the place where the meal was being held—the Double-C—was bound to be warm, which was more than could be said of her cabin right now, since the furnace had quit on her again this morning.

So she climbed into her little red convertible two-seater and prayed the engine would start.

The 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 familiar and some not—a part of her couldn’t help wondering if she’d find her coat later hanging from some tree outside when he disappeared with it.

“Oh, my goodness, what a fabulous dress! Is it actually leather?” The petite brunette, whom Maggie had just introduced as Tara, was definitely not one of the individuals that Sydney recalled from Susan and Stan’s wedding. The other woman barely waited for Sydney’s nod before she continued gushing. “If I could get some items like that for the shop, I’d sell them out in a heartbeat no matter what price tag I put on them.” She grinned ruefully as she ran her hand over the noticeably pregnant bulge stretching out the front of her cherry-red sweater. “Not that I’m likely to ever be able to wear anything cut so narrowly again.”

Sydney could have laughed—or cried—at the irony.

“Tara owns Classic Charms down on Main Street,” Maggie explained. “She has the most wonderfully eclectic collection. Everything from furniture to clothing.”

Tara shrugged dismissively. “Not everything. But I do like to have some unusual items, and that dress would definitely be one. Vintage?”

Again, Sydney nodded. She glanced down at the caramel-colored leather dress that draped from her shoulders to just above her knees. “I found it in a secondhand shop in Paris a few years ago.” She loved it and was determined to wear it as long as she could. “But I can see that I am overdressed,” she admitted. Nearly everyone there was dressed in jeans and sweaters.

“You think?” A deep voice murmured from behind her and she didn’t have to look back to know it was Derek. She’d recognize his voice anywhere now.

She ignored him and looked at Maggie beside her. “I think I should have taken notes with the introductions,” she admitted. “I’m not sure I’ll keep everyone straight.”

Maggie laughed and squeezed Sydney’s hand. “Unless you’ve been born into the group, we’ve all thought the same thing at one time or another. We’re an overwhelming bunch. But you’ll get used to it.”

“If she’s here long enough,” Derek added. His tone didn’t imply it, but Sydney didn’t have to guess very hard to know that he was hoping she wouldn’t be.

“Actually, I plan to be here a long, long while.” Smiling a confident smile she didn’t feel at all, she directed her comment toward the friendly Maggie.

“I know how much Jake and J.D. are hoping so,” the older woman returned comfortably.

“How’s that furnace holding out?”

“Just fine,” she lied, finally looking Derek’s way. Instead of the nubile Tabby under his arm, he was now holding a wildly giggling dark-haired imp upside down.

Her stomach took a dangerous dive and she quickly looked away. She wasn’t sure if it was the baby-related nausea or the sight of that odious man looking so perfectly natural jiggling around an obviously delighted toddler.

“Derek told us you had a little problem with it.” Maggie drew Sydney farther along the scarred wood floors. “He’s a whiz at fixing everything. Always helps out when he’s able. He’s wonderful that way.”

Sydney managed not to choke.

They’d reached a long dining room that was dominated by the china-and-crystal-laden table that took center stage. Three-fourths of the chairs around it were being claimed by the people who had already greeted Sydney, and Maggie led her to two on the side near the head of the table. “Come and sit here beside me. You can tell me how you’re settling in at J.D. and Jake’s cabin.” She pulled out one chair and took the other.

“It’s going fine. I’m just not sure what I’m going to do with myself now that I’ve finished unpacking,” she admitted a little ruefully. She sat where directed and waved off the wine that Maggie offered in favor of water and turned to smile at the blond-haired teenage boy sitting on her other side, who was not very discreetly throwing wadded bits of his paper napkin at the girl sitting directly across from him.

He dropped his hands guiltily to his lap, though, when Sydney sat and almost did a double take as he gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey. I’m Eli.”

“Yeah, Eli. Stop drooling over the lady and move it. You’re in my seat,” Derek said behind them. He set a long-necked bottle of beer next to the empty wine glass near his plate and jerked his thumb.

Sydney’s stomach sank as the lanky boy slid out of the chair and moved to the other side of the table. “Nobody wants to sit next to their sister,” he complained, giving the target of his napkin wads a little shove before slouching into the chair next to her.

“Nearly everyone at this table is a sister or brother of someone,” Maggie said without heat.

“And if not that, then cousins,” Derek added as he took the vacated seat.

Sydney ignored him. She noticed that Tabby was sitting on the other side of the table, several seats down from Derek, between Tara on one side and a toffee-haired young man on the other. Maggie had mentioned his name. Jared. Justin. Something like that. But he was Maggie’s nephew, that she was certain of. And the young man was graced with the unfair quantity of “wow” genes that all of the Clays seemed to possess.

Maggie was nodding toward the empty seats at the end of the table. “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.