style="font-size:15px;"> “Duke Colton, what a lovely surprise,” Bonnie Gene declared, slipping her arm through the rancher’s. “So nice of you to come. Such a shame about poor Miranda.” The next moment, she brightened and flashed her thousand-watt smile at him. “You are coming to the reception, aren’t you?” she asked as if it was a given, not a question.
Duke had had no intentions of coming to the reception. He still wasn’t sure what had prompted him to come to the funeral in the first place. Maybe it had been the expression he’d seen on Susan’s face. Maybe, by being here, he’d thought to ease her burden just a little. He really didn’t know.
He’d slipped into the last pew in the church, left before the mourners had begun to file out and had stood apart, watching the ceremony at the graveside. Had there been another way out of the cemetery, he would have used that and slipped out as quietly as he had come in.
Just his luck to have bumped into Susan and her family. Especially her mother, who had the gift of gab and seemed intent on sharing that gift with every living human being with ears who crossed her path.
He cleared his throat again, stalling and looking for the right words. “Well, I—”
He got no further than that.
Sensing a negative answer coming, Bonnie Gene headed it off at the pass as only she could: with verve and charm. And fast talk.
“But of course you’re coming. My Donald oversaw most of the preparations.” She glanced toward her husband, giving him an approving nod. “As a matter of fact, he insisted on it, didn’t you, dear?” she asked, turning her smile on her husband as if that was the way to draw out a hint of confirmation from him.
“I—”
Donald Kelley only managed to get out one word less than Duke before Bonnie Gene hijacked the conversation again.
Because of the solemnity of the occasion, Bonnie Gene was wearing her shoulder-length dark-brown hair up. She still retained the deep, rich color without the aid of any enhancements that came out of a box and required rubber gloves and a timer, and she looked approximately fifteen years younger than the sixty-four years that her birth certificate testified she was—and she knew it. Retirement and quilting bees were not even remotely in her future.
Turning her face up to Duke’s—separated by a distance of mere inches, she all but purred, “You see why you have to come, don’t you, Duke?”
It was as clear as mud to him. “Well, ma’am—not really.” Duke made the disclaimer quickly before the woman could shut him down again.
The smile on her lips was gently indulgent as she momentarily directed her attention to her husband. “Donald is his own number-one fan when it comes to his cooking. He’s prepared enough food to feed three armies today,” she confided, “and whatever the guests don’t eat, he will.” Detaching herself from Duke for a second, she patted her husband’s protruding abdomen affectionately. “I don’t want my man getting any bigger than he already is.”
Dropping her hand before Donald had a chance to swat it away, she reattached herself to Duke. “So the more people who attend the reception, the better for my husband’s health.” Bonnie Gene paused, confident that she had won. It was only for form’s sake—she knew men liked to feel in control—that she pressed. “You will come, won’t you?”
It surprised her that the man seemed to stubbornly hold his ground. “I really—”
She sublimated a frown, keeping her beguiling smile in place. Bonnie Gene was determined that Duke wasn’t going to turn her down. She was convinced she’d seen something in the rancher’s eyes in that unguarded moment when she’d caught him looking at her daughter.
Moreover, she’d seen the way Susan came to attention the moment her daughter saw Duke approaching. If that wasn’t attraction, then she surely didn’t know the meaning of the word.
And if there was attraction between her daughter and this stoic hunk of a man, well, that certainly was good enough for her. This could be the breakthrough she’d been hoping for. Time had a way of flying by and Susan was already twenty-five.
Bonnie Gene was nothing if not an enthusiastic supporter of her children, especially if she saw a chance to dust off her matchmaking skills.
“Oh, I know what the problem is,” she declared, as if she’d suddenly been the recipient of tongues of fire and all the world’s knowledge had been laid at her feet. “You’re not sure of the way to our place.” She turned to look at her daughter as if she had just now thought of the idea. “Susan, ride back with Duke so you can give him proper directions.”
Looking over her youngest daughter’s head, she saw that Linc was heading in their direction and his eyes appeared to be focused on Duke.
Fairly certain that Susan wouldn’t welcome the interaction with her overbearing friend right now, Bonnie Gene reacted accordingly. Slipping her arms from around Duke’s, she all but thrust Susan into the space she’d vacated.
“Off with you now,” Bonnie Gene instructed, putting a hand to both of their backs and pushing them toward the exit. “Don’t worry, your father and I will be right behind you,” she called out.
Without thinking, Susan went on holding Duke’s arm until they left the cemetery.
He made no move to uncouple himself and when she voluntarily withdrew her hold on him, he found that he rather missed the physical connection.
“I’m sorry about that,” Susan apologized, falling into step beside him.
He assumed she was apologizing for her mother since there was nothing else he could think of that required an apology.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. “Your mother was just being helpful.”
Susan laughed. She had no idea that the straightforward rancher could be so polite. She didn’t think he had it in him.
Learn something every day.
“No, she was just being Bonnie Gene. If you’re not careful, Mother can railroad you into doing all sorts of things and make you believe it was your idea to begin with.” There was a fondness in her voice as she described her mother’s flaw. “She thinks it’s her duty to take charge of everything and everyone around her. If she’d lived a hundred and fifty years ago, she would have probably made a fantastic Civil War general.”
Duke inclined his head as they continued walking. “Your mother’s a fine woman.”
“No argument there. But my point is,” Susan emphasized, “you have to act fast to get away if you don’t want to get shanghaied into doing whatever it is she has planned.”
“Eating something your dad’s made doesn’t exactly sound like a hardship to me.” Donald Kelley’s reputation as a chef was known throughout the state, not just the town.
Susan didn’t want Duke to be disappointed. “Actually, I made a lot of it.”
His eyes met hers for a brief moment. She couldn’t for the life of her fathom what he was thinking. The man had to be a stunning poker player. “Doesn’t sound bad, either.”
The simple
