ALANA ROUTINELY PITCHED IDEAS to multimillion-dollar clients and sometimes spoke at seminars to audiences of a hundred or more people. Rarely had she been nervous, not even her first day on the job. But pulling up in front of the modest brick ranch house in Noah’s truck had her clenching her hands.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing this awful T-shirt and Levi’s. And to Sunday dinner on top of everything. Your parents will think I’m a total slob.” She eyed the old barn that was sorely in need of paint and repair, then looked at Noah. “What?”
“I’m wearing a flannel shirt and jeans,” he said drily.
“That’s different. You’re their son.”
“And you’re their son’s friend.” He turned off the engine. “If you’d worn your fancy silk blouse and tailored slacks, my mom would be jumpy and wishing she’d dug out her mother’s china.”
Alana watched him lean back and sigh quietly. He didn’t seem as rested as he should be after sleeping for seven hours. “What are you going to tell them about me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “The truth.”
Which version? she wondered. For all she knew Noah made a habit of taking in strays. He seemed to be the type. Maybe that’s all this was between them; he was a rescuer and she’d needed rescuing. Oh, hell, what did she expect? It wasn’t as if he was taking her home for dinner for any other reason than to be nice.
God. The altitude was making her soft in the head.
“They must be wondering why we’re sitting out here so long.”
“Nah, Dad’s either in the barn or out in the pasture, and Mom’s in the kitchen, which faces the mountains.” Noah reached for Alana’s hand, then gave her a smile that warmed his blue-green eyes. “I want to kiss you.”
Her heart fluttered. “Where did that come from?”
The smile faded. “Today did not go as planned.”
“Oh, you had a plan?”
“It was my day off. And I had a half-naked woman in my kitchen—”
“Shut up, dammit. You aren’t allowed to bring that up.”
He stared at her in amusement. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.” She was. Heat stung her cheeks for the second time in two days. What was with this crazy Montana climate?
Smiling again, Noah leaned over and kissed her briefly on the lips. She wanted more, much more, and just the thought of it made her flush again. If she could get away with it, she’d convince him to turn the truck around and go back to his house.
“You’re evil,” she said, her breathing a little ragged. This was so high school she couldn’t stand it. “Now I have to go meet your parents.”
She looked away, wanting to get her act together before she went inside. But one quick glance at the house had her turning back to Noah again, fast. “Oh, crap, your mother’s at the door.”
He smiled as if he didn’t believe her, and started to lean toward her once more.
“She can see us. Please, Noah.”
He frowned and glanced out her window. His mother waved. “Well, shit.”
“Okay, I’m waiting in the truck.”
“I have tinted windows. Don’t worry about it.” He opened his door. “Even if she saw us, she’s not going to say anything. It was just one friendly kiss.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, great. Here comes my dad with his shotgun. He’ll make you marry me for sure.”
Alana practically shrieked, her gaze flying toward the barn.
Noah laughed. “I’m kidding.” He got out, then came around the hood and opened her door. When she hesitated, he said, “I could bring your dinner out to the truck, but that might raise some awkward questions.”
“Told you…you’re evil.” Alana let him give her a hand down. It was a really big truck, not at all like getting out of a Yellow Cab.
She smoothed her hideous red T-shirt and walked alongside Noah toward his waiting mother, who stood holding the door open. Alana was relieved to see the woman also wore jeans, paired with a blue sweater that matched her eyes.
“Hello, you two. Come on in,” she said, all smiles. Her sandy-blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her cheeks had a rosy glow and she had a reasonably trim body, but up close she looked older than Alana had expected.
Noah kissed his mother’s cheek, then held the door open above her head. “Go on in, Mom. I’ll make the introductions inside.”
“Please, come in,” she said to Alana, the excitement in her voice and eyes really quite sweet.
Alana followed her inside, Noah right behind.
“I’m Celia.” She dragged her palm down the front of her jeans, then appeared to be trying to decide between a handshake or a hug.
Alana settled it by extending her hand. She’d never been a hugger. “I’m Alana Richardson,” she said. “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Calder.”
“Oh.” She waved off the formality. “Call me Celia. Son, don’t wear your hat in the house.”
“Right.” With a faint smirk, he removed the Stetson, which left a slight ridge that had Alana wanting to push her fingers through his hair. He hung the hat from the top of an oak coat tree standing near a grandfather clock. “Where’s Pop?”
“In the barn, as usual.” Celia offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sure he heard your truck and will be along in a minute. Please, make yourself at home,” she said to Alana, and gestured to a small, cozy room with a worn but neat plaid couch and two brown overstuffed chairs angled on either side of a brick fireplace. “What can I get you to drink? We have beer, coffee, wine, whiskey....”
“Wine?” Noah snorted.
Celia sniffed. “Yes, Chablis.” She gave him a quick glare as if to tell him to quit being a heathen. “I keep a box of it in case we have guests.”
Noah’s mouth opened, and the second the teasing glint entered his eyes, Alana cut in.
“Chablis would be nice, thank you,” she said quickly. “Would you like some help?”
“No, please sit.” Celia wiped her hands on her jeans again. The poor woman seemed nervous, as though she didn’t have many guests. “I’ll be right back.”
Alana noticed the knitting basket tucked beside one of the overstuffed chairs, and a pipe in an ashtray on the table next to the other. So she took the couch, then crooked her finger for Noah to join her.
While she carefully occupied the right side, Noah sat in the middle, close but not touching, which was surprising considering how he spread his legs in typical male fashion.
Still thinking about the wine, she leaned over and whispered, “I think your mother’s very sweet. And she’s clearly trying her best.”
He cast her a swift, curious glance. “What do you mean?”
Alana blinked. “I didn’t mean anything....” He’d told her nothing about his family other than his sisters had moved away with their families. “I got the impression your parents don’t have company often.”
“No, they don’t,” he agreed with a slight frown. “I’ll likely have to help her with dinner.” He paused, studying Alana for a moment. Probably waiting for her to offer her services, which she’d already done and was really glad about being turned down. “Okay?”
“I can set the table and pour beverages.” She wasn’t sure what she’d said to earn her a funny look, but she glanced in the direction she presumed was the kitchen and let out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t cook.”
He smiled. “We’re not having anything fancy, I promise you that.”
“No, I mean, I really can’t cook. Boiling an egg, yes, I can manage, but that’s about it.”
Shrugging, he said, “Mom’s not such an ace in that department, either. That’s why I might have to help.”
Pleased, Alana settled against the couch. “I like her more already.”
He was sliding an arm along the back, leaning toward her, when a loud bang startled them both.
Instantly alert, he jumped to his feet. “Mom, you okay?”
“Fine,” she called out. “I dropped a pan.”
“Stay here.” His face drawn in a concerned frown, he walked at a fast clip toward the rear of the house.
Alana’s impulse was to follow him so she could help, but she did as he asked, wondering what was nagging at her. Something wasn’t right. Noah was a laid-back guy, but from the time they’d left his house she’d sensed an aura of tension around him. Nothing obvious, in fact so slight she could easily convince herself that it was her imagination.
After all, she barely knew the man, so it was pretty absurd that she was giving the matter any thought. He might simply be nervous about bringing a woman home, lest his parents get the wrong idea. God, just thinking about introducing a man to Eleanor was cause enough to hyperventilate.
They were taking a really long time, so Alana got up to look at a collage of pictures hanging on the hallway wall. She smiled when she saw the photos of a young Noah, clearly high-school age, one with him in a football jersey, another in a tux and boutonniere, looking stiff and ready to bolt. Even as a teen he’d been broad and muscular.
Several other photos were of two women who had to be his sisters, both of them blonde like their mother, and with stunning blue-green eyes similar to Noah’s. And the kids…wow. A studio portrait of a gorgeous towheaded toddler with a round cherub face, long curls and big blue eyes was flanked by older twins with the same light hair, same eyes. All three kids could easily be used in print ads. They had to be his nieces. Alana wondered if the pursuit of modeling careers for the girls was the reason his sister had left Blackfoot Falls. Sad for Celia. She had to miss her grandkids like crazy.
Alana’s mind drifted to Eleanor. So not the grandmotherly type. She’d probably check herself into a psych ward if Alana even got pregnant. Though she doubted that would ever be an issue. Alana couldn’t see herself as a mother. Sometimes it bothered her that she didn’t have a single maternal instinct. Her career was what motivated her.
At least she knew where she stood. Eleanor had had no business having a child.
“Sorry I took so long.” Noah passed her the white wine, filled to the brim of a sherry glass. “It was this or a tumbler,” he said, his gaze going to the collage. “Those are my nieces.”
She noticed he didn’t have a drink, and wondered if he might have to go to work later. “Is everything all right?”
“Yep.” He peered closer at one photo of the twins. “Cute kids, huh?”
“They’re beautiful. Truly. They could be models if your sister wanted. When did she move?”
“Vicky left six years ago, and it’s been about three since Tina packed it in.”
Odd way to put it, Alana thought, studying him for a moment before looking again at the pictures. “The kids weren’t born here, then?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line. “No. They visit once or twice a year.” His voice had lowered. “Do me a favor and don’t bring them up in front of my mom.”
“No, of course not. She has to miss them. Guess it’s up to you to fill the void.”
He snorted. “Not likely.”
“What? No kids for you?” Alana had absolutely no stake in his answer, and still her pulse quickened in wait.
“Didn’t say that.”
Expecting him to elaborate, she took a sip. It was pretty awful stuff, but then she was a certified snob when it came to wine. “I don’t get it,” she said, when it finally appeared he had abandoned the subject. “Either you want kids or you don’t.”
From the amused lift of his brows, she assumed he thought she was being nosy. She preferred to think of it as mild curiosity.
“I wouldn’t mind having a couple, but I’m not going to get married just to have kids.” He cast a fond look at his nieces. “What about you?”
“Oh, God, not me, I’d be a terrible mother.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I have no experience with children. I had a dreadful role model. I’m completely selfish when it comes to my career. I have never been nor have I ever wanted to be responsible for another human being. Frankly, the thought terrifies me.” She met his eyes, annoyed that she was feeling defensive. There was no reason for it. She was simply being honest, not trying to be popular or politically correct. “Does that answer your question?”
If he’d seemed repulsed or disappointed or shocked, none of those reactions would’ve surprised her. His sudden laughter caught her off guard. “Yeah, I think you’ve tied everything up in a nice neat package.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“I just heard the back door…must be my dad. Come meet him, and then you can watch me make the mashed potatoes and gravy. You might learn something,” he said with a teasing wink.
Her eye roll spoke for her. She took another small sip of wine and followed him into the brightly lit kitchen with ruffled, pink gingham curtains and buttery-yellow walls. Celia was at the stove, and a tall, lean man with short dark hair stood at the sink washing his hands. His jeans and green flannel shirt were both faded, but his work boots were remarkably clean.
“Hey, Pop, I want you to meet Alana.”
In no apparent hurry, his father shut off the faucet, shook the water from his hands, then turned as he grabbed a striped hand towel off the counter. He wasn’t being standoffish, she quickly realized. It was just his laid-back way, much like his son’s.
Giving her a friendly smile that reached his blue eyes, he made sure his hands were completely dry before he extended one to her. “I’m David Calder,” he said. “Glad you could make it to supper with us.”
“Thanks for having me.”
He had a firm grip that made his welcome genuine and stirred something in her that was a bit unsettling. Due to her own bias, she’d expected someone different. She knew he was a rancher who’d lived his entire life right here, and she’d seen the rustic pipe near the ashtray, all of which, for her, hadn’t added up to this handsome, distinguished-looking man. Put him in a suit, give him a decent haircut and he would’ve fit right in with the retired attorneys or judges who served on so many charity boards.
His palm was rough, though, and his skin tanned and slightly weathered. But for a man who had to be in his early sixties, he still had a relatively unlined face, and looked quite a bit younger than his wife. If Alana were Celia, she’d really hate that.
“Do I have time for a quick shower before we eat?” David asked Noah, and not his wife, which Alana found odd.
“Go ahead, Pop, I still have a few things to do.”
“I have to put the biscuits in the oven yet,” Celia said, as if to herself, and pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks.
The two men exchanged a cryptic glance, and then David left the kitchen and Noah went to work getting out bowls and whisks and other gadgets.
Alana set her glass out of the way. “Give me something to do.”
“No, you’re our guest.” Celia spun around, her elbow catching a glass pitcher and knocking it off the counter.
Noah’s hands shot out, his reflexes lightning fast, and he caught it not two feet from the floor.
Celia pressed a hand to her heart. “Thank you, son. You know that belonged to your great-grandmother.”
He nodded, his mouth curving in a faint smile of someone who’d heard those words a hundred times.
The rest of the dinner preparation went by smoothly, with Noah doing most of the work. By the time they sat down to the meal of delicious-smelling chicken with all the trimmings, Alana couldn’t decide which she was more starved for, the food or answers to the questions formed while observing mother and son.
Their complex and delicate relationship intrigued the hell out of her. Throw reserved, emotionally detached David into the mix, and if Eleanor had been here, she would’ve had a field day analyzing everyone.
“So you’re from New York, is it?” Celia asked pleasantly, her food barely touched, her slightly unsteady hand reaching for the glass of wine to the right of her plate.
She was the only one who’d joined Alana in imbibing with dinner. Noah had had half a beer while making the gravy and whipping the potatoes. David quietly sipped black coffee while he ate. Alana had tried to stop her sherry glass from being topped off, but Celia had insisted.
“Yes, Manhattan,” Alana replied, avoiding Noah’s gaze, because this was the third time she’d responded to the inquiry since they’d sat down forty minutes ago. “The meal was incredible. I never have home cooking, and I’ve eaten so much I’m ready to burst.”
“Is that your subtle way of trying to get out of doing dishes?” Noah had finished his second helping and started stacking plates.
“Alana is our guest,” Celia said in a disapproving voice. She didn’t seem as sharp as when they’d first arrived, and Alana fleetingly wondered if illness, medication or alcohol was the cause. “Besides, we still have pie.”
Noah hesitated, and then with a small smile, patted his flat belly. “I don’t think so, Mom.”
Sitting at the head of the table, David was quiet, as he’d been through most of dinner, but he looked like a man who really wanted a smoke. Or to be anywhere else.
Celia ignored her husband and son. “Alana, how about a piece of apple pie? It’s my specialty. The trick is extra cinnamon,” she said, the last few words coming out painfully garbled.
Though no one said anything, Alana felt the tension coming at her in waves. Noah sent her a quick glance that indicated it was time to go, then picked up the stack of dishes. David watched Celia reach for her wine, the resignation in his eyes unmistakable as he pushed back from the table and murmured an excuse to slip away.
Celia sighed, her shoulders sagging in helpless defeat.
Alana toyed with her napkin. So this wasn’t the Norman Rockwell picture she’d expected. At least Celia was trying, and Alana couldn’t let the evening end on this note. It would be horrible…for Celia, for Noah, for everyone.
“Alana, how about some help with washing the dishes?” Noah stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, his expression pointed.
“Sure,” she said, purposefully keeping her gaze even with his. “Right after I have some of your mother’s pie.”