Zoey Phillips

by Judith Bowen

  “She asked me to join your family for dinner, which was extremely kind of her. A sort of getting-to-know-you thing, I guess,” Zoey said and shrugged. “I was working and I totally forgot the time—” She held her breath as he took a sip. He frowned and peered into the mug.

  “This is terrible coffee,” he said.

  “I know.” Zoey wasn’t sure what else to say. “I should’ve made fresh. Would you rather have tea?”

  “No.” He took another swallow and this time didn’t make a face. Maybe he was getting used to it.

  His gaze wandered into the kitchen again, and Zoey cringed. Her plate and glass were on the sideboard and the cardboard pizza box was still sitting on the counter, next to the stove. She’d stored the half she hadn’t eaten the day before in the refrigerator. Front and center on the countertop was the brand-new mini-microwave she’d bought at the co-op in town. She’d stocked up on frozen dinners and intended to donate the microwave to the local hospital auxiliary thrift store when she left.

  “Not much for cooking, are you?”

  Zoey bristled. “I’m a very good cook, as a matter of fact. It’s just that I don’t enjoy fixing meals for one and when I’m working, I don’t mind what I eat. I basically stick to healthy stuff and—”

  He glanced pointedly into his mug.

  Well, with the exception of that. “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked, deciding it was time they got to the point of this visit.

  “Yes.” She wished he wouldn’t study her like that. His level, faintly curious gaze made her feel like a little kid who’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “As a matter of fact, I was wondering how things were going between you and my brother.”

  Oh, that! “Fine.” She leaned forward, hands on the sofa cushion on either side of her, knees together, and nodded. “Everything’s going just fine. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s been two weeks. I understand he’s asked you out a few times?”

  “Yes.” She nodded again. “He has.”

  “I see he took Mary Ellen over to the Nagles’ to pick up that bull the other day. Would’ve been a good chance to show you a little ordinary ranch life.”

  Your point, Cameron Donnelly? Zoey realized she was starting to simmer. “Uh-huh,” she said evenly. “Actually, he did ask but I turned him down. Visiting a bull isn’t my idea of a really good—”

  “I can understand that,” he broke in. “But is anything happening? Anything romantic?” He looked at her earnestly, his coffee cup abandoned on the low table in front of him.

  Zoey deliberately reined in her irritation. “Do you think anything romantic is ‘happening,’ as you put it?”

  Cameron shrugged and frowned. He actually seemed to be considering her question! “I know he’s tough to pin down. A lot of women have tried, believe me.”

  “And you don’t think I could do it,” she said flatly.

  “I just wondered, that’s all.” He had the grace to look somewhat uncomfortable. “I’m hoping with you out here he’ll have a good chance to appreciate your, uh, womanly qualities.”

  Zoey stared at him for a full count of ten. “Don’t worry, Cameron,” she said finally, proud of the way she managed to control her voice, “you’ll be the first to know if anything develops.”

  “Don’t get mad—”

  “I’m not mad, dammit!”

  “I just thought I’d see if I was right about Ryan being sweet on you….”

  “And if it turns out he isn’t—as you so quaintly put it—sweet on me, do I have to move out?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s good,” she snapped, “because you are aware, I’m sure, that my work is my first priority. I have also given my word that I will provide a wedding cake for a friend’s mother’s wedding and help her in any way I can. Which I will do.” Would a lousy cook have been asked to take that on for a friend? “Believe it or not, my first thought when I wake up each morning is not romancing your brother.”

  “Fine,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I knew it would be a long shot. Well…” He stood. “I’d better be on my way.”

  Yeah, you’d better be, Zoey thought. A long shot? Her romancing his brother? She followed him to the landing outside the door. “Cameron?”

  “Yes?” He was one step down already, which put him almost directly level with her. She swore he was trying not to smile. The very thought made her even madder. What did he find so amusing about Zoey Phillips?

  “It’s probably a good idea to keep things clear between us, don’t you think? After all, this matchmaking idea of yours is pretty dumb.” Obviously she wasn’t going to mention that she’d had exactly the same idea herself. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that he plays hard to get.”

  “Right.” Cameron put his hat on slowly. “I’m aware it’s, uh, fairly unlikely.”

  “Okay. Just so long as you understand that no matter what we talked about in town, my primary reason for being here is not to seduce your brother.”

  This time she did see a flicker of a smile. “Hell, no. I wouldn’t expect you to go that far. Besides, I believe he’s generally the one who does the seducing.”

  “Although,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “I think you should know that I could if I wanted to.” She’d show him—or anybody else—womanly qualities. Whatever they were. “I’m perfectly capable, if I set my mind to it.”

  “Of what—seducing someone?”

  “Exactly!”

  “Uh-huh.” He nodded and started down the stairs. At the landing he turned to look up at her. “I imagine if you set your mind to it, you could do almost anything.”

  Not for the first time, she had a nagging suspicion that she wasn’t being taken seriously. It was the old Harvey Phillips story. Dreamer. Loser. Fool. No one in Stoney Creek had ever taken the Phillips family seriously.

  Now Cameron Donnelly was saying that her chances of “romancing” his brother were remote. A long shot. As if he, personally, hadn’t had quite a lot to do with getting her out here to attempt that very thing.

  Zoey waved rather stiffly in response when he touched his hat in a polite gesture of farewell. She walked, ramrod straight, back into her apartment. She began to close the door, then at the last second, changed her mind and slammed it.

  Sunday family dinners! She shuddered. A home-cooked meal—she’d bet on roast beef and mashed potatoes—sounded appealing enough. But could she deal with two Donnellys at a sit-down dinner? Three, counting the aunt. No, four—how could she have forgotten Lissy?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ROAST BEEF TURNED OUT to be a good guess. Marty served Yorkshire pudding as well as mashed potatoes and her pumpkin cheesecake was incredible.

  Ryan welcomed her at the door. She hadn’t known what sort of dress was expected at this obviously important weekly event, so she’d gone middle-of-the-road with a trim cardigan set and dress slacks. Hoop earrings. Flat shoes. Ryan was wearing a pale-blue shirt, his hair was freshly combed and he looked like he’d just shaved. He greeted her with a big hug and a kiss. He felt solid and warm. His aftershave smelled of citrus and something woodsy.

  “Come on in, Zoey,” Marty called from the kitchen. “Don’t be shy, make yourself t’ home.” She wore a frilly apron over the pencil-thin GWG jeans she favored, with the cuffs rolled halfway up her skinny calves, showing their plaid flannel lining and giving the denims an unexpectedly fashionable Capri-pant look. She had on a striped cotton blouse and her hair had been released from the curlers she usually wore under a headscarf during the week. It turned out to be a frizzy salt-and-pepper mix, well-permed. The ever-present toothpick in the older woman’s mouth was missing, no doubt an acknowledgement of the solemnity of the day.

  Cameron was nowhere in sight, and Lissy was playing quietly with a couple of Barbie dolls in the family room, which adjoined the kitchen. The child glanced swiftly at Zoey as she entered the room, then returned her full attention to the dolls.<
br />
  The dining room, already set for six places—six?—was off to the right.

  “Can I help you, Marty?” Zoey knew her cheeks were still flushed from Ryan’s enthusiastic welcome. She wished she’d brought some flowers, but where did one get flowers out here in the middle of the Cariboo Chilcotin at the end of November? If she’d been in town, she could have stopped at the florist’s, where she’d bought hers last week, except it probably wasn’t open on Sunday. Besides, she knew rural hospitality didn’t run to hostess gifts, anyway. A good appetite and a smile were all that was needed.

  “No, dear. I don’t share my kitchen,” Marty said, shifting her weight as she adeptly took the lid off a huge pot of potatoes, sending steam rising to the kitchen fan. “I know what I’m doing and I hate other folks gettin’ under my feet. Cam will hammer these spuds into shape for me like he always does. Ryan! Where the heck’s your brother? He ain’t still at church with that Sara Rundle, is he? The woman’s positively shameless!”

  “No idea, Marty.” Ryan shrugged. He looked handsome and fit and tanned. Zoey felt some of the old excitement zip through her veins. His welcome kiss hadn’t hurt; in fact, it had knocked her pulse up a notch. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Cam’s a softie, especially for a pretty woman.” He winked at Zoey, as though to say who wouldn’t be? “How about a drink before dinner, Zoey?”

  Zoey became instantly aware of Marty’s eagle eye on her. She got the impression Marty didn’t approve. Maybe because it was Sunday, maybe as a general principle.

  “I’ll pass, thanks, Ryan,” she answered lightly and noticed Ryan shooting a glance at his aunt. Marty said nothing, simply strode over to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of cereal cream.

  Ryan went to a tall cupboard in the dining room and returned with a crystal glass in his hand, an old-fashioned. “I’m going to pour me a splash of rye,” he said cheerfully, with a definite nod in Marty’s direction. “That is if nobody around here minds.” His aunt gave him a thunderous look.

  Zoey decided it was time to extricate herself from the situation developing between aunt and nephew. She walked into the family room wondering what “shameless” meant in Stoney Creek, as applied to someone like Sara Rundle. Elizabeth had told her she was a teacher, not a profession typically classified as “shameless.”

  Ryan entered the room carrying a glass that was more than half-full of a golden liquid and sloshing with ice. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “So, how’s it going out there? Everything working out?”

  “You mean the apartment?” She noticed that even though Lissy appeared to be playing with her dolls, she kept a careful eye on the two adults.

  “The apartment, yeah. Any trouble with the lights?”

  “No, why?”

  “We get plenty of power outages up here. The electricity was off for a couple of hours on Friday.”

  “Was it?” Zoey gave him a puzzled frown. “I went to town for part of the afternoon.” She and Mary Ellen had discussed wedding plans and booked the United Church hall, next door to the church, for the occasion.

  “You’ll notice it. That apartment doesn’t have insulation and the baseboard heat is electric. There’s a drawerful of candles in the kitchen somewhere. Any time you get real cold, though, you come on up to the house and sleep here.” He winked at her and glanced toward the kitchen. “There’s always plenty of room in my—”

  “Ry-an!” came the holler from the kitchen. “You watch your mouth! There’s little pitchers with big ears! Mind your manners!”

  “It’s down the hall, second from the end,” he whispered loudly, winking again. It seemed to Zoey that he and his aunt actually got along very well but he couldn’t resist teasing her.

  “How about some music?” He sauntered over to the side of the room and began fiddling with dials on the sound system.

  “Nothin’ too loud! And come in here and mashthese spuds, will you, please, since Cam ain’t showin’ up?”

  Marty didn’t miss much, Zoey thought, smiling. Did Ryan find living with his brother and aunt restrictive? If so, he could’ve lived on his own somewhere. She wondered why he didn’t. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for grown siblings to live in the family ranch house, especially if they worked together and were single.

  Zoey sat down on the beige upholstered sofa in front of the television set and the fireplace. What she’d seen of the place was furnished in a vague, offhand manner, as though little thought had gone into colors or furnishings. The curtains were old, a tired leafy pat tern that she was sure hadn’t been popular since the seventies, and the carpet—a sort of shaggy burnt orange—was way out of date, although in good condition and clean. Cameron had probably bought the place decorated like this.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Speak of the devil!

  Cameron appeared in the doorway just as Ryan re turned from mashing the potatoes and sat down beside her, once again pulling her close with his left arm draped over her shoulders. Cameron, freshly showered and fastening the buttons on his cuffs, eyed the group in the living room.

  Zoey snuggled a little closer. She glanced toward the doorway in time to see Cameron’s small smile and narrowed eyes. He’d gotten the message. Good. You want a little romance, Mr. Donnelly? She was still annoyed about his fact-finding visit to her apartment on Wednesday.

  “Lissy?” He turned to his daughter. “Ready to help Marty put the pickles out?”

  Lissy tore off toward the kitchen, whooping.

  “It’s a little tradition they have. Marty lets her put the pickles on the pickle dish for Sunday dinner. A little fun for her, I guess.” Cameron looked embarrassed to be making the explanation. He remained standing by the fireplace. An odd uneasiness hung in the room. There was something so…maternal about the image of Marty helping her grandniece learn some little cooking rituals. The kind of thing a mother usually did.

  “Drink, Cam?” Ryan asked suddenly, jingling the ice in his glass.

  Cameron shook his head.

  “Man! What would we do without her?” Ryan said, raising his glass toward the kitchen. “Here’s to Saint Marty.” Ryan smiled and shook his head. “My big brother, Mr. Hundred-and-Ten Percent Rancher, trying to raise a kid on his own. A girl, yet. Now, a boy—” His tone grew serious. “A boy might be another story. Fishin’, huntin’, driving tractor. But who knows spit about girls? Not little girls,” he added with a meaningful smile at her.

  “Never mind, Ry.” Cameron gave his brother a grim look, almost a warning, Zoey thought. “She’s my responsibility, not yours or Marty’s.”

  Zoey wondered if they knew spit about raising boys, either, but there was no time to contemplate. Marty was calling them to the dining room.

  Just as they were about to sit down, Zoey heard a knock at the door and Ryan ushered in a shifty-looking man in fairly clean jeans, a wrinkled shirt of uncertain color, and a big felt hat. His dark eyes were everywhere.

  “Come in, Gabe, sit yourself down,” ordered the hostess and the old cowboy—as Zoey discovered he was—instantly obeyed. The mystery of the extra setting at the table was cleared up.

  Even with the silent and unsociable cowhand, who was a full-time ranch employee, the meal was a zany kind of success. Zoey sat across from Ryan, who was beside the cowhand. Cameron sat at one end of the table, with Lissy to his right, beside Zoey. Marty took the other end, nearest the kitchen.

  The food was superb, especially welcome after all the warm-up and microwave meals she’d fixed for herself recently. Zoey complimented Marty on her culinary skills and the little woman blushed to the roots of her wiry hair.

  “I’ve fed plenty in my day and ain’t had too many complaints,” she admitted grudgingly, relieving her agitation by frowning severely at the gravy boat. “I don’t know what in the world is wrong with that gravy today, it ain’t what it usually is.”

  “It’s excellent gravy, Marty,” Cameron said looking across the table at his aunt. “You know it is.” He slid his glance sideways to Zoey, a
nd she smiled slightly before focussing on her plate again. Cameron didn’t tease his aunt the way Ryan did. He appeared to have a genuine and deeply felt respect for her. Of course, he relied on Marty to help raise his daughter. He couldn’t afford to offend her, could he?

  Marty grunted some sort of response, but Zoey was more interested in the rather pointed questions Ryan was sending toward the head of the table, trying to find out what his brother and Sara Rundle had been up to all afternoon.

  “Just helping her set up for the concert tonight. No harm in that,” Cameron said quietly. He seemed un-perturbed by Ryan’s third-degree. Apparently, a wind quartet from Kamloops was using the church basement for a presentation of Christmas music that evening.

  “Nope. No harm in that,” Ryan said with a big grin on his handsome face. “Nice to see you holdin’ your own with her, Cam. She’s got a lot of fellows chasing her. You notice she didn’t ask me to stay and help her after church.”

  “Well, you’re pretty occupied with Zoey here, aren’t you?” It was a terribly ham-handed attempt at splicing the two of them together and Zoey blushed furiously. “Aren’t you two sweethearts from a long time back? High school?” As if he didn’t know!

  “That’s right,” Ryan answered gallantly, his eyes warm. “We saw quite a bit of each other in high school, didn’t we, Zoey? Had a lot of fun together. You bet I’ve got my hands full.” He leaned toward his brother again. “Listen here. You keep your eyes open with the widow Rundle, Cam. I got money on you. Fifty bucks says—”

  “Oh, stop teasing Cam!” snapped his aunt. “Sara Rundle’s too fashionable and fine to wear rubber boots in a pigpen, if you ask me.” Marty scoffed. “Quartet! Fiddle and accordion’s always been good enough for folks up here. She’s not the woman for any sensible rancher. City gal through and through!”

  “Oh, give her a chance, Marty,” Cameron put in mildly. “She can’t help it if she’s from Vancouver. You can’t hold that against her.”