Randall Wedding

“But…” she began, but then stopped talking. He assumed she was following directions and carefully shoved the bite into her mouth.

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Did you bring a napkin?” she muttered after a minute.

He handed her the small glass of juice. “Drink some juice and I’ll go get napkins.”

When he returned, he decided her drink of juice must’ve been small. The level hadn’t gone down much. “Take another swallow.”

She lifted the glass to her lips, but didn’t drink much. “I remember where I heard your name.”

“Oh, really? Where? Connected to rodeos?”

She appeared surprised by the question. “No. I don’t know anything about rodeos.”

“Really? That’s a switch. I thought maybe you’d heard of Pete, Toby or Rich.”

“Who are they?”

“Randalls who’ve made a name for themselves.”

He held up another bite and she took it. “This really is good, Russ.”

“Thanks. Want some toast?”

She took the toast and bit off a little.

He fed her more. She started to speak, but he gave her a determined stare, and she took the bite.

“Didn’t you make a name for yourself?” she asked.

“Not as a rodeo cowboy. I’m an accountant. Not exactly headline stuff.” He’d always scored a lot lower than the rest of his family with the ladies. Somehow, adding up numbers wasn’t as exciting as wrestling bulls or riding bucking broncos. Of course, he didn’t suffer broken bones, either. Rich had done that. But it was how he met Samantha, so maybe it was worth it.

“Accountants are very important,” Isabella said solemnly.

He thought she was mocking him, but her look was sincere.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. Accountants run the world.”

“Well, they certainly keep count of everything.” He scooped up more egg.

“No! I’ll just nibble on my toast and drink more juice. I don’t think I should try too much too soon.”

Russ frowned. “But you only had a few bites.”

“But they were big bites. Besides, your share will get cold if you don’t eat some of it soon.”

“All right. But let me know if you want more.”

She smiled in agreement and picked up her toast.

Russ took a bite of omelette. Lunch was a bit late today and he was hungry.

“How many brothers do you have?”

He looked up, surprised by her question. “Two.”

“But you named three, Pete, Toby and Rich.”

“Only Rich is my brother. My twin, to be exact. Pete’s my dad and Toby’s a cousin. I’ve got another brother, Casey. He’s the baby of the family. Well, that’s not true. He’s the baby of this generation, but we’ve got three babies in the next generation.”

She stared at him. “How many people are in your family?”

“Well, my father is one of four Randall brothers. They all married and had eleven children between them. Then there’s Griffin—he’s a cousin—and his wife Camille, who have two kids. Then there’s Gabe and Nick, two more cousins, also twins. Gabe and his wife Sarah just had twins and Nick and his wife are expecting. I think that makes a total of twenty-nine and growing. We’re a big family.”

That’s when Russ discovered she’d fallen asleep. Obviously his family wasn’t as dynamic as he thought.

He eased himself off the bed and carried the tray to the kitchen. He didn’t get her to eat much, although in addition to the bit of omelette, she’d managed half a piece of toast and half a glass of juice. Maybe he’d better check with Jon.

When his cousin-in-law answered the phone, he asked him if that was enough food for one meal.

“Sounds like it. Unless you make really bad omelettes,” he teased.

“They’re my specialty, Jon.”

He heard Tori protesting behind her husband. Omelettes had been Abby’s thing for him to fix her, especially if she was sick.

“Russ, I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jon. She did eat half a piece of toast and drank half a glass of orange juice.”

“Big glass?”

“No, a juice glass.”

“That’s probably best. If she keeps that down, that’s good.”

“You mean she might not?”

“You never know.”

“Man, that’s not something to look forward to.”

“Nope. That’s why I keep nurses around.” Jon chuckled, but then he asked, “Hey, did you find out anything about your mystery guest?”

“Her name is Isabella.”

“Pretty name.” He had to repeat it for Tori. “So, I guess she’s Italian.”