Harlequin American Romance October 2013 Bundle: Twins Under the Christmas Tree\Big Sky Christmas\Her Wyoming Hero\A Rancher's Christmas (18 page)

Chapter Two

Olive Lambert was making a toast, welcoming her new son- and daughter-in-law into the Lambert family. All the wedding guests were gathered in the dining hall of Monahan's Equestrian Center. The room was spacious and well-appointed, with windows looking out at rolling hills and distant mountains, a huge river-rock fireplace and a large dance floor next to the bar.

Winnie was enjoying her glass of champagne, which she'd already raised three times for earlier speeches. First Dan had toasted his bride, then B.J. had done the same for Savannah.

Corb, as best man, had spoken next.

And now, Olive.

Winnie tried to remember the last time she'd had champagne. It must have been at her and Brock's engagement party. Unknown to her at the time, that had been when Corb had fallen in love with her best friend, Laurel Sheridan, who'd flown in from New York so she could be Winnie's maid of honor.

The visit had been planned to last one week.

But after Brock's accident, Laurel had extended her stay so she could look after the Cinnamon Stick while Winnie recuperated on her parents' farm in Highwood.

“...I remember when you were just a boy, hanging out with B.J., Corb and Brock,” Olive was saying, her gaze on Dan Farley, who had taken over his father's vet practice several years earlier. “You were over so often, it was like you were a member of the family. Now it's official, and I couldn't be more delighted.”

“To Dan.” Winnie raised the delicate crystal flute and took another sip.

“And of course I want to welcome Savannah to the family, as well,” Olive concluded.

Thud. Winnie glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed Olive's lack of enthusiasm toward her new daughter-in-law. Laurel caught her eye, then winked.

Winnie struggled not to laugh. She finished her champagne, set down the glass then moved closer to her friend.

“I guess Olive was hoping B.J. would do better?” asked Winnie. Which, in Olive's mind, meant marrying a local ranching girl whose father owned lots of land.

Laurel was in a forest-green sheath that showcased both her slender figure and her gleaming red hair. “Yes. Savannah is an amazing woman and a terrific sheriff. But her parents had some troubles—financial and otherwise—and Olive doesn't approve.”

“Bad bloodlines, huh?”

“Yup. Olive thinks she should be able to control the breeding lines of her children, the same way she does the quarter horses.”

Winnie chuckled. Laurel was great at seeing the humorous side of almost any situation. When she was in the early stages of her romance with Corb, Olive had actually invited one of Corb's old girlfriends to dinner, hoping to divert his attention. Winnie would have exploded in a similar situation, but Laurel had somehow dealt with it.

“It's crazy, but I guess Olive gets her way sometimes. Witness Cassidy and Dan Farley.”

“That almost backfired on her,” Laurel whispered back. “Didn't I tell you about the ranch getting quarantined?”

“Probably. I've been so sleep deprived lately, my memory is shot.” She searched the crowds until she found Jackson. He was talking with a couple of local ranchers, but as soon as she spotted him, his gaze met hers.

She felt the oddest warmth steal over her. Quickly she glanced away. “What's up with Jackson? Why didn't he bring a date?”

“Who would he bring? He's been all work, no play since—”

Laurel didn't finish. She didn't need to.

“Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”

“You can try. Most everyone else has. Except Olive, of course. She's the only one in all of Coffee Creek who really does seem to blame him for what happened.” Laurel rolled her eyes at the unfairness of it all.

Before Winnie had a chance to reply, the band started playing and Corb claimed his wife for a dance.

Winnie watched the pair walk off, hand in hand. They were so good together. Would she and Brock have been as well suited? She'd never know.

Winnie turned and headed to the bar to get a glass of cranberry and soda. There were still a few people she ought to talk to, then she'd go home. She'd told Eugenia that she wouldn't be out very late.

Once she had her drink, she swiveled back toward the dance floor—and found herself face-to-face with Olive.

The matriarch of the Lambert family was looking her best tonight. Her silver hair was beautifully styled and her trim figure looked sharp in a vintage Chanel suit. Olive always managed to look like a lady—even when she didn't act that way.

“I haven't had a chance to welcome you back to Coffee Creek.” The words were nice, but Olive's eyes were cold.

Winnie accepted the tepid hug Olive offered, catching a hint of classic Chanel No. 5 perfume as she did so. “Thanks, Olive. I was wondering if you'd like to pop in at the café next week to meet Bobby.”

“My grandson, you mean.” Olive's green eyes glittered with affront. “I must say I was surprised—and hurt—that you never sent us a birth announcement.”

Trust Olive to make an issue of this, here, in public. “I did call,” Winnie said.

“Your message said nothing about having a baby! We had no idea you were even pregnant.”

Winnie pulled every inch she could out of her spine. This woman had intimidated her at one time, but no longer. “Well, you would have if you'd returned my earlier call, after Brock's funeral.”

Olive's eyes dulled. “That was a terrible time. I wasn't up to talking on the phone.”

“It wasn't a great time for me, either.” And yet she'd made the effort to get in touch with her fiancé's mother, even though she knew Olive didn't like her. She'd hoped they could come together in their shared grief over Brock's death. And she'd wanted to break the news about her pregnancy in a more personal way, not through a generic birth announcement.

But Olive hadn't called back. And a month later Winnie had tried again, with a similar result.

“You could have written. Or sent word via Corb or Laurel.”

“I could have,” Winnie agreed. “But you may have guessed by now that I have a stubborn streak.”

She met Olive's glare without backing down. The honest truth was she still resented Olive for being so cold toward her. She knew—because Brock had told her—that Olive had tried to talk him out of marrying her. Olive had thought that her youngest, and favorite, son was making a mistake in marrying a simple farm girl from Highwood. Brock had laughed about it later, when they were alone.

But she hadn't.

“I was trying to save you and Brock
both
a lot of heartache. You weren't suited for each other.”

Winnie's heart raced. This woman was unbelievable. Like a snake, she struck quickly with her venom. “You can't know that. He loved me. And I loved him, too.”

A drop of soda spilled onto her foot. Realizing her hands were shaking, she put her glass on a nearby table. She wanted to leave. But Olive had her cornered.

And she wasn't finished.

“You don't have any idea what it takes to be a rancher's wife. You couldn't have—”

Suddenly Winnie spotted a familiar figure, a man in a dark gray suit. He was headed for the bar, but he didn't seem to have noticed her. She put out her arm and managed to snag a bit of his sleeve.

Jackson turned.

“You wanted to dance? We'd better do it now, since I have to go home early.”

Jackson's gaze went from her to Olive. The widowed mother of four children—three, now that Brock was gone—had two spots of red burning on her cheeks.

“We aren't finished here, Winnie,” Olive said.

“If you want to meet my son, then I think we are.”

Winnie kept her hold on Jackson and pulled him toward the dance floor. Sensing his reluctance, she figured he didn't like to dance.

“Sorry to drag you out here,” she said, once he'd swung her into his arms with surprising finesse. “Olive was in attack mode and I needed to escape.”

“No one does attack mode quite like Olive.”

Jackson was two-stepping like a pro—why didn't he like dancing when he was so good at it?

She glanced up at his handsome face. His gaze was fixed across the dance floor, almost as if he didn't want to look at her. “You two don't get along, either, do you?”

According to Brock, when his father decided to take Jackson in under the foster-care program, Olive had been opposed to the idea.

Dad almost never went against her wishes,
Brock had said.
But that time he did.

“No, we don't. It's one of the reasons I decided to go work on Silver Creek Ranch,” Jackson allowed, swinging her out, then pulling her back in.

“Holy cow, you're good at this.” He led with assurance and moved perfectly with the beat.

“So are you.”

“It's easy when you have a good partner.”

Jackson's eyes narrowed. He glanced away again.

“So tell me about Silver Creek Ranch.” She needed to distract herself from how nice his hands felt on her waist and her shoulder. Silver Creek was owned by Maddie Turner, Olive's sister. The two women had been estranged for decades, since the death of their father.

“It's in tough shape. Maddie is a good person, but a terrible businesswoman. I had to sell some land to raise enough money to begin restocking the herd. Fences need mending, and the barn could use some work, too. But I'm taking it one step at a time.”

He didn't mention anything about the promise Maddie had made to him. Winnie knew the details thanks to Laurel. Maddie was suffering from terminal lung cancer and she'd told Jackson that if he came to live with her on the ranch and invested all his savings, she'd leave him everything.

Given that Maddie had no children of her own, it wasn't such an outlandish proposition. But according to Laurel, Olive was furious. She felt the land ought to be going to one of
her
children. Never mind the fact that she hadn't allowed any of them to speak to their aunt when they'd been growing up.

“I'm sure you're very busy. But do you have time to come in to the café for coffee one night next week?”

For the first time Jackson's step faltered. He recovered in the next second, found the beat and pulled her with him back into the rhythm.

“I'm not big on coffee.”

Was that why in the past he'd come so seldom into the Cinnamon Stick?

“Or cinnamon buns, either, I assume.” The buns were the specialty of her café, baked fresh every morning by a former cowboy and recovering alcoholic who'd turned over a new leaf in his sixties, Vince Butterfield.

“Not much of a sweet tooth,” Jackson agreed.

“Well.” Was he just making excuses? “Maybe you could drop by just to talk, then?”

He swung her out, gave her a twirl and then swirled her back a little, just as the song ended. A few people dancing near them clapped.

“Nicely done, Jackson.” Corb had Laurel in his arms and they were both grinning.

Yes, nicely done, Winnie had to agree.

Jackson walked her off the dance floor, then dropped his arm. “Thanks for the dance, Winnie. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around.”

And that was it? “What about next week?”

He looked off in the distance for a few seconds before meeting her gaze. “I know what you're trying to do here. You want to tell me you don't blame me for what happened to Brock.”

“That's right.”

“It's nice and charitable of you, Winnie. But can you really look at me and not think, there's the guy who was driving when my fiancé died?”

His blunt words stole her breath. Before she could recover, he was leaning in to say some more.

“Last thing I want is to cause you more pain. Let's just leave it at that, okay?”

And then he was gone, walking toward the exit. She wanted to run after him, but Corb and Laurel were watching, as were several other couples. Better not create a scene.

So she forced a smile and tried to look as though she and Jackson had parted on friendly terms.

But man, was Laurel right. That guy had a serious chip on his shoulder. And the last thing she was going to do was let him leave it there.

* * *

J
ACKSON
WANTED
TO
LEAVE
, but he knew it was too early and his absence would be noted. He stood in the stairwell of the back exit, his body pressed against the wall of cool concrete.

What was wrong with him? Why did he feel this way?

Holding Winnie in his arms, dancing with her, had been the worst form of torture.

He'd tried thinking about cattle prices, the weather, anything except the beautiful, dark-haired woman who was following his moves so perfectly it was almost like having sex.

He groaned.

Sex and Winnie Hays should never be in the same sentence. Brock had been like a brother and a best friend all rolled into one. And here Jackson was lusting after the woman he had loved.

“Hey, cooling down?” Corb had found him. “I'm not surprised. You and Winnie sure worked up a sweat in there.”

Another layer of guilt settled in the pit of Jackson's stomach. Soon he'd have no space in there for anything else.

“She looks good, doesn't she?” Corb handed him a beer.

“I guess.”

“I think Mom resents it. She'd have Winnie dressed in black, withered to the bone and miserable for the rest of her life.”

“Wouldn't be much of a mother to Brock's son if she did that.”

“Winnie never could do anything to please Mom.” Corb shrugged. “But she's done her share of suffering.” Corb looked at him pointedly. He didn't have to say anything more for Jackson to know what he was thinking. Ever since the accident the Lambert kids had been trying to tell him he had no reason to feel responsible for what had happened.

He appreciated their intentions.