Harlequin American Romance October 2013 Bundle: Twins Under the Christmas Tree\Big Sky Christmas\Her Wyoming Hero\A Rancher's Christmas (20 page)

“It was nothing. Don't bother.” She looked so pretty today in a soft blue sweater and jeans. He liked the way she wore her clothes. They hugged her curves without being so tight they looked like they'd shrunk in the wash. Suddenly remembering he shouldn't even be noticing, he raised his gaze and followed her back to the kitchen.

“How did you guess that Olive had me cornered?”

“Been there myself, far too many times.”

“That was a brilliant cover story. Wish I could think so fast on my feet.” Ignoring his refusal, she poured coffee in a to-go cup, snapped on a cover then tried to hand it to him.

“I don't—”

“—like coffee,” she finished. “Right. You're forgetting I know you. I've seen you come in from the barn and head straight to the coffeemaker in the Lamberts' kitchen. Black, right?”

“No thanks,” he insisted. Avoiding this place had always taken an enormous amount of willpower on his part. He had a feeling that once he tasted her coffee it would be even harder. “By the way, I wasn't just blowing smoke with that offer.”

She put a hand on one of her curvy hips. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can make you a second bedroom up there.”

She looked puzzled. “You can? But have you even seen the apartment?”

She'd invested an inheritance from her grandmother into the building several years ago, after she and Brock were engaged. The charming brick house on Main Street had seemed perfect at the time. She'd opened her café on the main floor and planned to live in the second-floor apartment until the wedding, after which she'd move to the ranch with Brock and find a renter for her apartment.

Things hadn't worked out that way. But that had been the plan.

“Brock showed me around once, before you moved in. There's an L-shaped living room, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, if we built a wall, you could have a separate room for Bobby. It would be small. But then, so is he, right?”

“Are you serious? You'd really do this for us?”

“Sure.” He didn't believe he could atone for Brock's death. But he could help his son—not to mention the woman who had been left standing at the altar. In fact, he felt obliged to do so. “It won't take long. A few weeks. And I'd time the work for when you and Bobby are out.”

That would be a key part of the arrangement. The last thing he was trying to do here was spend more time with Winnie.

“I'm planning to work every day from ten to two. Bobby will be out at his babysitter's.”

“Perfect. I'll come by after morning chores and be back in time for the evening ones.” Luckily, being November, there wasn't that much going on at the ranch. And he'd still have evenings to spend with Maddie. The sickly woman was no longer able to go out, and he usually made them supper, after which they played a round of cribbage then watched the news.

It was a simple, unexciting existence. But he felt good, knowing that his presence made a real difference to Maddie Turner's life. Plus the older woman was pleasant company, undemanding even in her poor state of health.

“Let's take a quick look right now. If you have time?”

He hesitated only a second. “Sure.”

They went up the back set of stairs to a small landing with a single door. It wasn't locked, and soon they were in Winnie's cheery apartment. Unlike the café, which was decorated in the warm, muted colors of autumn, this space had been painted white. Bright turquoise, tangerine and yellow cushions, and some framed posters on the walls added vivacity and made the space seem very much
hers.

It didn't take long for Winnie to show him around.

And it took even less time for him to realize that the space really was too small for her and her son. The problem was all the baby paraphernalia. There was a high chair in the kitchen. One of those baby jumping contraptions in the arched hallway. And toys everywhere.

“Sorry.” Winnie picked up a fire truck and placed it in a large plastic tub. “We were rushed this morning and didn't have time to tidy up.”

“Maybe you should consider Olive's offer. You'd have a lot more room in Brock's cabin.”

Winnie glanced around the apartment, then sighed. “It is pretty crazy, isn't it? But can I be honest with you?”

His heart thudded, warning him of potential danger. But he nodded, all the same.

“I loved Brock very much and a part of me probably always will. But I'm twenty-eight years old. I may be a single mother, and that adds complications, but eventually I'm going to want to date again. Who knows, I may even fall in love.”

She glanced at her hands, and for the first time Jackson noticed that while she still wore Brock's ring, it was on the other hand now. “I could even get married,” she added softly.

Jackson could well imagine all of the above happening. And a dark envy for this unnamed man filled him with a wave of anger. He waited for the emotion to recede. “I'm sure none of the Lamberts expect you to grieve for Brock forever.”

“Besides Olive, you mean?”

He grinned.

“I'm sure you're right. They're good people. And Olive is making a generous offer. The cabin is gorgeous and I'd be next door to my best friend.... But can you imagine me inviting a new man out there? How could I possibly start dating right under the eyes of all those Lamberts?”

“I get it.” And he did. For as wonderful as the Lamberts were, they could also be overpowering. If she moved out to the ranch, he could well see Winnie's social life being dominated by family events and gatherings.

Much the way his own had been before he moved to Maddie Turner's.

He realized then that he had to make this work for her. He surveyed the room again, then nodded. “We'll put the wall here.” He demonstrated with his hands. “And the door here.”

Winnie narrowed her eyes. Visualizing. “Yes. I like that idea. Are you sure it won't take too much of your time?”

“Pretty straightforward job, actually.”

As long as he kept his distance and didn't start imagining
himself
as the man she might start dating.

Chapter Four

As Winnie drove over the cattle guard on her way to the Lamberts' ranch later that afternoon, the car shook and rattled. She glanced at her son, buckled into his car seat in the back. His eyes were huge, his face serious. “That was fun, wasn't it?”

He returned her smile, obviously reassured that nothing was wrong.

“Those bumps keep the cows from getting off the ranch,” she explained. “Now we drive over a bridge and the car will shake again.”

The wooden bridge crossed over one of several unnamed creeks on the property. She drove up the final rise, then stopped the SUV and looked down at the snow-covered ranch, remembering the first time Brock had brought her here.

They'd just returned from a camping trip to Yellowstone, where he'd surprised her with a romantic moonlit proposal. He'd been anxious to make an official announcement to his family, but he'd taken the time to stop in this very spot.

“Your daddy was so proud of this place.” In her mind she could hear Brock's voice.
This land has belonged to our family since the mid-1800s.

Winnie had been impressed. Then and now. She'd grown up on a modest farm where they'd had a house, a barn that housed three milking cows, a shop and a shed for the tractor and farm equipment. But Coffee Creek had at least a dozen buildings, all painted white with green metal roofs. The network of outbuildings, pens, chutes and pastures filled the hollow of the wide valley.

The main house had been built higher, perched into a grove of pines with a view of the flat-topped mountain locals called Square Butte. The home was a beautiful log structure, built Montana style with four bedrooms and a large kitchen and family room on the main level. It would have been a comfortable place to raise a big family. But it must feel rather empty to Olive now that she was alone.

To the left, barely visible through a large stand of aspen, was Cold Coffee Lake, where Bob Lambert had built the cabins for his sons.

We're going to raise our children here, darlin',
Brock had told her.
Live our lives and grow old together.

In a movie, music would have foreshadowed the impending tragedy before them. But there had been a romantic country song on the radio at the time and it hadn't crossed Winnie's mind that Brock's prophecy wouldn't come true.

She wiped a tear from her eye. “Well, Bobby. Ready to meet your grandmother?”

He glanced up again at the sound of her voice, then started gnawing his favorite push car. An incoming molar was Bobby's preoccupation today. Fortunately he was too young to share her apprehension for the evening that lay ahead.

It would be a smallish gathering today, since the newlyweds were on their honeymoons. Fortunately Laurel, Corb and baby Stephanie would be there, so they wouldn't have to face Olive alone.

And maybe Jackson? As an honorary member of the Lambert family, he was usually on hand for family occasions.

* * *

T
HE
MINUTE
W
INNIE
stepped in the front door, Olive's arms were out for the baby. Thank heavens Bobby didn't make shy. Fascinated with the chunky necklace his grandmother was wearing, he went easily into Olive's clutches.

Um, embrace.

Be nice, Winnie.
How often would she have to remind herself to behave tonight?

But it was difficult not to recall her first visit to the ranch, when Olive had flashed her eyes disdainfully over her bargain-basement sundress, mentioned an old girlfriend of Brock's
twice
and barely glanced at the diamond on Winnie's fourth finger when her son gave her their big news.

Winnie rubbed the ring now, hoping this evening would pass much easier than that long ago one had. Laurel kept telling her that Olive wasn't so bad. Maybe she'd grown softer and more understanding in the wake of Brock's death. Not that Winnie had seen any evidence of that so far.

No, more likely easygoing Laurel brought out the best in Olive, while she did the exact opposite.

“Good to see you back here at the ranch.” Corb was the first to give her a hug, and Laurel was right behind him. They led her to the family room where Stephanie, two months younger than Bobby and not yet mobile, was playing on a quilt spread over the hardwood floor.

“Gosh, she's so cute.” Winnie crouched to give the little girl a kiss. Stephanie glanced up at her, smiled then went back to stacking her colored plastic blocks. “I remember the days when I could put Bobby in one place and he'd stay put.”

Laurel nodded. “It's nice. I'm not at all anxious for her to learn how to crawl. Corb's gone crazy baby proofing the cabin. I swear he'd put in rubber walls if I let him.”

“Might start a new decorating craze,” Corb said.

Winnie and Laurel looked at each other, then laughed.

“It could happen,” Corb insisted. “I have other great ideas, too, but before I get to them would anyone like a glass of wine?”

Both Winnie and Laurel said yes, but Olive shook her head. She still had Bobby in her arms. She'd given him a tour of the family room and was now showing him a picture on the fireplace mantel.

“This is your Daddy. Can you say Dad-dy?” Olive broke the word into two syllables and repeated them several times. Bobby stopped gnawing on his toy and stared at her, but he didn't make a sound.

“He doesn't talk much yet,” Winnie said. “Just a few words.
Mama
and
go
are his favorites.”

Olive didn't acknowledge this, just went back to chanting, “Dad-dy. Dad-dy. Dad-dy. Can you say Dad-dy, honey?”

Corb, Laurel and Winnie exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Sure smells good in here.” Winnie supposed Jackson wasn't coming after all. The dining room table had two high chairs and four place settings.

“Bonny made a chicken stew and biscuits,” Laurel said. “It's ready in the oven. We're just waiting for Jackson.”

Olive's head snapped up. “I didn't invite him tonight.”

“No. But I did.” Corb casually added an extra plate and flatware to the table, then pulled up another chair.

The veins in Olive's neck tightened. “I wish you hadn't, son.”

“Mom, I know you're upset that he went to work with Maddie. But he's still part of our family.”

“He sure isn't acting like it. After all the years we housed and fed that boy, don't you think he owed me more loyalty than going to work for the one person he knows I can't tolerate?”

“You and Dad did a lot for Jackson, it's true. But he worked hard for us when he lived here. I'd say he's settled that score.”

“Really? I wonder if Winnie can be so magnanimous, given that Jackson was the one driving when—”

“Mom. Don't. Don't even say it.” Corb's voice was so sharp that Stephanie started to cry. Bobby's lower lip trembled, too, and he reached for his mother. When Laurel moved to comfort her child, Winnie was glad of the excuse to reclaim her son from his grandmother's arms.

No one said anything for the next few seconds. And then a knock sounded at the front door.

Talk about perfect timing. Or was it? Winnie eyed Olive apprehensively. Was she going to make a scene? Maybe even tell Jackson he wasn't welcome?

Corb must have been wondering the same thing. The normally good-natured cowboy shook his head at his mother as he moved toward the foyer.

“Be nice, Mom. As far as I'm concerned, Jackson is my brother. That's how Brock felt, too. And he wouldn't want us to shut him out.” He glanced at Winnie, who nodded.

“Corb is right,” she said. “Brock wouldn't have blamed Jackson.” She hesitated. “And I don't, either.”

Olive had no opportunity for a rebuttal, because Corb opened the door then and Jackson stepped in, carrying a large poinsettia. He nodded to the group, his gaze resting on Olive. “They were selling these in Lewistown. Fund-raiser for the Eagles. I thought you might like one.”

Winnie held her breath, worried how Olive would react to the thoughtful gesture.

The older woman hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you, Jackson. You can place it on the table by the window.”

By the time Jackson had done this, Corb had a beer opened.

“Here, buddy.” He clasped Jackson's arm as he passed him the drink.

“Thanks.” Jackson said hello to Laurel and Stephanie next. Then he finally turned to Winnie...and the toddler in her arms.

His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “So this is Bobby.”

Only then did Winnie realize that while she and Jackson had seen each other several times since her return to Coffee Creek, this was the first time he'd met her son.

Brock's
son.

“Hey there, little guy.” Jackson's voice was so tender, Winnie felt a lump forming in her throat. “You're pretty darn cute, aren't you?” he added.

“He looks just like his father,” Olive said proudly.

Jackson nodded. “But he has his mother's eyes.” As he said this, he looked at Winnie, and she felt a moment of connection.
This is as hard for him as it is for me.

“I'm sure his eyes will lighten up as he gets older,” was Olive's comment. Winnie glanced at Laurel, saw her fighting back a smile and she had to do the same. Subtle, Olive was not.

This was Brock's baby, and that was that. Not even his eyes were allowed to be like his mother's.

“Well, now that everyone's here,” Corb said, “how about we dive into the chicken stew? Mom, sit down and relax and let us men do the serving.”

Olive, not a fan of kitchen duties, didn't have to be asked twice. Once the stew, biscuits and salad had been placed on the table, Jackson and Corb took their seats between Winnie and Laurel. For most of the meal, the talk was of cattle prices and auctions. Olive doted on her two grandchildren, feeding them mashed chicken stew and biscuits, leaving her own dinner practically untouched.

Winnie tried insisting that Olive eat. “Let me worry about Bobby now. Your food is getting cold.” She should have known better.

“I can always eat later. My grandson and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

After the meal and the pumpkin pie that followed, Olive excused herself from the table. A few minutes later she was back with two huge bags full of baby gifts. Only one small package was for Stephanie. The rest were Bobby's.

“Wow. That's a lot of presents.” Winnie was beyond overwhelmed.

“Like I said, I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Winnie didn't miss the sharp look of annoyance in Olive's eyes when she said this. But she chose to ignore it.

She and Laurel set Bobby and Stephanie on the floor and the family gathered round for the big unwrapping. The babies were too young, though, and Winnie and Laurel ended up tearing off most of the wrapping paper.

Winnie's own mom and dad had been generous when Bobby was born. They'd bought her his car seat, as well as a crib. But Olive must have spent at least as much money. There were dozens of outfits, as well as a snowsuit, boots, hat and mittens perfect for the Montana winter.

And toys. So many. Most of them related to farming and ranching. Stephanie, too young to feel jealous, or even understand what was going on, reached for one of the plastic horses. Bobby watched placidly, then turned back to the mountain of gifts. His eyes lit up as he spied something special. He crawled over to the miniature Stetson, planted his butt on the floor then stuck the hat on his head.

“Look at that,” Corb chuckled. “He even put it on the right way.”

When everyone laughed, Bobby beamed then toddled to his mother for a hug and a kiss.

Olive's expression grew pensive. “Look at him. Walking already. I've missed out on the baby stage entirely.”

Winnie bit back the sharp comment that almost slipped off her tongue. “My coffee could use a refill.” She escaped to the kitchen before she said something she might regret later.

* * *

J
ACKSON
WATCHED
W
INNIE
retreat to the kitchen with her spine taut, eyes shining much too brightly. He didn't often find himself siding with Olive, but this one time, he did. Winnie's secrecy about her baby had him puzzled. Why had she waited so long to share her good news with Brock's family?

Thinking he might just refill his own coffee and see how she was doing, he started for the kitchen, but paused when Laurel started defending her friend.

“Olive, I know you feel like you've missed out. But try imagining what the past year and a half have been like for Winnie. The day of Brock's funeral, she had bad abdominal pain and bleeding. She was in and out of doctor's appointments for the next week, and for a while it looked like she was going to lose the baby.”

The words hit Jackson with a mighty punch.

Those first few weeks after Brock's death had been hell for all of them. And to think Winnie had been dealing with so much more. And he hadn't had a clue.

“She tried calling you, Olive,” Laurel continued. “She might even have driven down and forced you to talk to her. But she couldn't. Her doctor had her on bed rest for most of her pregnancy.”

Olive's eyes flickered. She glanced down at her hands, then toward the window. “I'm sorry. I wish I had known. But after the baby was born...”

“Why didn't she tell you then?” Laurel's voice was more gentle now. “It wasn't an easy birth. And then Bobby had colic. It's taken a long time for Winnie to recover...mentally and physically. Let's not forget that she was also grieving the loss of the man she loved throughout all of this.”

Jackson couldn't listen anymore. He left the room, went for the coffeepot then froze. Winnie was still standing there, her mug empty in her hands.

“What's Laurel saying out there?” she asked.