A Fortune's Children's Christmas (5 page)

“Her problem,” he told himself, but knew he was lying. Anything that happened to Lesley Bastian and her newborn daughter was going to affect him. There was just no way around it.

His boots crunched in the snow as he walked to the truck that he’d had the foresight to chain up this morning. Opening the passenger door he waited for Rambo to hop inside, then climbed behind the wheel.

The engine protested, refusing to catch on the first try, but after grinding a bit, the old motor finally fired and he rammed the transmission into first gear. Chains digging into the snow, the pickup shot forward. Carefully Chase drove down his lane, then onto the county road and past Lesley’s disabled vehicle. Within minutes he was turning into the driveway that he
hadn’t used for nearly twenty years. The house was only a hundred feet off the main road, but the snow was deep, and the truck slid a couple of times before he was able to park near the old garage. It was an ancient building with a sagging roof where, years before, Chase had watched his father wipe the oil from his hands onto a greasy rag after working on the engines of the various farm equipment that seemed forever in need of repair.

Now he climbed out of his pickup and broke a path through the garden gate. Old hinges creaked in protest, the slats dug deep into the piled snow, but he managed to get through. Across a short yard, where he, Chet and Delia had built forts as kids, and up the back steps he trudged, stomping the snow from his boots on the back porch. The key was hidden just as she’d said. He let himself into the cold, silent kitchen and was thrown nearly twenty years back in time.

The furniture had changed, of course, and the walls had been painted a pale gold. Gone was his mother’s strawberry-print wallpaper and faux-brick linoleum. Hardwood had been installed to match the cabinets, but the room configuration was the same, a different table and chairs where his parents’ dinette set had once been. His boots rang hollowly as he walked down a short hallway and up the staircase to the bedroom he’d shared with Chet. Instead of twin beds with plaid comforters he saw a desk, small computer, printer and other office equipment. One wall had been shelved and was filled with books, but the old pine
tree that had grown outside the house still spread its branches near the dormer window.

His sister Delia’s room had been converted into a nursery, complete with crib and changing table. In the third bedroom, which had once been occupied by his parents, was a queen-size bed, antique dresser with an oval mirror and tiny bassinet.

He hurried back downstairs. Memory after painful memory flashed, like short movie clips, through his brain: his mother hanging laundry in the hot Montana sun; his father promising to make good, that he didn’t need the Fortune family to bail him out; his brother waving wildly, acting like a clown as the tractor chugged up a deceptive hill.
Don’t think about it,
he reminded himself as he strode through the living room and saw a gouge in the windowsill that he’d made with the heel of a boot when his argument with his twin brother had erupted into a wrestling match.

Damn it, Chet, why did you have to die?

One fist closed in frustration. It had been so long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday. Since then so many more had left him.

“Get a grip,” he told himself. He wasn’t going to let old memories drag him back to times best left forgotten. He made his way to the pantry and a closet that hid a panel of circuit breakers, making sure they were all working, then relit the pilot light in the furnace.

Within seconds the unit was stoking up, sending heat through the ducts, and Chase locked up then followed a trail he’d made in previous days to the barn
where her horses were stabled. Each day he’d tried to take them outside for a short period, allowing them to work off some energy by trudging or galloping through the snow-covered paddock, and today he did the same, watching as the round-bellied broodmares snorted and tossed their heads, blinking in the sunlight that sparkled against the ice and snow. They snorted loudly, the warm breath from their lungs visible in the crisp air.

How many winters had Chase trekked through the ice and snow to help his father feed the stock? How many times had he taken a hammer to the ice that had formed over the water troughs, or sawed through heavy twine with his dull jackknife after kicking heavy bales from the hay loft?

Scowling at his nostalgic thoughts, he let the horses exercise for a while, then penned them up in the barn again. One look at the sky convinced him that they were in for more snow. “God help us,” he muttered, and decided that if another storm dumped even a few more inches onto the already-overburdened land, Lesley and that kid of hers would have to stay put.

He thought about telling her that he’d once lived here, that her husband had bought out his father, but decided to hold his tongue. He was a firm believer in letting sleeping dogs lie.

“But I told you I was leaving.” Lesley couldn’t believe her ears that evening. “We had a deal.” She sat at the table, candles burning brightly as Angela slept in the next room. She and Chase were eating
leftovers in the form of chicken tetrazzini which she’d altered a bit because of his sparse stock of spices and cheese.

“I intend to honor it.”

“When you decide to.”

“When it’s safe.”

“For the love of Mike!”

He glared at her as if she were a silly two-year-old. “No one’s holding you prisoner, Lesley. But you’ve got to think of Angela.” He sat across from her, his plate nearly clean, his face all angles and planes in the flickering light from the fire and candles.

“I do. All the time!” Who was he to boss her around? “She needs to be home, and so do I. It’s just time, Chase. I can’t impose on you any longer.”

“What you can’t do is anything so foolish.” As if hearing his sharp tone, he added, “Just be patient. As soon as the weather changes I’ll take you home.”

“You
can’t
keep me here against my will!” She was on her feet in a minute, and her bad ankle seared with pain. She felt her face drain of color and she bit her tongue from crying out, but it didn’t matter. Chase was at her side, and before she could say a word had swept her off her feet.

“Put me down.”

“I intend to.” Without much fuss he carried her to the couch and dropped her gently onto the lumpy pillows where he’d slept ever since she’d arrived. “Just take it easy.”

“I can’t,” she admitted, still steaming. “It’s against my nature.”

“Then think of this as a vacation.”

She snorted, and he chuckled.

“Make that a dream vacation.”

“Right.” She couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her use of the word.

“When’s the last time you were pampered?”

Shifting on the couch so that she could watch him clear the table, she shot him a look she hoped looked scathing. “There’s a difference between being pampered and being held hostage.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said drily, and the fact that he wouldn’t rise to the bait only frustrated her further.

“I could call the police.”

“Go right ahead,” he invited, obviously amused at her bluff. He crossed the room and sat on the battle-scarred coffee table directly in front of the couch. Resting his elbows on his knees, he stared hard and deep into her eyes. “I’m just trying to reason with you. You’re laid up. Your infant isn’t a week old, your Jeep is still out of commission, you live miles from town, and I’m the nearest neighbor you’ve got. It just doesn’t make any sense for you to go back and end up stranded.”

She wanted to squirm away from his stare, but she was caught, trapped like a doe in headlights. Besides, though she was loath to admit it, he had a point—well, more than one—but it riled her nonetheless. “I could call Ray.”

The corners of his mouth pulled down a bit. “Who’s Ray?”

“Ray Mellon is a—was a friend of Aaron’s. He
offered to help out when the baby came, but then Angela decided to come early, and Ray was in Phoenix visiting relatives. He’s due back tomorrow.”

A muscle worked in his jaw, and the intensity of his gaze caused her blood to heat unexpectedly. “Then let’s talk about this when he gets back.”

“Fine. I’ll go along with you, Fortune,” she said, bristling. “But we’ve got to have some kind of agreement…a deal…another one, one that you’ll honor, so that we get along and you quit trying to tell me what to do.”

“You want a truce?”

“I think it would be a good idea, yes.”

His gaze shifted to her lips, and her breath was suddenly lost, caught between her throat and lungs. For a second she was certain he was going to kiss her. He leaned forward so close that she could feel his heat, see the pores of his skin beneath his whiskers. She licked her lips. “Deal.”

She glanced up to his eyes and was mesmerized in their shadowy depths. Blue-gray. Erotic. Promising forbidden pleasures.

For a second no one said a word, and she was conscious of the thudding of her heart.

He looked away first and said something unintelligible under his breath. “I, uh, I’d better bring in some more firewood.” Rolling to his feet, he strode to the back porch. As the door slammed behind him, Lesley flung herself back on the couch and slowly let out her breath. Being that close to Chase was treacherous, and
they’d just agreed she was cooped up here at least for a while.

“Great,” she grumbled. What was she going to do? Being stuck in close proximity to a man who could stop her heart with one swift look was just plain crazy. And yet, secretly, a part of her was excited at the prospect. If she looked deep in her heart a part of her wanted to stay for a few more days. As much as she hated to admit it, she was getting used to Chase, this cabin and being together.

“Stop it,” she warned herself. Those kinds of thoughts had to be tossed aside. Just because Chase Fortune was sexy as all get-out, tough as nails one minute and gentle the next, was no reason to fantasize about him.

He just wasn’t the kind of man any sane woman would fall in love with.

At that thought she froze. She wasn’t falling in love! Never again. Not with Chase Fortune or anyone else for that matter.

But as she shot a glance to the window of the back porch and saw him swinging the ax, his profile in stark relief against the white backdrop of snow-laden fields and trees, she knew she was in trouble.

Big trouble.

“H
appy New Year.” Lesley tapped the edge of her wineglass of Chardonnay to Chase’s. “It’s not champagne, but it’ll have to do.”

“Thanks.” He offered her a fleeting smile but not much more. Seated on the floor in the living room, his back propped against the couch, one leg bent, the other stretched out halfway across the room, he stared at the fire.

Refusing to be put off by his bad mood, Leslie tucked her knees to her chest and glanced at Angela sleeping soundly in her drawer-crib near the couch. Rambo had taken his usual spot under the table, and the ever present fire crackled merrily in the grate. “Here’s to next year, may it be filled with joy and prosperity.”

“Amen.” He tapped the rim of his glass to hers again and shifted so that he was staring at her. His eyes were troubled, his body tense, but he cracked half a grin. “I’m all for the prosperity part.”

“Me, too.” She met his gaze briefly, then looked away. The room suddenly seemed too close, creating an intimacy that caused her throat to go dry. She took a sip. The Chardonnay was cool as it slid down her throat, but still she felt uneasy.

“So tell me about your husband,” he suggested, bringing up a subject that they’d both avoided. She swallowed hard. “What happened?”

Her good mood vanished, and she twisted the stem of her wineglass nervously. “He had a heart attack while boating. Couldn’t get to a hospital in time.”
Because his mistress didn’t know CPR.
Quickly she took another swallow. She didn’t like to think about Aaron.

“No, I mean, what happened to the marriage?” His voice was low and familiar, and for a second Lesley wanted to tell him everything about her complicated life. She hesitated, and he edged a little closer, so that his leg was only inches from her, his shoulder brushing hers as they were both propped against the couch. “You haven’t said as much, but I get the feeling that you weren’t happy.”

“Oh. Well.” There was no reason to lie, she supposed. Chase deserved the truth. After all, he had saved her life. “It wasn’t a marriage made in heaven, if that’s what you mean.”

He waited, and she drew in a long, ragged breath. How could she explain how youthful exuberance had slowly eroded to apathy, that she’d believed Aaron when he’d said the twenty-year difference in their ages wouldn’t matter. “He, uh, was quite a bit older and had been married before. No kids.” She twisted the wedding band she still wore on her right hand. “He’d been divorced a few years when we got married, and I thought, no, I
believed
that I loved him and he loved me and nothing else mattered. That was foolish, of
course.” She shot Chase a glance and felt her cheeks wash with hot color. “Naive on my part. Eventually we lost sight of each other, and he found someone else. The trouble was, I was pregnant.”

Chase’s eyes narrowed, his lips compressed and every muscle in his body seemed coiled, as if he was ready for a fight, but he didn’t say a word, just watched her through shadowed eyes.

“We decided to try again, to piece the marriage together, because we were going to be parents. I thought that a baby would change everything.” She rolled her eyes at her own naiveté. “I guess I just wanted to think we could do it. We went to a few sessions of marriage counseling. Aaron told the counselor that it was over with the other woman, and I wanted desperately to believe him.” She laughed softly, but the sound was without any hint of mirth. “To make a long story short, it was never the same between us. Then, one day he went fishing. Supposedly alone. That’s when he died.” Her throat grew thick, and she stared at the fire, remembering the pain, feeling the heartache of betrayal all over again. “That was a lie, of course. He was with the same woman that he’d supposedly stopped seeing.” Lesley lifted a shoulder. She wasn’t going to dwell on Aaron and his infidelity. “And that, as they say, was that. So now it’s just Angela and me.” And it was fine. The way it should be. She didn’t need a man in her life. Certainly not one who cheated on her.

“Did you love him?”

The question jolted her, though she’d asked it of
herself a thousand times. “Aaron?” She thought for a moment. “In the beginning I thought I did. Now—” she shook her head at the complexity that had become her life; once, everything had been so clear “—I’m not so sure.”

“Doesn’t matter, I suppose,” he said. “I think love’s highly overrated.”

“Do you?”

“Mmm.”

“Sounds like the philosophy of someone who’s been burned.”

“We’ve all been burned. It’s part of living.” He took a long sip from his wine, then, without glancing in her direction, said, “I think tomorrow, if you’re feeling up to it, you can go home.”

“Thank you, oh, master,” she teased, but the joke fell flat.

He didn’t so much as crack a smile. All day long his mood had eroded, and now, near midnight, he scowled darkly, wrestling with his inner demons.

“What is it with you?” she finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been yourself today.”

“Sure I have.”

“Oh, come on, Chase.” She wasn’t about to play word games. “Something’s eating at you, and I don’t think it’s a great, all-encompassing sadness because Angela and I are leaving.” She shook her head, her hair brushing the back of her sweater. “Nope. There’s something else.”

Twirling the stem of his glass between the flat of
each hand, he thought for a moment. “New Year’s Eve isn’t my favorite time of year.”

“But it’s a time for new beginnings.”

“Fine.” He rolled to his feet as if to dismiss the subject, but she was having none of it. Not when they’d been getting so close. “I don’t think the holidays are that big a deal.”

“What is it with you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “Let’s just say I’ve got some bad memories all tied up with tinsel and red ribbon, okay?”

Lesley wasn’t about to be put off. This man had seen her naked, delivered her baby, cared for her and Angela for over a week, taken the time to tend to her stock and house. The least she could do was lend a sympathetic ear.

“What happened?” she asked as he walked to the kitchen.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?”

He reached for his jacket, which was hung on a peg by the back door. “It’s private.”

She’d pulled herself to her feet and gritted her teeth against a twinge of pain in her ankle. Anger propelling her, she hitched her way to the kitchen. “And having a baby and talking to guardian angels isn’t?”

“Leave it alone, Lesley.”

“Don’t put me off, Chase. If there’s anything I can do—”

“There’s nothing, okay? End of subject.” Angrily he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his jacket
and reached for his hat. “I’m gonna check on the calves. I’ll be back in a while.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

He didn’t listen, just yanked open the back door and strode into the night. “You’re running from something, Fortune,” she said under her breath, and decided to wait for him.

She fiddled around the kitchen, cleaning up, then folded clothes at the table. Nearly forty-five minutes passed and she was starting to get worried, when she heard him stomp up the steps to the back porch. A few minutes later he opened the door, and cold air rushed into the room, causing the fire to flare and the candles to flicker.

“I thought you’d be in bed.”

“I didn’t think our discussion was over.”

“Sure it was.” He hung his coat on the peg, and she noticed that his skin was flushed with cold, the pupils of his eyes wide.

“Because you say so.”

“It does take two.”

She saw red. “You know what your problem is?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

She elevated her chin to glare at him. “You’re always the cynic.”

“Maybe I have a reason to be.”

“Do you?” She didn’t believe it for a minute. “Why would anyone with the last name of Fortune be cynical? You can’t really believe you ever got a raw deal in life.” The words were out before she could call them back. “I mean—”

“You mean that just because my last name is Fortune, everything in my life had to have been perfect.” His gaze cut like a laser.

“Well, I—”

“Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”

“No,” she said, wounded deep inside. “I suppose they aren’t.”

He didn’t answer. Just snapped off the lights in the kitchen. Angela began to fuss, and Chase carried the baby in her bed into the bedroom. He said a gruff good-night to Lesley, and she tried to push aside their argument. She’d dug too deep, it seemed. Chase was a private man, and he wasn’t going to share any of his secrets with her.

Chase was up before dawn. He hadn’t slept much, and his thoughts, damn them, had been all tangled up in Lesley and Angela. The thought of them leaving today bothered him, and as he rode the fence line, searching for the last five strays he hadn’t located, he experienced a jab of loneliness he hadn’t expected.

“Get over it,” he told himself. Ulysses snorted and tossed his head; the day was bright and clear. He should have been ecstatic to be rid of his widowed neighbor and her daughter. But he wasn’t. For the first time since Emily’s death he felt a ray of hope, a warmth in his heart. “Idiot,” he growled, and pulled on the reins, urging Ulysses up a short ridge to a copse of pine. He sensed that something wasn’t right. His chest tightened. Ulysses balked, then half reared.
Chase’s stomach lurched. He’d found the strays. All five of them. Dead.

Happy New Year.

After helplessly surveying the scene, he climbed back in the saddle. Clucking his tongue, he turned Ulysses back toward the ranch house. This was the hard part of ranching, one he never quite reconciled himself with. A nagging sense of guilt chased him down the ridge and back to the barn. He should have been able to save those animals.

Lesley was waiting for him. Bacon was sizzling in a frying pan, hash brown potatoes warming on a side dish, biscuits steaming from a pan. She moved around the kitchen without much difficulty. She hummed as she worked, only looking up when he opened the door.

“Perfect timing,” she said with a smile, as if their argument the night before had been forgotten. “Wash up and sit yourself down. I figured that since this was my last morning here, the least I could do was fix you—What happened?” Her smile disappeared.

“I found the strays.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “They weren’t okay?”

“Dead. All of them.” He tossed his gloves over the screen by the fire and unzipped his jacket.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but—” Her throat felt thick, and impulsively she threw her arms around him. There was so much to him she didn’t understand, so much she
wanted to learn. His arms wrapped around her, and he dragged her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck, not kissing her, but clinging to her. He smelled of horses and snow and leather. His body was warm and hard, and she sighed against him. “Sometimes it’s not easy.”

“Sometimes it’s damned hard,” he replied, and, clearing his throat, let his arms fall to his sides. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, eyeing the breakfast.

“I wanted to. You know, Chase Fortune, I owe you a lot, and there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Shoot.”

She cleared her throat and forked the bacon onto a plate covered with a paper towel. As he watched, she deftly cracked three eggs and dropped them into the hot pan. “It’s about the water on my place.”

“Is there a problem?”

She flipped the eggs, then reached into the cupboard. “There could be.” Handing him a chipped plate, she said, “Dish up. While it’s all still hot.”

“Go on. What about your water?” He pronged several slices of bacon and a pile of hash browns.

“I’ve got a well on my place, but it usually dries up around August, so I use the spring in the late summer and early fall. The spring fills a pond, and I’m able to pump enough water from it for the horses and myself.”

“Is it enough?”

“It’s never been a problem before, but—” Her
shoulders stiffened a little as she added, “The spring starts here, on this place, then flows into my land. I have a lease for water rights that the previous owners signed with Aaron ten years ago. But it runs out in June. Aaron claimed that he had a verbal agreement to extend it for another ten years with the previous owner, but I’ve searched through all my papers and I can’t find anything in writing. So…I’d like to renegotiate with you. Otherwise I’ll have to drill another well, and the truth of the matter is that I can’t afford it this year, or probably next.”

“We’ll work something out,” he said, picking up a couple of hot biscuits and dropping them onto his plate.

“Good. I’ll call my attorney when I get settled at home again.”

“You don’t have to call a lawyer.” He settled into a chair at the scarred table and noticed that she’d set out place mats, silverware and a tiny vase with a sprig of holly in it. She filled her plate and sat across from him. A whiff of her perfume floated over the scents of bacon grease and burning wood. He was getting used to being around her, listening to her talk to herself, watching the play of firelight burnishing her hair. He slathered a biscuit with butter and tried not to noticed that her sweater hugged breasts that were probably larger than usual due to the fact that she was breast-feeding. Though she was still a little plump in her mid-section, her figure was beginning to return. She was sexy and earthy and had started to fill a dark
void in his soul. A void he’d decided to live with five years before.

He couldn’t get involved with her. At least not now, he thought as he crunched on crispy bacon.

He had too much to do in the next year in order to make good on his end of the bargain with Kate. He couldn’t be distracted with Lesley and her baby. He’d been on that road before, and it had only led to pain.

He glanced at little Angela sleeping soundly in her makeshift bed and felt a pang of protectiveness, but he swept that ridiculous emotion away with a steel-bristled broom of determination. For the next year all he could do was concentrate on getting this miserable scrap of land out of the red and solidly into the black. No one, not even Lesley Bastian, could derail him.