The Rancher's Christmas Princess (3 page)

Better to get moving on what needed doing, to...get it over
with.

She was a good judge of character and so far Preston had done
nothing to raise any red flags with her. On the contrary, he seemed to her a
solid, trustworthy man. A responsible man. When she’d asked the chatty motel
owner about him, the woman had said he was gruff and not an easy man to know,
that he’d only gotten more withdrawn after a “disappointment in love” two years
before. Belle had wanted to ask the woman for details about that
“disappointment.”

But she hadn’t. It would have felt too much like gossiping.
Still, after what Mrs. Seabuck had said about him, she’d worried he would be
hard to know.

And then she’d met him and found him much too easy to talk to.
He hadn’t been gruff or withdrawn in the least, not with her anyway.

She could find no excuse to keep the truth from him. She needed
to follow through on her dear friend’s final request.

Anne had wanted it this way....

Anne.

Just thinking her name brought a fresh surge of pain. Her
friend had been gone for only ten days. Maybe she should have listened to her
parents, waited for the investigator’s report at least.

All she really wanted was to keep Ben with her, to raise him as
her own.

But that wasn’t to be. In the end, she was honor bound to carry
through and do what Anne requested.

How to get started, though? How to get the all-important words
out of her mouth?

Dear Lord, she still didn’t know.

It was snowing lightly, the white flakes flying at the
windshield out of the darkness. So beautiful. So cold.

The land was bare and rolling with a silvery glow about it.
Staggered, leaning fences lined the slopes to either side of the two-lane
highway. Farther out, she could see the dark shapes of evergreens. The sky was
endless—cloudy overhead, but clear far in the distance. On the crests of the
mountain ridges way ahead, beneath the lowering dark clouds, she could see a
band of cobalt studded with stars.

“Here we are,” Preston said. Neither of them had spoken for
several minutes. He turned the four-door pickup truck onto a smaller road. The
lights of Marcus’s SUV beamed in through the rear window as the bodyguard swung
in behind them.

Thick evergreens, several rows of them on either side, lined
the curving road. “Ponderosa pines,” he said. “They make a good windbreak.”

The snow had stopped. They rode between the thick stands of
dark trees. And then the road opened up. There was a rustic arched gate with a
sign: McCade Ranch. Beyond the gate, she saw barns and sheds, pastures and
corrals, the land rolling in the distance. Farther out, those craggy peaks poked
into the sky.

There were two houses facing off across a wide yard and
circular driveway from each other. They were both two-story, of wood and natural
stone, the smaller house seeming almost a miniature of the larger one. There
were lights on in both houses. Nearer the barn, she saw another house, more
rustic, like a cabin. There were lights on inside that one, too.

Preston parked in front of the largest house. Marcus pulled in
behind him and was at her door, opening it for her, before Preston could get
there.

She got out and went to meet Preston as he came around the
front of the pickup. “Marcus will need to go in first, if that’s all right?
To...have a look around.”

Preston shrugged. “Whatever it takes.” He turned to the
bodyguard. “Go ahead. It’s not locked.” Marcus went up the steps and disappeared
inside. Preston offered his arm and she took it. They proceeded up the steps at
a slower pace. “So...do we wait out here until he gives the okay?”

She felt her cheeks redden. Really, all these security
protocols did become tiresome. “It should be only a minute or two. And the good
news is, once he gives the all clear, if you ever invite me back, he won’t
insist on doing this again.”

“You sure?” Blue eyes teased.

“I promise.” Her gaze drifted to his mouth. It was a fine
mouth, firm and yet well-shaped. She wondered what it might feel like pressed to
hers—which was a completely unacceptable and inappropriate thing to be
wondering.

She was not going to kiss this man. She hardly
knew
this man. This evening was
not
about kisses and she desperately needed to remember that.

“Don’t look now, but here comes my father.” Preston’s gaze had
shifted. He was looking out across the front yard. Which meant maybe he hadn’t
seen her staring at his lips—she hoped. “Whatever he says, don’t believe a word
of it.”

She turned to look. A tall, rangy white-haired man with a
thick, walrus-worthy moustache came striding toward them dressed in a pair of
jeans that had seen better days and one of those waffle-weave shirts that looked
like it doubled as his pajamas. He had bushy gray brows and a definite gleam in
his eyes.

“Preston,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling and full of
good humor. “Where’s your manners? You bring a lady home, you know I need to
meet her. It’s only right I give her warning about you.” The old guy’s mustache
twitched. He gave Belle a wink. “I’m Silas. The charming half of the family.” He
offered a leathery hand.

Belle took it. “Arabella. Please call me Belle.”

He enclosed her hand between both of his. His gray eyes
twinkled down at her. “I heard about you. They say you’re a princess....”

“Back it down a notch, Dad,” Preston muttered dryly.

The door opened and Marcus emerged. “All clear, ma’am.”

Silas patted her hand before letting it go. “A bodyguard. I can
tell by that thing in his ear. And the lack of any facial expression
whatsoever.”

Preston appeared to be suppressing a groan. “Why don’t we go
in?” He gestured at the open door.

“Don’t mind if I do, son.” Silas gave a little bow. “But after
you, Your Loveliness.”

Belle grinned. She couldn’t help it. So often, people were
intimidated by her background. Not Silas McCade. “Why thank you, Silas.” She led
the way into a roomy two-story foyer. Wide stairs led to the upper floor. It
seemed to her a sturdy, solid house. A house that could do with a woman’s
touch—some brighter colors, different curtains. But still, it was a fine house.
Clean and well-maintained.

“Let’s go in the living room.” Preston helped her out of her
coat and hung it on the hall tree, along with his own and that handsome cowboy
hat he always wore. Then he gestured toward the open double door to her left.
She went in. The McCade men followed. Marcus remained behind, near the front
door. Preston told her, “Have a seat.”

She did, on the sofa.

Silas took an easy chair across from her. “A little whiskey
would be welcome, son. You, Belle?”

“Nothing right now, thank you.”

Preston poured a drink, gave it to his father and sat down in
the other easy chair.

Silas started talking. About how he had the foreman’s cottage
across the yard, about how it got lonely at the ranch on a cold winter night.
“Nice,” he said, “to have a little feminine company around this old place.” He
started in about the horses they raised. “Preston’s good with horses and our
breeding program is one of the best in the state. But I’m what they call a
natural. You heard about those horse whisperers? I can do them one better. I
don’t even have to whisper. A horse just naturally wants to please me. They know
what I’m thinking and they do what I want them to do without me having to
breathe a word.”

Preston advised softly, “Don’t let false modesty stand in your
way, Dad.”

“Never have. Never will.” Silas drained the last of his drink
and stood again. “Well, I guess I’ve monopolized the conversation enough for
this evening.” He gave a nod of his shining silver head. “Belle, it’s been a
delight to meet you.”

“And to meet you, Silas.”

Now Silas seemed almost shy. “You come back again. Anytime.
Often.”

“Thank you.”

He left them.

Preston waited until the front door closed behind him. “No one
quite like my dad.”

“He’s a charmer, definitely.”

“For God’s sake, don’t ever tell
him
that. He’s impossible to live with as it is.”

“I doubt that. I’m guessing he’s good company. And that the two
of you get along quite well together.”

Preston looked at her levelly then. “Yeah, you guessed
right.”

She thought of her cousin Charlotte, her companion, who was
back at their lodgings, with Ben. She counted on Charlotte in so many ways.
They’d been together for four years. And they did well together, she and
Charlotte. She imagined that Preston’s relationship with his father might be
somewhat the same.

He was watching her.

She met and held his gaze. It was so easy to do, to look at
him. And it felt...good. Warm and exciting to be here with him. She hadn’t
expected this. To be so attracted to him. As a rule, she was a down-to-earth,
practical person, not prone to flirtations or easy infatuations.

It probably wasn’t a good thing to be so taken with him, when
you came right down it. It was hard enough to be calm and objective about the
task before her without these sparks flashing back and forth between them.

He said, “You’re so quiet, all of a sudden....”

“Sorry. Just...thinking.”

“About?”

“I was...”
Tell him. Tell him now
.
But her courage deserted her. “...wondering if you have this big house all to
yourself?”

“I do. My dad moved across the yard when I got back from
college. He said it was a fine thing that I wanted to work with him. But the
house would be mine one day and I might as well lay claim to it. He said the
smaller house suited him. Doris, our longtime housekeeper, used to live in. But
she remarried last year and moved to her new husband’s place. He’s got five
acres not far from here. She comes in Monday through Friday to clean—here and
across the yard at the old man’s place. She also cooks for us.”

“How many hired men do you have here?”

“We keep two hands on year-round, and then hire at least two
more in the spring. There’s another house, the men’s cabin, with a living area
downstairs and an open sleeping loft that holds six beds.”

She remembered. “The cabin near the barn?”

“That’s right. Doris cooks for the hands, too, Monday through
Friday. Weekends, we play the meals by ear. It works out fine.”

He would need a full-time nanny. Ben would change his life
completely. He had no idea....

In her mind’s eye, she saw him, suddenly, sitting in Anne’s
lap, his blond head tipped back to smile at her adoringly, in those last days
before she grew too ill to sit up.

Anne.

A sudden, hard wave of loss rolled through her. Her stomach
knotted, her throat clutched and tears welled. She swallowed them down, blinked
the moisture away.

“Belle?” He was rising from his chair. “What happened? What did
I say? What’s wrong?”

She put out a hand. “No. Sit down. Please. It’s...all right.
I’m
all right. Honestly.”

He sank back to the chair. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Tell him. Tell him now.
She opened
her mouth to break the news.

Chapter Three

B
ut Belle’s leaden tongue refused to form
the words. She pressed her lips together over the silence.

Preston was watching her, looking concerned as he waited for
her to explain what the matter was.

She got up and went over to the big window that looked out on
the wide front porch. Outside, the sky was clear now. A light dusting of snow
sparkled under the quarter moon. “The clouds are all gone. The sky is so
beautiful, so thick with stars....”

“That’s how it is in Montana. We’re closer to heaven here.” He
said it so softly. And he was on his feet again. She heard him come toward her,
his tread quiet but nonetheless charged with great energy, with purpose. He
stopped close at her back. She felt his presence there acutely. A sense of that
steadiness he possessed, of the density and power in his strong male body.

She turned to him, her breath snagging in her throat at the
look in his eyes. So tender. So...intent.

How to tell him? How to say it? How to lead up gracefully to
the moment when she handed over that final letter to him? It had been tucked
within the letter Anne had written to Belle, in an envelope with his name on it.
She hadn’t opened the envelope. That wouldn’t have been right. But she hoped
whatever Anne had written to him, it might help him understand. She had it with
her now, in the pocket of her skirt. All she had to do was bring it out, hand it
over....

But then, really, maybe it was too soon. Maybe she should wait
a little, give herself more time to...

To what? Any excuses she might have had not to tell him had
dried up and blown away like dead leaves in the wind. She liked him. He seemed a
fine man. His ranch looked to her like a good-size operation. The house was
perfectly livable. And anyway, there would be plenty of money from Anne’s
estate. Even if Preston’s personal finances were shaky—which they did not appear
to be—Ben would never want for anything. His mother had left him everything she
owned.

She opened her mouth to tell all.

And he said, “Tell you what. Let’s go outside. I’ll show you
the stables and we can look at the stars without a window in the way.”

Belle realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out
slowly. “I would love to see the stables.”

They put their coats and gloves back on and he took her
outside. The icy snow crunched under the heels of their boots as they crossed
the yard, past the barn to the stables, which were large and clean and
well-maintained. He explained his breeding program and the supplemental lights
that made the stable bright enough to read the small print of a newspaper even
at that time of night. The point was to trick the mares’ reproductive cycles
into thinking it was spring come January. That way, the foals were born early
the following year. And because all foals’ official birthday of any given year
was January 1, a foal born early had significant advantage over foals born later
in the year when it came to competitive activities like racing.

His horses were healthy and beautiful. She admired his way with
them, could see that he treated them well, noted the way they chuffed and
nuzzled him, responding eagerly to the sound of his voice. She saw how they
sought the touch of his hand.

“You’re like my sister Alice,” she said as they were leaving.
They stood under the bright lights suspended from the ceiling beams, the smell
of hay and horses all around them. “Her horses love her.”

“I read about your sister.”

“On the internet, you mean?”

He nodded. His eyebrows were burnished gold in the light from
above. “I read that she raises Akhal-Tekes.”

“Yes, she does.”

“The most ancient breed on earth, a breed prized by Alexander
the Great and Genghis Khan.”

She was impressed. “You know the legend of the Tekes?”

“I know horses. The Nez Perce Indians are currently breeding
them with Appaloosas, did you know that?” She did know, but she kept quiet,
hoping he might continue. And he did. “It’s an effort to replicate the legendary
Nez Perce horse, which is believed to have originated from Akhal-Teke stock
brought to the New World by Russian traders.” He touched her hair, the lightest
breath of a touch. “A Teke is a loyal horse,” he said. “A sensitive, one-owner
horse.”

Belle watched his shadowed face so closely as he spoke. Why, oh
why did she find it so difficult to tell him? Beneath the tough exterior he
needed to make a life in such a rugged land, he truly was a fine man, a
sensitive man. He would be a good father.

Her throat was tight again, her eyes brimming. Because she knew
what held her back.

As soon as she told him, she would be out of time. Out of hope.
Any faint dream she might have nourished in her secret heart that Ben could
somehow stay with her...that dream was dying.

She didn’t need to wait for any private investigator’s detailed
report. Just being around him had told her all that she needed to know. He was a
good man and he had a father’s rights. And once he knew, once he got over the
shock and the disbelief that Anne had never said a word to him, never made any
attempt to contact him after that one night they spent together, once he knew
the truth at last, he would set about claiming what was his.

She was going to lose Ben as she had lost Anne. There was
absolutely no doubt about it now. She had known from the moment Preston walked
into the diner that morning. It was just taking her poor, battered heart a
little while to catch up with her mind.

“Belle?” He looked stricken. “What did I say? I swear, I don’t
get it. Whatever it is, whatever you want from me, you only need to say it.” He
reached for her. She knew he would touch her tear-wet cheek.

“Don’t.” She shoved his hand away, swiped the traitorous tears
from her face. “Please. I...let’s go. Back to the house. We’ll talk.
I’ll...explain.”

He was silent. His expression changed, grew harder. Closed to
her. He didn’t understand.

But how could he? She’d told him nothing. Yet.

Unspeaking, they turned for the stable door. He pushed it open
for her. She went through, her head lowered, steps dragging. He followed,
pausing, turning to secure the latch.

She was aware, for a moment, of the ever-present Marcus, silent
and watchful in the shadows not far away. But only for a moment.

Because magic happened.

Magic happened and the crushing weight of her unhappiness, of
her terrible obligation, of her loss—all of that was lifted. She raised her head
and saw the miracle that waited overhead.

The sky was alive with melting, pulsing, vivid color. A concert
of color.

“Preston...” She didn’t even stop to think about the confusing
mishmash of signals she was giving him. Automatically, she reached for his
hand.

“The northern lights.” He said it softly, with reverence, his
gaze turned upward to the sky. And his warm, strong fingers closed around hers.
The distance she’d put between them moments ago vanished. It was gone as though
it had never been.

There was only pure beauty lighting the heavens. And the two of
them, together, hand in hand, watching the wonder unfold.

Red, yellow, green, blue, a purple as deep as the heart of the
night, a pink like the blush on the cheek of an angel, the colors moved and slid
and dipped and danced across the giant canvas of the sky. Alive, rhythmic,
majestic, otherworldly—perfect notes in a silent symphony.

Preston pulled her closer as they watched, until she stood
tucked up against him, his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t think to resist.
Why should she resist? How often in a lifetime did magic like this occur? She’d
been born in a palace, seen the wonders of the world. But a concert of pure
color pulsing above her, filling the endless star-scattered darkness of the
sky?

Never, until that night. Never in her life before.

How long did it last? Minutes only. Minutes that seemed to her
sweetly, enchantingly, perfectly endless.

But then the brightness began to fade. She sighed when she saw
the end coming after all. The bands of color were losing brightness and form.
Much too soon, it would be over.

And he was gazing down at her. She saw the magic reflected in
his eyes. He touched her chin, brushed that rough, warm hand across her
cheek.

She didn’t stop him. She couldn’t, not right then. And even if
she could have, she wouldn’t have. She
wanted
what
happened next.

He lowered his golden head. His fine lips touched hers. She
sighed again and turned her body into him. It was wrong of her, and she knew it.
But for that moment and that moment only, wisdom was silenced for the sake of a
kiss.

For that moment, it was the most natural, the most
right
thing—to press her lips to his under the last
pale and fading echoes of the aurora borealis.

And it was a beautiful kiss, as magical as the sight they had
just witnessed together. She forgot everything—the bodyguard waiting close by,
her duty to her lost friend, even the precious child she would soon have to
surrender to him.

Finally, he lifted his head. He stared down at her, bemused.
“Belle...” The way he said her name required no answer. He raised her hand to
his mouth. She shivered at the touch of his lips. It wasn’t with cold. “Come on.
Inside...” He still had his arm wrapped around her. She let him hold her, let
him guide her. Together they turned for the warmth of the house.

In the foyer, he took her coat. She gave it reluctantly. She
knew what came next and it was not going to graceful or pleasant.

She turned to Marcus, who had followed them in. “Will you wait
in the car, please?”

Marcus frowned, but he did as she bade him. He went out the
front door, closing it quietly behind him.

Preston said nothing. He’d grown watchful again.

“Could we perhaps...sit down?” she asked, the words carefully
measured.

He gestured her ahead of him. They went into the living room.
As before, she sat on the sofa, in the same spot she’d taken earlier.

He offered, “Coffee, maybe?”

Perhaps a little false courage. “I don’t suppose you have any
brandy?”

He went to the cabinet in the corner, got out a crystal
decanter and a proper brandy snifter. He poured her the drink and brought it to
her.

She thanked him and took a larger sip than she should have.
Brandy, after all, was meant to be savored. It burned going down. And when it
spread its warmth in her belly, she felt no braver than she had before. She set
the glass on the low table in front of her.

He settled into the easy chair. “All right, hit me with it. Why
are you here in Elk Creek, Montana, at Christmastime, Belle?”

Where to start? “Do you...happen to remember a certain
archaeology student named Anne Benton? She came to Elk Creek three summers
ago.”

He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m getting there. I promise I am. But could you just...” She
sighed, shook her head. “
Do
you remember Anne?”

He stiffened. And he looked at her steadily for several awful
seconds. But then he shrugged. “Sure I remember her. I liked her. Why?”

* * *

Pres had no idea why they were suddenly talking about
Anne Benton.

He’d hardly known the woman, though he had liked her. She’d
told him she was getting a doctorate in anthropology. A couple of times he’d
gone riding out near the caves where she and the others in her group were
working, cataloging the artifacts and pictographs in the caves, they said. Pres
would stop. Visit a little with them—and with Anne especially. He remembered she
was friendly, with an easy, open way about her.

It hadn’t been anything romantic. He’d just liked her, that was
all.

He’d rested his elbows on the chair arms, his hands folded
between. He looked down at them. “I...spent an evening with her once, just
before she left town.” He hadn’t realized he would say that out loud until he
heard the words coming out of his mouth.

“Spent an evening?” Belle prompted softly.

Pres didn’t like this. Not one bit.
He
ought to be the one asking the questions—and
she
should be coming up with the answers.

But somehow, she brought out the truth in him. She made him
want to open up to her, to tell her all the things he’d never told a living
soul. “It was a bad time for me that summer. I was going to get married. My
fiancée dumped me for another guy.”

Belle made a low sound, of sympathy. “Oh, Preston...”

He went on, “She married that other guy on the second Saturday
in September, which was right at the end of Anne’s stay in Elk Creek. I ran into
Anne that night, at a certain roadhouse not far from town.”

Belle drew in a slow, careful breath. “You were with Anne on
the night your fiancée married another man?”

“That’s right. I was trying to drown my sorrows. Anne was with
her scientist friends, celebrating the end of their dig. She was drinking, too.
Almost as heavily as I was. I’m ashamed to say, I drank enough that my memory of
that night is pretty much a blur. I didn’t go home. I wasn’t safe to drive. I
got a room in the motel adjacent to the roadhouse. I think I remember Anne being
there, in the motel room, with me. But maybe I just imagined that.”

“Imagined it?” Belle was frowning.

He raised both big hands, palms up. “I don’t know. I know that
when I woke up in the morning, there was no sign of her and I was alone. I
pulled myself together and came home.”

Belle studied his face. She seemed to be looking for answers
there.

He had no answers. And what in the hell was this all about
anyway? It was time—well
past
time—she came out with
it. “I think I’ve said enough, a damn sight more than enough. And you’ve told me
nothing. What’s Anne Benton got to do with anything? Are you telling me you know
her? Did she mention me or something?”