The Rancher's Christmas Princess (6 page)

Belle said, “The pot roast smells wonderful and we can manage
just fine.”

Doris frowned. “You sure?”

Charlotte chimed in. “You go home to your husband.”

“Well, all right, then.” Doris told them they were not under
any circumstances to clear the table. “I got Silas and Pres trained to put the
leftovers away so’s they don’t spoil. Everything else, I’ll take care of in the
morning.”

“All right, then,” said Belle.

“Silas has told me the news,” Doris confided. “About that
darling boy bein’ Preston’s. About you bringing him here to his daddy. About his
mother’s passing. I was very sorry to hear about that, about your loss.” She
shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I never met her, but I understand she
was your friend. It’s a sad thing to lose a friend. Especially one who should’ve
had all her life ahead of her. And so hard on the little boy, too.”

“Yes,” Belle replied, wondering if it would ever get easier to
speak about Anne. “Hard on everyone. Thank you, Doris.”

Doris clucked her tongue some more and then set to work
chopping carrots with gusto. “Preston’s a good man,” she said. “I think he will
be a fine father.”

“As do we,” Charlotte agreed.

* * *

Pres came in at a little after five. He left his dirty
boots outside and headed straight up the stairs in his stocking feet to wash off
the smell of horse and manure.

The door to the kid’s room was wide open. He glanced in there
on his way past and saw Belle sitting on the braided rug by the window. She had
Ben in her arms and was reading him a picture book.

They looked good together, Belle and the boy. Content. Relaxed.
He felt a little jab of guilt, that he would take the child from her.

But it couldn’t be helped. The boy was his and belonged with
him.

Belle read, “The truck goes
vroom, vroom,
vroom.
”

Ben imitated the sound by making a growling noise in his
throat. Then he laughed in delight at his own approximation of the noise.

“Very good,” said Belle, and kissed the top of his blond
head.

That was when the boy glanced Pres’s way. He actually tried on
a shy little smile. “Hi,” he said.

Pres felt a definite tightness in his chest. “Hi.”

Belle glanced his way, too. Was that gladness he saw in her
eyes at the sight of him?

Oh, come on. Why should she be glad to see him? She was a
princess and he was no prince. In a month or so, she’d be outta there. She’d go
back to her own world where the men wore designer duds and never smelled like
manure.

“Dinner in half an hour?” she asked. “I know it’s kind of
early, but I thought it would be nice if Ben could eat with us. He gets hungry
early.”

“Hawngry,” echoed Ben. “Hawngry, hawngry.
Vroom, vroom...
”

“Five-thirty’s fine,” he said. “We always eat around then
anyway. Dad should be over from his place in a few minutes. I’m just going to
clean up a little.”

“Doris said she thought there was a high chair up in the
attic?”

He nodded. “Soon’s I wash off the grime, I’ll go up and get
it.”

When he emerged from his room ten minutes later, she was
waiting for him in the hallway. “I left Ben with the others downstairs. I
thought maybe I could help.”

It was a job he could have easily managed on his own. But
still, it was nice of her to offer a hand. “I warn you, it’s dusty up
there.”

“A little dust is not going to hurt me.” She wore gray wool
pants and a tan sweater and a pair of low-heeled dark boots and she had her hair
swept up, a few curls loose along her cheeks.

He wanted to reach out, catch one of those curls, rub it
between his fingers, to bend close and breathe in the tempting, heady scent of
her. But he only shrugged. “All right, then. This way...”

The attic door was near the back stairs. He pulled the chain to
lower it and extended the stairs to the floor. He went up, with her behind him.
At the top, the light string dangled from the rafters. He gave it a tug.

Bare bulbs glowed along the roofline. He stepped clear of the
ladder. She climbed the rest of the way up and then followed him as he made his
way, half-crouched, to where the stuff of his childhood was stacked. He pulled
off one tarp and then the other, revealing old toys and a couple of trunks and a
few pieces of furniture, including the wooden high chair with the back carved
with teddy bears twined in ivy. The tray was also of wood. It lifted on a simple
hinge.

“A rocking horse,” she marveled, touching the big toy’s white
head, the curling golden mane. She set it to rocking. “It’s a beauty. I haven’t
seen one of these in years and years.”

“Paint’s a little faded, worn in spots...”

“Was it yours?”

“And my dad’s before me. And I believe my grandfather’s before
him. I think some long-lost great-great-uncle made it. A carpenter, I think he
was.”

“Oh, and look. A rocking chair...” She rocked it as she had the
horse. It creaked just a little. It was plain, of dark wood. He didn’t remember
it. Had his mother used it when he was a baby?

He had no idea. “Don’t tell me. You want me to bring both of
them down, along with the high chair.”

Her eyes gleamed at him through the dusty dimness. “The rocker,
right away, yes. It’s nice to have one, especially for reading to him before
bed. The rocking motion helps put him to sleep.”

“I’ll bet.”

“They grow so fast. Soon, he’ll be too old for rocking to
sleep....” Her voice trailed off on an echo of sadness. And then she seemed to
shake herself. She said brightly, “And you must promise me that you’ll bring the
horse down for him when he’s a little older.”

He was doubtful. “Do kids even care about rocking horses these
days? Don’t they have Nintendos and iPads and all those other electronic toys to
keep them busy?”

“Yes. And electronic devices are wonderful, but so is a rocking
horse. Especially a fine one with a golden mane and a gilt-edged red saddle and
flaring nostrils like this fellow.”

God, she was beautiful. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. How
beautiful she was...

“Preston.” She said his name so softly.

He remembered to breathe again. “Yeah?”

She only looked at him as he stared back at her. For a long
time. Too long, really. They both knew it, as they stood there between the
rocking horse and the high chair, in the light of the bare bulb a few feet
away.

He never should have kissed her last night. He realized that
now. If he hadn’t kissed her, he wouldn’t know what he was missing. It was
probably not a good idea for any man to get a taste of paradise. What man could
live with just a taste?

She glanced away. He wanted to reach out, turn her face to him
again, pull her close, cover that soft, fine mouth with his.

But he didn’t. He resolutely kept his yearning arms at his
sides.

And at last, she looked at him again. Now that golden gaze was
careful—and a little too bright. “Well, shall we carry the high chair down?”

“You go ahead. I can manage it.”

* * *

Belle wasn’t surprised when Ben grew fussy during
dinner.

It had been a hectic day. And his world just kept on changing.
His life hadn’t really been what anyone would call normal for months now. He
needed consistency and routine. He needed them badly.

When he started throwing cooked carrots, she realized the meal
was through.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I think it’s time for a bath....”

“No!” exclaimed Ben. “No, no, no!” He threw another carrot. It
hit Marcus on the cheek. Belle rose then and quickly wiped his hands, as he
fussed and wiggled and made his displeasure known.

“I’ll take him,” Charlotte volunteered.

“Thanks,” Belle said. “Don’t get up. I’ve got him.”

“He’s a feisty one,” said Silas, with what actually sounded
like approval. “We McCades are a feisty bunch.”

“Oh, are you, indeed?” Charlotte asked Preston’s father in a
tone that could only be called flirtatious.

Silas gave her a look. A very warm, appreciative look. “Yes,
ma’am. We most certainly are.”

Charlotte and Silas? Surely not...

Ben wailed as she scooped him up out of the chair. “No. Belle,
no! No, no, no!”

She left the dining room in a hurry, Ben flailing in her
arms.

Upstairs, she took him to his crib and put him into it.

“No. No, Belle, no, no...” He cried and shook his head and
waved his little fists.

“I am sorry you are so upset.”

“No, no, no, no, no!”

“I am going to leave the room now, Benjamin.”

“No! No, no, no no...”

“I will return when you are quiet.”

“No, no, no, no!”

Resolutely, she turned and left the room, his wails and “no”s
ringing in her ears. With a sigh, she shut the door and sagged against it. His
cries were muted now, but no less hard to bear. She knew that such behavior was
not the least out of the ordinary for an almost-two-year-old. But still, it
wasn’t easy to let him cry it out, especially given that he’d lost his mom such
a short time ago.

“Could you maybe use a little support?”
Preston.
He stood down the hallway, at the head of the stairs.

She blew out a slow breath and smoothed the front of her
sweater where Ben had gripped it in his angry fist. “Support is most welcome.
There’s nothing as exhausting as a tired, frustrated toddler.”

His mouth had a wry twist to it. “I think I’m going to need a
nanny.”

“Yes.” She straightened from the door and went to join him.
“I’m sure you will. You can’t run a horse ranch
and
be with Ben all day.”

He dropped down to sit on the top step. “But not right away. I
want him to...know me, to come to trust me first, before he gets attached to a
nanny.” He patted the empty space at his side.

“That makes complete sense to me.” She sat next to him, her
ears tuned to the sounds behind the closed door, her mind on those moments in
the attic, when she had yearned only to kiss the man beside her a second time.
“You’ll need to hire someone by the time I leave, though....” He wore a blue
shirt that matched his eyes and he smelled of soap and some bracing,
clean-scented aftershave.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that. Will do.”

From behind the door, the nos were becoming less frequent, the
wailing distinctly diminished. She tipped her head, listening. “He’ll be ready
for his bath in just a few minutes.”

“Is he...is he all right? I mean, Dad said not to get my long
johns in a twist over a little temper tantrum. But is that all it is? It can’t
be easy for him, losing his mom, his whole life turned upside down...”

“He
is
all right,” she promised.
“Your father’s advice is sound. But yes, it doesn’t hurt to be extra aware of
Ben’s moods now, to be sure all his needs are addressed. Losing one’s mother is
terribly painful and difficult at any age.”

He made a noise in the affirmative. “Yeah.”

“But you know that,” she said softly.

He stared out over the foyer. “It was a long time ago, when my
mom died. I hardly remember her. But I do kind of remember that it was bad, that
there was...an empty place. A big one that used to be filled up with love
and...I don’t know, smiles and kisses and cookies and all that stuff.”

She studied his profile. He was easy to look at. “What a
beautiful way to put it.”

He grunted. “I’m just glad—that he’s okay, I mean.”

“He is. He will be.”

“And I want him to start getting used to me being around.”

“Yes, he must come to know you, to trust you, to look to you
for comfort, to count on you. That’s important.”

“So I can help with the bath?” He looked so handsome and
hopeful. “Or at least, you know, be there, if it doesn’t upset him to have me
there....”

“Yes. Absolutely, you may.”

“Whew.” He braced his arms on his bent knees. “I was worried
you would say no with him already so upset and all.”

“Anything that brings you and Ben closer together, nearer to
being the family you need to be...I will always say yes to that, Preston.” He
looked at her then, admiration in his eyes. She wished he would never look away,
even though she knew her wish was completely selfish. And purely futile. What
could they have together? He loved this ranch. It was in his blood, his DNA.

He wasn’t going to leave it to marry a princess and live in
Montedoro.

And she believed in the work she did. She found meaning and
purpose in her life. Moving to Montana to be a rancher’s wife, it wasn’t the
life she’d always imagined for herself.

So what would they have, then?

A love affair? A fling? She’d never been a woman who engaged in
affairs. She didn’t think she was ready to become such a woman now.

No, it wasn’t going to happen with them.

And she needed to remember that.

She said, “We must speak about Christmas.”

“Must we?” He was teasing her.

She remained serious. “Yes. How do you celebrate the holidays
here in Montana?”

“In Elk Creek? Enthusiastically. There are any number of
Christmassy goings-on. Community events. Church stuff. Here at the ranch? It’s
been years since we even put up a tree.”

“That will have to change. Children need...ritual. They need to
celebrate, to experience...wonder. To know joy.”

“Joy, huh?” He nudged her with his shoulder, the way he had
done that morning, when he finally stopped being so angry about Anne having kept
Ben from him.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Joy. Definitely. And you mentioned
church activities. What church do you attend?”

“Er, we used to be Catholics, when my mom was alive. Now I
would call us basically lapsed.”

“Community, Preston. It’s so important. And regular church
attendance helps a child to feel more a part of his community, to
be
more a part of his community. Plus, it never hurts
to bring a child up with an awareness of a higher power.”