The Rancher's Christmas Princess (7 page)

He was watching her again, his head tipped to the side. “A
higher power, huh?”

She nodded. “I’m trying very hard not to be pushy about
this.”

“But you want me and Dad and Ben to be churchgoing folk.”

“At least consider it. We could all go together this
Sunday.”

“You say that so sweet and all. But I’ve noticed you’re a very
strong-minded kind of woman. When you want something done, it tends to get
done.”

Why lie about it? “I am strong-minded, yes.” She gave him a
bright smile. “So, then. Sunday Mass. We’re agreed on that.”

He held her gaze for longer than he should have—longer than she
should have allowed. Yearning rose within her for...more. With him.
Of
him. Slowly, he nodded. “Church on Sunday. Sure.”
He looked out over the foyer again.

With difficulty, she found her voice and suggested, “And as far
as the Christmas traditions you need to start establishing, do you have
decorations or will we be buying those?”

He answered rather gruffly. “I think we do have decorations up
there in the attic somewhere.”

“Will you find them and bring them down?”

“I’ll do that.”

“Wonderful. And we’ll need a tree.”

“No problem. We got trees coming out our ears around here.
We’ll find a nice one and cut it down.”

She got her legs under her. They were strangely shaky. Holding
the banister for support, she rose to her feet. “Hear that?” He gazed up at her.
What she saw in those summer-sky eyes of his made her knees go weak all over
again. “Silence. Sweet, sweet silence. I do believe that Ben is ready for his
bath.”

He rose. And then he just stood there, gazing down at her as
she gazed up at him.

She wanted to reach for him, to pull that dark gold head down,
until his lips touched hers, to thread her fingers in his hair. She
yearned
to reach for him. That yearning rose, like a
tide. It spilled upward, overflowing the boundaries of her heart.

He asked, so gently, “Belle?”

She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t
answer.
Resolutely, she turned and led the way back to Ben’s room.

Chapter Six

W
hen Belle opened the door, Pres looked in
and saw Ben sitting quietly in his crib.

Belle asked, “Are you ready for your bath now?”

The kid seemed to actually consider the question. And then he
nodded. “Bath. Yes.”

So she went on into the room, scooped him out of the crib and
took him to the bathroom, where she filled the tub, helped him out of his
clothes and into the warm water.

Ben was subdued. Almost as though he felt guilty for being such
a pill. More likely, though, he was just plain exhausted after a hectic day.
Plus, he’d expended some serious energy having that tantrum. That had probably
worn him out, too. He sat in the tub and yawned and halfheartedly poked at a
couple of floaty toys Belle had put in there for him.

The blue-tiled bathroom was good-size, with both a shower stall
and a tub. Plenty of room for Pres to hang out near the door, out of the
way.

Belle knelt on the bath mat, soaped up a cloth and washed Ben’s
face. She sudsed up his little body. Pres watched her, thinking how much he
liked her brown hair with its streaks of red and gold. He liked the way she held
her back so straight and proud, even on her knees beside a bathtub.

He’d wanted to kiss her, back there at the top of the
stairs.

He’d wanted it bad.

And he would have done it if she’d given him the slightest
encouragement. He knew she was right not to, but that didn’t make him want to
kiss her any less.

Ben yawned again. He slumped his soapy shoulders and let out a
long sigh. Then he frowned and all at once, he seemed to be seeing Pres.
Really
seeing him, standing there by the door. “Hi,”
he said, suddenly bright and alert. “Hi.”

“Hey, there, Benjamin. How are you doin’?”

Was that too many words? Ben looked at him kind of puzzled. And
then, finally, he said, “Hi,” again.

“That’s your daddy,” Belle told him, simple and direct and
straight-ahead as you please. Pres’s heart ached—a good ache—and his throat felt
tight. She dribbled water over those fat little shoulders, rinsing off the soap
bubbles. “Can you say that? Say, ‘Hi, Daddy.’”

Ben looked at her and laughed. “Belle.” He put his little hand
over her mouth. “Belle...”

She kissed his fingers. “Say, ‘Hi, Daddy.’”

Ben laughed again. And then he got serious. He looked directly
at Pres and said, “Hi, Da-da.”

Now, there was a moment worth waiting half a lifetime for, a
moment a man holds in his heart for all of his days. “Ben,” he replied, his
voice only cracking a little bit. “Hi.”

* * *

The next day, Wednesday, Silas and Preston had work that
couldn’t wait. They were up and gone before Belle and Charlotte brought Ben
downstairs.

Preston had left Belle a note under a magnet on the
refrigerator.

“Here,” said Charlotte. “Let me have that handsome boy.”

“Shar-Shar...” Ben reached for her.

Belle handed him over and took the note off the
refrigerator.

Charlotte put Ben in the high chair. She sent Belle a
questioning glance. “Anything important?”

“Preston says he and Silas will be back in by early afternoon.
And if we go into town this morning, could we stop at Colson’s Feed and Seed and
pick up an order that should be waiting there.”

Charlotte filled Ben’s sippy cup and gave it to him. Then she
grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. She got a paring knife from a drawer.
Already, she seemed to know her way around the McCade kitchen. “Shopping, hmm?
What do you think? I know you have plans for Ben’s room.”

“Yes,” Belle agreed, holding the note that Preston had written,
trying not to imagine what it might be like, to get notes like that from him all
the time, to have a day-to-day life with a good man like him—and Charlotte was
watching her, a funny, knowing look in her eyes. Belle quickly folded up the
note and stuck it in her pocket. “We, ah, might as well get started. Ben’s room
is not going to paint itself.” She went to the coffeepot, which was half-full,
and poured herself a cup. “Also, I spoke to Preston about church. We’ll all be
going on Sunday. They’re of the Catholic faith.” Both she and Charlotte had been
raised Catholic.

“Lovely,” said Charlotte.

“And as for the holidays, Preston has said there are
decorations in the attic, which he will bring down. And they have plenty of
trees to choose from right here at the ranch.”

“You have it all in order, I see,” Charlotte remarked as she
set apple slices on Ben’s high chair tray. “I do like him,” she added in a
thoughtful tone. “He’s honest and kind. And very handsome, your Preston.”

Belle stiffened. “Charlotte, he’s not
mine.
Not in any way.”

Charlotte wore the most innocent expression. “Excuse me,
dearest. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course, he’s not
yours.
”

Belle felt ridiculously defensive—which was probably why she
asked, “And by the way, is there something going on between you and Silas?”

Charlotte chuckled. It was a very knowing chuckle, an almost
sensual
chuckle, which meant it was a completely
un-Charlottelike chuckle. Charlotte, after all, had spent her life eradicating
all things daring, bold, sensual and dangerous from her personality. She came
from a disgraced branch of Belle’s mother’s family. Charlotte’s father had been
French, a penniless count, a complete wastrel, and her mother an American
showgirl known to have had tempestuous affairs with any number of notorious
playboys before marrying the count. Poor Charlotte had spent her life living on
the fringes of the aristocracy, working as a governess and companion. She was
forever upright and serious in an ongoing effort to live down her parents’ awful
reputations.

But she didn’t seem so very serious now. “What could possibly
be going on between Silas McCade and me?” she asked in a voice that came across
as both teasing and a little bit naughty.

“Charlotte, what’s got into you?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, dear.”

“Well, last night, you seemed downright flirtatious with
him.”

“Was I?” She sliced a banana onto Ben’s tray.

“Yum,” he said, “‘nana...” And shoved a slice into his
mouth.

“Yes,” Belle said strongly. “And now, well, Charlotte, I think
you are teasing me.”

“I? Teasing you?” Her cheeks were pink. And her slight smile
was completely charming.

Belle knew for a certainty then. There
was
something going on between Charlotte and Ben’s grandfather.

And really, was there anything the least wrong with that? Not
that Belle could see. If Charlotte was finding a little romance in her life at
last, Belle couldn’t find it in her heart to be anything but happy for her.

She gave her dear friend an approving nod. “Well, whatever
you’re
not
doing with Silas, enjoy every moment of
it.”

“I assure you, I shall.”

Doris came in a few minutes later. Marcus joined them. The
housekeeper whipped them all up a quick breakfast of blueberry griddle cakes and
eggs. When she learned they were driving into town, she had a few staples she
wanted them to pick up.

At a little after nine, with Marcus behind the wheel of the
SUV, Belle, Charlotte and Ben went into town.

They stopped at Colson’s Feed and Seed first. The narrow-eyed
strawberry-blonde behind the counter had the animal supplements Preston had
ordered.

She was also completely lacking in tact or discretion. “Your
Highness,” she said with a gap-toothed smile. “I am Betsy Colson and I hear you
have moved out to Pres McCade’s ranch and that Pres is that little boy’s
daddy.”

Before she could answer, Ben, in Charlotte’s arms, chortled in
delight. “Dada, Dada. Hi, Dada....”

Belle granted the woman a regal nod. “Information certainly
flows freely in Elk Creek.”

“Yes, it does,” Betsy Colson agreed. “I have known Pres McCade
since he was knee-high to a bug’s butt. And it’s kind of a surprise, is all. One
minute he’s about to marry Lucy Saunders. Then Lucy dumps him for Monty Polk—now
what Lucy could have been thinking to dump Pres for Monty...well, I’m not even
going to dignify that with wonderin’ about it. But after Lucy leaves him at the
altar, so to speak, Pres acts like he’ll never have anything to do with a woman
again. But somehow, all these months later, here comes a real, live princess, a
princess with a little boy who looks a whole lot like Pres.”

Lucy,
Belle thought. Preston had
mentioned a fiancée who broke it off with him, hadn’t he? That must be Lucy.

And apparently, Betsy Colson was assuming that Ben was Belle’s
child. Belle considered disabusing her.

But Charlotte caught her eye and gave her the slightest
negative shake of her neatly coifed head.

Belle took the hint. Charlotte was absolutely right. There was
little to be gained by denying that Ben was hers. And if she did deny it, what
next? Was she going to stand there in the feed store and explain to this
stranger how Preston and her dear, deceased friend Anne had spent a drunken
night together a few Septembers ago and Ben was the result?

Absolutely not. “Betsy, how much do we owe you?”

“Not a thing. It’s on Pres’s tab—so tell me, when did you first
meet Pres? Everyone in town would really love to know.”

“I first met Preston on Monday morning in the Sweet Stop
Diner.”

Betsy frowned. “
This
Monday
morning?”

“Yes.” Belle picked up the package Betsy had plunked on the
counter. “And thank you. Have a wonderful day.” Before Betsy could frame her
next question, Belle turned for the door, Charlotte and Ben right behind her.
Marcus pulled the door open just as she reached it.

They went to the local paint store next and bought yellow, blue
and green paint for Ben’s room, along with all the equipment necessary to do the
job. There was a bulletin board at the store where local house painters posted
their phone numbers. Belle took down three numbers. She also found a
Winnie-the-Pooh mural kit. She and Charlotte agreed that Pooh would be good for
Ben’s room for the next three or four years. Then he would probably insist on
changing it. For now, though, Christopher Robin and friends seemed quite
appropriate.

Finally, they stopped in at the grocery store and bought the
items on Doris’s list. They were back at the ranch for lunch, where Doris told
them which of the painters whose numbers Belle had collected would do the best
job.

Belle called Doris’s man. He promised to be there at eight
Thursday morning.

Preston came in at two, went right up and had his shower. Belle
was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs when he came down.

He stopped in the middle of the staircase, his hand on the
railing, and gazed down at her. To her, he seemed pure American cowboy in clean
jeans, a belt with a whole lot of buckle, rawhide boots and a heavy corduroy
shirt the color of coffee with extra cream. He said, “I met you, what, two days
ago?”

Had it been only two days? “That’s right.”

“So why is it I already know that look in your eye?”

Her eyelashes seemed to be fluttering of their own accord.
“What look?”

“That ‘I have plans for you’ look.”

She waved her list of things to do. “Well, yes. There are a few
little things....”

“Oh, I’ll just bet.” But at least his eyes were gleaming and
his only slightly swollen mouth
almost
smiled. “I
took a peek into Ben’s room just now.”

“And?”

“Sound asleep.”

She nodded. “It was a busy morning. He went right down when I
put him to bed after lunch. I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for another
hour.”

He descended the rest of the way and stopped on the bottom
stair. “Dad should be over from his house in a minute.” His voice was rough and
soft, both at once. So strange, how they could speak of the most mundane things
and yet, beneath the ordinary words, so much more was going on. “We’ll call a
powwow in the kitchen.”

“A powwow...” She sounded breathless, which was a little bit
ridiculous. A person didn’t get out of breath just standing at the foot of the
stairs waiting for a certain man to come down.

“Yeah, a powwow. You, me, Dad, Charlotte. We’ll take on that
list of yours and wrestle it into submission.”

Five minutes later, all four of them sat around the table,
sipping coffee, enjoying a plate of Doris’s chocolate chip cookies fresh from
the oven, discussing what needed to be done. Marcus was there, too. He accepted
a cookie and then did what he always did—stood quiet and watchful, out of the
way.

“A little late in the day for a drive to Missoula,” said Silas.
“It’ll be dark before you know it. Plus, there’s snow predicted for later in the
evening. You don’t want to be stuck out on the highway if the front moves in
early.”

“All right,” Belle agreed. “We’ll see how the weather is
tomorrow and if possible, make the drive to Missoula in the morning after I show
the painter what I want him to do.”

Preston swallowed a bite of cookie. “The painter? Of what?”

“Of Ben’s room, remember? I said it needed paint. You agreed
that was all right with you....”

“Ah,” he said as if maybe he hadn’t, but he didn’t feel like
arguing the point.

She was starting to feel that she’d presumed a bit. So she
explained further. “We bought yellow, blue and green paint.”

Preston considered that information and then remarked, “That’s
a lot of colors.”

“Children like a bright room. And I promise, the colors go well
together. They’re not too loud or jarring.”

“Whew,” interjected Silas, smoothing his mustache and then
pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.

Belle added, “I thought one color for each wall....”

Preston grunted. “Whatever you say—and at last count, there
were four walls in Ben’s room.”