Harlequin American Romance October 2013 Bundle: Twins Under the Christmas Tree\Big Sky Christmas\Her Wyoming Hero\A Rancher's Christmas (21 page)

She hadn't turned to look at him, and he studied her profile, the straight line of her nose, the full lips, her small but firm chin. She was such a beautiful woman, and she was strong, too. Much stronger than he had realized.

“She's telling us what you've been through since Brock died.” He cleared his throat. “I had no idea you had such a struggle to keep the baby—”

He stopped talking as Winnie turned to him. Her eyes, normally sparkling with good humor, were dark and sad. She glanced from his face to the empty cup in his hand. Automatically she reached for the coffeepot.

He'd been intending to have a refill. Inexplicably he changed his mind and placed the mug in the dishwasher. Laurel joined them, then. It seemed like a good time to make his escape. He wasn't sure what to say, anyway. That he felt badly for her? That he wished he could have helped in some way?

As if anything he could have done would have made a difference.

* * *

L
AUREL
SIGHED
AS
she reached for the coffeepot. “I had to say something. I couldn't take listening to her badger you anymore.” She refilled her mug, then Winnie's.

“Nice of you to try,” Winnie said. “But it won't make any difference. Olive is always going to blame me for this. In a way, she's right. But I just didn't have the strength to handle one more thing.”

As she spoke, Winnie watched Jackson head back to the family room, where he took a chair near Corb. She wondered what he'd been about to say to her. Jackson so rarely voiced an opinion that when he did, it was worth taking note.

But he'd left the kitchen now, so she'd probably never know what he'd been thinking.

“Olive is Olive,” Laurel concluded the point she'd been making. “At least she's a good grandmother. I'll give her that.”

“She sure spoils them with gifts. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to fit all that new stuff in my apartment.”

“Maybe you should rethink moving to the cottage. Corb and I would love to have you living next door.”

“That part would be fun,” Winnie admitted.

“Bobby and Stephanie could grow up playing together.”

Winnie groaned. “Stop tempting me.”

“Then move in. You know how much I worried about missing New York. But I love it here.”

“Sure you do. You're married to Corb. And this is his place.”

“Bobby's a Lambert, too.”

“Yes, but he's my son, not my husband. I'm not even thirty years old.” She hesitated, then added, “One day I might start dating again. Can you imagine how weird it would be for my boyfriend to have to drive out to my deceased fiancé's ranch in order to pick me up?”

Laurel wrinkled her nose. “True enough. Darn. I was really hoping I could talk you into this. But it's cool you're thinking of dating. Who's the guy?”

“There is no guy. I'm speaking hypothetically.”

“There are some awesome single cowboys in the area. I met several when I was working at the café.”

Winnie felt not even a spark of curiosity. She'd only brought up the possibility of dating again so her friend would stop pushing her to move out to the ranch.

“Speaking of the café.” She grasped the opportunity to change the subject. “I want to thank you again. If you hadn't kept the Cinnamon Stick running while I was laid up at Mom and Dad's, I'd be out of business by now.”

“Hey, I would have done it for free. And you insisted on paying me a salary.”

“Well, of course. It was the least I could do.”

“You've always been there for me when I needed you. And I'm glad I could finally do the same for you.”

Laurel was talking about the years when they'd been young girls on neighboring farms in the Highwood area. Laurel had been only eight when her mother died. Left alone with a cool, distant father, she'd been unofficially adopted by the Hays family. The two girls had spent so much time together they were like sisters—except they rarely fought.

“Tell me. Do you think Jackson's doing okay?” Winnie had her eyes on him as she asked this. While he was listening to Corb talk, he was watching Bobby. What was he was thinking? She'd noticed how moved he'd been when he'd met her son earlier. Was it the likeness to Brock that got to him?

Laurel sighed. “Corb's worried about him. We hoped moving to Silver Creek Ranch and working for Maddie Turner might help. But he seems as withdrawn and sad as ever.”

“Did you see how choked up he got when he met Bobby?”

“Yes. But so was Corb. And Olive can't take her eyes off him, either.”

“I'm a little worried that people are going to expect Bobby to be exactly like his father as he grows up.”

Laurel nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. I hate to say it, but maybe you're right to keep a little distance between your son and Coffee Creek Ranch.”

And by Coffee Creek Ranch, they both knew she meant Olive.

* * *

W
HEN
THE
EVENING
was over, Jackson volunteered to load Bobby's gifts into Winnie's car. He wasn't looking for opportunities to be alone with Winnie, but Laurel and Corb had left five minutes earlier when Stephanie started fussing for her nighttime bottle. And he couldn't leave Winnie to manage alone.

The babies had managed to make quite a mess and it took him a couple of trips to get everything in the trunk. By then Olive had said her farewells and Winnie had her son strapped into his seat. By the angle of Bobby's head, Jackson suspected the little guy was already asleep.

Winnie was wearing a red coat that looked great with her dark, wavy hair. The night was clear, the air cold and crisp. Already the tip of Winnie's nose was turning pink.

She waited until he'd emptied the last of the packages, then closed the trunk. “What a lot of loot. And it's still six weeks until Christmas.”

“She'll spoil him then, too,” Jackson predicted.

“God, I hope not. I don't think I have enough room for all of this, let alone more.”

“Maybe I should build in a storage unit in the new bedroom?”

“What an awesome idea.”

He went to open the driver's-side door for her, but she didn't get in. Instead she surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm glad you were at the dinner tonight. I wasn't sure you would be.”

“I didn't want to be,” he admitted. “Corb pretty much twisted my arm.”

“Was it because of Olive that you didn't want to come? Or me?”

“A little of both.”

“Ouch. Brutally honest, aren't you?”

“I didn't say that to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh. So it was a compliment, then?”

“Damn it, Winnie. It's complicated.” She couldn't know how hard this was for him. If only he could see her the way he saw Laurel, Cassidy or even B.J.'s new wife, Savannah. They were all beautiful women, too.

But only Winnie set his blood on fire.

And it was so, so wrong. It had been wrong when Brock was alive. And it was just as wrong now that he was gone.

“I'll come by the café tomorrow afternoon to start work on the new bedroom.”

“Are you sure? If seeing me is such a chore, maybe I should hire someone else to do the work.”

“Hire? I wasn't asking you to pay me.” He sighed. Somehow this conversation had gone completely sideways. “Brock would want me to do this. For the baby. For you. So please let me build you the extra bedroom, Win.”

She looked at him as if there was something missing, something she wanted but couldn't find.

He was relieved when she finally turned away.

“Okay, Jackson. I won't say no. You can start the work whenever you want. And I promise to stay out of your way.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, Jackson put a pot of coffee on to boil on the big cast-iron wood-burning stove in Maddie's kitchen. It was only eight o'clock, but he'd already finished the chores. They were pretty simple, with only thirty cattle and a half-dozen horses to look after. Hard to believe that at one time the Turner ranch had rivaled that of the Lamberts.

Jackson added another stick of birch to the stove, then halved a couple of Vince Butterfield's cinnamon buns and added slices of cheddar and wedges of apple to each plate.

He took the simple breakfast, including coffee, on a tray to the sitting room, where Maddie was ensconced in the recliner chair that had once belonged to her father. Her border collies, Trix and Honey, were sleeping at her feet. He'd let them out for a romp in the snow earlier, and they were tired now.

Maddie shooed the ginger cat from her lap while he set her plate and mug on the table beside her chair.

“Waiting on me wasn't part of our deal. I'm perfectly capable of getting my own meals.” A year ago Maddie had been plump, but she'd lost at least twenty pounds since then, which was a lot considering her short stature. Her once rosy complexion was gray now, as was her short, wiry hair. Only the remarkable green of her eyes had been untouched by disease.

“I know you're capable,” he said. But he'd noticed that if he didn't bring her food, she rarely ate. “I was hungry myself, so I figured I might as well bring your breakfast at the same time.” He took his plate from the tray, waited for her to take her first bite then made quick work of his.

The cinnamon buns were compliments of Vince Butterfield, who had been cycling out to the ranch every week since Maddie was confined to the house. Vince had lost his driver's license once on a DUI charge and had made a promise to himself then that he'd never get behind the wheel of a car again.

The bike was good enough to get him around town and to and from his trailer, even in the winter. But Coffee Creek Ranch was twenty minutes by car—much too far for a bicycle trip in winter. So Jackson suspected there'd be no more cinnamon-bun deliveries after this last one.

Once upon a time Vince and Maddie had been sweethearts. But Vince had left her to follow the rodeo circuit. He came back to Coffee Creek for visits, but only moved back permanently when a chance meeting with Winnie and the offer of a job at her café had been the motivation he needed to finally stop drinking.

And so he'd moved into a trailer a few miles from town, bought a bike and started a new career as a baker—something he was surprisingly good at.

At first he'd very much kept to himself. But lately it seemed as if he'd like to mend fences with Maddie. Besides the cinnamon-bun offerings, it was Vince who'd taken care of the cattle when Maddie was first hospitalized. That was before Maddie had made Jackson her preposterous offer.

Jackson's side of the deal was simple. He was to take over the operations of Silver Creek Ranch, expand the herd this spring and live in the ranch house, allowing Maddie to remain in her own home for as long as she was able. She claimed she didn't need a nurse—and had no money for one besides—but her doctor had insisted she was too sick to live alone.

In return for this—which wasn't much in Jackson's estimation—Maddie was going to leave the ranch to him when she died. Or so she claimed. He, personally, still hoped to talk her out of it.

“What's your day look like today?” Maddie plucked a crumb from her blue housecoat and placed it on the tray.

“I'm starting work on that new room for Winnie Hays. I'll pick up some groceries and be home around three.”

“Good. I asked my attorney to come out at three-thirty.”

Jackson held out his palm like a traffic cop. “This isn't about your will, I hope.”

“Of course it's about my will. We have to get this settled. Make our deal official.”

“But it's too one sided. I'm not family. You should be leaving your land to B.J., Corb and Cassidy.”

“They'll inherit from their mother.”

True. And Coffee Creek was already the largest ranch in Bitterroot County. But Jackson knew that Olive had dreams of one day—after her sister's death—combining the two properties. He'd overheard her talking to her husband about it many years ago.

Bob, who'd been a gentle man with a soft heart, had admonished his wife. “You don't want anything to do with your sister, yet you think she'll leave her land to our children?”

“Who else?” Olive had asked.

Who else, indeed? The last person Olive would have expected, Jackson was sure, was the delinquent boy whom her husband had insisted they take on as a foster child.

“Divide the will between all four of us, then.”

“That won't leave you enough for a viable cattle operation. You'd be forced to sell to the Lamberts. And that would be the end of Silver Creek Ranch.” Maddie gazed sadly at a picture of her father and mother on their wedding day, which she kept on a bookcase next to the television. “I wish I'd had my sister's head for business. I've practically bankrupted myself. If you can pull Silver Creek out of the red, then you'll deserve your inheritance, Jackson.”

He didn't agree. But he didn't want to tire Maddie out with more arguing. He could see her eyes were already getting heavy.

Discreetly he removed her breakfast dishes and carried them back to the kitchen. He couldn't help wondering if there was another reason Maddie was so intent on willing him her family's land. Because, despite her self-admitted lack of business sense, Maddie was no fool. And giving her land to a man she had no connection to just didn't make sense.

* * *

T
WO
WEEKS
HAD
gone by. Two weeks of Jackson creeping up the back stairs with his lumber and his tools. And two weeks where Winnie had hardly seen him.

“How much longer until Jackson is finished with his renovations?” Eugenia Fox ran her dusting cloth over the counter of the Cinnamon Stick and showed the soiled result to Winnie.

Eugenia's dark hair was in a bun, as usual. She was widowed, with a grown son who lived in Great Falls but wasn't yet married. Besides working at the Cinnamon Stick, she also ran a part-time catering business.

“He's sanding the drywall today. So this should be the end of it.” Winnie knew her staff and customers were ready for relief from the sound of the hammer and the drill and the constant migration of sawdust and plaster particles.

“I've been dusting two times a day since he started.” Eugenia tossed the dirty cloth into the laundry bag. “Not that I'm complaining, you understand.”

She winked, and Winnie gave her an impulsive hug. “The past two weeks have been a big pain. Thank you for putting up with all the construction.”

“What about me?” Vince made a rare appearance from the kitchen. As usual, the wizened old cowboy had a snow-white baker's apron over his jeans and Western shirt. Winnie had never seen him with so much as a single stain on his apron. The man was meticulous.

“Are you fed up with the noise and mess, too?”

“Not really. But I could use a hug, all the same.”

For some reason Vince, who kept his distance from most people, even friends he'd known for all his life, had an affinity for Winnie. Maybe because she'd offered him the job that he claimed had saved his life. Since he'd started working at the Cinnamon Stick, he hadn't had a drop of alcohol to drink.

“Any time, Vince. You know that.” Winnie gave the cowboy a grateful hug, then went back to slicing tomatoes for the luncheon sandwich special. Five minutes later the rush started, and she and Eugenia were in constant motion pouring coffees and serving sandwiches, soups and, of course, Vince's famous cinnamon buns.

Around ten minutes to two, Cassidy came in with her new husband.

“You're back!” Winnie slipped around the counter to give both Cassidy and Farley a hug. Farley was always dark skinned since he had some Native American blood, but Cassidy had acquired a golden tan on her honeymoon. “You look great.”

“We had a fabulous time in Maui.” Cassidy smiled up at her new husband.

Farley grinned. “It was the best. But we sure missed our regular coffee breaks. We'll each take a coffee and a cinnamon bun to go.”

As Winnie prepared their order, they filled her in on all the snorkeling, hiking and sightseeing they'd done during their holiday.

“It's good to be home, though,” Cassidy acknowledged. “Even though it's snowy and cold.”

“Must make for quite a change from Maui.” Winnie checked the time. “Oh, wow, how the time flies. I have to go pick up Bobby from his babysitter's.”

By the time she returned, Jackson would be gone. Ever since he'd started the job, he'd been real careful to arrive shortly after ten in the morning and leave just after two, when she was on her way to pick up Bobby.

Just as he'd promised.

Today, though, turned out to be different.

With Bobby in her arms, tired and practically asleep, Winnie returned from the babysitter's to find Jackson vacuuming drywall dust from the floors.

Her spirits lifted at the pleasant surprise. She was so tired of coming home to an empty apartment all the time.

“Wow. I had no idea men looked so sexy when they vacuumed. I wonder why they don't do it more often.”

Jackson's eyes widened, and the word “sexy” hung in the air between them.

Why had she said that?

Maybe because it was true?

Jackson yanked the plug from the wall and the apartment was suddenly silent.

“I wasn't vacuuming. It's called construction cleanup.”

“I guess that does sound more
manly.
”

“Damn right it does.” He grinned. “But I can't say I object to being called sexy.” His gaze dropped to Bobby. “Looks like you have a sleepy guy on your hands.”

She nodded, her heart suddenly working far too hard. Jackson didn't smile often, but when he did, the effect was disarming. “Can you pull off his boots for me, please?”

“Sure.”

Jackson moved closer, tugging off the boots and then setting them carefully on the mat near the door.

Winnie carried her son to his crib where she laid him down, then unzipped his snowsuit and peeled it off his pliable limbs.

Jackson watched, looking fascinated. “Gosh, he's really out, isn't he?”

“Sleeping like a baby,” she agreed.

The corner of Jackson's mouth curved upward, but only slightly. “Someone's in a good mood today.”

She hadn't been, particularly. Seeing him, though, had changed that. But it wasn't Jackson in particular, she told herself. It was the relief of not coming home to an empty apartment for once. Bobby kept her busy almost every second he was awake, yet there were stretches of time when she felt profoundly lonely up here in their cozy apartment.

It was almost enough to make her regret moving out of her parents' home. Almost.

Truth was, they'd all been getting on one another's nerves the past few months. And it had been time for her to start living an independent life again.

“So how are things going up here? Looks like you're almost finished.” Her voice didn't come out sounding natural. She felt suddenly awkward now that Bobby was settled.

The look Jackson gave her was cryptic. Why was the man so darned hard for her to read?

“I am,” he agreed, as he moved around the apartment gathering up his equipment. He always left the apartment tidy and clean when he was finished for the day—a consideration that she very much appreciated.

He demonstrated the door that he'd just installed that day, then ran his hand along the new wall. “It's dry and smooth, ready for painting. I can do that tomorrow if you pick out a paint color.”

He nodded at the array of paint-color swatches she'd brought home from the hardware store, which were now strewn over the coffee table.

“Oh, don't worry about the painting. I can do that myself.”

“With a baby wandering around? Doesn't seem like a good idea to me.” Jackson cocked his head to one side and Winnie's heart lurched as she realized she was
attracted
to Jackson.

Seriously attracted.

She thought back to Cassidy and B.J.'s wedding, to the way she'd felt in Jackson's arms as they were dancing. She'd felt it then, too.

Why had she never seen how sexy Jackson was? She'd known it, of course. Had even joked about it when she came into the apartment a minute ago.

But it was one thing to notice how good a man looked.

Quite another to feel the attraction zinging throughout her body, all the way to her fingers and toes.

He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans today, clothes that showed off every muscle in his cowboy-tough body. He hadn't shaved for a few days, and with his dark stubble and thick tousled hair he reminded her of Joe Manganiello, the actor from
True Blood.

“Have I got drywall dust on my face or something?”

She'd been staring. Inwardly she cringed as she imagined what Jackson would say if he knew what she'd been thinking. He was already so uncomfortable around her. If she admitted that she really did find him
sexy?

Oh, man, that would be so bad.

She quickly grabbed the paint samples. “No. Your face is fine.”

I'll say...

“I was just thinking about a color to paint Bobby's room. Blue seems so...conventional. What do you think of this turquoise?” She showed him the tiny square and he squinted at it.

“Looks girly.”

She sighed. “Well. I guess I'll pick something more neutral. When Bobby goes to bed at eight, I'll get started. In a couple of nights I'll have the painting done.”

Jackson looked as if he wanted to argue, but he didn't, thank goodness.