“Yeah,” Betsy said, “and we think if we have three or four trees here at our house, then that would even help the bad babies get a good Christmas.”
“I don’t know about having that many,” Wyatt said, “but if it’s all right with Miss Nat, how about when you two get home from school tomorrow, we head out to the tree patch for at least one?”
“Yay!” Both girls abandoned their meals to dance.
After dishes were done and the babies were bathed and sweetly sleeping, after the twins were supposedly asleep, but actually playing Barbies with flashlights under their covers, Natalie curled onto a corner of the sofa with Josie’s well-loved copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
She’d just gotten engrossed on the horrors of gestational diabetes when she looked up to find Wyatt staring.
“Chilly in here,” he said. “Want me to make a fire?”
“That’d be nice. Thanks.”
While he worked, she tried settling back into her reading, but the view of his broad shoulders and strong back was too darned distracting.
Worse yet, once he’d finished, he sat on the opposite end of her sofa with what looked like an exhilarating geography tome.
Natalie had read on to preeclampsia when Wyatt asked, “Need popcorn?”
“No, thank you.”
“A drink?” he suggested. “Wine? Mom’s got the good stuff. She won’t notice if we share a bottle.”
“What are we? In junior high? And anyway, in case you forgot, I’m pregnant.”
He slapped his book to the sofa. “I’m trying here, okay?”
“To do what?” She rested her read on the sofa arm.
“For us to have a nice, normal night. In a little over a week, I’ll be gone, but until then, I want to experience what it’s like being a family.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because for the first time in forever, I’m excited about getting a Christmas tree. I can’t wait for all of us to trek into the woods. I know it sounds stupid, but—”
“No…” Turning to face him, she bowed her head. “I feel the same. But it’s pointless. You’re leaving. I’m staying. Our roles will never change. We’re wired differently. Maybe that’s what’s driving the attraction, but—”
“You’re feeling it, too?”
“To a maddening degree,” she admitted. “But I’m on the verge of becoming a mother. If I can’t resist temptation, how am I supposed to teach that skill to my child?”
“I see your point.”
“Good.” Gravitating closer, she managed, “We’re both rational adults. As such, I think we can manage to give the girls a special holiday without giving in to base urges.”
“Agreed.” So why were they slowly coming together until nothing but mutually hitched breaths stood between them? Why did their lips press together? Exquisitely soft and tender and sweet enough to feel the intensity clear to her toes. When sensation took over, all reason vanished. Sanity was replaced with the sweep of Wyatt’s tongue, stroking her into a sort of fevered madness she felt helpless to deny.
Once necessity caused her to pause for breath, Natalie put her hands on Wyatt’s chest, hoping she’d summon the strength to push him away. “No.”
“Sorry,” he said, also breathing heavy.
“Me, too.”
“So from here on out, we won’t do this anymore.”
“Definitely not.” She crushed him in a hug, resisting the urge to nip his earlobe. “We should do our best to get along in a strictly platonic manner.”
Skimming his hand under her flannel sweatshirt, her satin-smooth baby bump put him in a state of male distress.
“Mmm…” she moaned, “that feels nice.”
“No kidding.”
Her lips again landed on his, rendering him incapable of doing anything but easing his free hand to her neck to press her closer.
Suddenly, there was an alien-like movement beneath his palm. Drawing back, he asked, “Was that—him—or her? Inside you?”
Eyes wide, as if searching his expression to discover if he’d been put off or moved by the notion of making out with a woman pregnant with another man’s baby, she nodded. “I think he likes you.”
“He?” Wyatt barely managed to whisper past his tight throat. “You’re having a son?”
She nodded. “I found out at my latest ultrasound. I thought I wanted to be surprised, but at the last minute changed my mind. You’re the first person I’ve told.”
In Wyatt’s every fantasy about having a family, he’d always wanted a son. Which only made his current situation harder. “Thank you—for trusting me. I’m happy for you.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “Me, too. I mean, I’m happy. But then sometimes I’m really scared. Like what am I doing? Believing I’m smart enough to raise a child.”
Acting on instinct, he took her hand in his, giving her a squeeze. “Judging by the way you’ve cared for Dallas and Josie’s crew, you’re going to be fine. Perfect.”
“Think so?” Her voice had gone small. Like she truly didn’t know how impressive her mothering skills were.
“The first night we were charged with caring for the entire Buckhorn brood, and all the babies were screaming, I freaked out. You, however, acted as if you’d never met an infant you didn’t love. And they love you back. Your baby boy is going to believe the sun rises and sets in your arms.”
Her body fell limp against him. “You don’t know what a relief it is to hear from someone—anyone—that they think I can do this. My parents are freaking out about me not being married. Before the accident, even Josie told me I could move in here if I couldn’t manage raising a baby on my own.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure your parents haven’t conferred with my mom? Sounds like the same line she fed both my brothers and sister. I swear the woman won’t be happy until she’s married off the entire county.”
“Why does everyone think wedding rings are the only path to happiness? I’ve been fine on my own for years. Why wouldn’t I be just as fine with a child?”
“You will be.”
Natalie’s hug evoked an emotion deep inside him. Wyatt felt important and needed and as if his mere act of supporting her when no one else had made a genuine difference.
“Thank you,” she sniffled through tears.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, Wyatt, you did. I’ve been sitting here, reading this stupid book about everything that can go wrong with my pregnancy. You reminded me how right finally holding my son will be.”
Wyatt thought, Wish I’d be around to meet him.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t like this one,” Bonnie whined with a stomp of her red rain boots.
Betsy stomped her pink boots. “I do!”
“Ladies…” Natalie warned. “Santa’s watching.”
After a thirty-minute truck ride down a bone-rattling dirt trail, then tromping through a field cloaked by freezing drizzle, they’d finally reached the Christmas tree plot that’d been planted by the first Buckhorns in Oklahoma. Each generation was responsible for reseeding, and now a pine forest stood, wind whispering through the fragrant boughs.
Bonnie said, “Santa doesn’t like ugly trees!”
“You’re the ugly one,” Betsy said. “And I hate your red boots!”
“I hate your pink ones!”
Fingers to his mouth, Wyatt blew an earsplitting whistle.
Mabel, who rode high on his shoulders, squealed, holding her hands to her ears.
Esther, who’d been asleep in her papoose-style carrier, snug against Natalie’s chest, woke with a start, screaming loud enough to prompt a flock of crows into cawing flight.
“Shhh,” Natalie soothed. “You’re okay. Only the big girls are in trouble.”
“Santa hates you,” Bonnie informed her sister.
Betsy stuck out her tongue.
“Knock it off,” Wyatt said. “If I were Santa, I’d bring you two a bowl of rocks.”
“It’s s’posed to be a bag of switches,” Betsy said. “You have to get Santa’s stuff right, Uncle Wyatt.”
He glanced Natalie’s way to catch her grinning. “Yeah, Uncle Wyatt. Get it right.”
It’d been two days since the intimacies they’d shared in Georgina’s living room. Two days during which nothing, and yet everything had changed. Wyatt was no longer her enemy, but her friend. And it was nice. Yet fragile and disconcerting. Somewhat like a dream she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to wake from.
“Oh,” he said, “it’ll be right when we go home with no tree and you two spend the rest of the night in your room.”
Both girls pouted with their arms folded tight across their chests.
“Miss Nat,” Wyatt asked, Mabel once again all smiles on his shoulders, “how about you and this little lady pick the tree?”
Gazing across a sea of green pines and firs, low clouds hugging the hills, Natalie pointed to her favorite, asking the toddler, “Mabel, sweetie, do you like that one?”
“Ice cream!”
“Ow! Hey, kid, take it easy on your poor uncle.” Wyatt rubbed the sides of his head where she’d slapped her excitement.
“Pumpkin,” Natalie reached for the girl’s hands, trying to calm her, “I’m not sure where you see ice cream, but I’m taking your enthusiasm to mean we’ve chosen our official Christmas tree.”
“Yay!” the fickle twins cried. “It’s pretty!”
Wyatt set Mabel on her feet next to Natalie, then commenced with cutting. In a way, it was sad seeing the tree coming down, but watching him work his ax proved insanely hot. Granted, Weed Gulch had its fair share of manly men, but whew, Wyatt had them all beat. With each strike, he had a habit of sticking his tongue—just the tip—to his upper lip. Alas, the show didn’t last long, as all too soon he’d finished his task and was dragging their prize to the truck.
“Ride,” Mabel said, running alongside him, pointing to his shoulders.
He scooped her back to her former position, keeping a careful hold. His contagious chuckle and slow grin stole Natalie’s breath.
Esther snug and still sleeping against her, the twins giggling and running around their uncle, Natalie found it all too easy to picture a scene not so different from this in her own future. For all her resolve to steer clear of men, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to having the occasional craving for domestic bliss. Fortunately, she was smart enough to realize times like these were a rarity and not the norm.
At the house, while the twins and Mabel ran wild, singing “Jingle Bells,” she and Wyatt tackled taking ornament and decoration boxes from the attic. Esther helped by lying sweetly in her portable playpen, blowing raspberries at dust bunnies. Considering Georgina typically had a team of Tulsa florists and decorators prepare the house for the holidays, the only items Natalie was concerned with were family keepsakes.
“I’ve always loved the Buckhorn way of celebrating the holidays,” Natalie said to Wyatt, fingering raised lettering on a Baby’s First Christmas ball.
Grunting while passing Natalie a dusty box, Wyatt said, “When I was a kid, holidays were insane. Seemed like my folks went to a different party every night in December.” Sitting on an old chest, he rubbed his whisker-stubbled jaw. “The one they hosted here every year was nothing like the kid-friendly fests we have now. Back in the day, we’re talking black tie and limos stretched down the entire drive. The year Reagan came I’m surprised the Secret Service didn’t take out Dallas and Luke when they used BB guns to appoint themselves official backup.”
Natalie said, “As an outsider looking in, the Buckhorns seemed like royalty.”
“Nah. We had our issues. Hell—still do.”
“Yeah, but what’s it like to never worry about normal things? Say during the holidays when I want to buy my mom an extra special gift, but the gas bill is so high, I don’t have the cash.”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he cradled his forehead on the heels of his palms. “That old saying about money not buying happiness? It’s true. When Mom lost Dad, I thought we’d lose her, too.”
“Everybody struggles with losing loved ones. I’m talking about day-to-day drudgery. Like do you ever crave steak for dinner, but end up with mac and cheese?”
“I love that stuff.” Easing upright, he rubbed the back of his neck. “When I was ten, we went skiing in the Alps and the chef in the castle Dad rented made it with Gruyère and lobster.”
“Seriously?”
He laughed. “Yeah, but all I’m saying is the Buckhorns are far from perfect. My dad was a great man, but looking back on it, I didn’t really know him. If I told you some of the stuff keeps me up nights, you’d be glad for money woes.”
“I’ll bite.”
“I had it first!” Bonnie shouted.
Betsy said, “Your Barbie doesn’t even like that dress!”
“I want cookie!” At the base of the attic stairs, Natalie caught a glimpse of the twins playing tug-of-war with a scrap of hot pink fabric.
Mabel hopped back and forth between them.
Esther seemed happy enough, cooing at a stuffed cow.
“Hold that thought,” Natalie said. “Looks like my services are needed as a referee.”
“THERE YOU GO, SWEETIE.” That night, Wyatt held Mabel as high as his arms reached. In her grubby hands was the battered gold star that had topped the Buckhorn family Christmas tree for as long as he could remember. “Put it right on top.”
“Star, star, star!” For a little squirt, she did a great job. Her grin warmed him through and through. Spending so much time with his nieces had helped Wyatt see the girls in a new light. Sure, they were infinitely more trouble than he’d thought, but times like these, when even the twins were pitching in and doing a good job, he experienced a gut-level connection to all of them he’d never expected.
If he felt this attached to them when they weren’t even his, he couldn’t imagine how it must feel for Dallas, Cash or Luke having children born of their own DNA.
“Uncle Wyatt, look at this one.” Betsy held up a salt-dough candy cane. Josie had helped the girls make them in their kindergarten class.
“Mine’s better,” Bonnie said, holding hers up, as well.
“They’re both gorgeous,” Natalie said. Taking the tissue from what Wyatt knew was Josie’s favorite angel, she put it on a high branch. Dallas had told him Josie purchased the ornament the first holiday after her little girl had died. “I’m sure your mom and dad are sorry they’re missing out on this.”
“Yeah.” Bonnie sat on the hearth in front of the crackling fire. “I sure miss them. When are they coming home?”
Natalie wrapped the girl in a hug. “Just as soon as they start feeling better.”
“Wanna watch a movie?” Betsy asked her sister. “This isn’t as much fun without Daddy and Mommy.”
Bonnie nodded.
Mabel’s interest had turned to playing with foil garland and Esther had fallen asleep.
While Wyatt and Natalie finished the tree in companionable silence, Bing Crosby crooned carols. Though it was only a little past six, darkness had already fallen. On his own with Natalie, Wyatt wasn’t sure what to say. In the attic, if the twins hadn’t interrupted, he’d found himself wanting to share his misgivings about leaving. He’d been around her so much, sharing everything with her felt not only natural, but normal. Putting ornaments on the tree had always been a special event, reserved for family only. But in ways, he felt almost closer to her than he did them. Not good for a man sworn to forever remain a bachelor.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Natalie said, “but earlier, when you told me you have worries, is there anything I can do to help?”
“How did I know you wouldn’t let that go?”
“Had I said the same, would you?”
Laughing, he admitted, “Probably not.”
“Well?” she probed.
He added three more ornaments before saying, “I shouldn’t have brought it up
.”
“Now that you did, don’t leave me hanging.”
“I leave in a few days.” He added another ornament to the tree. “I was psyched about my trip. Dallas and Josie are on the mend. No reason for me to put off leaving any longer, right? Except for you. I feel like I’d be shirking my responsibility—leaving you with all these kids and the monstrosity of a house.”
“You asking for my blessing to go?”
He hung two purple reindeer. “Guess I am. If you feel it’s too much for you, what with the baby, I’ll call the whole thing off.”
“And leave me with the guilt of knowing I stopped you from going on the trip of a lifetime?” A sharp laugh escaped her. “No, thanks.”
They finished the tree in silence, rain drumming the skylights.
Once the twins were tucked in bed, Wyatt wanted to ask Natalie to join him by the fire. They could talk or play cards. Anything. Didn’t matter. He wanted to spend time with her. But the general vibe wasn’t conducive to a night of casually hanging out. In offering to stay, he thought he’d be doing her a favor. Instead, he got the impression his offer had royally pissed her off. Had she thought he didn’t have confidence in her to handle their impromptu family on her own? If so, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, he feared the true heart of the matter was that he dreaded leaving—not just her, but his nieces. The newfound feeling of being needed was intoxicating.
In the hall outside the twins’ closed bedroom Natalie yawned, politely covering her mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a night.”
“It’s only nine.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m carrying a line-backer inside me. I’m exhausted.”
Wyatt wanted to touch her belly again. Feel her son move. “Anything I can do for you? Make tea? Rub your feet?”
“No, thanks.”
“You’re not upset with me, are you?”
“Over what?” She paused in front of her bedroom door.
“Offering to stay. Give me the word, and I will—but not because I don’t think you can handle everything just fine on your own.”
“You’re sweet, but no. Our trip to the hospital tomorrow will be rough. We should be well-rested for not only the girls, but Josie and Dallas. Last thing I want them worrying about is if we’re up for the task of caring for their children—even though you are only a short-timer.”
A Baby In His Stocking (The Buckhorn Ranch Book 4) Page 11