The Rancher's Christmas Princess

by Christine Rimmer

  Charlotte frowned. “Which one?”

  “Preston—but when you come right down to it, have either Preston or his father been drinking?”

  Charlotte thought it over. Finally, she decided, “I don’t believe so. I think it was a case of the blood running high, as it were. They both appear sober and I didn’t smell liquor on either of them.”

  “Very well.” Belle kissed Ben’s velvety cheek. He had his fist in his mouth by then. With a final hiccup and a weary little sigh, he laid his head on her shoulder. “Tell Preston we will meet him...where? It’s so early. I have no idea.”

  “The restaurant across the street should be open,” Charlotte said. “I checked the hours yesterday. Six in the morning until eight in the evening.”

  “Wonderful,” Belle said wearily. Maybe fortune would smile on them and the restaurant would be empty at this hour, giving them all a little privacy to deal with this difficult situation. “Tell them the diner, then. We’ll meet them there in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter Four

  Belle, Charlotte and Ben entered the Sweet Stop together. Ben was bundled up and tucked in his stroller. The ever-present Marcus, sporting a black eye, followed close behind them. The diner was far from empty. Apparently, many of the good citizens of Elk Creek took breakfast before dawn. As had happened the day before, a hush fell over the establishment when Belle and the others came in. People paused with their coffee mugs halfway to their lips and stared.

  Preston and Silas had taken a back booth and were waiting for them. One of them must have thought to ask for a high chair. It stood at the end of the booth. Preston, who faced the door, had a swollen lower lip and a small cut above his right eye. His gaze locked with Belle’s for a too-brief moment. An echo of last night’s magic arced between them.

  And then was gone.

  He and Silas both stood up as Belle, pushing Ben’s stroller, came toward them, Charlotte at her side. Marcus hung back near the door.

  Belle reached the men looming by the booth. She moved around to the side of the stroller to take care of Ben and suggested over her shoulder, “If you two gentlemen wouldn’t mind sitting in the inner seats? Charlotte and I need to be next to the high chair for Ben.”

  Neither of the McCade men answered. She glanced over at them. Neither had moved either. Both of them stood stock-still, wearing identical expressions of dumbstruck wonder, staring down at the child in the stroller.

  Ben, bundled up in blankets and a miniature down jacket, a blue wool hat over his white-blond hair, gazed solemnly back at them.

  Charlotte broke the silence. “Ahem. Sit down, please.” She made a shooing motion with both slim hands. “Sit down and slide over. Both of you.”

  That seemed to break the spell. The men sat and slid to the window side of the booth. Charlotte hung up her heavy coat and took the remaining seat on Silas’s side of the table. Belle got Ben out of his warm hat and fat coat.

  When she eased him into the high chair, he smiled up at her, sweet as any angel, his earlier misery completely forgotten. “Belle. Eat!” He pounded his hands flat on the chair tray—but not too hard. Just enough to punctuate his excitement at the thrilling prospect of breakfast. He loosed a happy string of nonsense noises.

  She laughed low as she took off her coat. It was so good to see him back to his cheerful little self again. “Yes, Benjamin. We shall eat.” She gave him a biscuit to keep him occupied until his meal arrived and then took the seat next to Preston, who wore a winter-green corduroy shirt and a look both stern and completely stunned.

  The waitress from yesterday, Selma, arrived with a coffeepot and an order pad. She poured coffee for all of them. Belle and Charlotte ordered.

  Selma glanced at Silas and then at Preston. Both of them said, “The usual.”

  The meal was a strange one, which really wasn’t all that surprising under the circumstances. Charlotte bravely tried to contribute something resembling conversation. She spoke of the weather and of the beauty and majesty of the local forests and mountains. Belle agreed with her companion that Montana was wild and rugged and beautiful. Charlotte had purchased a copy of the most recent edition of the Elk Creek Gazette. She’d read about the various holiday events that were coming up in the next few weeks.

  “If we’re still here, we must attend the craft fair,” she said.

  Belle agreed that, indeed, they must.

  Preston methodically shoveled in food. He had nothing to say. Neither did the previously talkative Silas. Both men continued to seem astounded by Ben. They would glance in the child’s direction and then blink and gape. After a moment or two, they would catch themselves at it and resolutely return to devouring the enormous breakfasts they’d ordered.

  Ben watched the two rugged ranchers warily at first. But then, after fifteen minutes or so, he seemed to realize that they presented no threat to him. He grew accustomed to their staring and he ignored them. He ate his cereal and fruit with gusto and drank watered-down apple juice from the sippy cup Belle carried along wherever they went.

  There was so very much to discuss. But every time she glanced at Preston’s battered face and saw his blank-eyed expression, she realized she didn’t know where to start. And even if she had known what to say, the busy diner didn’t seem the right place to talk. So she said nothing—except to agree with Charlotte that the scenery in Montana was spectacular and she would love to visit the Christmas Craft Fair.

  When the meal was finally over, Preston claimed the check, piled some bills on top of it and cleared his throat. “Belle, I’d like a few words. Alone.” Grudgingly, he added, “Please.”

  She took a wet wipe from a pocket of Ben’s diaper bag and cleaned the little sweetheart’s face and hands. “Charlotte, could you take Ben back across the street with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” She faced Preston again. “How about a stroll?”

  “Fine.”

  Charlotte rose, put on her coat and scooped Ben out of the high chair. She put him in the stroller and bundled him up again.

  He laughed, a delighted chortling sound that warmed Belle’s heart. “Shar-Shar. Kiss.”

  “Oh, yes.” Charlotte leaned close to him and he made a loud smacking sound with his little mouth against her cheek. She beamed at him. “Thank you, young man—now let’s put on this nice, warm hat.” She put it on him and tied the yarn ribbons under his chin. “There. Are we ready?”

  “Yes!” declared Ben.

  “Bundle up,” she instructed Belle in that motherly way she sometimes did as she got behind the stroller and aimed it at the door. “It’s bitterly cold out there.”

  “I will,” Belle promised.

  Marcus opened the door when Charlotte reached it. She pushed the stroller through. Wordless, Preston and Silas watched them go.

  And then, out of nowhere, Silas found his voice. “That boy’s a McCade if I ever saw one.” He said it loud enough that every listening ear in the diner was treated to the big news. And then he spoke to Preston. “And damned if he didn’t get those baby blue eyes of yours.”

  “Keep it down, Dad,” Preston growled, already on his feet. He shrugged into his sheepskin coat and shoved his hat on his head. Then he grabbed Belle’s coat and held it open for her. “Belle.”

  She got up and let him help her into it. “Thank you.”

  Silas was sliding from the booth.

  Preston stopped him. “You stay here, Dad. Have yourself to another cup of coffee. This won’t take long.”

  “I’m up to my eyeballs in caffeine as it is,” Silas grumbled. But he did sit back down.

  “After you,” said Preston.

  She led the way to the door.

  Outside, the gray sky was growing lighter. She pulled on her winter gloves and put on her wool hat against the blustery cold. With Marcus in their wake, they hunched down into their coat collars and forged off up the street, snowflakes whirling around them. Christmas decorations, battered by the harsh wind, clinked
rhythmically against the Victorian-style streetlights that lined the street.

  “I would like to...apologize,” he said stiffly as they passed a jewelry store and then a gift shop, neither of which were open at that hour. “I got completely out of hand this morning at the motel.”

  She sent him a sideways glance. He had his head hunched very low and his hat tipped down against the wind, shadowing his eyes. His swollen mouth had a grim twist to it. In spite of the fact that he was going to take Ben from her, she felt a tug of sympathy. “I imagine it must be a lot to take in.”

  “Yeah, it is—and I shouldn’t have been so hard on you last night. You’re only the messenger, right?” He laid on the irony.

  That got her back up a little. “I am, as a matter of fact, Ben’s legal guardian. So my responsibilities in this matter far exceed those of one who merely bears news.”

  “Fancy talk,” he muttered.

  “It happens to be the truth.”

  He made a low, scoffing sound. “Here’s a truth for you. He’s my son.”

  “I know that, Preston.” She kept her voice carefully even.

  “And he’s what—a year and a half old?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “But this morning is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on him. That’s the truth. And it’s not right.” He waited—apparently for her to say something, to argue the point. When she didn’t, he added, “She should have told me.”

  “I know. And she knew it, too. I don’t know why she didn’t get in touch with you before she—” it was still hard to say the words “—before she died. After college, we didn’t see each other as often as we might have wished. She had her work. I had mine. I lived in Montedoro and traveled a great deal, raising funds and awareness for Nurses Without Boundaries. She was living here, in America—in Raleigh, North Carolina, and often off on a dig somewhere for her studies. I hadn’t seen her in person for two years when she called to tell me she was sick.”

  “You’d never seen Ben until then?”

  “No. I kept meaning to go to her, to meet her new baby, to spend some time catching up. But somehow, I never managed to make the time. Not until she called and told me about her illness, about how bad it was. I went to her then, at the end of October. We were with her until the end, Charlotte and I. I asked her more than once about...the baby’s father.”

  He did look at her then. His eyes were haunted beneath the brim of his hat. “This way.” He offered his hand. She took it and couldn’t help thinking of the night before when he had kissed her, when he had raised her hand to his warm lips.

  He led her off the sidewalk, into a courtyard between the buildings, out of the wind. He let go of her fingers to brush snow off one of the benches there. They sat down, side-by-side but not touching.

  He asked, “What did she say, when you asked her about Ben’s dad?”

  “That it was a one-night thing. That she hardly knew the man. And that she kept meaning to get in touch with him. That she would get in touch with him—with you, as it turned out. But she did nothing to make that happen through her final month of life. When she gave me that letter I showed you last night, I was reasonably certain of what would be in it. By then, I had a good idea of what she intended. I understood that she wasn’t planning to be the one to get in touch with the father of her child. I accepted that. I couldn’t do otherwise. She was so sick. She was in no condition to reach out to you, to tell you what you needed to know.”

  “But there was plenty of time before she got sick for her to have done the right thing. Why didn’t she?”

  “You would have to ask her that question.”

  “That would be a little difficult at this point.”

  She folded her hands and lowered her head. “Yes, it would.”

  He was silent for a moment. He stared at the brick wall opposite the bench where they sat. Then he asked, “Before that letter, she never told you my name or anything about me?”

  Belle shivered, folded her arms around herself and shook her head. “No. Didn’t I already say that?”

  “I just want to get real clear on all this.”

  “She asked me not to read the letter until after she was gone. I did what she asked. I did it her way. It wasn’t an easy time. My main concern was for my friend, to help her get through the final days of her life. The only other thing that mattered then was Ben—to make that horrible time as bearable for him as I possibly could, to make certain he knew that he was loved and safe and would always be cared for.”

  There was a moment. He stared straight ahead. She feared he would say something angry and hurtful. But he surprised her. In the end, he leaned toward her, bumping his shoulder against hers in way that struck her as reluctantly companionable. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. I am. I know this isn’t your fault, that you’re doing the best you can here. I’m sorry you lost your friend. I’m furious at Anne, but I still can’t believe that she’s...no longer on this earth. It’s awful that she died. But the hard truth is that I’ve been a father for a year and a half and I just found out yesterday that I have a son. I want someone to blame for that and you’re way too damn convenient.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I can see that.”

  He stared at that brick wall some more. “She died less than two weeks ago, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “I gotta hand it to you.” His voice was rough with carefully contained emotion. “You got here fast.”

  “There seemed...no excuse to put it off. Though I must confess, Preston, I wanted only to put it off, to take Ben home with me to Montedoro and bring him up as my own.”

  “But you couldn’t. You did the right thing.”

  She turned toward him on the bench. “Please. She’s gone. Don’t hate her. She did the best she could. And she was Ben’s mother. Don’t...poison her memory for him.”

  He was looking in her eyes now. His mouth was grim, but his gaze was warmer than before. “I would never do that.”

  She did reach out then. She laid her hand on his arm. Beneath the sleeve of his coat, she felt the strength of him, that steadiness she’d admired from the first. “Good. I didn’t think you would.”

  He looked down at her hand. She withdrew it. He said, “It was wrong what she did. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that. But that’s not something the child has to know about. From what you’re describing, she was a good mother. A loving mother.”

  “Oh, yes. She was.”

  “I’ll, uh, focus on that.”

  “I’m grateful that you will.” She wished she could make him truly understand the good, generous heart of her lost friend. But she didn’t really understand herself why Anne hadn’t done the right thing concerning her child’s father. She put her hands between her knees, rubbed them together—and gave it one more shot. “Anne was...so independent. She never wanted to be tied down. She had her work that she loved. I don’t think she ever planned to marry. And when she got pregnant with Ben... I don’t know. She was happy to be having a baby. She told me so more than once, when we would speak on the phone. And then after Ben was born, I could hear the joy in her voice every time she mentioned her baby. But she still had no desire to have a husband, to make the traditional sort of family.”

  His jaw was set, his mouth a hard line. “None of that’s an excuse for keeping him from me. You know that, right?”

  She swallowed, hard. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “So let’s leave it at that.”

  “All right. Let’s.” She sighed. “Please.”

  The fitful snow had stopped for the moment. It was fully light now. She tipped her head back, stared up at the slice of gray sky between the buildings.

  He spoke again. “I want my son.”

  The four words landed like blows. Yes, she had expected them. But that didn’t make them any less painful to hear. She thought of Ben, that morning, crying his heart out, his soft little face pressed into her neck, his tears on her skin. “I understand.”
<
br />   “You’re saying you’ll give him to me, then?”

  “That is my intention. Eventually.”

  “Eventually. I’m not sure I like that word.”

  She turned toward him on the bench and she looked at him squarely. “As I said, I am his legal guardian.”

  His eyes blazed blue fire. “You can’t keep my son from me. I’ll take you to—”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Please, no threats. It hurts me, more than you will ever know, to be losing him. But more important than my pain or your needs as a father, more important than anything else, is that we do right by Ben. Surely you agree with that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I think we can avoid an ugly legal battle. I think we can...do better than that.”

  He looked away, tipping his head down, touching the brim of his hat, and then he sat tall and faced her once more. “You have some kind of plan?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Tell me, then.”

  “First, the paternity test.”

  “I don’t need a damn test to know my own son.”

  “Of course you don’t. But why not establish your paternity in the eyes of the law from the start? Might as well clear up any doubts now. I’ve already contacted a lab in Missoula. We can go today, if that’s possible for you. It’s a simple procedure. They take a buccal swab from inside the cheek. The test will be conducted under a strict chain of evidence. That way, the fact that you are Ben’s biological father can be established legally beyond any doubt.”

  He seemed wary, but not altogether unwilling. “How long do we have to wait for the results?”

  “If the test is done today, we should have results by early next week.”

  “Next week,” he echoed, as though turning her answer over in his mind, checking it for flaws.

  “That’s right, and in the meantime, do you, er, think you have room for us at the ranch?”

  * * *

  Belle’s question took Pres by surprise. With considerable cautiousness, he asked, “Room for whom, exactly?”

  “Ben, Charlotte, Marcus and me.”