The Rancher's Christmas Princess

by Christine Rimmer

  “Special.” She was still watching him. “I’m so glad you feel that way.”

  All of a sudden, he was kind of embarrassed. He grunted and said gruffly, “I’m only saying it’s a good time to haul out all the decorations and do it up right.”

  “I’m glad.” She said it again, so quietly. Like it was a secret. Just between the two of them. The bare bulb overhead cast her face in shadow, put a bronze gleam on her hair.

  He thought about her, about her real life. What did he know of the life of a princess? “You won’t be home for Christmas this year.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “I’ll bet your family misses you.”

  “We’re all grown up now. We can’t all be together all of the time. But yes, they miss me. And I think of them often.”

  “You have a tree at the palace in Montedoro?”

  She lifted her chin. Those fine eyes gleamed up at him. “Several. Although I don’t live at the palace anymore, not since I returned from college here in America. I have my own villa. I travel a lot for my work. When I’m at home, I like having my own place.”

  “A villa...” He tried to picture her there, surrounded by palm trees, maybe on a terrace, with a view of some exotic, deep blue sea....

  It made him feel rough and uncultured. Beneath her.

  She said, “My father...he had a difficult childhood. My grandfather, his father, wasn’t a nice man.”

  “The one with the ranch near San Antonio, right?”

  “Yes. The ranch called Bravo Ridge. My grandfather, James Bravo, had seven sons. And all but one—the oldest, my uncle Davis—left home by the age of eighteen. They left to get away from Grandfather James, who was both verbally and physically abusive. My grandmother, my father’s mother, walked around in a daze most of the time, my father always said. They never really celebrated holidays. And my father always swore that when he had children, things would be different. My mother, the sovereign princess, was in complete accord with him. So in Montedoro, we celebrate every chance we get. At Christmastime, the palace is ablaze with holiday lights. And there are parties and balls. And a candlelight service at midnight on Christmas Eve.”

  “We have those here—well, not the balls. But we have holiday dances in the Masonic Hall, the Saturday before Christmas, and one on New Year’s Eve. And all the churches hold Christmas Eve candlelight services.”

  A smile played at the corners of her way-too-kissable lips. “And don’t forget the Christmas Craft Fair.”

  He groaned, just to give her a bad time. “That’s right. It’s this weekend. We can’t miss that.”

  “No, we most definitely cannot.” She said it so primly, in the way that Charlotte sometimes spoke. Like a strict schoolteacher or someone on Masterpiece Theatre. Kind of stuffy, but in a way that charmed him completely.

  Two feet of rough attic floor planks separated them. It seemed much too great a distance. He dared to move closer.

  Her eyes widened a little—but she didn’t back away. Her scent came to him, sweet and fresh in the dim, dusty space.

  And he couldn’t resist. The temptation to touch her was too powerful. It burned within him, undeniable.

  He gave in to it. He reached out, brushed the back of his index finger along the velvet curve of her cheek. So smooth. “So beautiful...” It surprised him a little to realize he’d said the last aloud.

  She sighed, the sweetest sound. And she whispered, “Really. This is a bit mad, don’t you think?”

  He’d already gone too far. So he went further still. He stroked his hand down the rich silk of her hair. “Absolutely crazy, I agree.”

  She tipped her head, the way a cat will do, fitting it more snugly against his stroking hand. “It couldn’t...go anywhere.”

  He admitted, “I know,” the two words more breath than sound. And he dared to catch a loose curl, to rub it between his fingers. Not silk after all. Silk couldn’t compare.

  She reached out then. She put her hand against his chest, over his heart. He was certain she could feel it pounding away so hungrily in there. “Preston...”

  “Belle.” That did it somehow. The sound of her name on his own lips. It freed him to clasp her shoulder, to pull her closer—all the way. She fit against him as though she was made to be there. “Belle...”

  He lowered his mouth and covered hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Like nothing in the world, nothing he’d ever known before, the taste of her.

  He shouldn’t want her so much. But he did.

  He had wanted her the first second he laid eyes on her, sitting there so serene, so princesslike, in that booth at the diner. It was a wanting that only seemed to increase with every hour, every minute, every beat of his heart.

  She made a low, rich, hungry sound and her hand moved upward, to clasp his neck. She wrapped her other arm around him, too. And her lush mouth opened beneath his, inviting him.

  He didn’t need any more of a welcome. He speared his tongue inside and tasted her fully, his head spinning with the scent of her, his senses on fire with the soft, smooth, perfect shape of her pressed up close against him.

  “Mad,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Crazy,” he agreed, nipping her plump lower lip with his teeth. “We can’t...”

  “We shouldn’t...”

  He kissed her some more—deeply. Hungrily. He pulled her up close against him. He was shamelessly hard for her, aching with need in the space of an instant.

  She knew. She felt it, too. She pressed her body against him, answering him without words, her slim hips moving, rocking against him, so soft and willing, her body calling to his.

  Wrong, his mind chided.

  Never so right, his body insisted.

  She had hold of his shirt collar, and she was pulling him down to her, her sweet lips open for him, offering him everything, as she kissed him with such heat and intimacy that she blew all rational thought straight to kingdom come.

  He was about to scoop her up into his arms and carry her...somewhere. He wasn’t sure where.

  He couldn’t even think straight.

  And then, with a low, desperate moan, she let go of his collar. She flattened her hands on his chest—and she broke the straining, starving kiss.

  He shook his head, blinked, stared down at her. “Belle. What?” He was panting like he’d just run a long, hard race.

  She gazed up at him, eyes wide, the amber lights dominant, hot as molten flame. “Preston.” Breathless. Yearning. “Preston, no...”

  No.

  He shut his eyes. Focused on his breathing, on slowing his galloping heart, on regaining control.

  No.

  She was right, of course. It was a bad idea.

  What he felt for her was dangerous. It could go nowhere. She had her world. This was his.

  This time, now, was special. She was here to help him learn to be a dad to Ben. And once that was done, she would go.

  That one night with Anne aside—a night he still didn’t really remember—he’d never been one to engage in casual affairs. Or any affairs, when you came right down to it.

  And really, that was all it could be with her. An affair. Casual. And temporary. A few weeks.

  And then over.

  He knew himself well enough to realize that if they became lovers, it would be pure hell to learn to live without her. It was probably going to be pretty bad as it was. There was just...something about her.

  Something that called to him in a deep way. He’d known her only since Monday and already he understood that she was going to leave a bad emptiness behind when she went, even if he never held her naked body in his arms.

  No. He turned the simple word over in his mind. It was a good word, a useful word. Right now, it was the only word.

  Carefully, gently, he took her by the shoulders and set her away from him. “You’re right. I...understand. We can’t be going there. It would only make things tougher in the end.”

  A hot flush f
lowed up over cheeks. Embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry, I...”

  “Shh.” He put the pad of his index finger against her lips—felt the warmth of her sweet breath—and withdrew it. “No apologies. We shouldn’t have. Let’s leave it there.”

  “But you see, the really bad thing is, I wanted to kiss you. So much. It was just like that first night, after the northern lights. It was such a powerful feeling. I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t want to deny it. And it’s really not like me. I’m very...practical, really. Very down-to-earth, not prone to flights of romantic fancy.”

  “Belle, I know.”

  “And I still want to kiss you. Again. And then again after that...”

  He tried a smile. It felt too much like a grimace. “You know this isn’t helping, right?”

  “Oh, Lord.” She put her hand against her mouth and stepped back, coming up against a pile of boxes, stumbling a little. He moved to steady her. “Don’t...” She put out a hand. “I’m fine.” He dropped his arm to his side as she drew herself up tall. “What a mess I’m making of this.”

  “You’re not.” He sought the right thing to say, the thing that would reassure her. “It was a kiss. Only a kiss.”

  Her eyes were huge and haunted. They gave the lie to his denials. But her mouth tried to smile. “Yes, of course. You’re absolutely right. Only a kiss...”

  And then, from the small baby monitor in her pocket and more faintly from the floor beneath, he heard a fussy little cry. They both stood stock-still, listening.

  Saved by the baby, he thought.

  The crying continued, grew louder, more insistent.

  “You go and take care of him,” Pres said. “I’ll see about getting these boxes down the stairs.”

  “Ask Marcus to help you.”

  “I’ll do that. Now go.”

  * * *

  With Ben in her arms, Belle stood watching in the archway to the front room as Preston pulled on his sheepskin jacket. It was after six, full dark and snowing. With Marcus’s help, Preston had carried all the Christmas boxes down to the foyer. The tree stand waited in the curve at the foot of the stairs.

  Outside, Silas, Charlotte and the two ranch hands had returned. Shoving his hat on his head, Preston went out to help them bring in the tree. Marcus put on his coat and followed.

  Belle took Ben to the picture window and watched them untie the giant tree from the bed of the pickup. They’d wrapped it in rope, compressing the branches close to the trunk. Belle guessed it had to be at least fifteen feet high. It was going to be quite a project to decorate that monster. They would need a ladder for the side away from the stairs. The good news was that judging by the number of boxes Preston and the bodyguard had hauled down from the attic, they had the decorations to do it.

  Charlotte, in her heavy wool coat and a warm wool hat, stood out of the way. Belle couldn’t hear what her cousin said, but it appeared that she was giving orders as to how the men should proceed. She waved her mittened hands and clapped and jumped up and down like an excited child. She even threw back her head and laughed once or twice. Belle thought she had never seen her dear friend looking so happy.

  Or so free.

  Belle could almost envy the older woman. For once, Charlotte seemed willing to simply go where her heart led her, not to worry about the future, about what would happen in the end. Belle wished she could do the same, just surrender to the moment, let her attraction to Preston take her wherever it might.

  But that seemed foolish. And somehow wrong. She wasn’t here to find romance. She was here to do her duty to her lost friend. She was here for Ben’s sake. And for the sake of Preston, too, because he was Ben’s father. Getting too close to Preston could make things difficult in the end.

  When she signed away her guardianship of Ben, she still hoped to keep her connection with the child, to come and visit now and then, someday even to have Ben visit her in Montedoro. That might be difficult if she and Preston got involved and it ended badly.

  But then she remembered those moments in the attic earlier, and out beneath the stars, after the aurora borealis that first night. When he kissed her, she forgot all the things that mattered most. Duty, responsibility and doing the right thing? All that flew right out the window. She only wanted to keep his strong arms wrapped around her, to feel his mouth against hers, to breathe in the scent of him, to get lost in magic of his tender touch.

  “Belle.” Ben caught her face between his two little hands and brought her back to the real world. “Belle?” He kept talking, chattering away at her. She didn’t understand a word. But she did get that he had realized she’d gone daydreaming and he wanted her back there in front of the window with him.

  She kissed his fat, sweet cheek. “Look, Ben.” She pointed out the window. “Your daddy, your grandpa and Shar-Shar are bringing in our Christmas tree.”

  Ben let out another string of nonsense words, smiled broadly and pointed at the group around the bed of the pickup and the long, green, compressed shape of the big tree. “Shar-Shar, Dada, Pawpaw...”

  “That’s right.” She kissed him again. “They’ll be bringing that tree in any minute now.”

  As it turned out, it took a lot longer than a minute. But a half hour or so later, Charlotte held the door open and they brought the gorgeous thing in, stump first. Even tied up, it barely fit through the extra-wide front doorway. With all five of the men helping, they managed to get it upright in the giant tree stand. Then the two hands and Marcus and Preston held it in place while Silas and Charlotte got down on the floor and turned the enormous screws to hold it upright. Belle’s task was to tell them when they had it straight and to make sure it stayed that way as Charlotte and Preston’s father adjusted the screws.

  Ben squirmed to get down, but Belle kept him in her arms. She could see that it was going to be a challenge, keeping an eye on Ben when he was near the tree. He was already walking and he would be pulling on the branches and grabbing for the ornaments every chance he got. But he would learn. Somehow, all children did.

  She sighed in delight as the men unwound the rope and the thick branches opened wide in all their fragrant evergreen glory.

  Charlotte, who had come to stand beside her by then, sighed, too. “Oh, I do love the scent of a fresh-cut tree.”

  Silas, who was rolling the rope back up, remarked, “We got ourselves a real beauty, I think.” He was looking at Charlotte and his expression said that the tree wasn’t the only thing he found beautiful. Watching him, Belle felt tender and protective toward both him and Charlotte. She also felt wistful. And she was very careful not to glance in Preston’s direction.

  Then Ben exclaimed, “Hawngry! Hawngry!” which made everyone laugh.

  Charlotte took charge. “Well, young man, then we shall have dinner.”

  The ranch hands, a pair of lean, quiet men whose names were Jack and Vince, stayed to eat with them that night. They had Doris’s wonderful chicken and dumplings and apple pie for dessert. When Jack and Vince went back across the yard to the cabin, Preston gave them the second pie to share later.

  By then, it was time for Ben to get ready for bed. Charlotte and Silas got started putting the lights on the tree. Marcus helped. For a few minutes, Belle stood at the foot of the stairs with Ben in her arms, watching her friend and the elder McCade hauling out the long strings of Christmas lights from a couple of the boxes.

  Preston came and stood beside her. A little thrill spiraled through her, just at his nearness.

  Ben chortled, “Dada, Dada,” and swayed toward him.

  Belle shook herself free of the cobwebs of frustrated desire and saw the moment for what it was: a great opportunity. “Here. Carry him up.” Preston looked slightly terrified, but he rose to the challenge. He held out his arms and Ben, still giggling, went into them. “All right,” she said. “Upstairs we go....” She gestured for Preston to take the lead. Preston started up.

  Ben looked over Preston’s shoulder, eyes wide and anxious. “Bell
e?”

  “Right here.” She started up behind them.

  The minute he saw she was following, he relaxed and let the big man called Dada take him up. He held Preston around the neck and babbled away at him, telling him any number of important things in a language only Ben understood.

  Upstairs in the big bathroom next to Charlotte’s room, Belle took over long enough to stand Ben on a stool at the sink and brush his teeth. He was good that night, putting up with the brushing process, which as a rule he fussed over.

  She caught Preston’s eye in the mirror over the sink. “You should brush his teeth twice a day, and especially before bedtime. Slowly, you can start showing him how to do it himself.”

  “How many teeth does he have now anyway?”

  “Thirteen. And more coming in all the time. Teething can be painful for him. He’ll be fussy and want to chew on a cold teething ring or a biscuit. You can also give him a children’s painkiller if a new tooth is really hurting him.” She turned to Ben. “Spit.”

  He did, with enthusiasm.

  She filled a glass so he could rinse and spit again. More water ended up on the sink edge than down the drain. She grabbed a towel and blotted it up.

  Then she got him under the arms and swung him off the stool. “There we go. Now Dada will help you get out of those clothes.”

  Belle filled the tub as Preston undressed him. Ben watched Preston solemnly and a little bit warily, but he allowed Preston to guide his arms out of his shirt and lay him gently down on the thick bathroom rug to take off his shoes and socks, his little trousers and his diaper. Belle took him and put him in the tub. He laughed then, and splashed a little, and played with his toys.

  Belle washed him. And then she asked Preston to get the towel. She let Preston pull him out of the water and dry him off, after which she picked him up again and carried him to the bedroom changing table, where she put on a fresh diaper and his Cookie Monster pajamas.

  “We’re going to have to teach Dada to change your diapers,” she said to Ben.