Harlequin American Romance October 2013 Bundle: Twins Under the Christmas TreeBig Sky ChristmasHer Wyoming HeroA Rancher's Christmas

by Marin Thomas

  “Well, now that everyone’s here,” Corb said, “how about we dive into the chicken stew? Mom, sit down and relax and let us men do the serving.”

  Olive, not a fan of kitchen duties, didn’t have to be asked twice. Once the stew, biscuits and salad had been placed on the table, Jackson and Corb took their seats between Winnie and Laurel. For most of the meal, the talk was of cattle prices and auctions. Olive doted on her two grandchildren, feeding them mashed chicken stew and biscuits, leaving her own dinner practically untouched.

  Winnie tried insisting that Olive eat. “Let me worry about Bobby now. Your food is getting cold.” She should have known better.

  “I can always eat later. My grandson and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  After the meal and the pumpkin pie that followed, Olive excused herself from the table. A few minutes later she was back with two huge bags full of baby gifts. Only one small package was for Stephanie. The rest were Bobby’s.

  “Wow. That’s a lot of presents.” Winnie was beyond overwhelmed.

  “Like I said, I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Winnie didn’t miss the sharp look of annoyance in Olive’s eyes when she said this. But she chose to ignore it.

  She and Laurel set Bobby and Stephanie on the floor and the family gathered round for the big unwrapping. The babies were too young, though, and Winnie and Laurel ended up tearing off most of the wrapping paper.

  Winnie’s own mom and dad had been generous when Bobby was born. They’d bought her his car seat, as well as a crib. But Olive must have spent at least as much money. There were dozens of outfits, as well as a snowsuit, boots, hat and mittens perfect for the Montana winter.

  And toys. So many. Most of them related to farming and ranching. Stephanie, too young to feel jealous, or even understand what was going on, reached for one of the plastic horses. Bobby watched placidly, then turned back to the mountain of gifts. His eyes lit up as he spied something special. He crawled over to the miniature Stetson, planted his butt on the floor then stuck the hat on his head.

  “Look at that,” Corb chuckled. “He even put it on the right way.”

  When everyone laughed, Bobby beamed then toddled to his mother for a hug and a kiss.

  Olive’s expression grew pensive. “Look at him. Walking already. I’ve missed out on the baby stage entirely.”

  Winnie bit back the sharp comment that almost slipped off her tongue. “My coffee could use a refill.” She escaped to the kitchen before she said something she might regret later.

  * * *

  JACKSON WATCHED WINNIE retreat to the kitchen with her spine taut, eyes shining much too brightly. He didn’t often find himself siding with Olive, but this one time, he did. Winnie’s secrecy about her baby had him puzzled. Why had she waited so long to share her good news with Brock’s family?

  Thinking he might just refill his own coffee and see how she was doing, he started for the kitchen, but paused when Laurel started defending her friend.

  “Olive, I know you feel like you’ve missed out. But try imagining what the past year and a half have been like for Winnie. The day of Brock’s funeral, she had bad abdominal pain and bleeding. She was in and out of doctor’s appointments for the next week, and for a while it looked like she was going to lose the baby.”

  The words hit Jackson with a mighty punch.

  Those first few weeks after Brock’s death had been hell for all of them. And to think Winnie had been dealing with so much more. And he hadn’t had a clue.

  “She tried calling you, Olive,” Laurel continued. “She might even have driven down and forced you to talk to her. But she couldn’t. Her doctor had her on bed rest for most of her pregnancy.”

  Olive’s eyes flickered. She glanced down at her hands, then toward the window. “I’m sorry. I wish I had known. But after the baby was born...”

  “Why didn’t she tell you then?” Laurel’s voice was more gentle now. “It wasn’t an easy birth. And then Bobby had colic. It’s taken a long time for Winnie to recover...mentally and physically. Let’s not forget that she was also grieving the loss of the man she loved throughout all of this.”

  Jackson couldn’t listen anymore. He left the room, went for the coffeepot then froze. Winnie was still standing there, her mug empty in her hands.

  “What’s Laurel saying out there?” she asked.

  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.

  * * *

  LAUREL 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 h
ave 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.

  * * *

  WHEN 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.