by Marin Thomas
“Great. We scuba dived in the ocean, rented motorbikes to cruise the shoreline and generally had a terrific adventure.” He started to whisk the insulated carry case into the house.
“Careful! Those are the pumpkin pies.”
B.J. raised his eyebrows and smacked his lips. “Thanks for the intel. I’ll be taking these out to the—”
“Kitchen.” His sister came up from behind and smacked his arm. “We all adore pumpkin pie, B.J., so you better do as you’re told.” Cassidy held out her arms to Bobby. “Remember Auntie Cassie? Come here, honey.”
Bobby was a gregarious toddler but he’d only met Cassidy a few times, so Winnie expected him to hold back. But no sooner had Cassidy issued her invitation than, just like that, Winnie’s hand was dropped and her son toddled toward his aunt.
Cassidy scooped him up and kissed his cheek.
B.J. gave his nephew a kiss, too. Then glared at his sister. “Since when do you order me around?”
Cassidy put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been taking lessons from your new wife. She doesn’t even get her sentence out before you’re jumping to do her bidding.”
“Not true.” B.J. pulled on his sister’s ponytail as he hurried past her, presumably, hopefully, to deliver the pies to the kitchen.
“Brothers.” Cassidy rolled her eyes.
“I used to wish I had at least one,” Winnie admitted.
Cassidy looked as though she was going to say something else depreciatory, but then she stopped. Perhaps she was thinking of the brother she’d lost so recently. “They’re not all bad, I guess.”
“Where’s your mom?”
“Actually in the kitchen.” Cassidy sounded amazed, because kitchen duties were usually something Olive preferred to avoid. Then to Bobby she said, “Let’s go find your cousin Stephanie. Your grandma put out some fun toys for you to play with.”
And suddenly, after the commotion of her big welcome, Winnie was alone in the foyer. She hung her coat on one of the few unoccupied pegs, then took a few steps down the hall toward the dining room.
The table was set with white linens and the best china. A beautiful fall bouquet was at the center of the table, flanked with tall candles in silver holders.
In the kitchen, to her left, she could see Corb carving a twenty-pound turkey, Laurel stirring gravy on the stove and Olive pulling casserole dishes out of the oven. Looked like dinner would be served soon.
In the adjoining family room, Cassidy was on the floor playing with the toddlers. She had brought her border collie, Sky, with her, and Bobby was showing more interest in the dog than he was in the toys. Fortunately Sky, who was getting on in years, was as tolerant of the little boy as Maddie’s dogs had been.
Cassidy’s new husband, Farley, was chatting with B.J. by the fireplace while Savannah stood near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the view and having a discussion with her younger sister, Regan, who was home from med school in Washington for the holiday.
It only took an instant for Winnie to realize who was missing.
And then, suddenly, he was right in front of her.
“Good people,” he said. “But overwhelming at times.”
He had a beer in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He passed her the wine and she realized he’d poured it for her. So he must have seen her drive up.
He nodded to the study on the other side of the hall from the dining room. “I was in there.”
Curious to see the room she’d only ever peeked in before, she followed him inside a very masculine-looking study, with wood-paneled walls, oil paintings and several comfortable leather-covered chairs, as well as a massive desk. The window overlooked the driveway and she could see her vehicle.
“I was sitting here when you arrived.” He lowered himself to one of the chairs next to the window and without thinking, she settled into the other one.
“This is peaceful.”
“Yeah. It used to be Bob’s office. As a kid, I loved hanging out with him in here. I’d be quiet so I wouldn’t bother him. He loved reading, Westerns mostly.” Jackson nodded at the bookshelves and Winnie saw an entire row devoted to the genre.
Of course, there were also books on horses, ranching and other subjects of professional interest.
“Since he passed away, this room isn’t used much. But sometimes I sneak in just to soak in the ambience.”
Winnie took a sip of her wine, studying the line of family photos on the shelf to her left. One photo in particular caught her eye—it had been taken along a section of fencing close to the barn. All the Lambert men were gathered in one cohesive, laughing group. At the center was Bob Lambert. She’d never met him—he’d been dead for a few years by the time she started dating Brock. But she could see that the graying rancher had a big, strong presence. He had an arm linked around Brock’s neck and his other arm around Jackson’s shoulders. Corb and B.J. stood behind him, both with a hand on their dad’s back.
Gosh, what a handsome bunch.
But it was painful to see how carefree and young Brock looked—thank goodness he hadn’t known the awful fate that awaited him.
And the smile on Jackson’s face, so wide and confident. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never seen him look that happy. “Those must have been good years.”
He turned to see what she was looking at. He smiled a little sadly when he spotted the picture. “Bob Lambert saved my life. And I’m not exaggerating.”
He certainly looked like one of the family in that picture. Yet here he was on Thanksgiving Day, not joining the others in the kitchen and family room but holed up in Bob Lambert’s office. With her.
Each of them, for different reasons, felt like an outsider.
But they couldn’t hide out here all evening.
“I should offer to help in the kitchen.” She got out of her chair, reluctantly, though.
Jackson stood, as well. And suddenly they were an arm’s length apart, his gaze so intense she couldn’t look away.
“You look beautiful tonight. I’ve heard some women glow when they’re pregnant. Being a mother does that to you.”
She could hear the emotion behind the words. And she could see desire flaming in his beautiful, soulful blue eyes.
Did he ever—
“There you are.” Olive was at the door, her tone sharp, her gaze suspicious. She didn’t ask what the two of them were doing in her dead husband’s old office, but it was clear she was wondering.
“It’s time to sit down for dinner,” she added.
Chapter Nine
Winnie had the feeling that the seating plan was being scrambled, as Olive directed everyone in the family to a chair.
“No, Corb. Why don’t you sit here instead?” Olive pointed to a place setting across the table from where her blond, green-eyed son was standing.
“But I thought— Oh, never mind.” Good-natured as always, Corb shrugged and moved.
“Now, Jackson, you can have that chair.” Olive pointed to the place that Corb had just vacated.
Winnie was given the seat to Corb’s right. Which meant that, if Olive hadn’t interfered, she’d have been sitting next to Jackson. Was she paranoid for suspecting that Olive had deliberately separated them?
The harvest feast on the table was bountiful and aromatic. Each dish—from the golden roast turkey to the pecan-studded yams—was beautifully presented on Olive’s cream-colored platters and casserole dishes.
There were mashed turnips and carrots, cornmeal dressing with hazelnuts, whipped garlic-rosemary potatoes, lightly buttered brussels sprouts and beets with a ginger-orange glaze.
Olive was supervising her grandchildren, so for a change Winnie could enjoy her meal without worrying about how much Bobby was eating.
Winnie tasted a
little of everything.
Conversation waned as everyone savored the amazing dishes Bonny had prepared for them. Only Olive wasn’t focused on the food. She was enjoying her grandchildren much too much for that.
As she speared a piece of tender turkey from the platter, Winnie noticed Corb raise his wineglass in private tribute to Laurel who was across the table from him. Laurel gave her husband a cheeky wink before sipping from her own glass in response.
A few minutes later Winnie spotted B.J. feeding his new wife a piece of a brussels sprout. “Bonny has a special way of cooking them.”
Savannah took the brussels sprout into her mouth.
“Delicious, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” But Savannah was looking at B.J., not the vegetable.
A moment after that, Cassidy said something so quietly only Farley could hear.
“Stop it, Cass. You are unbelievably bad.” But he was fighting a grin as he said this. And then he kissed the tip of Cassidy’s nose.
These quiet, loving moments between the couples at the table made Winnie smile.
They also made her heart ache.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You have Brock’s son. You have your business...
But her gaze went to Jackson, who was eating his meal like it was a job that needed to be done. Was he impervious to all the romantic vibes around them?
Winnie sighed.
Half an hour later, so much food had been eaten, it seemed her pies would go to waste. But everyone had saved just enough room for one slice of pumpkin pie and a cup of coffee.
“Absolutely delicious, Win,” Laurel gave her a thumbs-up from across the table. “What’s the secret?”
“I blend a cup of ricotta cheese in with the pumpkin.”
Several people asked for her recipe, including Laurel and Savannah’s sister, Regan.
Then it was time to clear the table and do dishes. Winnie was happy to help, especially since Olive was still anxious to spend time with Bobby and Stephanie. She’d bought them a few presents, and once they were unwrapped, she took the toddlers and their new toys into the bedroom she’d transformed into a play area for her grandchildren.
“I don’t think Corb and I will ever need to buy Stephanie a single gift,” Laurel said softly, so only Winnie could hear.
“Olive’s generosity is...overwhelming.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Laurel rolled her eyes.
Corb had turned on the television after dinner, and now most everyone was settling in to watch some football. He grabbed his wife around the waist, then pulled her down beside him on the sofa.
Next to them were B.J. and Savannah.
Farley and Cassidy were sharing the loveseat.
And Regan was on the floor, texting her boyfriend.
Jeez. Winnie hung back in the kitchen. She’d never felt like such a third wheel. Where had Jackson slipped off to?
She checked Bob Lambert’s office. He wasn’t there.
On an impulse she slipped on her jacket. Snow had helpfully dusted the yard and she could see a set of fresh cowboy-boot tracks leading to the barn the Lamberts called the home barn. It was the oldest barn on the property and was used to house the horses the family used for riding and moving cattle.
Winnie went through a gate, then headed for the sliding doors. As she grew close, she could hear Keith Urban singing “Raining on Sunday.” Must be the radio.
But the song, about spending a stolen day under the covers with a special someone, made her heart feel heavy again. A moment later she realized Jackson was singing along and a thick, sweet yearning came over her.
Jackson had a good voice.
The barn door was open a crack, and she slid it along the track to make a space big enough for her to slip through. Jackson was in one of the stalls, going over a beautiful red bay with a currycomb. He had his back to her, but he must have heard her coming because he stopped singing.
“This is Red Rover. She was my horse when I lived here and worked for the ranch.”
“She’s beautiful.” They both were. The cowboy and his horse. Winnie put a hand on Red Rover’s back as she slipped into the stall next to Jackson.
“Yeah. She has great cattle sense, too. Corb said I could take her with me when I left, but I didn’t feel right about that. I miss her, though.”
The sadness in his voice was almost more than she could stand. She knew it was more than missing his horse.
It was missing the father who had never been part of his life, and the mother who had died far too young. It was the guilt surrounding Brock’s death and the feeling that no matter how hard he tried, he would never really belong on Coffee Creek Ranch.
It was a strong man with a tender heart trying not to let anyone see the pain within....
“Jackson...” She put her hand on his shoulder and felt the solid muscle underneath. Her heart surged with the need to show him how much she cared.
“Stop,” he said. “You should go back in the house.”
“Why?” Because he was feeling vulnerable? But that was exactly why the timing was right. “I know we agreed to forget about our kiss. But I can’t.”
“Winnie...” He said her name like a warning.
“Please, Jackson. I need to talk about what happened.”
He didn’t ask what she meant, but she could feel him take a really big gulp of air. Then he set down the currycomb and led her out of the stall.
“I haven’t been able to forget, either,” he admitted.
Suddenly her nerve faltered and she almost ran from the barn. But then she nodded. “Everything changed after that night. At least for me. I can’t look at you without wanting...” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Without wanting you to kiss me again.”
His eyes widened when she said that. Then he shook his head. “You’re just feeling lonely. I saw you looking around the Thanksgiving table. All those happy couples. It’s hard to be alone, Winnie. I get that. But it doesn’t mean you and I should...do anything rash.”
“I’m not just trying to fill a void.”
“Are you sure?”
She put her hands on her hips. “Single guys come into my café every day. And two weeks ago, Corb and Laurel set me up with one of their friends.”
“They did? With who?”
“It doesn’t matter who. Because I didn’t feel anything. I even went out for dinner with him.”
“You did?”
Jackson’s two-word sentences were becoming almost comical. But Winnie could tell he was genuinely bothered.
Which was good.
It proved that he was feeling the same way that she was.
“The dinner was a flop. There was a man on my mind the entire time and it wasn’t my date.”
Jackson’s eyes traveled from her eyes to her mouth, then back to her eyes. She felt as though he was looking for something. Something she wanted to give.
“You can’t deny we have a connection.” She took a risk and moved a step closer to him. “Jackson?”
He made a sound, almost like a desperate groan. “You’re making this so hard, Win.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
He swore, a blunt word that had her eyes flying wide open.
And the next second he was kissing her. Almost sweeping her off her feet. She needed his arms to steady her, because she was lost now. Nothing mattered but him. Jackson Stone. Who wanted her as desperately as she wanted him.
“I don’t believe this.”
The voice didn’t seem like it could be real. But it sliced through the heated moment like a cold knife through warm butter. With Jackson’s arms still holding her close, Winnie turned to see Olive framed in the opening by the barn door.
“I wondered why you two kept sneak
ing off together. Now I know.”
* * *
FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS Jackson had lived at Coffee Creek Ranch knowing Olive barely tolerated him and had only agreed to be his foster parent because her husband had insisted. Jackson had done his best to stay out of her way, to work hard and earn his keep and to avoid trouble at all costs.
But she’d never stopped treating him like an outsider. Even when he was in charge of the quarter-horse operation, she’d never granted him signing authority over the ranch account, the way she had with Corb, B.J., Brock and Cassidy.
If a job went wrong, if money was missing, hell, if an animal got sick—she found a way to blame him.
And he’d endured it all while he was under her roof.
But he was his own man now.
And he had reached his limit with her interfering ways.
Especially since she was targeting Winnie now, too.
“We were hardly sneaking, Olive. I came out to say hello to my horse. And Winnie needed some fresh air.” He squared off against Olive, his stance solid and confident, one hand still on the small of Winnie’s back.
“Don’t you lie to me, young man. I saw what you two were up to.”
“You mean the fact that we were kissing? We’re both single. We have nothing to apologize for.” He kept his voice calm yet firm, hiding his own feelings of doubt and guilt about the situation.
Winnie looked at him, as if amazed that he was remaining so composed.
“This is disgusting.” Olive’s tone was blistering. “We treated you like a member of our family. Now I find you sneaking off to the barn to kiss Brock’s fiancée.”
God, the woman knew how to press his buttons. He waited a second for the heat of his anger to taper. “We didn’t sneak out. We came openly. And the kiss—not that it’s any of your business—just happened.” Jackson glanced at Red Rover, then back to Olive. “I understand that this is your property. I should have asked your permission before coming out here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He inclined his head, acknowledging this. “Then let me ask the same of you. I accept you have the right to restrict where I go on your property. But no right at all to tell me who I can kiss.”