The Cowboy's Christmas Miracle

by Anne McAllister

  "Taggart?" Erin scoffed at the thought of her big brother being anyone's idea of "the best man imaginable," even though she had to admit that Felicity and Taggart were perfect for each other.

  "Taggart," Felicity affirmed staunchly. "Truly," she added, when Erin continued to look skeptical. "Even though I'll be the first to admit that he is not the sort of man I expected to marry at all."

  "Well, Deke was exactly the man I expected to marry fifteen years ago," Erin said recklessly, determined to prove to Felicity that she and Deke were nothing like Felicity and Taggart.

  "So, you were in love with him."

  It wasn't a question. There was an "I thought so" tone in Felicity's voice. She eyed Erin narrowly, and Erin wondered if her candor had been a mistake.

  "I was infatuated with him," she corrected. "And, like you said, he was gorgeous. He was nice and friendly and talented and we spent a lot of time together. He used to talk to me about cowboying and photography and his father. He used to talk to me about his girlfriends," she added wryly.

  "Ouch."

  "Well, yes. At the time it felt very much like ouch. But—" Erin tried to sound airily indifferent now "—I survived. I got over it. I got over him. I went to Paris and met Jean-Yves. And the rest is history. That's when I really fell in love."

  Which was true. It had taken a year or so in Paris for her to put Deke totally behind her, but she had done it. And she hadn't regretted it. When she and Jean-Yves had begun to get serious, she was ready for it. She hadn't looked back.

  "And now?" Felicity prompted.

  "And now nothing. He's staying with us for a few days. That's all. Look," she said before Felicity began to argue or start a campaign to get her and Deke together, "you're right. I was attracted. I was infatuated. But Deke was never infatuated with me."

  "Back then," Felicity agreed then added, "He might have changed."

  Erin shook her head. "No."

  She wished she could say that nothing had changed. But it had—they'd made love.

  But even though he'd gone to bed with her, even though they'd made love, even though Erin found she still had feelings for him and would have given a great deal to think that her feelings were reciprocated, she didn't believe it.

  Deke wasn't the falling-in-love type. He'd had girlfriends—lots of girlfriends—but he'd never been in love with any of them. He hadn't even loved Violet, Zack's mother. He admitted it. They'd been "good friends." Nothing more.

  That was all Deke wanted. All he'd ever wanted—from Violet, from all the girls he'd known long ago, from all the women he'd known since. And from her.

  "Men change," Felicity insisted. "They grow up."

  "Some do," Erin allowed. She took a swallow of her coffee. "But not this man. Deke doesn't want to get married. He never did. He never wanted kids."

  "Well, see? That proves what I said," Felicity argued. "He has changed. He's clearly besotted with Zack."

  "It's not the same."

  "I don't see—"

  She wasn't explaining about Deke and Violet. That was something private Deke had shared with her. But it meant that she was right about his intentions.

  "Deke never wanted family," she said firmly. "Too many demands. Too much pressure. Taggart told you about his dad…" She shook her head. "He didn't want to have any part of that."

  "Then why…?" Felicity began, then glanced over at Zack, and a glimmer of understanding began to light her eyes. "Oh."

  "So don't get your hopes up. And I'm not getting mine up. It wouldn't make sense."

  Felicity looked as if she were going to argue more, but eventually she just sighed and made a wry face. "Maybe you're right," she conceded. "Maybe I'm just too much of a Pollyanna these days."

  "Yes," Erin said. "You are."

  But Felicity's admission wasn't as comforting as Erin would have wished.

  She stood abruptly. "I need to go home and get to work. Come on, Zack. Let's get going."

  Zack, who had been making brrrmm-brrrmm noises with one of Willy's trucks, looked up. "Play truck?" he said hopefully.

  "We'll come visit another day, and maybe Willy will be able to play with you then. We have to go now."

  "Willy play? Go bye-bye?" His lower lip jutted. Blue eyes filled with tears.

  "Oh, no, you don't." Erin scooped him up into her arms before he could begin to wail. "Yep, bye-bye. If we go now we have time to see the horseys first." She turned to Felicity. "If you'll carry him, I'll bring the high chair."

  "I'll bring the high chair," Felicity said seeing Zack cling. "I think he'd rather stay with you."

  They went to look at the horses. Erin told her kids to behave, then she joined Felicity, who was storing the high chair in the back of the Suburban. Deke had put the car seat in for her earlier. Now she settled Zack into it and expertly buckled him in.

  "You're very good at that," Felicity said with a grin as Erin stepped back and shut the door.

  "I've had a lot of practice. It comes back."

  Felicity nodded. "I hope so." She said it so casually, so offhandedly that it took a few seconds for her meaning to sink in.

  When it did, Erin turned to stare wide-eyed at her sister-in-law, who looked guilelessly back at her. Only the sparkle in her eyes gave her away.

  Erin gave a shout. "Are you—" She gaped, astonished at the implication of Felicity's words. "You are!"

  Felicity's mouth twitched into a tiny grin that quickly widened until she seemed to be smiling all over her face. "Actually," she said, "yes. I am."

  "Mon dieu! But, that's wonderful! Are you thrilled? When did you find out? When's the baby due? Is it twins?" The questions kept bubbling out.

  "Yes, we're thrilled. A little surprised," Felicity admitted. "I thought it was possible, but I didn't want to think about it at all, what with getting ready for Thanksgiving and everything. So I didn't do a test until yesterday. I think the baby will be due in July sometime. And heaven help us if it's twins! I think Taggart will drown himself."

  But for all that she winced as she said it, Felicity was clearly delighted. And Erin was delighted for her—for all their family. She even felt a tiny prick of envy at her sister-in-law's news.

  It wasn't that she wanted another child. It was that she remembered the joy of anticipation, the sense of hope and unity that she and Jean-Yves had shared whenever they'd looked forward to welcoming a new child into their family.

  She missed that unity, that hope, that anticipation. She missed having someone to share it with. Jean-Yves. She missed Jean-Yves.

  So why for an instant did Deke Malone's hard features flash through her mind? She gave her head a quick, fierce shake.

  She yanked open the front door to the Suburban. "We'll be sure to keep the high chair in good shape for the new arrival," she promised.

  "Don't worry. We have two."

  "We should have it back before Christmas," Erin went on resolutely. She got into the driver's seat. "I'm sure Deke and Zack will be gone by then."

  Felicity smiled at her. "Maybe not. Maybe Deke and Zack will like it here so much they'll hang around forever."

  "You really are a Pollyanna," Erin said sternly.

  Felicity looked positively beatific in her state of prenatal bliss. "Who knows? Christmas is coming, after all," she said, smiling. "It's the season of miracles."

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  The best defense was a good offense.

  Even if the man you were trying to mow down was flat on his back in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and drugged to boot, if that man was John Malone, you had to come out with all guns blazing.

  Deke knew he wouldn't get anywhere dealing with his father by tiptoeing around asking the old man his preference or soliciting his opinion. Doing that was a recipe for disaster.

  So, as long as Deke was in charge of the store, things were going to be run his way.

  And that meant hiring full-time help.

  "I wrote an ad for the
paper yesterday." He strode into his father's room already talking. "I'm hiring a butcher and a full-time clerk/stocker. Evelyn's fine, but she can't do everything. And she doesn't want to, in any case."

  Evelyn, his father's only employee, was old enough to be Deke's grandmother. She worked part-time three days a week and she was reliable and conscientious, but she couldn't stock shelves because she had arthritic knees and she wouldn't work behind the meat counter because in her eyes that was "man's work."

  "The ad will run starting tomorrow," Deke went on. "Hopefully we'll have enough applicants that I can weed them out on the phone and interview the best in the store sometime next week."

  He paused then because he needed to take a breath. And he was fully prepared for his father to throw a fit, to toss out disparaging remarks, to behave in time-honored sarcastic John Malone fashion. Hire help? After a day's work? What's the matter? Can't you cope? That seemed the most likely jab. Or, Too lazy to work all day yourself? Another possible zinger. Deke was sure his father could think of others that wouldn't occur to him in a million years. He steeled himself, ready.

  But his father didn't say a word.

  Deke scowled, then jerked off his hat and moved closer to the old man's bed. "Are you all right?"

  "Do I look all right?"

  "You look like hell."

  "Feel like it, too."

  "Is that why you're not arguing?"

  There was a second's hesitation, then John said, "I'm not arguing because you're right."

  Deke stared. I'm right?

  "I'm a realist, damn it." His father waved a feeble hand. "Always have been. Look at me. I'm not going to be back twelve hours a day by the middle of next week."

  "No, you're not." But Deke was still surprised, that his father would admit it. He cleared his throat, curious and a little worried. "So when can you come back? Did the doc say?"

  "Don't know yet. He's doing the surgery on Wednesday. Guess we'll see how successful that is."

  He said it offhand, but the great unknown of heart surgery had to be just a little terrifying. Certainly Deke felt his own brand of terror at the thought. As hard as his father was to deal with, at least he was there to be dealt with. He wasn't in a box and six feet under.

  But expressing the slightest concern wasn't going to make the old man any happier. So Deke said, "I'm sure it will be fine. You'll probably be back in the store before Christmas."

  "You hope," his father said.

  They glared at each other, but the old animosity wasn't there. Deke almost thought he heard a grudging respect in his father's tone. But it was more likely, he reminded himself, in his imagination. He found it amazing that he was having any sort of conversation with his father at all.

  He'd come from Elmer this morning at Erin's urging. "Go see your father," she had encouraged him. "Take advantage of having the upper hand for once."

  Deke hadn't been sure how long his "upper hand" would last, but it had sounded like good advice, so he'd taken it. Not only because she was probably right about dealing with his father, but because all morning long she'd been like a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs where he was concerned.

  When he'd walked into the kitchen with Zack, she'd been at the stove, stirring oatmeal. He'd been tempted, actually, to go up behind her and lift her hair and kiss the nape of her neck. Good thing he hadn't, because when he merely said, "Good morning," from across the room she'd jumped a foot.

  Then she'd dashed off to exchange her bathrobe for jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt and a sweater, and her loose-flowing hair for a no-nonsense braid down her back. She looked like an old-fashioned schoolmarm, all starch and as sharp as new pencils. She handed him his coffee mug without touching him and had volunteered to feed Zack, carefully keeping herself on the far side of the high chair at every moment. As if it were a shield.

  As if Deke were going to jump her bones at any moment.

  Not that the thought didn't cross his mind. He was beginning to wonder where the heck his mind had been all those years ago that he hadn't spent hours lusting after her. Maybe it was because he'd been young and foolish and blindsided by more blatant females in those days. Whatever, Erin's charms were certainly apparent now.

  And clearly off-limits as well.

  He wasn't used to making her nervous. Didn't want to. But couldn't really confront her about it, either, not with the kids bounding down the stairs. So he'd taken her advice and left. Now he glanced at his watch again, wondering if he could go back yet.

  "Where's Zack?" his father asked suddenly. It was the first actual acknowledgment of Zack's existence that the old man had made.

  "With Erin Jones. She took him to her brother's today."

  "Nice of her."

  "She's a nice person," Deke said, daring his father to contradict him. He remembered all too well when his father had blamed Erin for "leading him astray" by getting the fellowship to Paris and "putting ideas in his head."

  But the old man didn't argue with that, either. He just grunted. "You could bring him sometime."

  Deke blinked. "Bring him? Zack? Here?"

  "Milly brought C.J."

  Several pithy things sprung to Deke's lips—all of which were sarcastic, learned from the master who lay looking at him now. He managed to swallow them all. "I could do that," he said. "If you want."

  "Wouldn't mind."

  Right. He couldn't possibly admit he wanted to see his grandson, could he? Of course not. "Okay," Deke said. "Speaking of which, I better get moving. Don't want to stick Erin with him all day."

  "Could bring her sometime, too," his father said.

  Deke felt his eyebrows twitch. Bring Zack? Bring Erin? Not argue? What the hell was going on? "Er, yeah. I'll mention it to her."

  His father nodded. "G'wan now." He made a vague shooing motion with his hand. "Tirin' me out."

  "Right. I'm gone." Deke headed for the door.

  "Deke."

  Deke glanced back.

  His father was pointing a finger at him. "I don't want any slackers workin' in my store," he said. "Whoever you get, they'd better be willing to put in a hard day's work."

  "For a good day's wages," Deke agreed. "They will."

  "You check references. And work records."

  "Uh-huh."

  "No lowlifes."

  "I won't take anyone with more than half a dozen embezzlement convictions," Deke promised.

  His father opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. He glared at Deke, but there was a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Scram."

  Grinning, Deke did.

  "Do you think he's mellowing?"

  Deke tipped back his chair in Erin's kitchen that night after the kids had gone to bed, and relished his first chance to talk to her unchaperoned all day—unless you counted the angel costume, a former bed sheet that was presently being stitched and which seemed to be occupying most of her attention.

  She gave him a quick glance, then began maneuvering the material through the sewing machine as she reflected on his brief rundown of the encounter with his father this morning. "Could be," she said. "Sounds like. Let's hope."

  Deke rocked on the chair and watched her work. As he did so, he played idly with the camera he had brought down earlier to show Gabe. To Erin's obvious consternation, the boy had brought down his father's first camera after dinner and they had compared.

  It had been a tricky moment. Deke had been interested in seeing Jean-Yves LaChance's first camera.

  He was curious about the man who had been Erin's husband. And he enjoyed talking to the serious, intense boy who was clearly interested in photography. In many respects he reminded Deke a lot of Erin.

  But he could tell Erin wasn't happy with Gabe's having done so. She'd opened her mouth several times, as if she might want to cut off their conversation.

  Because it hurt her to see him handling her husband's camera? Because it hurt her to remember the man she loved? To hear Gabriel talk about him eagerly and wistfully?
r />   Yes, Deke could believe all of the above.

  And he didn't want to hurt her. So he'd got out his own camera and had gradually led the discussion around to taking pictures. He'd offered Gabe his camera to shoot. The boy had been flatteringly eager.

  And Erin had gone back to her sewing, able to ignore them now that Jean-Yves was no longer the topic of conversation.

  Now Deke idly lifted his camera and aimed it at Erin, studying her through the lens. It always helped him to get a handle on things if he focused on them this way.

  What he saw when he looked at Erin was a serious, intent, beautiful woman. She was wearing glasses, which added to that impression. He'd never seen her in glasses before. They made her look younger—and they made his fingers itch to remove them, to turn her face to look at him, to muss her long, dark hair.

  He clicked the shutter.

  She was sewing a seam, pressing the foot pedal and didn't notice. The sewing machine whirred madly as she guided the material and stitched the seam. He clicked the shutter again. And again.

  Finally she finished the seam and glanced his way. "What are you doing?" she demanded, noticing his finger on the shutter for the first time.

  He shrugged. "Recording you for posterity."

  Her cheeks turned pink. "Don't be ridiculous!"

  "Not ridiculous. Makes perfect sense. Sophie said they were putting together a memory book of Elmer pageants. She even suggested I take pictures, if you recall."

  "Of the pageant."

  "And everything leading up to it," Deke said, snapping another of her, open-mouthed and red-faced. He grinned.

  Erin glowered, then rolled her eyes and looked away again, focusing once more on the angel costume.

  When she finally finished it, Deke said, "How about a glass of wine?"

  "Can't," Erin said briskly. "Got work to do."

  "All of it tonight?"

  "Well, I don't get a lot of this sort of thing done during the day."

  Because of Zack, obviously. "I know. I'm sorry. I—"

  "I'm glad to have him," she said fiercely. "I'm just explaining. I told Mary Holt I'd have these done by early next week."

  "Right," Deke said. He sighed. "Don't let me stop you."