A Christmas Baby Surprise: Reclaimed by the Rancher

by Catherine Mann

  “You don’t have to.”

  She took a deep breath. “I think I do.” She yanked back the covers, then paused, inhaling hard. “I don’t even know what side of the bed I sleep on.”

  “You’re fine,” he said.

  “Are you saying that to be accommodating? Or is that the truth?”

  “The truth. Your instincts are right. That’s your side of the bed.”

  Something eased inside her. Maybe she needed to follow her instincts more with him.

  Alaina climbed into bed and patted the space beside her. “Okay. Join me.”

  He lay on top of the spread. “Done, as requested.”

  “And I didn’t die.”

  “Wow, now that’s a turn-on.”

  Laughing, she shoved him gently with both hands and felt the resistance in his muscles as her skin met his. He let out a low chuckle, clearly amused.

  She sagged back into the fluffy feather pillow. He reclined on his side, propping his head on his hand.

  Alaina picked at the down comforter. “What’s next? Our situation is so unconventional I don’t know what the rules are.”

  “No rules as far as I’m concerned. We’re making this up as we go.”

  Still, she wanted details, a sense of who’d they’d been. “How did we used to sleep? Did I sleep on your chest? Did we spoon? Me against you? You against me? Opposite sides of bed?”

  “Why don’t we just see where we end up?” He held out an arm.

  After only an instant’s hesitation, she rested her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her. A sigh filled her. This. This was right. The feel of her body fitting against her husband’s.

  Sleep pulled at her eyelids. It had been an exhausting day. Being here with Porter felt so damn right. Familiar. As if by muscle memory, her body curled around him, and she took comfort in the steady rise and fall of his broad chest.

  Her eyelids fluttered shut. How was it possible to be entirely at ease and so on edge all at once?

  * * *

  Sleep was the furthest thing from Porter’s mind.

  Then again, that was nothing new. Not since the accident. Since the endless blur of days and nights at the hospital. He’d taken to doing work in the odd hours of the evening. Using work as a way to keep his mind off the dire situation of his family.

  But tonight, he was working for different reasons. He needed to keep himself occupied, to keep his hands off his wife. Tonight, concentration was difficult. Near impossible, with Alaina pressed against him.

  It had been so damn long since he’d held her like this. Since the warmth of her body melted with his. He absently ran a hand through her hair. She drew in closer.

  How had it been so long since they’d done this? Been in bed together, nestled against each other.

  Too long.

  Yes, he wanted to touch her, to make love to her, but he had to keep his goals in mind. For the first time in months, he felt as if they were working together. That they were in this for real. Not just him, but her, too. They were becoming a family. At least, he thought they were. His own experiences with family were shaky at best. And her family was gone. But this family—this family had a shot.

  He returned his attention back to his tablet. Looked over some reports. Started to feel the pull of sleep.

  But something was wrong. Alaina started to shake. She twisted away from him.

  “Stop it.” Her voice was a murmur. But there was desperation in it.

  “Let go. Just...just. No. Stop.” Her lovely face contorted with fear. She continued to thrash against an invisible assailant.

  She was having a nightmare.

  Gently, he shook her shoulder. “Alaina. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  She gasped in air. Her blue eyes suddenly alert. Scanning the room. Focusing on him. Breathing rapidly, her body twitchy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Oh, God, this plan isn’t working out like I meant it... I should just go.”

  He clasped her arm. “Stay. Do you remember what you dreamed? Did you recall something from the past?”

  “No, not really.” She sagged back against him. “I was just having a nightmare about Douglas, about that time with him. Things get muddled in dreams, feeling out of control and scared. Did I tell you about Douglas?”

  “Your ex-boyfriend before you met me? Yes, you did.”

  “What did I tell you?”

  “Are you trying to pull information out of me? Have you forgotten parts of that time in your life, too?”

  “I remember. He was verbally abusive. I didn’t see that for a long time. Then he hit me...” She shook her head. “And then I was done. I walked out.”

  “That’s what you told me.” Once he’d learned about the jerk, Porter had made a point to keep tabs on the guy, make sure he honored that restraining order. “I’m sorry tonight is bringing back bad memories for you. This was supposed to be a positive experience.”

  “It would have been worse if I’d been alone. Let’s try again.”

  “I’d like that, too.” She maneuvered into the crook of his arm. Laid a hand on his chest. He pulled her tightly against him, his mind churning with ways to help her feel at ease, to know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Her breathing slowed, falling into the rhythmic pattern of a deep sleep.

  And even with the determination to keep her safe from threats like Douglas, and to keep his hands to himself until she was ready for more, Porter couldn’t deny he had no way to keep her safe from thoughts of the past.

  * * *

  The yellow-orange rays of dawn’s first light filtered in between the tulle-like curtains, nudging Alaina awake. She glanced over at her husband, whose eyes were still closed, heavy with sleep.

  Quietly, she slid from bed and crept down the hall to check on the baby.

  Thomas greeted her with a chubby-cheeked smile.

  “Are you hungry, my love?” she cooed, picking him up out of bed. She sat with him in the rocker while he drank from the bottle. This was her favorite time of the day, just the two of them alone. She fed him and rocked him even though he was awake. She talked to him and sang to him. Time passed in a vacuum, a couple of hours sliding by in a beautiful haze.

  This was everything she’d always hoped motherhood would be. A calmness descended on her as she sat with Thomas. And a desire to crawl back into bed with Porter. To memorize all of his features. To hold these moments close so they couldn’t slip away like the others.

  Maybe it was time to start drawing again. A family portrait. She’d start with Porter. Capture the angles of his face, the strength in his chest. And the smile lines in his face. And somehow, maybe their years together would come rushing back as she revisited him.

  After finishing with Thomas, she set him down for a nap. Kissed his forehead. Filled with love for the making of her little family. She’d sketch him next.

  On tiptoe, she made her way downstairs, grabbed her new sketchbook and pencils and crawled back into bed. Sunlight streamed over Porter’s face.

  She began to outline him. Rough strokes on paper. She worked first on his face. She started to lose herself in the drawing, the world ebbing away from her.

  Until a knock sounded from behind her. Alaina practically leaped out of her skin.

  “Sleeping Beauty’s still asleep, I see.” Her mother-in-law called from the door, a diamond-and-silver snowflake broach pinned to the collar of her shirt. Porter let out a loud snore and turned on his side.

  “Have breakfast with me? I could use some toast. And girl time.” She motioned for Alaina to follow her down the hall.

  “Sounds great. I am a bit hungry myself.” Alaina stacked her sketchbook and pencils on the bedside table. If she stayed here much longer, she might not be able to resist temptation. She needed some sp
ace to gather her thoughts—and her mother-in-law might well have insights that could help her decide how to move forward in the marriage.

  She hurried after Courtney into the hallway toward the back stairway leading to the kitchen.

  When she’d caught up to her mother-in-law, Courtney glanced over her shoulder on her way down the steps. “I’ve never seen you draw before. You know, you get the same look on your face as Porter does when he is working on a building design.”

  “I do?”

  She nodded, clasping the polished steel railing. “Porter’s always been a hands-on guy. Started back in middle school. He was always building things. Once, he built a table for me for Christmas. He was sixteen then. Said he’d loved the sweat equity of the project. The ability to create something from nothing. I guess that’s a bit like art, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it’s actually a similar process. Built not bought. I think that’s why this house feels foreign to me. It’s cookie cutter decor in a lot of ways other than some of the artwork. I’ll take some imperfections in my decorations if it’s coming from scratch.”

  “You sound like him. When he built that table, I think that’s when he decided he didn’t need me anymore.” Courtney gave a slight laugh. But the sound was tinged with sadness.

  They turned the corner into the kitchen and sat on the bar stools facing a view of the water, where a holiday boat parade was organizing. Festively decorated boats of all sizes congregated. A blow-up Santa in a bathing suit sat on the deck of one, but most of the vessels were outfitted more simply with green garland boughs.

  “I’m sure he still needed you then. You helped shape him into the person he is today.” A person she was still trying to understand. To relearn.

  Her mother-in-law’s eyebrows arched as she popped two slices of bread in the toaster. “Sometimes I wonder. He’s built every house he’s lived in as an adult. Sometimes I’m surprised he didn’t build the yacht, too.”

  Alaina said, “Whoa, wait. We own one of those yachts?”

  “You do. Usually my son has me stay out there rather than in the house, which, quite frankly, is an amazing spin on a mother-in-law suite. But still. We’ve always had troubles, my son and I.”

  Her mother-in-law straightened the rings on her fingers before she continued. “You know, I was madly in love with Porter’s father. I was young—and the whole world seemed open to me when we were together. But he had other dreams. Other desires. He left shortly after Porter was born.”

  “I’m sure that was difficult. Raising Porter alone and working so much.”

  “Would you like the truth, Alaina? I was—and still am—brilliant in the courtroom. I can dissect a case like nobody’s business. But motherhood? That never came to me. Not like it does to you.”

  Alaina nodded sympathetically, but didn’t say anything. She knew Courtney had her quirks, but she never doubted that the woman loved her son. Family was just complicated. Alaina felt as if she knew that better than anyone. Funny what a few weeks in a coma had done for her perspective.

  Porter was a man whom she was only just beginning to understand. But the tension between her husband and mother-in-law was starting to make sense to her. Courtney was all about buying premade items. It’s why she’d insisted on the night nurse tending to Thomas.

  But Porter—Porter was a man intent on creation. On actively building. He’d built a construction empire the same way he’d built that table. To prove he could take scraps and turn them into something usable. He’d built his life from the ground up, even though he could have easily used his mother’s fortune. He hadn’t backed down from the work it required.

  And what about her? Alaina had spent the past two weeks in the haze of amnesia. Afraid of what she’d find if she pressed too hard. But Porter was aware of their history. Aware of their struggles. And he was still dedicated to their family. Maybe she needed to become aware, too.

  And that meant digging around in the dirt a bit. And possibly talking to Sage.

  As Alaina poured two cups of coffee in holiday mugs painted with angels, she made up her mind. Today was a day for exploring. And she would start with all the pieces of her past—even the uncomfortable ones. The time had come to reconstruct her life.

  Starting with finding out more about how and why they’d purchased that yacht when she could have sworn such flashy purchases weren’t her style.

  Eight

  Porter was still stunned over Alaina suggesting they go out to the yacht. He couldn’t recall her ever suggesting that. In fact, the eighty-foot Sunseeker had been a contentious issue between them since he’d bought it two years ago. But he wasn’t turning his back on the chance to get closer to her.

  In the past, she’d always hated the vessel. Said it was too showy. Too flashy. It screamed their wealth, and that bothered her down to the core.

  But Porter had never felt that way about the purchase. To him, it represented freedom. A chance to leave the world behind. To be completely untethered from the responsibilities of work and reliant on himself. And yes, he’d hoped it would offer them more time to relax together, bring them closer as their marriage began to fray.

  The Florida winter sun warmed him. The captain had dropped anchor and gone into town about a half hour ago. The luxury craft happily rocked with the waves and the current, other boats far enough away to give him and Alaina a sense of privacy he welcomed. Water lapped against the sides and a healthy breeze coated the deck. They’d intended to take Thomas with them, but his mother had offered to watch him. She had even insisted. Though they did hire a backup sitter for all the tasks Courtney was not enthusiastic about performing.

  He’d come out of the cabin with two bottles of water. One for him and one for Alaina.

  Every day he was feeling closer to her, closer than he could remember feeling before. They were building something, a new connection. And since last night he felt a change between them. Something that had been missing for a long time before the accident.

  He took a moment to appreciate her. Just the way she was in this moment. She’d dressed in layered tank tops and leggings, flip-flops half on, half off. She was sprawled on the white cushioned deck chair. Hunched over a pad, sketching furiously. The wind teased her blond hair. She was beautiful.

  “May I see your drawings?”

  She sketched with charcoal, not looking up. “Are you sure you want to look? There are ones of you in here.”

  “Did you draw me as a gargoyle? Or a cyclops?” he asked, lounging back in a deck chair and propping his foot on the bolted down table between the seating.

  She glanced up. “Why would I do that?”

  “Since we talked about our past arguments.”

  Fish plopped in the brief silence before she answered, “You’ve been nothing but understanding and patient with me, with this whole situation. No matter what else happens, I won’t forget that.”

  “Whatever else happens?” Trepidation kinked the muscles in his neck.

  “If you get tired of having an amnesiac wife.”

  “I could never get tired of you.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink as she glanced at him through her eyelashes. His mind swirled, thinking of last night. Of her body pressed against his and the scent of her coconut shampoo. And how he’d wanted so much more than to just sleep next to her.

  How he still wanted that.

  She seemed to read his thoughts, her blush fading. Awareness flitted across her face. An expression that almost looked like longing.

  The sound of another fish jumping out of the water brought them back to reality. He shook his head.

  She passed over the pad of drawings. “Here. Feel free to look.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear and chewed her nail as he flipped through the book.

  There were pages upon pages of sketches. S
ome scenes of the beach house. Some of boats in the harbor. Thomas in a Santa hat.

  All so damn good, the details grabbing his heart. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I feel like there are thoughts needing to pour out. I don’t have to think or talk, just... Oh, I don’t know how to describe it other than to say it’s like meditation.”

  He flipped to the next page. Half-finished drawings of him sleeping. She seemed to fixate on his face. Mostly his eyes. As if she was trying to figure out something about him. Her sketches were beautiful. Hyperrealistic. He’d forgotten how talented she was with charcoal and pencils.

  The last sketch in the book sucked the air from his chest. It was a montage of images. Items of their joint past. Did she remember?

  It was a scene of a room. On the desk, there was a globe with a cracked stand. A Moroccan rug on the ground. All souvenirs—all representing moments in their life together. If she didn’t know what these were, what did the drawings mean? Why had she stumbled onto these particular items? He couldn’t decide whether to tell her or not. What would be helpful?

  Truth. As much as he could give her.

  “There are items here that you received over those missing years, gifts I gave you.”

  She gasped. “Like what?”

  “The rug right here.” He pointed to the sketch, careful not to smudge the material, “It was the first gift I ever gave you. When you were living in that tiny apartment with the tile in your bedroom. You said you hated how cold your feet were in the mornings. Even then, I knew you liked those rich colors. Items with a bit of history. I picked it up on a business trip.”

  She considered his words, staring hard at the sketch. “I woke up with this scene in my head. I thought it was from a dream...but maybe my memories are trying to come back after all.”

  “It’s quite possible.”

  “What else is from our past?”

  “The globe with the cracked stand.”

  “That’s a strange gift. Where’s it from?” She crinkled her nose and adjusted her sunglasses again.

  “Well it didn’t start out cracked. It cracked in our move. But I got it for our one-year anniversary. It was a blank globe. Ceramic. You painted it. It’s got quotes over where the countries ought to be. Quotes about art and life. I’ve always thought you should replicate it and sell them.”