A Cowboy's Christmas Reunion (Mills & Boon Cherish) (The Boones of Texas, Book 1)
Page 22
Sipping cocoa while Wesley crumbled a cookie in his high chair, she was startled when the doorbell rang.
“Chance?” she said, running for the front door, hoping now that he’d had time to think about it, he was okay with her suggestion that they remain just friends.
“Sorry,” a well-dressed older man said, clearing his throat. “Are you Rachel Finch?”
“Y-yes.” She fingered the pearls Helen had given her at her throat.
After introducing himself as Wes’s old boss, he said, “Forgive me for dropping by, especially today of all days, but...there’s no easy way to say this...we’ve, well...your husband’s body has been identified. I thought you’d like to have his few personal effects.”
* * *
WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES of Rachel’s call, Chance roared his Jeep up his normally quiet street. Yes, he’d been deeply wounded by her turning down his proposal, but that didn’t mean he was now going to let her down.
He heard the news through the office grapevine—and he also found out Franks had dropped by to pass the news along to Rachel. Chance fully planned to be by her side as she dealt with it all.
“You okay?” he asked, finding her alone at the kitchen table. She had opened the watertight pouch Wes had been using as a wallet the day he’d been shot. His gold watch, wedding band and the navy wallet all lay in front of her.
Wes had been the consummate Boy Scout, and he’d also hated boats. Back when they were kids, Chance kept a rowboat on his paternal grandparents’ farm pond. One sunny afternoon when they’d been about ten, he and Wes had been out rowing when the boat capsized.
Wes didn’t get upset often, but when his prized baseball cards fell in the water, he’d freaked—kind of like when he’d learned he was the only guy from the Portland marshal’s office assigned to that unconventional-as-hell mission, trying to protect a witness who’d refused to leave his private island.
Had Wes known there was a chance he wouldn’t be coming home?
“Rachel?” She still hadn’t answered his question.
Looking shell-shocked, she nodded. “Yeah. I’m all right.”
“Where’s Wesley?”
“Down for his nap.”
Pulling out the chair beside her, he asked, “You sure you don’t want to be alone for this?”
She shook her head, and off they went on a journey down memory lane. Wes’s driver’s license and credit cards, photos and fast-food coupons—all of it was in pristine condition.
In the last pocket was a folded slip of yellow legal paper.
Hands trembling, Rachel opened it. “Oh, God,” she said. “It’s a note.”
“‘If you’re reading this,’” she read aloud, “‘then I’m so sorry, sweetie, but...’” She broke down. “I c-can’t do this,” she said. “Please, Chance. You read it.”
He cleared his throat, continuing where she’d left off.
“‘...but I’ve apparently croaked. I know, I know, right about now you’re probably wanting to smack me for trying to find humor in this, but I suppose everybody’s gotta go eventually, and unfortunately, it seems my time’s up.
That said, you’re not allowed to be sad—well, maybe you could mope a little for the first week, or two, but after that, I want to be staring down from Heaven at your beautiful smile. I want you having babies and good times and toasting me whenever the top’s popped on a beer.’”
“You do this next part,” Chance said, closing stinging eyes. “It’s too personal.”
She took the letter and read on.
“‘By now, Chance has no doubt told you about the promise he made me to always watch over you. But what he probably didn’t tell you is how he’s always had a secret thing for you. Back when we first started dating, he was too much of a gentleman and friend to stand in the way of me marrying you. If I have died, Rachel, he’d be a good man for you. The best—second only to me. Wink, wink. Be sure and give him a shot at...’”
She paused to catch her breath. “‘...winning your heart.’”
Sobbing, Rachel clung to Chance, drinking in his goodness and kindness and strength.
“Shh...” Chance crooned, stroking her short hair.
“Even in death, he put my needs before his own,” she said softly, gently setting the letter on the table. “And the timing...of all times for me to have finally gotten his letter, on Christmas Eve. What a gift. Makes you wonder if he’s up there, watching over us.”
“You doubted it?” Chance teased, sliding Rachel off her chair and onto his lap.
“After the rocky months I’ve had, I doubted not only Wes, but God.”
“Gotta admit,” he said, thumb brushing her lower lip. “Having you disappear on me like that—I’ve had my doubts, too.”
“Yet look at us now,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe Wes knew that without time and space between us, we’d have both been too loyal to his memory to give each other a try?”
“Whatever the reason,” Chance said, “we don’t have to feel guilty or pained anymore.” He smiled at her, gently. “Now, with Wes’s blessing, will you marry me, so that you, me and Wesley can start a family all our own?”
“What do you mean, start? I thought we already were a family?”
“Right,” he said before a spellbinding kiss. “How could I forget?”
* * *
CHRISTMAS MORNING, WESLEY snug between them on the living room sofa, a fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls flavoring the air, Rachel opened gift after gift that Chance had secretly stashed in nooks and crannies all over the house.
Later, they’d go to his parents’ for Christmas dinner with his sisters and extended family, but for now, it was just the three of them, opening sweaters and perfume and books and china figurines and fishing lures and hats and for Wesley, toys, toys and more toys—most of which Rachel guessed he wouldn’t be able to play with until he was three!
Once they’d finished their gift extravaganza and all the wrappings had been cleared, Chance stood beside the Christmas tree and said, “Look, honey, here’s another package in this bird’s nest, and it’s tagged for you.”
“Chance,” Rachel complained, heading his direction. “You’ve already given me too much.”
“Look here, the label says it’s from Santa,” he said, holding out a tiny, robin’s-egg blue box that screamed Tiffany.
Heart racing, hands trembling, Rachel lifted the lid to peek inside. “Chance...” Tearing at the sight of the glowing, pear-shaped diamond solitaire, she crushed him in a hug. “It’s gorgeous. Yes, I’ll marry you!”
“Whoa,” he said with a sexy grin, pushing her back and shaking his head. “I don’t recall asking anything. This was all Santa’s doing.”
“Well, then, Santa,” she said, tilting her head back to talk to the high ceiling, “I accept your proposal.”
“Now, wait a minute...” Chance pulled her back into his arms. “Not so fast. I thought the two of us had reached an understanding. Those kisses you gave me last night implied a certain level of intimacy and trust. You can’t just make out with me, then leave me for a big jolly guy in a red suit.”
“Then what do you suggest?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his delicious, cinnamon-flavored lips.
“Just to be safe, you’d better marry me right away.”
“Yeah, but do I get to keep the ring?”
He winked. “Why not? With any luck, Mr. Ho Ho Ho will go back to his wife...leaving me plenty of time under the mistletoe with mine.”
* * * * *
http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin American Romance story.
You love small towns and cowboys! Harlequin American Romance stories are heartwarming contemporary tales of everyday women finding love, becoming part of a family or community—or maybe starting a family of their own.
Enjoy four new stories from Harlequin American Romance every mont
h!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Other ways to keep in touch:
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
ISBN-13: 9781460388402
A Cowboy’s Christmas Reunion
Copyright © 2015 by Sasha Best
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holder of the additional work:
A Home for Christmas
Copyright © 2005 Laura Marie Altom
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com