Slow down,” Becca called after Libby as her daughter raced ahead, the dog bounding at her side. The narrow trail wound through the trees, and in the distance, tall mountains loomed. Even though it was August, the weather was cool and the mountains in the distance had snowy caps. Everywhere around them there were green trees and rolling hills and the air felt clean and fresh. Becca took in a deep breath, smiling to herself. So this was Alaska.
“Listen to your mother,” Hank called, heading down the path after Libby. He was laden with their gear, arms full of sleeping bags and clothing, a cooler, and fishing rods. He turned to give her an exasperated look. “She listens real well, doesn’t she?”
“She’s seven. I don’t think her eardrums will fully develop until she’s twenty-one or so,” Becca teased.
“Da!” cried the little boy at Becca’s side. “Da!”
“Someone’s listening,” she told Hank with amusement, and beamed down at her toddling son at her side. She was walking the slowest out of all of them, because Henry Junior was just now testing his little legs at the age of fourteen months, and it was darling to watch those chubby little legs move.
“You watch your mama,” Hank told his son as he moved past with the bags. “I’ll be back in a moment. Gotta make sure Libby remembers the way.” He headed off after his daughter, disappearing into the trees after her.
“Da!” Henry said again, pointing after his father.
“That’s right,” Becca told him, proud. “That’s your daddy.” She wanted to reach over and smooth the cowlicks of dark hair crowning the baby’s head, but it was more important to let him stretch his legs after so long in the car. All of them had felt the long car ride, but no one had wanted to leave the dog Alaska behind for weeks while they visited the cabin. Alaska was a long-legged, overeager goofball of a dog who tended to chew things she shouldn’t and get into everything, but she was also fiercely devoted to Libby and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have another set of eyes on the rambunctious seven-year-old out in the woods. The older Libby got, the more trouble she got into, but it was just a phase, Becca hoped. She’d outgrow it at some point. And if not, well, they’d just have to learn to walk faster to keep up with her.
Henry lifted his arms, indicating that he wanted to be carried, and Becca scooped him up. “Oof, heavy little man,” she murmured. “Come on, let’s go catch up with Daddy.”
She headed down the path that wound through the woods. The dirt road had ended about a quarter mile back, which meant that it was a long walk out to the cabin, but the path was clear, courtesy of Jack and his buddies. She knew the brothers still came up to the cabin regularly for fishing and hunting trips, or loaned it to friends in the area provided they’d handle the upkeep. She’d been surprised when all three brothers had elected to stay in Painted Barrel, but it was nice to have family around to call upon. Back home, Caleb and Jack were going to check in on the builders since Becca and Hank wouldn’t be home for a while. The expansion on their house was coming along, and she was ready to have extra bathrooms and a bigger living room and kitchen. With three people in the house, it had been a cramped fit. With the new baby? Extra bathrooms and a bigger kitchen were a necessity. They’d looked at getting some land and Doc had offered for them to build on the Swinging C lands, but with Libby in school and Becca’s business thriving, it just made more sense to stay in town for now.
Becca touched her slightly rounded stomach, where another baby was now growing. With frequent doctor visits between Henry Junior and now this baby, it was another reason to stay in town. She was only two months along and had yet to tell Hank. She’d tell him on this trip, and she hoped he was as excited as she was. Her dream of a huge family was becoming a reality, and she couldn’t be more thrilled. She kissed Henry’s head, thinking of pregnancy and childbirth and going through it all again. Pregnancy had been surprisingly easy. She’d gotten pregnant after about a year of marriage, and Hank had been so excited that her normally taciturn husband had told everyone in town. The pregnancy itself had been a breeze. She hadn’t been sick, hadn’t felt bloated or had weird cravings—she’d just plumped up like a Christmas turkey. And, really, that was all right, too. Most of the weight had come off with breastfeeding, and what hadn’t, Hank loved to squeeze. He said he loved her big butt and thick thighs, and she hoped he was ready for them to become even thicker. Just thinking about the baby filled her with anticipation.
“Da!” Henry said, pointing ahead.
“I see him,” she murmured, watching Hank’s hat bob through the trees.
She headed down the path, and Libby came racing back toward her, Alaska dancing at her heels. “Mama, the stream is so close! I forgot how close it was! Can I go fishing?”
“Wait for your father,” she advised her, heading toward the cabin. “He needs to put our things down and then I’m sure he’d love to go fishing with you.”
“I’ll go find the skinning cabin, then—”
“No,” Becca said, using her firmest mom voice. “Stay where your father or I can see you. Stick to the trail. Remember your uncle Jack said he saw a bear out here a few months ago.”
“Okay,” Libby said, and then skipped back down the trail again, Alaska eagerly bounding behind.
She just shook her head at the girl. Libby was all skinny legs and blond curls now, and her love of pink and princessy things had turned right back around to fishing and horses and tomboy things. Hank was delighted, and Becca missed being able to give Libby “princess” hair, but that was all right. Her daughter was happy and she had her hands full with Henry most of the time anyhow. Libby’s grades in school were excellent, though, and she loved reading. Just last night at the hotel, Libby had insisted on reading a Marguerite Henry book to the baby for his bedtime story. He was far too young to appreciate the stories about ponies, but he’d sucked his thumb and listened to his sister as she turned pages, and Becca’s heart had felt so, so full.
Was it possible to be this happy? And tired? She chuckled to herself. Because she was both.
Her family was growing, and Hank was still working at the Swinging C, which meant he put in long days. Her own business was as steady as could be, as Painted Barrel had grown over the last year or two and more people seemed to drift through town for haircuts thanks to good word of mouth. She’d hired one of the local girls who’d just gotten out of beauty school, and while Henry was little, she was working half days and on the weekends. She used a few local babysitters, and Hannah at the hotel was always thrilled to watch Henry, but sometimes she was just tired from constantly being on the go.
That was why this family vacation was so worth it. They’d spend a few weeks in Alaska at the cabin, roughing it and connecting with nature, and then school would start for Libby. Once school started, there was cheerleading, soccer, PTA meetings, and an endless stream of “mom” duties in addition to her regular schedule, but she wouldn’t change a bit of it.
She loved being a busy mom and having a busy schedule.
Hank appeared as she meandered down the path, his brows furrowed as he approached. “Is he getting too heavy for you, baby?” He’d gotten rid of the bags he’d been laden down with and came to her side to take Henry from her.
“Nope, I’m fine,” she told him. “Just enjoying the scenery.” She’d been a mite distracted. Pregnancy brain, she told herself. “Libby at the cabin?”
“Yep. I told her once we were settled in we could start fishing, so she’s busy unpacking absolutely everything.” He gave her a crooked grin that melted her heart. “Sorry in advance for the mess.”
“Oh boy.” Becca chuckled. Sometimes the “help” from her daughter was less helpful than it was just straight-up messy. “I guess we’d better walk faster to see what we can salvage.”
They got to the cabin a few moments later, and Becca loved the picturesque sight of it. It was nestled into the trees, the roof thatched with moss, the walls log
and mud. It was cozy and adorable. Once she got inside, though, she just started laughing.
It was one room.
With a dirt floor.
“This?” she told her husband, sputtering through her laughter. “This is what you wanted to move our entire family into? It’s one room!”
Hank looked sheepish. “It’s cozy in winter.”
“I’ll bet.” She looked at the bed against the wall and shook her head. Libby had already dumped all their carefully packed clothing out on it and had scattered their things. Somewhere outside, Alaska was barking. “Can you watch the baby for a few? I’ll straighten up in here.”
“You got it.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss. “Love you, Becca.”
She smiled. He told her that at least three or four times a day, and it was better every time she heard it. “Love you, too.”
* * *
* * *
She fell asleep in the bed.
At least, she was pretty sure she did. All Becca knew was that one minute she was folding laundry, and then it seemed like a really good idea to lie down and just close her eyes.
“Becca? Baby?” Hank’s soft chuckle woke her up. He sat down on the edge of the bed as she rubbed her eyes. “Long day?”
“Mm, sorry. Just tired. Have I been asleep long?” She sat up, fighting back a yawn.
“About an hour. You okay? You never nap unless . . .” He gave her a suspicious look and then reached over and squeezed her breast. “Aha.”
She batted his hand away. “Don’t ‘aha’ at me. I was going to tell you.”
A big grin creased his face. “You were, huh?” He dragged her into his lap and gave her an enormous kiss. “How far along?”
“About two months,” she told him, unable to stop smiling. “Are we happy?”
“We are.” He kissed her again. “I’ll make sure you get plenty of naps on this trip, then. And maybe some alone time together.”
She snorted. “Alone time? You do realize we have a seven-year-old and a one-year-old?” She stiffened, alert. “Where are they, by the way?”
“Just outside. I told Libby to keep an eye on Henry while I retrieved you. The sun’s going down and Libby wants to roast marshmallows. You know she’ll be on her best behavior for that.”
“Marshmallows? Before dinner?” Becca protested. Actually, to her pregnant belly, marshmallows sounded pretty amazing. “Did you put bug spray on them?”
“Not yet.”
“Hank!” She climbed off his lap. Or tried to. He pulled her right back down again, ignoring her irked expression. “Let me up, Henry Watson, or our children are going to be eaten alive by bugs.”
“I will. I just wanted to kiss you one more time first.” He cupped the back of her head and gave her the softest, sweetest kiss. “I love you, Rebecca Loftis Watson. You make me the happiest man alive.”
And she decided that she could stay for maybe just one more kiss.
Her life was busy and chaotic . . . and wonderful, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at Jessica Clare’s delightful holiday romance
HER CHRISTMAS COWBOY
Coming October 2020 from Jove!
Caleb Watson had skills. Or so he told himself. He could rope a runaway heifer from horseback. He could keep even the most ornery herd of cattle together. He could ease a breech calf out of its mother without blinking an eye. He could saddle a horse faster than anyone he knew.
And those were just his ranching skills. Back when he lived in Alaska, he could track anything, fix a snowmobile out in the field, survive on his own for weeks. Heck, he could even build a log cabin and have it fully functional within a short time frame.
He was strong. Capable. Self-sufficient.
He stared at the front doors to the elementary school and wished he would stop sweating.
Because Caleb had to acknowledge that when it came to skills in the field or in ranching, he could handle himself with the best.
But when it came to talking to people . . . ?
He was the worst.
The absolute worst.
His younger brother, Jack, was smooth. He could talk the pants off anyone and always managed to get his way with a smile and a wink. His older brother, Hank, wasn’t much of a talker, but he was still better than Caleb.
It wasn’t just that Caleb clammed up around people. His mind went blank and nothing would come forward. It was like the moment he was required to give a response, he forgot what words were.
Most of the time he didn’t care. He was a cowboy; the cattle didn’t mind if he was silent. His brothers didn’t mind if he wasn’t chatty.
But around women, it was a problem.
Caleb had never had a girlfriend, which was fine when you were a kid, or when you lived in the remote wilds of interior Alaska and might not see a single woman for months on end. Here in the town of Painted Barrel, Wyoming, though, he felt his lack of social skills acutely.
Very, very acutely.
Because Caleb was in love.
Just thinking about love made him reach into his pocket and pull out his bandanna to mop the sweat on his brow. Love was difficult even in the best of times, but when you had trouble speaking to women, it was pure torture. Every time he got up the nerve to talk to a woman, it ended badly.
There was that time he had a crush on a cute bar waitress back in Alaska whom he’d blushed and stammered over until she thought he was mentally unsound.
There was a girl who had worked at her uncle’s game-processing shop one summer. He’d gone there often all summer just to try to speak to her. He’d paid other hunters through the nose for their kills so he’d have some excuse to go into the shop. When he did finally get up the nerve to talk to the object of his affections, she thought he was creepy because he was “killing so many animals” and she wanted nothing to do with him. There were a few other passing women he’d managed to somehow insult without meaning to.
And now there was Miss Amy Mckinney, one of two elementary school teachers in Painted Barrel.
The moment he’d looked at her, he’d been in love. Amy had a gorgeous face and a smoking-hot body, but what he liked most about her was that she was kind. Or she seemed to be. He hadn’t quite got the nerve up to talk to her himself. He’d been around when she was talking to other people, though.
He might have showed up at several PTA volunteer meetings just to hear her talk. Not that he had kids. He didn’t usually volunteer, either. But he showed up anyhow, because he’d get to watch her from afar, see her smile at others as she talked easily, and wish he wasn’t such a damned idiot the moment he talked to a pretty woman.
Today, though, he had a reason to talk to her. His brother Hank was out in one of the distant pastures, and Caleb had been cleaning out the barn when Hank had texted and said his horse was limping and he was going to walk it in, but that meant he’d be a few hours, and Hank’s daughter, Libby, needed to be picked up from school.
Caleb had immediately volunteered to go pick her up. It was the perfect opportunity. Miss Mckinney was Libby’s teacher, so he’d stroll into class, tip his hat at her, announce he was there to pick up Libby, and strike up a conversation.
His mind went blank. A conversation about . . . what? What did one talk about with a schoolteacher? The weather? Everyone was going to talk about the weather with her. He needed to say something different. Maybe something about school? But he didn’t have children that went to the school . . . Maybe Christmas?
Surely he’d think of something. He wiped his brow, sucked in a deep breath, and then got out of the truck.
* * *
* * *
Most of the parents at Painted Barrel Elementary knew the drill for picking up their children. Amy took the ones that rode the bus out to the bus driver’s line in front of the principal�
��s office. She quickly counted heads and then went back to her classroom, where the other children waited with their backpacks for their parents to pick them up. Picking up their children in the classroom instead of outside was better all around, Amy figured, since it was cold and snowy in Wyoming in December, and little hands needed gloves and those were the first thing that her students tended to lose.
Plus, it gave Amy a good chance to talk to the parents, to pass along notes about behavior, and to make sure everything was going well. With a small class of twelve students, she could do such a thing. It was one of the main reasons she’d moved out to Painted Barrel and accepted the teaching job that had the lowest salary instead of taking a far more lucrative one in a big city. She really wanted to connect with her students. She really wanted the opportunity to influence her kids and watch them grow. She wanted to be a teacher that they remembered.
Plus, she was starting over—her life, her career, everything. What was better than starting over in all ways? She’d lived in bigger cities all her life. Now Amy just wanted to blend into a tight-knit community and be part of things. Maybe being part of a community would help choke down that black hole of loneliness inside her that had just gotten bigger and bigger since her divorce.
Maybe.
This wasn’t the time to think about her divorce from Blake, though. Right now she had to focus on her kids. So as the first parents showed up, she went into teacher mode, chirping about how wonderfully this or that kid did in class today, helping put on little jackets, and finding mittens. More parents showed up, and then her classroom was an absolute cluster of people bundling small children in warm outdoor gear, and so she got her clipboard and checked off names and parents while one of the PTA moms chattered in her ear about the upcoming school Christmas Carnival. It was another one of the ways Amy was probably a bit too anal-retentive about her kids, but she was able to get away with it because it was a smaller class. She carefully kept track of who picked up who every day and made notes in a logbook in her desk. Safety was important.
The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 25