Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2

by Christine Rimmer

  “I’m glad you’re here, too, Anna.”

  A simple enough statement, but it wound around Anna’s heart. And then, also because she wanted to, she stood on her tiptoes and laid a soft kiss on his scratchy cheek. “You look quite handsome today, Mr. Daugherty,” she said. “And very much like a cowboy.”

  Complete, even, with a dark brown, semicrushed-at-the-brim cowboy hat.

  “Well, darlin’,” he said in an affected drawl and with a slight tip of his hat, “when you’re in Wyoming you gotta dress the part. And might I say you’re looking quite spiffy yourself?”

  He was joking, naturally, but that didn’t stop the warm glow of pleasure from drenching her cheeks or drizzling down the back of her neck. Nor did it stomp out the wish—the hope—that he found her attractive. Sexy and beautiful would be nice, but she’d settle for pretty.

  “You may,” she teased right back. “So long as you use a term different from spiffy.”

  “Hmm. How about—” he gave her a protracted, intense look “—darlin’, you’re as lovely as a dewdrop glistening in the light of the morning sun.” He winked. “Better than spiffy?”

  “Perhaps a little over the top,” she said, “but yes, much better.”

  “I aim to please.” Suddenly, his cowboy bravado was gone, replaced by a tender sort of sweetness. “Are you too cold to sit out here with me for a minute? I have something I want to give you. And I’d rather do so in privacy.”

  Would this man ever stop surprising her? “Oh, I think I can manage a few more minutes before I turn into an ice cube.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, leading her toward the swing, “I’ll keep you warm. Promise.”

  Simple words, again, but they lit a fire in her belly and filled her heart with contentment. Yes, she was—at the very least—three-quarters gone. “I don’t believe you’ve ever had any difficulty in that department,” she said as they sat on the swing. “And I hope that what you’re about to give me isn’t a Christmas present, since we agreed not to exchange gifts.”

  “It’s a man’s prerogative to change his mind.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, gaily wrapped box. “And when I saw this, I couldn’t resist. If it makes you feel better, consider this a—” He paused, frowned. “I was going to say ‘consider this a belated birthday present,’ but I realized I have no idea when your birthday is. That’s...wrong.”

  She knew when his birthday was, of course. In the dead heat of summer, August third. She’d seen him write down the date when they filled out the paperwork for their marriage certificate, and she’d tucked the information into her memory for future reference.

  “Well, first, I believe the saying is that it’s a woman’s prerogative, but I suppose men can change their minds, as well,” she said. “And my birthday is October eighth.”

  “Ah, that makes you a Libra,” he said with a quick, effortless grin. “And don’t ask me how I know that, unless you want to hear about one of my more...um...quirky ex-girlfriends.”

  “I’ll listen to whatever you want to share. Even stories about quirky exes.”

  “Maybe I will tell you at some point, but right now I’d rather give you this.” He passed her the box, his gaze steady and sure. “Christmas gift, or a belated birthday gift, this is for you.”

  After slipping off one of her gloves, Anna picked at the tape on the paper, trying to keep the gift wrap whole. She’d save it and the box as a reminder of this moment. Of her happiness.

  Removing the lid from the box, she prepped herself to express the proper amount of gratitude for whatever she might find. Some men gave great gifts. Others, not so much. But the prepping wasn’t necessary, because what Logan had chosen for her was...perfect. Delight and pleasure soaked in, along with a burst of emotion. No. He would never stop surprising her.

  She looked at Logan, who watched her with intent focus. “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, her voice hushed. “I love it.”

  Returning her attention to the gift, she pulled the necklace free and held it in front of her by the fragile chain to see the pendant better. It was formed in the shape of a tree with many twisty, slender branches, and on one of those branches was a single light blue gemstone. An aquamarine. The birthstone for March, for their daughter.

  Tears saturated her eyes. “Logan, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his tenor rich with unsaid emotion. “I saw the pendant at a jewelry store, looked up the birthstone for March, and...well, that’s what we ended up with. Down the road, you can add other birthstones to the branches. Yours, if you want.”

  And his, if they stayed together. Additional children, too, as they were born, if there were more in their combined futures. Or if not, she supposed, then in hers.

  “Help me put it on?” she asked, handing him the necklace. She unzipped and loosened her coat from her neck. “I don’t want to drop it.”

  “Of course I’ll help.” He unfastened the clasp and draped the chain around her neck while she held her hair out of the way. As he did, his hands brushed along her skin, his touch gentle and warm. “There,” he said. “Finished. Face me, so I can see... Yeah. Beautiful, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “for thinking of me in such a lovely way.”

  “You’re welcome. I... As I said, it seemed a fitting gift.” And then he leaned toward her, cupped her face with his hands and kissed her on the lips. A sweet, short kiss, but not without heat. Not without that zing of electricity. They separated, and he said, “Merry Christmas, Anna.”

  “Merry Christmas back.” Then, swallowing the sigh nestled in her throat, Anna looped her arm through Logan’s, saying, “Now, I need you to feed me, cowboy. This baby of yours is about to chew a hole through my stomach, she’s so hungry.”

  “We can’t let that happen, now can we? Breakfast should be just about ready, as Mom was making a heap of pancakes and bacon when I found you.” With that, they stood and he tucked her securely to his side as they walked to the back door. “Oh, and Anna?”

  “Yes, Logan?”

  “I really do think you’re as lovely as a dewdrop glistening in the light of the morning sun.” Clearing his throat, he said, “Truth is, I’m often stunned into silence by the sight of you.”

  And oh. Wow. Just...wow.

  Before she could absorb his words, let alone respond properly, he pulled them into the warm, bustling kitchen. Where his family waited at the food-laden table. So for now, she kept her peace. Later, though, when they were alone and assured of privacy, she’d take great pleasure in showing him just how much his words meant.

  Because really, stunned into silence? By the sight of her? It was, by far, the best compliment she’d ever received. From anyone. Bar none.

  And hearing such a sentiment from Logan today, on Christmas Eve of all days, gave another hard yank on her hope, on the heartstrings. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to view her and therefore their relationship from a new, possibly more permanent, perspective.

  A lovely thought. Lovelier, even, than Logan’s glistening, lit-up dewdrop.

  * * *

  Logan sat down in front of his grandfather’s desk and gathered the papers that needed signing. Hopefully, they’d get through this quickly. It was a holiday, after all, and while he never minded work, his thoughts were on Anna. On spending the day with her.

  But Zeke still had his doubts about Patrick “Trick” McCaffrey, their would-be partner in the crop share lease, and he might just put up another fuss. The problem was that Trick, a longtime friend of Logan’s, had walked away from his family’s ranching enterprise for a career on the bull-riding circuit. Seeing how he was the eldest McCaffrey child and the only son, his departure wasn’t taken kindly by his parents or the ranching community.

 
Last year, in the middle of a bull-riding event, in the middle of competition season, Trick had taken a spill and got hurt, badly enough to cut his career short. He’d come home to try to make amends and had quickly been shown the door.

  And that was how he and Logan had started talking about entering into a crop share lease, utilizing Bur Oak’s unconnected acreage. After a lot of discussion, they’d finally reached an agreement they were both sufficiently happy with. Now, with the contract ready to sign, Logan just needed his grandfather to complete the deal. God willing, he would.

  He heard Zeke in the living room, responding to a softly asked question posed by his grandmother. The two talked for a minute or so before Zeke entered the office.

  “All right,” he said, settling his long, spare frame in the king-size, tall-backed, dark brown leather chair behind his desk. “I don’t know why you’re so damn set on working with this cockroach, but your grandmother’s out there having a fit we’re in here at all. Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Sure, but seeing how we’re going into business with Patrick, you might want to stop calling him a cockroach.” Logan shuffled the papers to the signature page, saying, “He made a tough decision, one that he knew would cause waves, and he followed that up by doing everything in his power to help his family with the transition.”

  “The man’s lucky he’s alive,” Zeke muttered, accepting the sheaf of papers Logan pushed across the also king-size desk. “I suppose he’s learned his lesson, though it took him too darn long. Otherwise he wouldn’t be back here, now would he?”

  Logan didn’t respond, just pointed to the areas requiring Zeke’s attention. His grandfather huffed and puffed and rolled his eyes a fair amount, but after reading through the text, he signed and initialed where indicated without any further protest.

  “There,” Zeke said, shoving the papers toward Logan.

  “That was easier than I expected,” Logan said. “And unless you have more on the agenda, we’re all done. So we can lend a hand in the living room.”

  Which was where Carla, Rosalie and Anna were, digging through the numerous boxes of ornaments he’d brought in earlier. Trimming the tree on Christmas Eve had been, and would likely remain, a Cordero family tradition. Soon enough, Logan’s aunts and uncles and cousins would arrive to decorate the tree, eat too much food, cause some havoc and open gifts.

  Zeke nodded but didn’t move. “She’s a pretty gal, at least,” he said, staring through the doorway into the next room, presumably at Anna. “I expect she’ll present you with an attractive enough daughter. She’s probably gonna be on the puny side, based on those impractically narrow hips her mama has, though she’ll grow. Babies always grow.”

  One, there was not a thing wrong with Anna’s hips. Two, Logan had to hope that she had not heard that specific comment. While he knew that his grandfather hadn’t meant any disrespect, Anna wouldn’t, and he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression. Zeke tended to say whatever shot up in his brain, and if any of those musings were disrespectful in nature, he’d make that as plain as day. Mostly, Logan shrugged off his grandfather’s off-the-cuff remarks.

  But he couldn’t let these stand uncontested.

  “My daughter will be breathtaking in her beauty, just like her mother,” he said in an unyielding voice. “And whatever size she is will be the exact size she’s meant to be. Also, for the record, though it’s none of your business, I quite like the looks of Anna’s hips.”

  “I figured as much,” Zeke said in his typical bluntness. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be a baby in the making, now would there?”

  The quiet chattering from the next room dipped in volume, causing Logan to flinch. He was sure that every word spoken in here had been heard out there. Standing, he closed the door and gave his grandfather an even, don’t-argue-with-me stare. Sitting back down, he said, “It’s Christmas Eve and we have a tree to trim, so let’s go do that instead of talking about my wife’s hips or the probable appearance of my daughter.”

  His granddad’s brown, almost black eyes narrowed, and his lips flattened into an annoyed-verging-on-ticked-off grimace. What, precisely, had fueled Zeke’s temper, Logan couldn’t say, but it was plain that the old man was raring up to go on a tear.

  “Wife? By legal terms, I suppose, but not by any other.” Scraping his callused, wrinkled and thick-fingered hands through his coal-black hair, Zeke frowned. “In my book, the word wife is sacred and is about what’s in the heart and has zip to do with legal mumbo jumbo.”

  “My marriage is not up for discussion,” Logan said as calmly, as matter-of-factly, as possible. “I respect your opinion, but—”

  “Well, then you just listen, because I have a few words you oughta hear,” Zeke said. “Going into a marriage with the divorce already decided upon is about the most cockamamy setup I’ve ever been witness to, but I stood in support. For the sake of family.”

  “And I appreciate that, Granddad.”

  “Now, though, you’ve brought your bride home for the holidays, you’re sharing a bed and holding hands, and the two of you are acting like newlyweds. So you can understand, based on what you told us this marriage is, why we’re all confused.”

  Logan let out a long sigh. Yeah, it was easy to see why his grandfather was so up in arms, why he’d decided to delve into this particular topic.

  “None of us know how to treat her,” his grandfather continued, “since you haven’t informed us if your arrangement has changed.” Zeke’s body tensed and his complexion reddened. “So, you tell me. Is she family? Or is that neat and tidy divorce still on the books?”

  And Logan did not know how to answer these questions. At all. So he did the best he could, saying, “As the mother of your great-granddaughter, she’s family, regardless of the state of my marriage. Treat her with kindness and consideration, for that reason alone.”

  “You’re avoiding the real question.” Scowling, Zeke reached into his desk drawer and, after some finagling, pulled out a cigar. Damn it. The old man was not supposed to smoke. “I don’t think you have a clue as to what you’re doing. But you better figure it out, son, real soon.”

  “I’m trying. And put down that cigar before Grandma decides to come in here and sees you.”

  “I’m a grown man and I’m allowed to smoke if I want to smoke,” Zeke said with another glower. “And don’t bother reminding me that my clock’s ticking down fast, as every member of this family is apt to do. When will you all learn that scare tactics don’t have any effect?”

  “We’re not trying to scare you,” Logan said, doing his best to remain calm. “And you know darn well that we’re not counting down the days to your demise.”

  “Seems to me that what a person says and what a person means don’t always align.” Zeke pushed stacks of files and papers around on his desk before finding the Zippo lighter he’d used for as long as Logan could remember. “Also seems that you’re saying a whole lot of nonsense about your marriage, but the way you’re acting is saying something entirely different.”

  “It’s a complex situation.” Ignoring the lighter, Logan leaned forward and grabbed the cigar from his grandfather’s grasp, which he then snapped in half. He dropped the pieces in the trash. “But keeping you healthy shouldn’t be complex. You need to start taking care of yourself.”

  “I know how damn old I am and that I’m... What’s that term your grandmother uses?” Zeke’s forehead creased in thought. “Twilight, that’s it! I am well aware that I’m in the twilight era of my life, so I figure that gives me the right to act however I please.”

  “That’s a load of bullhockey.”

  “It most certainly is not!”

  “It is when it comes to your health.”

  “Why bother trying now?” Zeke asked. “Anything I do or don’t do won’t change much of whatever time I have left. But Logan, you ha
ve time on your side and a pretty wife who is having your baby. If you ask me, you should give this marriage an honest go at being real.”

  “I’m...considering doing just that, but again, my relationship is not up for discussion.”

  “Fine. Be that way.” Zeke nodded toward the trash can. “You know, don’t you, that I got plenty more cigars where that came from, and that you can’t always be here to watchdog me?”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that you have more cigars tucked away, and nope, I can’t watchdog you all the time,” Logan said with a sigh. “But I shouldn’t have to.”

  “Then stop asking too much of me. Leave me to my own devices.”

  “I can’t.” Mostly due to his own high level of aggravation, he bit the bullet and said, “Consider the gaping void you’ll leave behind when you die. And how maybe, just maybe, by putting a little care and attention toward yourself, you could extend that horrible reality by a year or two or ten. Stop planning your funeral, Granddad. It’s depressing as hell.”

  “Didn’t say I was dying today, now did I? And even if I—”

  “We count on you. You don’t even know how much.” Logan shook his head, trying to find the words to express a sentiment that lived in his heart but he’d never pulled apart to look at. “I’d like my daughter to know you. The man who raised me, protected me, guided me and taught me every important lesson I’ve ever learned. How is that too much to ask?”

  Zeke blinked once, twice, and all of his fired-up energy fizzled into nothingness. “Why’d you have to do that?” he asked, his tone thick. “Why’d you have to go and say that?”

  “Because I need you to be here, and there’s a little girl waiting to be born who needs to hear the stories that only you can tell, who needs to sit on your lap while you show her the stars and who needs to know—down to the marrow in her bones—what this land means to this family.” Logan shrugged. “I don’t know if anyone but you can really teach her that, Granddad.”