A Fortune's Children Christmas (Anthology)

by Lisa Jackson; Barbara Boswell; Linda Turner

  Five

  “We’re home.” The words sounded hollow as Lesley, carrying Angela in her infant seat, stepped into her empty house. As if sensing a change she didn’t much like, the baby squirmed and let out an irritated cry. “Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

  But the old farmhouse felt like a tomb. It was warm enough, the lights bright, but it seemed vacant inside, without that special glow that makes a house a home.

  Stop it, Lesley. You’re imagining things. Fool that you are, you just don’t want to leave Chase Fortune, that’s all. Get over it. Setting her jaw, she walked across the kitchen and tried to ignore the fact that she experienced no sense of homecoming, no relief at being home again.

  Chase carrying groceries and Rambo were right behind her. “Stay,” Chase commanded the old hound as he was bounding through the door.

  “No, it’s all right. He can come in.” Lesley had become fond of the dog and didn’t want him left freezing on the back porch.

  “He’s wet.”

  “Aren’t we all?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows as she stared pointedly at the snow melting on the shoulders of Chase’s jacket.

  Rambo, as if understanding that he was the center of the conversation, cocked his head, then, tail tucked between his legs, slunk into the house and took up residence under the table.

  Chase muttered something under his breath about “spoiled mutts who don’t know their place,” as he set a sack of groceries they’d picked up at the local market on the table by the window. He shifted Lesley’s suitcase from one hand to the other. “Where do you want your bag?”

  “Just leave it anywhere. I’ll take it upstairs later.”

  “I’ll do the honors.” He didn’t say anything else, but she knew he was thinking of her ankle, and it touched her in a way that surprised her. For a rawhide-tough cowboy with a stubborn streak that would give any mule a run for his money, Chase had a kinder side, as well, one she only caught glimpses of.

  She tucked Angela’s blanket more tightly around her and set the carrier on the counter where the baby could watch Lesley as she turned on the coffeemaker and put away the groceries.

  The coffee was just beginning to drizzle through the machine when Rambo let out a low woof.

  Chase’s boots rang on the hallway upstairs.

  A truck’s engine roared down the drive. Lesley peered out the window and recognized Ray Mellon’s Dodge plowing down the lane. Snow was piled on the roof of the cab and inside the bed of the truck.

  “We’ve got company,” Lesley said, winking at her baby. Aside from Chase, Ray was the first neighbor she’d seen since Angela’s birth. “You’d better be on your best behavior,” she whispered to the baby as Ray cut the engine and hopped down from the pickup. Wearing a parka, wool cap and insulated pants, he hiked through the snow and stepped onto the back porch. He brushed the snow from his clothes and started to knock, but Lesley threw open the door.

  “Lesley, gal!” A wide grin split his face.

  “I wondered if you’d made it back from sun country.”

  “Just yesterday. The airports were a mess, let me tell you.” He stepped into the kitchen and shook his head. “Look at you!” Giving in to impulse, he grabbed her around the waist, picked her up and twirled her off her feet. “My God, girl, I was worried sick about you and don’t tell me, this—” he cocked his head to the counter where Angela, peering through wide eyes, was focusing on the ceiling “—must be your new little girl.”

  “Meet Angela,” Lesley said as he set her on her feet. Her heart was racing, and she felt her cheeks flush.

  “She’s gorgeous. The spittin’ image of her mother.”

  Laughing, Lesley caught a movement from the corner of her eye and spied Chase, his expression guarded, standing in the archway between the kitchen and dining room. “Chase, meet Ray. Ray Mellon, remember, I told you about him? He’s back from Phoenix. Ray, this is Chase Fortune, my new neighbor and the man who probably saved my life and Angela’s.”

  Chase extended his hand, and Ray, after yanking off one of his gloves, grasped Chase’s palm firmly. “Glad to meet you,” Ray said. “You’re related to Kate?”

  “Her great-nephew.” Chase sized the guy up as he dropped his hand. About five feet ten inches of wiry muscle, with brown hair beginning to turn silver at the temples and eyes that didn’t linger on any spot too long.

  “So you’re ranchin’ the old Waterman place?”

  “Trying.”

  Ray sucked in his breath and shook his head. “Good luck. I don’t know what there is about that place, but it seems to be a son of a bi—” he glanced at Lesley and caught himself “—a lot of trouble to keep afloat. Anyway, I want to thank you for showin’ up and takin’ care of Lesley and her little one.” He wrapped a friendly arm around Lesley’s waist. “She’s special, this one.”

  “Ray!” Lesley shifted out of his embrace.

  “Well, you are.” He winked broadly at Chase. “I always said that when Aaron got tired of her, I’d take her anyday.”

  “Did you?” Chase said, his back muscles coiling. He didn’t like the guy for a minute.

  “I think I would have a little say in that,” Lesley protested, and then, as if to change the subject, added, “The coffee’s almost done. Would you like a cup?”

  “Nah, I can’t stay. Just thought I’d see if you were home so I could take a gander at the little one.” He touched a finger to Angela’s cheek, and Chase had to physically restrain himself. “She’s a beaut, that she is. As I said, just like her ma.” He rained a too-friendly smile in Lesley’s direction, and for a second Chase thought he was actually going to plant a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll give you a call later. Let me know if there’s anything, and I mean it, anything you need.” Chuckling, Ray let himself out the back door.

  Lesley, blushing a deep scarlet, let out her breath. “Wow.”

  Chase managed a calm expression, though his teeth were clenched so tightly his jaw ached. As far as he was concerned Ray Mellon, friend or not, was full of hot air and not much else.

  Pouring two cups of coffee, Lesley half apologized. “Ray’s well-meaning, believe me. A heart of gold, even though he comes on a little strong.”

  The understatement of the year in Chase’s estimation, but he tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. Ray Mellon could dance stark naked on the top of the barn for all Chase cared. So the guy was Lesley’s friend? So what? She was entitled. He took a couple of swigs of coffee, decided it was time to take off, then set his cup on the counter. “I’ll check on your horses before I leave.”

  “You don’t have to go out and—”

  “I want to. Okay?”

  She didn’t argue. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  She bit her lip, then, as if on a whim, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him full on the lips. Warm, feather soft and filled with gratitude, the kiss struck a chord in Chase he’d thought was long dead. “Thank you, Chase Fortune,” she said huskily as she turned away and picked up her daughter. Her green eyes seemed to shine a little brighter this morning, as if she were fighting tears. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that you saved my life and Angela’s.”

  “It wasn’t that big a—”

  “It was.” She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “It was a very big deal. I doubt if I’ll ever be able to repay you, and that bothers me. It bothers me a lot.” She swallowed hard, and her gaze locked with his. For a second he was lost in the wonder of this bit of a woman with, it seemed, a heart as big as the state of Montana. She bit the corner of her lip in a nervous gesture he found fascinating, and it was all he could do to step away. He had the overpowering urge to sweep her off her feet, kiss her until they were both weak with desire, then carry her up the stairs to her bedroom and make love until they couldn’t move a muscle.

  As if she understood his thoughts, she blushed, and he gave himself a hard mental shake. He was walking on thin ice her
e. Thin and damned dangerous. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m just glad it all worked out.”

  “Me, too.” Her eyes held his for a second longer, and his gut grew taut. Hell, she was beautiful.

  And off-limits. Way off. As were all women.

  “I’ll see you later.” He whistled to Rambo and opened the door. A gust of cold air shot through the house as the dog scrambled to his feet and dashed outside. With one final look at Lesley cradling her baby close, Chase shut the door firmly behind him. It was a simple gesture and yet it took all his grit and determination to walk off the porch and leave mother and daughter to fend for themselves. He reminded himself that Lesley Bastian wasn’t his. Not his wife nor his mistress nor even his damned girlfriend. She was only his neighbor, a woman who’d gotten herself into a little trouble that he’d helped ease. Nothing more. That’s the way it was and, curse it to hell, that’s the way it had to be.

  But he found his cabin empty when he returned home. Empty and cold, though a fire burned brightly in the fireplace. He spied the sprig of holly in the tiny pitcher she’d used as a vase, and he picked it up, twirling it between his callused fingers. The cabin smelled of whatever perfume she used, soap and baby powder, and his bed, crisply made, the sheets clean, looked sterile and frigid.

  She and that kid of hers had been in his life little more than a week, and he missed them. More than he’d ever thought possible. His thoughts took a dark turn to Emily and Ryan, but he found them farther from him than they had been; the pain had dulled with time, and, he suspected, Lesley.

  He did his chores by rote, called Kate and reported in, ate sparingly and, much later, when the moon was high, he showered and told himself he wouldn’t call Lesley, didn’t need to know how she was doing; yet he stared out the window to the darkness beyond. Moonlight cast a silver glow on the snow that blanketed the ground and clung to the branches of the trees. Far in the distance golden patches of warm light shone through the narrow windows of the old farmhouse where he’d grown up, the farmhouse Lesley and Angela now occupied. In his mind’s eye he saw her stand on her tiptoes, tilt her head and, with her eyes wide open, kiss him as she had this afternoon. He’d thought of little else since then.

  Loneliness, an emotion he’d forced himself to keep under tight rein, pierced deep into his soul. He’d lost everyone close to him one way or another. His twin, Chet, a reckless youth, had made the mistake of driving the old tractor up a ridge a little too fast. The front wheels had hit a rock and bounced, flipping the rig over and pinning Chet beneath it.

  Chase had seen it all, had run to the top of the hill crying and screaming, knowing that his brother was already dead. Chet’s lifeless body had been in his nightmares ever since, and the tragedy had torn the family apart. His father gave up whatever ambition he’d once claimed, his mother had gotten sick and died of cancer, a disease unrelated to her son’s death, or so they were told. Chase had never believed it: Constance Fortune’s will to live, to fight, had been robbed of her when her boy died. That left Delia, always self-absorbed, to turn inward. Delia went through life these days unconnected to her family.

  And what about you?

  He didn’t want to look too closely into the mirror of his own soul, didn’t need to face his inner demons. He didn’t believe in dwelling on pain, nor discussing it with any Tom, Dick or Harry. Nor would he talk to a psychiatrist or counselor of any sort. Nope. He believed in healing himself, and the best way he could cope with all the pain of the past was to ignore it, to bury himself in his work, to find another purpose in his life.

  He’d tried marriage and it had only added to his pain. He gritted his teeth as he thought of Emily. Sweet, sad Emily. And Ryan. His only son. A boy who hadn’t lived long enough to see his first birthday.

  The old ache burned through him.

  Angry at the turn of his thoughts, he shoved another length of oak into the fire and sat at the kitchen table where he’d been going over the books. He punched figures into a calculator and scratched notes to himself as he pored over the accounting records and tax returns for the previous decade.

  The Waterman place had been going downhill for years, it seemed, but Chase discovered ways to cut corners, to sell at higher prices, to reduce his overhead while upping his production of grain and cattle. It looked possible to make good on his bargain with Kate, even though a year was a short turn-around time. He spent hours huddled over the books until, sometime after one o’clock, Rambo whined to go outside.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Chase opened the door. Rambo wandered across the snow-covered backyard, disappeared around the corner, then in less than a minute reappeared, nose to the ground, as if he could scare up a rabbit or pheasant at this late hour. “Give it up, boy,” Chase advised. Cold air slapped his face and ripped through his sweatshirt, but it helped clear his head of the numbers he’d been crunching.

  With a disappointed snort, Rambo scrambled into the warmth of the house again. Chase shut the door and walked to the table. Despite all his efforts to find an answer, there was one dilemma that wasn’t about to go away—no matter how he tackled it. Walking to the table, he looked over his projected profit-and-loss statement for the dozenth time. It just wasn’t possible. “Hell.” He wadded up the paper in frustration, because no matter how he adjusted the figures, when it came to productivity, he had a problem. A serious one. If he really wanted to ensure that the ranch would become profitable in the next year, that he would be able to fulfill his part of the deal with Kate and end up owning these barren acres, he couldn’t sell water rights to anyone. Including Lesley Bastian.

  Six

  “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.” Jeff Nelson leaned back in his chair and tossed his hair from his eyes. At seventeen he was more interested in girls and basketball than algebra.

  “You’re doing fine. Just keep working at it,” Lesley said as she corrected his homework. Jeff was one of seven students she tutored in high-school-level math. It brought in a little extra money, and she wouldn’t have to think about a second job. She could stay at home with Angela.

  “Algebra’s impossible.” He scooped up his book and stretched as he got out of his chair. At six foot four, he was still growing.

  “Don’t get discouraged.”

  He snorted. “I’m way past discouraged,” he said, then flashed her his killer smile. As they walked out of the den, Lesley peeked in on Angela, who was sleeping soundly, her thumb tucked between her tiny lips.

  “I’ll see you on Tuesday,” Lesley said once they were down in the kitchen, and she marked her calendar, noticing that today was Valentine’s Day. Her first Valentine’s Day alone in a long time. Not that it mattered, she supposed. As Jeff ambled out the back door she remembered last Valentine’s Day and the single rose Aaron had bought from a roadside vendor. She’d been touched, until she’d found his credit card bills a month after he’d died and seen a bill for an expensive bouquet that went through on the fourteenth of February.

  “Live and learn,” she told herself as she wiped some crumbs from the table and wondered what Chase was doing. She’d seen more of him than she’d expected in the past month. He seemed to feel that she was somehow his responsibility, which was ridiculous.

  But, if she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she didn’t mind the attention. Not one little bit. Just as long as he didn’t push her around too much.

  He made sure her livestock was cared for, that her Jeep, after it had been pulled from the ditch and repaired, was safe, and that she made it to her doctor’s appointments on time.

  However, he kept his distance and didn’t get closer to her, avoided touching her, and he smiled rarely. He’d come in for coffee a couple of times, but whenever she’d asked him to come to dinner or join her for an outing, he had quickly declined.

  “Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she told herself as she picked up the receiver and dialed his number. The phone rang eight times and no one answered, w
hich wasn’t much of a surprise as the man was out of the house more than he was inside and he had some antiquated aversion to answering machines. “Get into the nineties, Fortune, before they’re gone!” she reprimanded as if he could hear her, then hung up. She could just give up, she supposed, but that wasn’t her nature.

  Angela started making noises upstairs, and Lesley decided it was time for some exercise. She raced up the stairs and found her daughter lying on her back in her crib, small arms flailing, face beginning to turn red as she started to cry. “No reason to fuss,” Lesley said, feeling her breasts let-down and milk begin to flow. “I’m right here.”

  After feeding, changing and dressing the baby in a snug snowsuit, Lesley strapped Angela into her front pack and, with a card she’d picked up at the store—one with a funny message rather than the kind with a hearts and flowers message of undying love—she hiked the distance between the two ranches. It was cold as the dickens outside; the wind blew hard and snow still covered the ground; but the pale winter sun lingered in the Montana-blue sky and Lesley felt lighthearted as she walked up Chase’s lane.

  She hadn’t been back to the small cabin since her short, emotional stay with him over the Christmas holidays, and she felt ridiculously as if she were coming home. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, and sensed Angela stirring against her. “You know, don’t you, that your mother’s a bona fide fool?”

  Rambo, lying on the front porch, barked a greeting and stood slowly, his tail whipping behind him. “I missed you, too, boy,” she said as the front door opened and Chase in jeans and a flannel shirt stood behind the torn mesh of the screen door. He didn’t smile, and she had the uneasy sensation that she was interrupting him.