by Lisa Carter
Soon after, Jonas brought his bowl to the sink and left once more to work on clearing the drive. And with the unflagging energy only children possessed, Hunter decided to head to the terrace to practice his roping again.
“I’ll teach you how to wope a steer, too. Just a few minutes... Pwease, AnnaBef?”
Who could resist those chocolate-brown eyes? Not her. And why shouldn’t she take advantage of a free roping lesson?
Never could tell when knowing how to rope a steer might come in handy in metropolitan Charlotte.
“I’ll come in a few minutes. After I wash the dishes for your gramma.” She turned on the sink faucet. “Are you feeling okay, Deirdre?”
The already trim woman had eaten practically nothing for lunch.
“I’ll watch Hunter for a few hours if you’d like to get some rest.” Thinking she might have overstepped boundaries, she said, “If you feel okay about entrusting him into my care, that is.”
Deirdre gave her a genuine smile. “You may be the most trustworthy young lady I’ve ever had the privilege to meet.” She sighed. “To tell the truth, my get-up-and-go appears to have got up and went. I’d love the chance to catch a quick nap, if you don’t mind watching Hunter.”
“Mind? I can’t think of anything more fun than spending time with him.”
Deirdre’s face lit up as if AnnaBeth had provided an answer to a question she hadn’t asked. “Hunter loves spending time with you. Already you have a special place in his heart.”
“And he in mine, Deirdre.”
Moisture welled in Deirdre’s brown eyes. “I’ve prayed so often about Hunter and Jonas’s situation. But I believe God may be about to do more than I could ever dare dream...”
Unsure what she meant, AnnaBeth nodded, anyway. “God is like that, isn’t He?”
“Yes, He is.” Deirdre fanned her flushed face. “Forgive me. I’m not usually so emotional.” Spots of color mottled Deirdre’s fair complexion.
AnnaBeth squirted detergent into the dishwater. “You’re not feeling yourself. And then, of course, we always have to factor in our hair.” Hands wet, she used her shoulder to swipe a strand of hair out of her eyes.
Deirdre’s mouth quirked. “You have lovely hair. The color makes us unique. And passionate about those we love. But you might be right.” She wagged a finger. “Sensible folk know better than to mess with a redhead.”
“Our hair is like a public service announcement.” AnnaBeth smirked. “An emergency-alert warning system—‘Redhead Coming. Beware!’”
Laughing, Deirdre cocked her head. “A rancher’s wife has to be tough, that’s for sure, but I’m starting to think maybe it’s time to bestow that mantle on someone else.” The landline rang, and Deirdre excused herself. “Dwight?”
Whoever Dwight was—he’d called Deirdre yesterday, too. Did Jonas’s mother have a budding romance of her own?
Perhaps last night’s remark about the inn on the Eastern Shore of Virginia had been more about Deirdre’s personal interest than pointed at anyone else.
AnnaBeth wondered if Jonas was aware of what was going on with his mother.
Not your business, AnnaBeth. Stay in your own lane. Stop being so nosy.
After finishing the dishes, she spread the drying cloth over the drain board. She shrugged into her coat and joined Hunter on the terrace.
On the far end of the long terrace sat a green plastic steer. Hunter showed her how to fold over the rope about an arm’s length to coil it. He taught her the proper way to hold the rope—her index finger pointed on the shank of the rope toward the knotted part Hunter called the hondo.
He swung the rope in a circle above his head. “Keep your finger on de wope pointed at de tawget.”
She watched his technique closely. His rotating wrist kept the rope smooth and open. He tossed the rope toward the dummy horns.
Like a pitcher’s arm followed through with a baseball, Hunter’s arm followed the toss. The rope landed as intended, the loop falling around the steer head. Then, reaching, he jerked the rope and pulled the knot tight.
She clapped. “Hooray!”
Accomplishment shining in his face, he grinned. “Now you, AnnBef.”
Her wrist action wasn’t as smooth. She had a hard time not lassoing herself and becoming entangled in the rope. Try after try, she fell short, the rope landing on the plastic steer’s rump and not around his neck.
“Don’t be sad, AnnaBef. I’ve been pwacticing a wong, wong time. Since I was a wittle kid.”
She tapped the brim of his cowboy hat. “Since then, huh?”
After the brisk arm exercise, she began feeling soreness in muscles she never knew she possessed. So she convinced Hunter to come inside for a hot-chocolate break.
Later, Hunter helped her set up some shots for an impromptu photo shoot. Then she and Hunter took a lot of silly selfies.
With Deirdre still resting, they decided to find a book to quietly read together.
Finger to his lips, Hunter beckoned AnnaBeth to follow him upstairs. They crept past Deirdre’s closed bedroom.
Hunter gestured toward a half-open door. “Dat’s my dad’s room.”
She didn’t want to violate Jonas’s privacy so she didn’t venture inside, but she got a glimpse of the stark bedroom. Victoria believed a bedroom should reflect the occupant’s personality, but there was nothing there of Jonas. And that bothered AnnaBeth.
Did Jonas feel as forlorn as the room appeared?
Not your business, AnnaBeth. Not your bedroom. Not your problem how Jonas feels or does not feel.
Hunter’s bedroom was next to his father’s. And when she stepped inside, she smiled. As it should, the room reflected the little boy’s personality.
Wall posters depicted cowboys roping steers. A toy box overflowed with dinosaurs, Matchbox cars and a segmented race-car track. The twin bed was covered with a colorful red-and-blue cowboy-themed comforter.
Hunter motioned to the framed photograph on top of a small pine bookcase. “Dat’s my mudder, Kasey. But I don’t ’member her.”
The forever twentysomething woman wore a blue, Western-cut shirt with pearl snaps. Her long, curly blond hair waved from under a black Stetson.
Jonas’s wife hadn’t just been pretty. She’d been gorgeous.
The picture was an action shot in the middle of an arena. Atop a powerful black horse, Kasey Stone gripped the reins. At what appeared breakneck speed, hunched over the horse, Hunter’s mother rounded a barrel. Her blue eyes were narrowed. Her face intent. An accomplished horsewoman.
As for AnnaBeth’s skill set?
She wrote silly little words about frivolous, pretty things for people to buy. She could decorate a room like nobody’s business. She knew clothes like Hunter knew roping.
AnnaBeth let out a sigh. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was about the extent of it.
Hunter pulled a book off the shelf. “Dis is one of my favowite books. About a wittle boy wike me named Peter.” He handed it to her.
She examined the cover. “The Snowy Day sounds like the perfect book to read today.”
Like a couple of cat burglars, they tiptoed downstairs to the chair in front of the fireplace. Only a few, glowing embers remained. When night fell, Jonas would probably get the fire blazing again.
She settled against the leather cushion. “I love this spot.”
Book clasped to his chest, Hunter climbed into her lap. “I wuv you, AnnaBef.”
She hugged the little boy close. “I love you, too, Hunter.” And she realized it was true. He was so easy to love.
As for his father?
Jonas wasn’t just hunky. His strong faith, his relationship with his child, his integrity... Jonas Stone was the real deal. In every possible way.
She could so easily lose her heart to Jonas and everything that was his life here at the FieldStone, bu
t AnnaBeth and rejection were old acquaintances.
Don’t be an idiot, AnnaBeth. Are you a glutton for punishment or what? Single doesn’t mean available.
It was obvious Jonas had never gotten over the woman in the photograph upstairs. Probably would never get over her.
She opened the first page of the classic story of Peter’s snowy day adventure.
“Is it as pwetty where you wive, AnnaBef, as de FieldStone?”
“It’s pretty.” She tapped her finger on the end of his nose. “But not as pretty as here.”
“Good.” Hunter pursed his lips. “’Cause you need to stay where it’s de pwettiest.” Tucking his head under her chin, he snuggled in her arms. “Wif me.”
By the time she read “the end,” Hunter had grown still. His breathing was soft. Very unlike her perpetually in-motion little cowboy.
Hers? Where had that come from? Nothing and no one here belongs to you, AnnaBeth. Nor you to them.
And most likely, never would.
Leaning over him, she saw that his eyelids were closed. She put aside the book and held him closer. It wasn’t often she got the chance to hold a little one.
All too soon her own snowy day adventure would end. In all likelihood, she’d never see Hunter, Deirdre or Jonas again.
The realization made her inexplicably sad. But that was life. Her life, anyway.
Always full of goodbyes. First, her mom. Even after she came to live with her dad’s new family, he always seemed to be saying goodbye. Jetting off on yet another business trip. She used to wish it was Victoria who left on the airplanes and not him.
She yawned. Hunter wasn’t the only one worn out by the day’s adventures. Or the only one needing a nap.
Deirdre was right. A rancher’s wife had to be tough. Yet being Victoria’s stepdaughter meant she’d had to be tough in her own way, too.
Speaking of her stepmother, she still hadn’t opened Victoria’s messages. She really ought to read them. AnnaBeth yawned again.
Maybe in a few minutes. Soon as she rested her eyes...
* * *
When Jonas ventured back into the lodge to take a break from the cold, he found the house unusually quiet.
In search of his family, his heart did a flip-flop at the sight of AnnaBeth and Hunter, sound asleep and nestled in the leather armchair. A children’s book sat on the side table. Her arms curled protectively around him, his son had folded himself into her in a way Jonas hadn’t seen him do since Hunter was a baby.
His eyes misted. Grandmas were wonderful, but there was nothing like a mother’s love. And for the first time since Kasey died, he contemplated dating again.
For Hunter’s sake, of course. To find the mother his son so desperately craved. But despite all the wishing in the world, it was not going to happen by Christmas.
When and if Jonas did seek a mother for Hunter, it would most certainly not be the very temporary AnnaBeth. But it gave Jonas something to think about, to plan for—for next year. An early New Year’s resolution.
Jonas rubbed the stubble on his jawline.
Sure, he got lonely, but he was done with emotion. Who needed love? Hunter’s needs were the only thing that mattered.
Feeling pretty good about his decision, it was then he noticed a tendril of wavy, red hair lying against AnnaBeth’s cheek. And his mouth went dry.
The sweetness of seeing AnnaBeth with his son caused an almost physical ache in the center of his chest.
He could have stood there for hours watching the both of them, but his eyes started to well up at how perfect they looked together. Thinking he could make a quiet retreat, he took one step backward when the pine board beneath his foot creaked.
AnnaBeth’s eyes flew open.
Sorry, he mouthed.
Wait, she mouthed back.
Slowly, gently, she disentangled herself from Hunter’s limbs. She inched her way out of the chair and tiptoed across the braided rug. She picked her camera off the dining-room table.
“Let him sleep,” she whispered.
Jonas followed her into the kitchen. “Congratulations on wearing my son out. That may be a first.”
She smoothed her hair out of her face. “He wore me out, too.” She smirked.
He smiled. “What have you two been doing since lunch? And where’s Mom?”
“Your mom decided to take a nap, so I convinced Hunter to have some quiet time with a book. And then we fell asleep, too. But not before we did this—” She clicked through the photos on her camera. “Hunter helped me set up the shot.”
It was a photo of his wool socks on what he presumed to be AnnaBeth’s feet, hanging over the arm of the chair. The glowing embers of the fire provided a cozy backdrop.
He gave her a sideways glance. “You took a picture of the socks?”
“I told you I loved those socks. My post will be a product endorsement. Readers will buy these like hotcakes.”
“So you’re saying I should buy sock stock while the price is still low?”
“Might not be a bad idea.” She laughed. “No harm in diversifying.”
“Diversifying? What did you do before you took up blogging? Investment banking?”
She frowned. “Actually, my father’s in banking. He isn’t around much. Always working, but I guess I couldn’t help but pick up some of the lingo.”
Jonas poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe his mother kept warm all day this time of year. “I took a look at your blog this afternoon.”
Her lashes swept upward across her cheeks. “You did?”
From the expression on her face, he could tell she wanted to ask him what he thought, but uncertainty held her back.
“You looked me up?” She went pink. “I mean, you looked up my blog.”
He’d been interested. Intrigued. And unable to stop himself from typing her name into the search engine.
“It’s well-written, and the photos are well-done. You have an eye for color. Of course, it’s also very girly.”
“But so are my readers.” She fluttered her lashes at him. “And in case you haven’t noticed, so am I.”
Oh, he’d noticed.
Jonas cocked his head. “Your posts have a witty touch. Although, knowing you, that doesn’t surprise me a bit.”
Witty, but sometimes too self-deprecating to his liking. He had a feeling AnnaBeth Cummings didn’t give herself enough credit. He’d been wowed by her creativity and professionalism.
Skimming over several year’s worth of posts, he’d run across photos of her family. The petite younger sister. The equally tiny and elegant stepmother.
Even one of AnnaBeth with some frat-looking dude—the evil ex-fiancé himself. No photos of home or her father, however.
A picture was starting to form in his mind of AnnaBeth’s world before their lives intersected. Though lately, his life before meeting AnnaBeth felt hazier and hazier...
He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his mug. “You do photo shoots all over the place.”
She smiled. “I love to travel.”
Whereas he never wanted to live anywhere but the ranch. “The blog’s called Heart’s Home, but you travel so much. Don’t you ever miss home?”
Her smile faded. And the brittle, haughty air she appeared to be able to don at will fell between them.
Debutante AnnaBeth Cummings. So unlike the warm woman who cuddled his son and made snow angels, and whose nearness accelerated his heartbeat.
“Will Hunter be okay if I leave him in the chair?” She lifted her chin. “Or should I stay close?”
Sipping his coffee, Jonas leaned against the counter. “He’ll be fine. Ranch kids are raised to entertain themselves. And when he wakes up, he knows to start on his chores.”
AnnaBeth cocked her head. “He’s four.”
Jona
s shrugged. “Age-appropriate chores, but ranch kids learn to pull their weight. They take pride in their contribution to the family business.” Thinking of the upscale world from which she came, he frowned. “Probably sounds like child labor to you.”
“Not at all. It makes sense,” she said.
“From an early age, ranch kids learn their worth. Working alongside each other, they understand how valuable they are to their family.”
Her mouth thinned. “Something every child should experience.”
Jonas got the impression she didn’t feel very valued or worthwhile to her family. Feelings reinforced by her no-good fiancé.
He sensed hidden hurts in AnnaBeth. So many painful wounds. And the extent of his wish to reassure her—to comfort her—shocked him.
“What have you been doing since lunch, Jonas?”
Momentarily robbed of speech, he stared at her.
Get it together, man. What’s wrong with you? Getting mushy, just because of a pretty flatlander.
She touched her hand to her cheek. “Did I drool while I was asleep? Is there something wrong with my face?”
His heart clamored. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her face.
And that was part of the problem. She wasn’t just some pretty face. AnnaBeth was more. So much more than he ever imagined.
“Uh...” He took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve been loading the hay wagon for the afternoon feed.”
Her eyes lit. “You’re going to feed the horses?”
Jonas looked at her over the rim of the mug. “Yes.”
“Could I help?” she asked in a rush of words as if she feared he’d refuse. “Your mom has dinner going in the Crock-Pot. And I’m not used to being so idle.”
He could see that about her. More energy than a pup. She and Hunter had that in common.
She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I like to keep busy.”
Jonas liked to keep busy, too. There was no shortage of work to be done on a ranch. He drove himself hard every day until he practically fell into bed each night.
Hard work was the best remedy for keeping the regrets and what-ifs at bay. Keeping himself too tired to be lonely. Although last night, he’d lain awake a long time pondering their unexpected guest.