Karen Templeton - The Rancher's Expectant Christmas

From the kitchen, a murmur of voices floated into the silent, cavernous room—his parents and Gus, she thought. Austin came over to climb in Josh’s lap; Josh wrapped his arms around his son from behind as though nothing, nothing, would ever come between them, and suddenly Deanna wanted to know so badly what’d happened between Josh and Austin’s mother it almost made her dizzy. She’d asked Gus, actually, but he’d said it wasn’t his story to tell.

“Hey,” she said softly, and Josh angled his head to look at her, the obvious worry glimmering in those soft goldy-green eyes punching her insides harder than the baby’s foot. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she reached over—awkwardly—to lay a hand on his knee, right beside Austin’s little sneaker. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He actually chuckled. “You telling me that? Or yourself?” he said, a moment before the lawyer arrived, looking a little windblown from the short walk from the driveway to the front door.

“Sorry I couldn’t make the service,” he said breathlessly as Josh stood to shake his hand. “Got summoned to a surprise court appearance in Santa Fe.” Sweeping hunks of unruly silver hair off his forehead, Steve Riggs gave Deanna a sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry, honey, I really am. Your daddy was a good man. We’ll all miss him.”

The same words she’d heard no less than three dozen times in the past two hours. Still, she knew the sentiment was sincere.

“Thank you.”

“Well,” the attorney said, looking a little relieved at being able to move on, “I suppose I’m ready when you are. Do you need help?” he asked when she tried to cantilever herself to her feet. But Josh was already on the case, having set Austin down to come around the side of the sofa, bracing one arm across her back to hoist her upright.

The attorney’s brows spiked over his glasses. “My goodness. When are you due?”

Because she was not one of those women who only gained fifteen pounds and looked like she was carrying a cantaloupe. “Six weeks or so.”

“Well.” Steve’s favorite word, apparently. “If you gather the others, I suppose we can do the reading in Granville’s office. Unless...” His gaze swung to Deanna’s. “You’d rather do it elsewhere?”

“The office is fine.”

It didn’t take long. Her dad had left modest bequests to various people in the community who’d be notified in a few days. Gus got an annuity, Dad’s old Caddy and the right to live in one of the guesthouses as long as he wished. Since Dad had already given Josh’s parents a house in town after Sam’s retirement, his gifts to them now included a few stocks and bonds and a small Thomas Moran landscape painting Sam had always admired...and which Deanna knew was worth big bucks. Then, aside from a modest savings account which went to Deanna, there were a few disbursements to various charities Dad had always supported, particularly ones that worked with the local Native populations.

“And now,” Steve said, peering over his glasses at Deanna, then Josh, before clearing his throat. “‘I leave my ranch, known as the Vista Encantada, including the house, the land, any and all outbuildings and whatever livestock on said land at the time of my death, equally to my only daughter, Deanna Marie Blake, and my employee Joshua Michael Talbot.”

A moment of stunned silence preceded a dual “What?” from Deanna and Josh.

“Congratulations, kids,” Steven said, angling the will toward them so they could see for themselves. “You’re now co-owners of one of the prettiest pieces of property in northern New Mexico.”

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