Arlene James - Christmas On The Ranch - The Rancher's Christmas Baby / Christmas Eve Cowboy

“Well, whose fault is that? You should’ve thought of the consequences of your actions a long time ago.”

Setting him aside, Jackie stiffly rose. “I made a mistake, and I’m never going to stop paying for it, am I?” she choked out.

His grandmother looked at him then, and Dixon thought, Me. I’m the mistake. His grandmother rolled her eyes, then turned and left the room. A moment later his mother also left the room, slamming the door angrily behind her and calling for his grandfather.

How long had it been before he had seen her again? It had seemed like weeks, but he knew it had probably only been days. To a boy of three, days might as well have been weeks, though. The old bitterness welled up in him.

“You can’t stay,” he announced baldly, the words out before he even thought them. Jackie looked up, surprise and dismay on her lined face before she carefully masked her emotions. He lifted off his hat, steeling himself, and plunked it onto the hook beside the door before tossing aside his coat and actually moving into the other room. “You are not going to ruin my Christmas,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “and we both know that’s what will happen if you stay.”

“I’ve never wanted to ruin anything for you, Dixon,” his mother said softly, sitting back in her chair, “but we have nowhere else to go.”

We? Dixon shook his head. So, it was a package deal. He turned his attention to Fawn. Did Jackie think dragging along this young beauty and her kid would soften him, make him more apt to open his home? What an opinion she must have of him, of men in general.

“And where’s your husband in all this?” he demanded of the dark-haired beauty. If they were asking him to take them in, he had a right to know. Didn’t he?

She looked stunned, standing there with a plate of chicken-fried steaks piled one on top of another, her dark, tip-tilted eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your husband,” Dixon repeated. “Why isn’t he taking care of y’all?”

Blinking, she shook her head. “I’m not married.”

No, of course she wasn’t. Why was he not surprised? He slid his mother a disgusted look and stomped out of the room.

Going straight to his bedroom, he made short work of getting clean and dressed again. He was not—not—in any way pleased or relieved or even curious about how or why the woman cooking in his kitchen could show up with a baby and no husband. This itchy, nervous, supersensitive feeling was nothing more than concern.

He wondered what to do with himself, only to determine that this was his house and he’d be hung before he’d be relegated to his bedroom by a pair of unwelcome interlopers and an infant.

After stomping on his boots, he headed back to the kitchen, but at the last moment he derailed into the vacant living room, where he plopped down onto the sofa and prayed for...something. Strength, wisdom, the right words. Kindness? He didn’t know what to ask for. He just knew that he needed help.

* * *

“You’re crying.”

Fawn hadn’t seen Jackie cry since Harry had died, and God knew she’d had plenty of reasons to weep. She’d been strong for so long now, but her weakened physical state was obviously wearing on her.

“I knew he’d be bitter,” Jackie whispered raggedly, “but...” Shaking her head, she wiped at her eyes and focused on the baby. “It’ll be okay.” She managed a wobbly smile. “Despite everything, this has always been my home. It’ll be okay.”

Fawn didn’t know if Jackie was trying to convince herself, comforting the baby or sending up a prayer of faith. Turning back to the stove, Fawn took a plate from the counter and filled it. She carried it to the table for Jackie then poured a glass of water and laid a knife and fork next to it, along with a paper napkin.

“Do you need me to cut the steak?”

“I’m not that far gone.”

Smiling grimly, Fawn went back to the stove and filled another plate, this time with full portions. She poured iced tea into a tall tumbler, pocketed napkins, laid the knife and fork onto the plate and carried everything from the room in search of Dixon Lyons. Thankfully, she found him in the living room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He had showered and changed, but even with his head bowed she could tell that he hadn’t shaved. She was glad because she had the feeling that he would be wildly attractive clean-shaven, and she didn’t need that distraction.

“I brought your dinner.”

He jerked, as if he hadn’t heard her approach. For an instant he glared up at her, but then his gaze softened and he reached for the plate, nodding.

“Thanks.”

Parking the heavy stoneware plate on his thighs, he picked up the knife and fork and began to eat. When the steak cut easily, he lifted an eyebrow. He hummed when he began to chew but otherwise said nothing.

Fawn passed him the napkins and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. He shot her a glance but continued eating without comment. While he ate, she took the time to pray, asking for the words to make him understand the situation and face his responsibilities. When she was done, she decided that bluntness would suit this man best. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Your stepfather is dead, and your mother is dying.”

Dixon dropped his fork and looked up at that. “What did you say?”

Fawn met his gaze squarely and said as kindly as she could, “Jackie is dying. It’s her heart. They’ve recommended her for transplant, but for many reasons she’s low on the list, so it’s not likely she’ll live long enough to receive a new heart.”

After placing his knife on the plate, Dixon carefully set the plate aside. “You’re telling me that my mother’s heart is so bad she’s literally dying.”

“Yes. And because Harry was an independent trucker, what insurance they had barely covered his debts. He left her destitute. She tried to work after his death, but her pregnancy wouldn’t allow her to continue, so—”

“Whoa.” Dixon held up a hand, palm out, gray eyes wide. “Pregnancy? Her pregnancy?”

“Of course. Apparently, she already had heart damage, but no one realized it. She was tired all the time, sick and weak a lot, headaches, nausea, various pains and swelling... They were seriously talking about ovarian cancer. When they first found out she was pregnant, we thought that explained it all. We didn’t know until after Harry died that her heart was bad. And the pregnancy just wrecked it.”

Dixon stared at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign language. “You’re saying my mother was pregnant when Harry died?”

“Obviously.”

“How is that obvious?” he demanded, spreading his hands.

Shrugging, Fawn braced her hands on her knees. “I’d think that Bella makes it obvious.”

“Bella! Bella?”

It hit her then with the force of a slap that he really didn’t know, hadn’t put it together at all. Her head jerked to the side as the implications registered. “Oh, how stupid I am.” No wonder he’d asked about her husband! What he must think! Shaking her head, she tried to set it all straight. “The baby is your sister.”

If his eyebrows had risen any higher, they’d have disappeared into his hairline. “What?”

“Bella Jo is your sister.”

“But...” He couldn’t seem to form words for several seconds. “Her hair...”

“Is dark like Harry’s,” Fawn supplied. “Or like Harry’s was before he started going bald and shaving his head.”

Still, Dixon stared blankly at her. “I don’t understand.”

Fawn went to her knees, reaching for his right hand. She gripped it tightly with hers. It was a strong hand, long-fingered and square-palmed, calloused with much use.