Laura Altom - A Daddy for Christmas

“You’re welcome.” She pushed back her chair and leaped to her feet. “See ya.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to work on my pictures for Santa. Daddy always said if you left cookies and some pretty drawings for Mrs. Claus’s ’frigerator, he’d leave more toys.”

“Your dad sounded very smart.”

“He was. I loved him lots.” She pushed her chair in and took her plate to the sink. “Bye.”

Just as Ashley went out, Jess headed back in. “I hope she didn’t yak your ears off.”

Chuckling, he checked if his ears were still attached. “All good.”

She laughed, a really heartfelt laugh that made him feel funny inside. Not ha-ha funny, but strange as it sounded even to him, proud to have made her smile. “Is she off to work on her pictures for Mrs. Claus?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He rose, grabbing his plate and the butter dish before heading for the sink. “Cute custom.”

“I love that she still believes.”

“Yeah. It is nice.” Gage used to believe in magic. Then he’d urged Marnie into taking up with Deke, and nothing had ever been the same.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, stopping him halfway to the sink and reaching for his dish.

“I know I don’t have to,” he pointed out, “but the rule in my house is that whoever cooks doesn’t have to clean.”

“I think I like your house,” she said, backing away. “By all means…go for it. The scrub pad and soap are under the sink.”

“Not that I’m complaining,” he added while Jess refilled her coffee mug, “but what’s gotten into you to actually accept help?”

She grimaced. “Have I sounded that bad?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sorry.” Jess sat at the table, munching a piece of bacon she’d snatched from a plate on the counter by the stove. “It’s just with Lexie’s mood swings and Ashley’s penchant for mischief—not to mention Honey’s—I’ve been snappier than usual.”

“No biggie. Especially after what you’ve been through.”

“Don’t,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Make excuses.” She sipped her coffee, taking her time finding just the right words. She was tired of coming across as bitchy when there was so much more behind her needing him to leave. There were Lexie’s issues and her own need to make the ranch as perfect as she and Dwayne had always dreamed it would be. Moreover, deep inside, when she was alone in her bed in the cold still of night, only then did she acknowledge the terror she felt at the thought of depending on anyone ever again.

Hugging her fingers around her mug, she said haltingly, “I-I hate when everyone blames my every problem on my husband’s death. Dwayne died last fall. I should be over it, you know? Not that I ever want to forget him, just that my never being able to fit enough work into any given day shouldn’t have anything to do with his being gone.”

“Sure,” he said, rinsing and then drying the frying pan. “I get it. But—and please, don’t take this the wrong way—you’re a damned fool if you think you can handle an operation this size on your own.” He reached for a plate to scrub. “Truth is, you could really use a few more men…or women. I don’t get why you feel this compulsion to run this place all by your lonesome.”

How many times had her parents and Doc said the same thing? How many times had Jess tried telling them she didn’t know. Only she did. And telling anyone would make him or her believe her certifiable.

“You’re right,” she confessed. “I do need help, and plenty of it. But so far, the ranch hasn’t profited like I’d hoped. Once we’re out of the red, I’ll hire lots of hands. But now…It just isn’t feasible.”

ISN’T FEASIBLE?

A couple hours later, scooting across the ice rink that had become her yard with socks over her sneakers to help with traction, Jess wished she had an extra leg with which to kick herself. How dumb had that sounded? Especially in light of the fact that Gage’s services were already paid for.

With both girls and the dog sharing a rare moment of unity over cookies and milk and a Disney movie, Jess was midway to the barn to check on Honey when she got a little too cocky with her speed and her feet went out from under her.

Her resulting yelp echoed across the frozen yard.

She tried scrambling back onto her feet, but only ended up sliding.

Lying back, she stared up at the gray sky. Swell. Just swell.

“Need a hand?” called an all-too-familiar masculine voice from the barn.

“I probably do,” she conceded to Gage with a weary smile, “but I’m not all that sure you can make it out here.”

“I s’pose I could throw you a rope.” He was leaning against the doorjamb, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t do me any favors,” she sassed, scrambling to her knees, surely resembling a drunken crab.

He snorted, making a valiant stab at reaching her. At least until he fell, too.

“Holy crap, that hurt,” he complained, rubbing his backside.

“You okay?” She was back on her knees, crawling toward him.

“Yet again, I’m thinking everything but my pride will be fine.” He tried getting to his feet, but this particular stretch of the drive was sloped and enough snow had fallen during the night to create a drift. More freezing rain had coated it, transforming an already bad situation into a disaster.

“Here, let me try getting to you.” She made it, only to start sliding.

“Give me your hand.”

Jess did, and he caught her just before she started sliding into the icy abyss—well, really more of a dip, but considering how cold the ice felt seeping through the seat of her jeans, she preferred not to be outside a second longer than necessary.

“Hang tight and I’ll pull you up.” Gage tugged her arm, pulling her along the ice, and for a split second it hurt, but then she was laughing and he was laughing and she was resting against him, clinging to his jacket, relishing his warmth…his strength.

“Th-thanks,” she said, teeth chattering.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” He hammered his boot heels into the ice, then pushed up with his powerful legs. His arms cinched her to him, and while she should’ve been put off by his proximity, what she really felt was safe. Protected. And for the fleeting moments it took to reach higher, flatter ground, she rejoiced in the emotions. But then Gage released her and struggled to his feet. Ever the gentleman, he offered her his gloved hands and for the briefest of seconds, she accepted them, telling herself it wasn’t a tingle of awareness flooding her with heat, but the barn’s warmer air.

“That was, um, good thinking,” she said, once again stable on her feet now that they were on the barn’s dirt floor. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

As Gage headed for Honey’s stall, Jess watched him. The breadth of his shoulders under his coat. The smattering of ice and snow clinging to his hair. He smelled fresh and clean, like the straw he’d spent the night on. But there’d also been a trace of the bacon they’d had for breakfast. The syrup. The coffee. The smells of normalcy—it seemed a lifetime since she’d last experienced them.

Frustration balled in her stomach, building into a wall of panic she wasn’t sure how to break down. Gage Moore had to go. Now. This second. Only it was Christmas Eve, and judging by the clatter on the tin roof, additional freezing rain had arrived instead of Santa and his reindeer.

“You’re a sweetheart,” she overheard Gage croon to Honey’s momma.

Jess rounded the stall’s corner to see him stroking the mare’s mane. Gage seemed so gentle and kind. Responsible. Hardworking. Exactly the kind of hand she’d want. So why, why couldn’t she take a gamble on letting him stay? So what if he took off? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He would just be a hired hand. She would find another.