Christine Rimmer - The Rancher's Christmas Princess

Belle grinned. She couldn’t help it. So often, people were intimidated by her background. Not Silas McCade. “Why thank you, Silas.” She led the way into a roomy two-story foyer. Wide stairs led to the upper floor. It seemed to her a sturdy, solid house. A house that could do with a woman’s touch—some brighter colors, different curtains. But still, it was a fine house. Clean and well-maintained.

“Let’s go in the living room.” Preston helped her out of her coat and hung it on the hall tree, along with his own and that handsome cowboy hat he always wore. Then he gestured toward the open double door to her left. She went in. The McCade men followed. Marcus remained behind, near the front door. Preston told her, “Have a seat.”

She did, on the sofa.

Silas took an easy chair across from her. “A little whiskey would be welcome, son. You, Belle?”

“Nothing right now, thank you.”

Preston poured a drink, gave it to his father and sat down in the other easy chair.

Silas started talking. About how he had the foreman’s cottage across the yard, about how it got lonely at the ranch on a cold winter night. “Nice,” he said, “to have a little feminine company around this old place.” He started in about the horses they raised. “Preston’s good with horses and our breeding program is one of the best in the state. But I’m what they call a natural. You heard about those horse whisperers? I can do them one better. I don’t even have to whisper. A horse just naturally wants to please me. They know what I’m thinking and they do what I want them to do without me having to breathe a word.”

Preston advised softly, “Don’t let false modesty stand in your way, Dad.”

“Never have. Never will.” Silas drained the last of his drink and stood again. “Well, I guess I’ve monopolized the conversation enough for this evening.” He gave a nod of his shining silver head. “Belle, it’s been a delight to meet you.”

“And to meet you, Silas.”

Now Silas seemed almost shy. “You come back again. Anytime. Often.”

“Thank you.”

He left them.

Preston waited until the front door closed behind him. “No one quite like my dad.”

“He’s a charmer, definitely.”

“For God’s sake, don’t ever tell him that. He’s impossible to live with as it is.”

“I doubt that. I’m guessing he’s good company. And that the two of you get along quite well together.”

Preston looked at her levelly then. “Yeah, you guessed right.”

She thought of her cousin Charlotte, her companion, who was back at their lodgings, with Ben. She counted on Charlotte in so many ways. They’d been together for four years. And they did well together, she and Charlotte. She imagined that Preston’s relationship with his father might be somewhat the same.

He was watching her.

She met and held his gaze. It was so easy to do, to look at him. And it felt...good. Warm and exciting to be here with him. She hadn’t expected this. To be so attracted to him. As a rule, she was a down-to-earth, practical person, not prone to flirtations or easy infatuations.

It probably wasn’t a good thing to be so taken with him, when you came right down it. It was hard enough to be calm and objective about the task before her without these sparks flashing back and forth between them.

He said, “You’re so quiet, all of a sudden....”

“Sorry. Just...thinking.”

“About?”

“I was...” Tell him. Tell him now. But her courage deserted her. “...wondering if you have this big house all to yourself?”

“I do. My dad moved across the yard when I got back from college. He said it was a fine thing that I wanted to work with him. But the house would be mine one day and I might as well lay claim to it. He said the smaller house suited him. Doris, our longtime housekeeper, used to live in. But she remarried last year and moved to her new husband’s place. He’s got five acres not far from here. She comes in Monday through Friday to clean—here and across the yard at the old man’s place. She also cooks for us.”

“How many hired men do you have here?”

“We keep two hands on year-round, and then hire at least two more in the spring. There’s another house, the men’s cabin, with a living area downstairs and an open sleeping loft that holds six beds.”

She remembered. “The cabin near the barn?”

“That’s right. Doris cooks for the hands, too, Monday through Friday. Weekends, we play the meals by ear. It works out fine.”

He would need a full-time nanny. Ben would change his life completely. He had no idea....

In her mind’s eye, she saw him, suddenly, sitting in Anne’s lap, his blond head tipped back to smile at her adoringly, in those last days before she grew too ill to sit up.

Anne.

A sudden, hard wave of loss rolled through her. Her stomach knotted, her throat clutched and tears welled. She swallowed them down, blinked the moisture away.

“Belle?” He was rising from his chair. “What happened? What did I say? What’s wrong?”

She put out a hand. “No. Sit down. Please. It’s...all right. I’m all right. Honestly.”

He sank back to the chair. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Tell him. Tell him now. She opened her mouth to break the news.

Chapter Three

But Belle’s leaden tongue refused to form the words. She pressed her lips together over the silence.

Preston was watching her, looking concerned as he waited for her to explain what the matter was.

She got up and went over to the big window that looked out on the wide front porch. Outside, the sky was clear now. A light dusting of snow sparkled under the quarter moon. “The clouds are all gone. The sky is so beautiful, so thick with stars....”

“That’s how it is in Montana. We’re closer to heaven here.” He said it so softly. And he was on his feet again. She heard him come toward her, his tread quiet but nonetheless charged with great energy, with purpose. He stopped close at her back. She felt his presence there acutely. A sense of that steadiness he possessed, of the density and power in his strong male body.

She turned to him, her breath snagging in her throat at the look in his eyes. So tender. So...intent.

How to tell him? How to say it? How to lead up gracefully to the moment when she handed over that final letter to him? It had been tucked within the letter Anne had written to Belle, in an envelope with his name on it. She hadn’t opened the envelope. That wouldn’t have been right. But she hoped whatever Anne had written to him, it might help him understand. She had it with her now, in the pocket of her skirt. All she had to do was bring it out, hand it over....

But then, really, maybe it was too soon. Maybe she should wait a little, give herself more time to...

To what? Any excuses she might have had not to tell him had dried up and blown away like dead leaves in the wind. She liked him. He seemed a fine man. His ranch looked to her like a good-size operation. The house was perfectly livable. And anyway, there would be plenty of money from Anne’s estate. Even if Preston’s personal finances were shaky—which they did not appear to be—Ben would never want for anything. His mother had left him everything she owned.

She opened her mouth to tell all.

And he said, “Tell you what. Let’s go outside. I’ll show you the stables and we can look at the stars without a window in the way.”

Belle realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out slowly. “I would love to see the stables.”

They put their coats and gloves back on and he took her outside. The icy snow crunched under the heels of their boots as they crossed the yard, past the barn to the stables, which were large and clean and well-maintained. He explained his breeding program and the supplemental lights that made the stable bright enough to read the small print of a newspaper even at that time of night. The point was to trick the mares’ reproductive cycles into thinking it was spring come January. That way, the foals were born early the following year. And because all foals’ official birthday of any given year was January 1, a foal born early had significant advantage over foals born later in the year when it came to competitive activities like racing.