Christine Rimmer - The Rancher's Christmas Princess

Belle was nodding again. “She told me she always intended to get in touch with you, to tell you...”

“But she didn’t.” How could she not? How could she keep the reality of his own child from him? It wasn’t right. For the first time since he’d met the princess across from him, he felt the heat of anger in his veins, the blood pumping in furious spurts. Wrong. All wrong, what Anne Benton had done. “By God, she didn’t come to me, didn’t tell me....”

Belle stood up. He stiffened in the chair and watched her warily as she came around the coffee table to his side. Gingerly, she touched his shoulder. “Preston, please... Try to understand...”

He jerked free of her hand and glared up at her dead on. “I want you to go.”

* * *

Belle longed to stay, to soothe him, to ease his confusion and frustration—and perhaps even to come to an agreement about how they would proceed from there. She had plans, detailed plans. She knew what to do and was prepared to move forward.

But she understood that she couldn’t force him. He would need time to process such momentous news.

Plus, there was the way she’d handled telling him the situation: badly. She should have told him sooner—and she should have done a better job of it. So far, she’d mucked everything up, taking forever to get to the point, finding endless excuses to put off the inevitable.

And kissing him. What had possessed her to think that it would be all right to kiss him? It wasn’t. It was wrong.

So very wrong. She’d...completely misled him. Indulged herself in an impossible romantic fantasy when she should have kept her focus on the important information Anne had trusted her to deliver with a certain delicacy and tact.

Of course he was angry. With Anne. And with her.

“Please go.” He wasn’t even looking at her. He had his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Go now.”

She thought again of all the things she still had to say to him. And then she reminded herself that none of those things had to be said that night. The least she could do after botching her first task here so completely was to leave the poor man alone to deal privately with the life-altering information she’d finally managed to deliver to him.

She turned for the foyer, where she took her coat off the hall tree and put it on. She pulled her gloves from the pocket and put them on, too. Then, quietly, she left through the front door, closing it gently behind her.

Out in the snow-dusted driveway, Marcus was waiting. He had the SUV’s engine idling, ready to go. He got out when he saw her emerge from the house and opened the door to the backseat for her.

She ran down the front steps, pausing only for one brief second to glance up at the star-thick indigo bowl of the sky, hoping to see a last echo of the northern lights.

But there was nothing and that made her sad, made her feel as though the magic had never been.

* * *

Pounding sounds invaded her dreams.

Belle struggled up through dragging layers of sleep, groaning. The room was dark. The time glowed at her from the bedside clock: 6:14 a.m.

More pounding—on the door that led out to the landing. What in the...

In the crib across the room, Ben woke with a startled cry. He began calling for Anne. “Mama! Mama!”

Belle flicked on the lamp, threw back the covers, pulled on her robe and went to him. The pounding continued.

“Mama!” Ben cried.

She scooped his warm, plump body up into her arms and hugged him close.

Ben pushed at her with his little fists and kept crying. “Mama! Mama...”

Outside, she heard Preston’s voice, followed by another that sounded like Silas. She held on to Ben, stroking his back, rocking him from side to side, kissing his forehead, whispering, “Shh, shh, now. It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right...” as he continued to wail and push her away. Outside, there were scuffling noises. Someone fell heavily against the door.

The startling sound brought another frightened cry from Ben. Then he grabbed on to her, buried his face against her neck and sobbed, “Mama, Mama...” The words broke her heart. And his plaintive, lonely little cries made her feel powerless and useless and somehow cruel—to deny this perfect, beautiful child what he needed most of all. He shook his head against her neck, his hot tears smearing on her skin at the same time as he pressed himself so close against her, needing comfort so desperately, he grabbed for her even as he cried for the one he really wanted.

“Darling, shh. It’s all right. You’re all right....” She pressed her lips to his fine blond hair, breathed in the baby smell of him, milky and warm, a scent like fresh bread and baby lotion enchantingly combined.

“Mama, Mama...” He let out a garbled string of sad little nonsense words.

“Shh, Mama loves you. She loves you so much. But she can’t come,” she whispered against skin. “I’m here, though. I have you. You’re safe, you’re all right....”

Outside, the scuffling sounds continued. Again, something heavy bounced against the door.

And then she heard her cousin Charlotte’s sharp voice. “Stop this. Stop it this instant.”

A few more thuds and grunts followed.

And then she clearly heard Silas McCade say, “You damn fool, get hold of yourself.”

After that, there was silence from outside at last.

Charlotte spoke again, more quietly. Belle couldn’t make out the words. Then a door shut.

A moment later, Charlotte tapped on the door that joined their rooms. Ben had stopped wailing. He had his head buried in the crook of her neck and he was sniffling dejectedly, his little body shuddering in the aftermath of his tears.

She carried him to the inner door, rubbing his back, her lips to his temple as she went. When she reached the door, she settled the baby a little higher on her shoulder and turned the lock to admit her cousin, companion and dear friend.

“The...father has arrived,” Charlotte said, her prominent gray-green eyes wider than ever. She clutched the high neck of her ruffled robe with one hand and held the other hand around her middle.

“I heard,” said Belle.

“He wants to see Ben. He and Marcus had a bit of an altercation. They’re waiting outside with a loud-mouthed older fellow whom I’m assuming is the grandfather.”

“Has he been drinking?” Belle asked.

Charlotte frowned. “Which one?”

“Preston—but when you come right down to it, have either Preston or his father been drinking?”

Charlotte thought it over. Finally, she decided, “I don’t believe so. I think it was a case of the blood running high, as it were. They both appear sober and I didn’t smell liquor on either of them.”

“Very well.” Belle kissed Ben’s velvety cheek. He had his fist in his mouth by then. With a final hiccup and a weary little sigh, he laid his head on her shoulder. “Tell Preston we will meet him...where? It’s so early. I have no idea.”

“The restaurant across the street should be open,” Charlotte said. “I checked the hours yesterday. Six in the morning until eight in the evening.”

“Wonderful,” Belle said wearily. Maybe fortune would smile on them and the restaurant would be empty at this hour, giving them all a little privacy to deal with this difficult situation. “Tell them the diner, then. We’ll meet them there in twenty minutes.”

Chapter Four

Belle, Charlotte and Ben entered the Sweet Stop together. Ben was bundled up and tucked in his stroller. The ever-present Marcus, sporting a black eye, followed close behind them. The diner was far from empty. Apparently, many of the good citizens of Elk Creek took breakfast before dawn. As had happened the day before, a hush fell over the establishment when Belle and the others came in. People paused with their coffee mugs halfway to their lips and stared.