Harlequin American Romance October 2013 Bundle: Twins Under the Christmas Tree\Big Sky Christmas\Her Wyoming Hero\A Rancher's Christmas (24 page)

She wondered if she'd ever know the whole story behind Vince and Maddie's romance and friendship. But it wasn't her curiosity about their affair that was keeping her up.

No, it was Jackson. She'd loved the gentle way he'd handled her son. He'd been so protective—making sure Bobby didn't get near the stove and that the dogs were gentle and well behaved.

And every time he'd looked at her, she'd felt as if she was on an elevator that had suddenly dropped a few stories. His eyes were soulful and intense. She had trouble thinking if she looked too deeply into them.

And a few times tonight, she'd made that very mistake....

Finally Winnie fell asleep, but at three o'clock she woke from a dream. Brock had come into her room and sat on the side of her bed. It had felt absolutely real. She touched the mattress where he had sat in her dream and was almost surprised to find it cool.

“You've forgotten me, haven't you?” He'd looked so sad as he said this.

“Brock?” she'd asked, whether in her dream or real life, she didn't know. “Is it really you?”

She'd held out a hand—and he was gone.

Heart pounding, she reached for the bedside lamp and flooded the room with light.

She was alone, of course.

She sank back onto her pillow and covered her face.

The dream was a sign. She had to stop obsessing over Jackson. They'd already decided it wasn't right. It just wasn't.

* * *

A
T
THE
C
INNAMON
S
TICK
the next morning, something extraordinary happened. Watching the events unfold before her eyes, Winnie wondered if she wasn't having another dream.

Four years ago, the local librarian, Tabitha Snow, and Coffee Creek's postmaster, Burt Snow, both in their early forties, had separated, then divorced. Because neither one of them had wanted to move, and it was such a small town, they'd come up with a schedule so they wouldn't keep running into one another.

For instance, Tabitha was to buy her groceries from Molly's Market on Saturday, Tuesday and Thursday. Burt on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

They had a schedule for Winnie's café, too. Every morning, Tabitha popped in for her blueberry muffin and coffee before opening the library while Burt regularly showed up at noon for a sandwich and a bowl of soup.

For four years this system had been working just fine.

Until now.

It was quarter to ten. Tabitha, due to be at the library in fifteen minutes, was at the counter ordering her muffin and coffee. She was a warm, unpretentious woman, with an understated sense of style. The type, Winnie thought, who would rather read an extra book on the weekend than spend an hour at the hair salon getting her gray covered.

“Just a minute,” Tabitha said. “I know I have another dime in here somewhere.”

Winnie held out her hand, willing the other woman to hurry. Through the front window she could see Burt. The tall, ultraslender man had just left the post office and seemed to be heading in this direction.

Maybe he wanted to check out the progress on the new historical site? The roadside tourist attraction on the other side of the highway from the café was due for an official opening later this month. Olive Lambert and Straws Monahan headed the committee that had overseen the construction of a short walking loop with informational signposts detailing the history of the area, culminating in a bronze statue of a man on a horse that was sure to be the focus of many photographs.

But no. Burt wasn't crossing the highway. He was right outside the door now. And then the bells tinkled and he was inside on the big welcome mat. And it was no mistake that he'd arrived at the same time as his ex-wife. He was looking directly at Tabitha with a marked sense of purpose.

Tabitha still hadn't seen him. “Oh, there it is. Sorry. I keep meaning to clean out my purse but—”

Winnie had opened her eyes wide, hoping to convey to Tabitha that there was someone behind her, but Tabitha hadn't noticed. Her bill paid and her breakfast in hand, she turned.

And froze.

“Hi, Tabby.”

Every customer in the place went quiet, as did Dawn and Winnie.

“Hi, Burt.” While the postmaster had sounded confident and strong, Tabitha's voice was uncertain and weak.

Winnie knew this couldn't be easy for her. Once, before Brock died, Winnie had gone to the library to borrow some books on planning a wedding. Tabitha had been very helpful, and they'd become friends. Weeks later, when they'd been chatting together over a cup of coffee, Tabitha had confided that her marriage had ended because Burt was too cold.

Maybe he loved me a little,
Tabitha had told her.
But not enough.

“Four years today,” Burt said, his voice quieter, but not so low that Winnie couldn't hear.

Tabitha nodded.

“I was wondering if enough time had passed?” For the first time Burt looked and sounded unsure of himself. “We didn't make it as a couple. But could we be friends?”

Winnie wasn't sure how Tabitha would respond. But in the end, the librarian didn't even hesitate. “I'd like that.”

Burt smiled. “Me, too.”

“So...no more schedules?”

“If that's okay with you.”

“Oh, it is.”

Burt held the door open for her, then followed her outside. Through the window Winnie watched as they crossed the street together, chatting all the while.

Well.

She glanced at Dawn.

“Gosh,” the young blonde said. “That was kind of romantic, wasn't it?”

Winnie smiled, though she disagreed; she didn't want to burst Dawn's bubble. For her, Tabitha and Burt's decision had been about acceptance and moving on.

And it made her wonder if that was the real meaning behind her dream last night. She would never forget Brock. She'd loved him and dreamed of spending a lifetime together.

That could never happen now. And after a year and half, she'd thought she'd accepted that.

But maybe the dream was trying to tell her that a piece of her was still hanging on.

Chapter Eight

Olive stopped in at the café later that afternoon, fifteen minutes before Winnie was scheduled to pick up Bobby from the sitter's. The matriarch of the Lambert family always dressed as if she managed the county's biggest and most successful cattle ranch and horse-breeding business.

Today was no exception.

Olive was protected from the cold by a lush mink coat that had been expertly tailored to mold to her slim physique. She carried a Hermès handbag, and her left hand, when she rested it casually on the counter, sported a diamond that was four times the size of the one Brock had given Winnie.

She got right down to business.

“This Thursday is a big day for the Lambert family. I want to make sure that you and Bobby will be attending both the opening of the historic landmark and Thanksgiving dinner later at the ranch.”

Not so much an invitation, Winnie reflected, as a command to attend.
This must be what it felt like to be a member of the British royal family.

But one of the reasons she'd come back to Coffee Creek was so Bobby could be close to his father's side of the family. So she resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment and instead just nodded. “May I bring something for the dinner? A vegetable dish?”

“No need for that. Bonny's been baking and preparing casseroles all week.”

Hmm. Bonny might have accepted the offer, if she'd had the chance. “How about a couple pumpkin pies?”

“Fine. Bring the pies.”

Charming, Winnie thought. But she kept the smile on her face. Laurel would be proud of how agreeable she was being today.

“Would you like a coffee and a cinnamon bun for the road, Olive?”

“No, thank you. I just finished lunch. I would like to step into the kitchen and talk to—”

“No need.” Vince was at the kitchen door, his immaculate white apron a contrast to his grizzled face and gray hair that looked as if he'd chopped it using a kitchen knife. And no mirror. “I'm not coming.”

“But the historic landmark is commemorating the history of our town. Don't you care—”

“Never been a fan of history, Olive.”

“Well, then, Thanksgiving dinner, at least. Won't you come for that?”

Winnie could tell that Olive really wanted him to say yes. And that puzzled her. Vince wasn't family. So why did Olive care?

“Is Maddie invited?”

Olive's face turned white and she pressed her lips so tightly together that they practically disappeared.

After a few moments of silence, Vince said, “I didn't think so.”

Then he withdrew into his kitchen like a turtle to his shell.

The café seemed deadly quiet then.

“Sure you don't want that coffee?” Winnie offered brightly.

“Maybe I will,” Olive said. “But no cinnamon bun. I'm losing my taste for them.”

* * *

T
HE
M
ONTANA
WEATHER
cooperated on the morning of the historic-landmark opening, with sunny skies and above-freezing temperatures. Winnie was relieved, because she'd decided to bring Bobby and she didn't want him exposed to an hour of blistering cold.

The ceremony was scheduled for eleven o'clock that morning. Since it was Thanksgiving, all the local businesses, including her café, were closed. Winnie settled Bobby on his sled, covering him with a blanket and giving him two of his favorite cars—one for each hand. She hoped he would be reasonably quiet and well behaved for the short ceremony.

As she pulled her son along the snow-covered road, it seemed most everybody in Coffee Creek was assembled at the crossroads of Highway 81 and Main Street.

As soon as she approached the crowd, she spotted Jackson, in a sheepskin-lined coat and a dark brown hat. He was standing near Corb, who was holding Stephanie in his arms, with Laurel standing on his other side. Beyond them were Cassidy and Dan Farley, as well as B.J. and Savannah, who were just back from their honeymoon in Australia.

Now what was she supposed to do?

She and Jackson had agreed to avoid one another. But she couldn't ignore her best friend.

Laurel had been watching for her and just that moment spotted her. She waved her blue mitten in the air. “Winnie! We're over here!”

“Okay, Bobby. I guess we don't have a choice.” She pulled him toward his aunt and uncle and as soon as he spotted the familiar faces, Bobby dropped his trucks and scrambled out of his sled. But he didn't run to Corb, Laurel, or any of his other aunts and uncles. No, her son had to pick Jackson, of all people. He held out his arms and tried out his latest new word: “Up.”

Jackson shot her an uncertain look.

“Do you mind holding him for a bit?” she asked.

For an answer he scooped up her son and settled him on his shoulders. Bobby squealed in delight. He'd never been carried this way before and seemed to love the view.

“Gosh. I had no idea Jackson was so good with kids.” Laurel picked a grain of puffed rice from Winnie's lapel. “I love that coat on you. The red is fabulous with your dark hair and creamy skin. What's it like not to be cursed with freckles?”

Winnie gave her a hug.

“What's that for?”

“Being you.” She could always count on Laurel to make her smile.

“Good morning, citizens of Coffee Creek.” The mayor, Snuff McCormick, had just stepped up to the temporary wooden podium that had been constructed next to the gorgeous bronze statue of a cowboy astride an American Quarter Horse. The statue had been donated to the town over a year ago and had been the inspiration behind creating a historic landmark.

“We've gathered to open Montana's newest historic landmark commemorating the original Coffee Creek Ranch.” The burly man glanced down at his notes. “Here to explain a bit more about it is the cochair of the committee, a woman who needs no introduction in these parts, Olive Lambert.”

A smattering of applause and a few cheers greeted Olive as she stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you, Snuff.”

“And that's 'nuff from Snuff,” Laurel whispered.

Winnie, Corb and Jackson all chuckled.

“Behave,” Corb whispered to his wife. But he was still smiling as he said this.

“It must be hard for some of you younger folks to believe,” Olive said, diving right into her material, “but a hundred and fifty years ago all this land stretching from our town to the boundaries of Coffee Creek ranch as it exists today belonged to the Lambert family. Since then, parcels were sold off, including the land where our town currently sits. Despite all the sales, Coffee Creek Ranch is still the largest working ranch in Bitterroot County.”

There was more applause here, and Winnie couldn't help but be impressed.

It was quite a legacy. And her son was a part of it.

She glanced at Bobby. Her tow-headed, brown-eyed son was still happily ensconced on Jackson's shoulders, with a firm hold on the cowboy's thick, dark hair.

Did it hurt? Jackson's expression gave nothing away. He seemed to be giving Olive his full concentration. But then his gaze shifted and he was looking right at her. She held his eyes until she could feel the heat rising from her neck.

She tried to focus on the remainder of Olive's speech. She caught a few snippets. Something about original ranching artifacts dating back to the mid-eighties. Something else about attracting more visitors to their charming town.

She kept her gaze fixed on Olive, but all her other senses were honed in on Jackson.

The kiss had changed everything. It was like it had created an invisible connection between them.

Now every time he shuffled his feet, or shifted his gaze, she knew.

When Olive began thanking the members of the Historical Site Committee who had worked so hard to make this dream a reality, Winnie sensed the speech was ending.

She clapped along with the others. And then Straws Monahan, with his long lanky form, was stepping up to the microphone.

Cassidy whispered in Winnie's ear, “That's my boss. He's such a nice man.”

“I know him,” Winnie replied. “He's one of my best customers.”

“If not for Straws,” B.J. commented, “half of Coffee Creek would be unemployed.”

Besides providing full-service boarding for those who could afford it, the equestrian center had an eighty-thousand-square-foot indoor arena and an outdoor stadium with seating for twenty thousand people. These were used for all sorts of rodeo, riding and equestrian clinics.

Standing up on stage, Straws beamed as he thanked Olive for her tireless drive and vision. When the crowd began applauding, he clapped, too, smiling at Olive with what seemed to be genuine affection.

“Do you see the way he's looking at my mother?” Cassidy was dressed as usual in cowboy boots and jeans. A heavy suede coat protected her from the chill. She leaned her blond head between Laurel and Winnie. “Could it be he actually
likes
her?”

Corb overheard the comment. “Could be. They've both been widowed for quite a few years.”

“And Straws's kids don't come home often. I heard there was some sort of fight after their mother died,” Cassidy added.

B.J. frowned. “Stop all your whispering. That's our mother, and this is her big moment.”

Chastened, Cassidy allowed that her brother had a point. “Let's go congratulate her.”

En masse, the family worked their way through the dispersing crowd toward the stage. Somehow Jackson ended up beside Winnie, and he handed Bobby into her arms.

“Thanks for taking care of him during the ceremony.” If her son hadn't been on Jackson's shoulders, Winnie was sure he would have been a bundle of activity and possibly disruptive.

“No problem. My hair probably needed a good thinning, anyway.” He rubbed the top of his head and Winnie thought he was joking until she saw that her son still clutched a few strands of dark hair.

“Oh, my Lord, Bobby.” She pried open his fingers and brushed away the hairs. Glancing up, she felt mortified. “I'm so sorry...”

But Jackson was laughing.

And then, suddenly, he wasn't.

Olive had moved between them, her eyes bright and her smile triumphant. “Thank you for coming, Jackson.” She actually hugged him, something Winnie had never seen her do to her foster son before.

Then she moved to Winnie and gave her a smile that was warmer and more genuine than anything Winnie had seen before, either. “I'm so glad you brought Bobby. I know he's young. But this is his heritage, too.”

“Congratulations, Olive.” Winnie returned the petite woman's hug. “What an exciting day.”

Over the shorter woman's head, she could see Jackson withdraw. The laughter that had transformed his face only seconds ago was gone.

* * *

A
FTER
THE
OPENING
,
Winnie stopped at home to feed Bobby lunch. While he was napping, she decorated the pies she'd baked last night with pastry cutouts of autumn leaves. Then she whipped some cream to use as topping, adding a tablespoon of powdered sugar, a dollop of vanilla and a sprinkling of cinnamon.

She changed into a dress that she wore with leggings and boots and used her straightening iron to control her crazy curls.

When Bobby woke up, she gave him a drink, then dressed him in one of the outfits from his grandmother. He looked so adorable in the plaid shirt and corduroy overalls that she had to take a few pictures before loading him and the pies into her little white SUV.

Coffee Creek Ranch had been decked out for Thanksgiving. Big fat pumpkins and chrysanthemums of gold, orange and dark red were arranged attractively on the front porch.

And the aromas! Even Bobby noticed. As they approached the main door—he'd insisted on walking instead of being carried, and his hand was tucked inside hers—he stopped and sniffed the air.

“Mmm.” He looked up at his mother and smiled.

Winnie laughed. It seemed even when they were little, food was the way to a man's heart.

B.J. had the door open for them before they'd finished climbing the porch stairs. “Let me take that for you.” He took the insulated bag with the pies and the diaper bag hanging from her other shoulder.

“Thanks, B.J.”

The oldest son was also the tallest of the Lambert siblings, with dark hair, not blond, and eyes that were more gray than green.

“How was Australia?” Winnie asked. He and Savannah had returned only a day ago and she hadn't had a chance to ask either of them about their honeymoon at the opening.

“Great. We scuba dived in the ocean, rented motorbikes to cruise the shoreline and generally had a terrific adventure.” He started to whisk the insulated carry case into the house.

“Careful! Those are the pumpkin pies.”

B.J. raised his eyebrows and smacked his lips. “Thanks for the intel. I'll be taking these out to the—”

“Kitchen.” His sister came up from behind and smacked his arm. “We all adore pumpkin pie, B.J., so you better do as you're told.” Cassidy held out her arms to Bobby. “Remember Auntie Cassie? Come here, honey.”

Bobby was a gregarious toddler but he'd only met Cassidy a few times, so Winnie expected him to hold back. But no sooner had Cassidy issued her invitation than, just like that, Winnie's hand was dropped and her son toddled toward his aunt.

Cassidy scooped him up and kissed his cheek.

B.J. gave his nephew a kiss, too. Then glared at his sister. “Since when do
you
order
me
around?”

Cassidy put her hands on her hips. “I've been taking lessons from your new wife. She doesn't even get her sentence out before you're jumping to do her bidding.”

“Not true.” B.J. pulled on his sister's ponytail as he hurried past her, presumably,
hopefully,
to deliver the pies to the kitchen.