The Rancher's Christmas Princess Page 12

  And beyond relief, she felt...curious. She wanted to know what Lucy might have said to him, which was odd. She’d never been the nosy type. And she was not a jealous person. But for a moment there, when Lucy grabbed his arm, she had most definitely felt the sting of jealousy.

  Really, what was happening to her?

  She almost smiled. The answer was so obvious.

  She liked him. She liked him and she wanted him. And already, in the space of six short days, she’d come to care for him. Greatly. She didn’t want any other woman to have him.

  What she wanted was her chance with him.

  Perhaps what she really needed to do was stop running from the urgings of her own heart. She needed to take her sister’s advice, to make a play for the tall rancher with the sky-blue eyes.

  True, it might not work out. But she would never know unless she tried.

  Preston was wheeling Ben in her direction. He never once glanced back at Lucy.

  But Belle did. A beefy-looking fellow in a big black hat had grabbed the little blonde by the arm and was pulling her toward the open doors back out to the street. The fellow didn’t look happy.

  Neither did Lucy. She shook her head and said something Belle couldn’t hear. The man just held on to her arm and kept walking, elbowing people aside until he had her through the doors.

  Preston reached her side. “That was embarrassing.”

  She moved in closer. Because she wanted to. Because she was through denying her attraction to him. “You didn’t look back.”

  He shook his head. “No percentage in that.” His voice was low, meant just for her. So was the warm light in his eyes.

  Still leaning close to him, she said, “You missed the big guy in the black hat. He took her arm and pulled her out of here.”

  Preston made a low sound in his throat. “That would have been her husband, Monty Polk.”

  “Ah. I thought as much.”

  He added, “Monty owns the local car dealership, Polk’s Prime Auto. Does real well for himself.”

  She wanted to ask what Lucy had said to him. And she would. Later. When they were alone.

  Ben chose that moment to wake up—with gusto. He startled and let out a cry of surprise followed by a long, loud wail.

  Preston said wryly, “I’m thinking it’s about time we headed on home.”

  * * *

  Back at the ranch house, Belle said she would change Ben and then get some food in him. Pres went out to check on the horses.

  The snow had started in again. After he finished in the stables, he paused in the yard, which was blazing bright with all the Christmas lights. He took off his hat and turned his face to the night sky. He did it just to feel the snowflakes melting on his cheeks the way he used to do when he was only a kid not that much older than Ben.

  It had been a great day. He’d never been much for town events as a rule. And he certainly hadn’t seen the appeal of wandering from booth to booth looking at handmade wool hats and frilly aprons and an endless array of Christmas decorations.

  But he had Ben now. And Belle was right. A kid needed to feel like part of the community....

  Belle. Just thinking her name caused a powerful yearning inside him.

  He lowered his head, feeling foolish. He really did need to remember the situation here. She only wanted to help.

  And then she would go.

  He put on his hat again. Keeping his head down, he returned to the house.

  Inside, he washed up quickly at the sink.

  Belle took Ben out of his high chair. “Go upstairs with Dada,” she said. “He will help you with your bath.”

  “Dada!” Ben went right into his arms. That was a fine moment to add to his growing collection of them.

  Pres carried his son upstairs, bathed him, changed him and read him the story about what trucks do at night. Ben was already nodding off when Pres put him in his crib and turned out the light.

  He left the door open the way Belle always did and followed his nose to the kitchen, where the women had whipped up a meal from what they could find in the fridge. All five of them sat down at the kitchen table to eat and then had coffee and Christmas cookies for dessert.

  Once dinner was cleared away, Marcus said good-night. And then Charlotte went across the yard with the old man. She’d said something about the two of them doing a little holiday decorating. But she was fooling nobody. It was just an excuse for them to have some time alone.

  Pres tried not to worry that his dad was getting in over his head. Twice before, in the years since they lost his mom, the old man had taken a shine to a female—a nurse who worked at the community hospital and also a widow from a nearby ranch. But those courtships had been brief and his dad was never much beyond lukewarm over either of those women.

  It was different with Charlotte. When his dad looked at Belle’s companion, his whole face seemed to light up from within. He was totally gone on her. Pres had a feeling it was going to be bad for him when she left. But then again, Charlotte seemed like a fine woman. And it was obvious she was as taken with the old man as he was with her.

  Why shouldn’t they steal a little happiness while they could? The two of them were old enough by now to know what they were doing. He hoped.

  Pres carried his coffee mug to the counter. Belle was loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, her sable hair falling forward, the overhead light bringing out the strands of red and gold in the greater mass of rich brown.

  Looking at Belle, he kind of got what the old man was probably going through with Charlotte. Some good things were mighty hard to resist. Belle wore jeans—high-dollar ones of the designer variety—and expensive boots and a pretty gold-colored sweater. Every time he looked at her he wanted to reach out and haul her into his hungry arms.

  “I’ll take that.” She plucked the mug from his hand and put it in the top rack, punched the start button and shut the door. The machine gave a low rumble as the cycle began.

  “It was a good day,” he said.

  “A wonderful day,” she agreed. And then, with a strange little smile, she turned and left him there.

  He watched her fine backside in those perfect-fitting jeans moving away from him and had to press his lips together to keep from calling her back. It was better that she went. If they hung around downstairs alone together...well, no.

  Not a good idea.

  He wandered into the family room. Like the rest of the main floor, it was all done up for the holidays, the mantel decked with greenery and lights. From the easy chair by the fire, he could glance over and see a little of the big tree in the front hall.

  He put another log on the fire, sat in the easy chair and closed his eyes. Just for a little. In a bit he would turn on the TV, see if he could rustle up a decent movie on pay-per-view.

  “Preston.” Belle’s voice. Soft. A little husky, a lot tempting. He had to be dreaming. “Preston...”

  He let his eyelids drift open. And then he blinked.

  Because she really was right there, standing in front of him, wearing a red robe and red satin slippers. The firelight warmed her smooth skin, brought out the fiery colors in her hair. She really was about the hottest-looking woman he’d ever known. It constantly took him off guard. All that hotness. And yet, she was very ladylike, too—which somehow made her even hotter.

  He sat up fast. “Uh. Belle. Yeah?”

  She laughed then, tossing her head a little, making the ache within him all the fiercer. “I thought we could spend a little time together. Just the two of us.”

  He needed to tell her that it wasn’t a good idea. But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “Sure. Have a seat.”

  She had the baby monitor with her. Setting it on a side table, she took the other easy chair across the fire from him, the silky material of her robe whispering softly, temptingly, as she sat and smoothed the fabric over her knees.

  He tried not stare at the curves of her breasts, outlined so perfectly by the clinging r
obe. Or to look lower, at the long sweep of thigh outlined by the thin robe, the trim ankles peeking out beneath the red hem...

  And why hadn’t he told her she really ought to get the hell out of there? His brain didn’t function properly when she was around—especially not when she was wearing a clingy red robe with very little on underneath it as far as he could tell.

  He had to remember that he was trying to stay away from her. As soon as she finished helping him make a life with Ben, she would return to her own world, to her busy life in her glamorous little country, to traveling the globe helping the disadvantaged get decent medical care. The last thing he needed was to fall for her and lose her. He’d been there and done that already.

  But no. Not true. He hadn’t been there. Not by a long shot. Belle was nothing like Lucy. Belle was so much finer, so much truer, so much...more. Losing her would be harder, would hit so much deeper than losing Lucy had. He needed to get up and say good-night and head for the stairs.

  But wouldn’t you know? He stayed right where he was.

  She asked, “So I’m guessing it went well tonight—when you put Ben to bed?”

  “It was good. Great. I’m thinking he’s getting used to me now, learning to trust me, to feel safe with me.”

  “I can see that. I’m...glad.” She turned and stared at the fire. A log snapped and sparks shot up the chimney. As he watched, she closed her eyes, those thick gold-tipped lashes sweeping down over the high, perfect cheeks. So beautiful. And so sad.

  “I’m sorry.” The simple words felt scraped out of him.

  She sat up straighter, turned her face to him again. Her gaze was steady and she made her mouth turn up in a resigned smile. “That I’m losing him?”

  “Yeah. I...haven’t been thinking a lot about how it must be for you.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “At first it was just the shock. And the impossibility of it, of having a child I didn’t even know about.”

  “I see that.” She arranged that amazing face into a serene expression. The serenity didn’t quite reach her eyes, however.

  He stumbled on. “But now that I’m getting to know him, now I’m starting to believe that I will get to be a real father to him, well, I can’t even wrap my mind around how hard it would be if I was the one who would have to walk away.”

  She smoothed her robe again, the fabric shifting, clinging. All at once, his mouth was dry and his Wranglers were way too tight. “It will all work out,” she said at last.

  He knew he had more to apologize for. “I shouldn’t have been so hard on you at the first.”

  “You couldn’t help it.”

  “You’ve been nothing but a hero, Belle, about all of this.”

  Her eyes had the shine of tears in them now. She put up a slender hand, palm out. “Could we speak of something else?”

  He gulped to clear the lump in his throat, reminded himself again that he ought to get up and go now. And then he said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want...”

  She laid her hands on the chair arms, and looked at him from the side, a playful sort of glance. “I saw Lucy whispering to you in the theater today.”

  He grunted and then grumbled, “Did I mention how embarrassing that was?”

  “You did, yes.”

  He knew what she was after. “You want to know what she said to me.”

  “I’m not all hero, Preston. Sometimes I want to know things that are none of my business. Just like everyone else.”

  He thought how he would love to give her...everything. Whatever she wanted. Her heart’s desire. Too bad that what he had to offer would never come close to what she had—to who she was—already. “Lucy said she misses me. She wants us to be friends again.” He let out a humorless laugh. “I couldn’t get clear of her fast enough.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “It’s all kind of pitiful. I thought my heart was broken when she dumped me for Monty. But now I realize that what was really hurting was only my pride that she chose the car salesman over me. And now, well, it’s pretty damn clear she did me a favor. Poor Monty wasn’t so lucky. Lucy’s turned out to be one of those women who always wants the man she doesn’t have.”

  “It’s strange the way people are.” She spoke in a thoughtful tone. “So many of us are never happy with the life we have. We’re just so certain we should have made other choices.”

  “Are you happy, Belle?” He asked the question before he stopped to think of what it implied. That she wasn’t happy. That there was something missing from her life.

  He knew damn well that wasn’t true.

  She answered, “Overall, yes. I’m happy. I have a wonderful family, meaningful work to do. I live in a beautiful place. I have good friends—even without Anne, whom I miss terribly.”

  He wasn’t surprised that she found her life satisfying. “No regrets, huh?”

  A tiny frown creased the smooth skin of her brow. “I have regrets, yes. That I didn’t make more time to be with my friend when she was alive. That I missed out on precious moments we might have spent together. That I...” She seemed to catch herself. “And look where I’m taking this. Into a sad place. I don’t want to be sad tonight.” Her gaze sought his and held it. He felt the connection powerfully. As though she had reached her soft hand across the distance between them and touched him. “Your house looks beautiful, Preston, all ready for Christmas.”

  “Because of you.” His voice was only a little bit rough.

  A ghost of a smile came and went on her lips. “We’re going to have to start wrapping some of the gifts we’ve bought.”

  “I can’t wait,” he said, and didn’t even roll his eyes.

  She seemed to be looking at his mouth. “It’s cozy, just you and me by the fire,” she said. He said nothing. At that moment, he didn’t really trust himself to speak. And then she suggested, “All we need is a little Christmas music....”

  “You’re serious,” he whispered, hardly daring to breathe. It was becoming very clear that she was after more from him tonight than a little friendly conversation.

  Why?

  Never mind. He didn’t care why. When you came right down to it, there was no way he would ever turn her down.

  No matter the cost in the end. No matter the eventual pain.

  She put her hand against the soft skin just below her throat, where that silky red robe came to together to form a tempting vee. “I am, Preston. I’m serious.”

  “Then I’ll play us some Christmas music.” He got up, his arousal increasing with the movement, with the pressure of his zipper against his groin. He knew she could see how easily she excited him. All she had to do was glance at the front of his Wranglers. Normally, that would have shamed him.

  But he didn’t care if she saw. Let her see. Maybe she’d get smart and leave him alone before this glorious insanity went any further.

  She remained in the chair.

  He got the remote off the low table by the sofa and turned on the big screen, pulling up the guide, scrolling to the music channels and stopping on the one that played holiday music all through December. Bing Crosby was singing “White Christmas,” a song that was old back when his mom and dad were dating.

  He put down the remote, returned to her and held down his hand. She took it. He did what he’d dreamed of doing way too often the past few nights. He pulled her up and into his waiting arms.

  They danced, slow and sweet, in front of the fire. Neither of them said a word. It was enough, more than he’d ever dared hope for, to have his arms around her, to smell her perfume and feel her silky hair against his chin.

  When the song ended, they stopped and swayed together, waiting for the next one to start. It was “The Christmas Song.” They began to dance again.

  He nuzzled her hair. Because it felt so good and smelled like fresh flowers and cinnamon and some tempting exotic fruit. And he asked, “So what was going on between you and Larry Seabuck today?”

  She looked up at him, th
e firelight dancing in her eyes. “Larry was explaining to me how the bake auction works.”

  He bent his head enough to brush a kiss against her lips. “Larry has a crush on you. A huge crush.”

  They were stopped again, swaying together in one place. Her body brushed against his, tempting him. Taunting him. She said, “Not to worry. I have no doubt that RaeNell is going to nip that problem in the bud.”

  He gathered her just a fraction closer. Nothing like this, not ever in his life: Belle swaying in his arms. “She’s a strong-minded woman, that RaeNell. And bossy. She’s almost as bossy as Betsy Colson.”

  She had that irresistible mouth of hers tipped up to him again. “But no one is as bossy as Betsy Colson.”

  “You got that right.” How could he resist kissing her some more? Why would he want to resist? It seemed there was a reason, but now, with her in his arms, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what that reason was. He lowered his mouth and settled his lips gently on hers.

  She sighed. Her lips parted. He deepened the kiss.

  It was a long kiss, lazy and easy and slow. Now and then he would lift his head and slant his mouth the other way and they would go on kissing. He never wanted to stop. It went on through “The Christmas Song” and the next classic song after that.

  When that next song was over, she whispered, “Take me upstairs, Preston.”

  As if he would argue. All those reasons he had for not getting too close to her? He couldn’t remember a single one of them now.

  He let her go long enough to bank the fire and turn off the music as she went to the side table and got the baby monitor.

  They met again by the fire and he kissed her once more, pulling her in to him real snug that time, lost in the taste of her, the feel of her beautiful body all wrapped in red satin under his hands, the scent of her swimming around him, sucking him down into something dark and sweet and too magnificent to bear.

  Finally, she pulled away enough to say it again. “Take me upstairs.”

  He stepped back, offered his hand.

  She took it.

  Together they turned for the arch to the front hall.