The Rancher's Christmas Princess Read online

  But then she thought of Ben, of the real reason she was here, in this house, with this man. There was much in the world beyond her own selfish pleasure. And sometimes it was simply wiser to maintain a certain pretense of decorum. For now, at least, it was probably smarter to keep their new relationship private, just between the two of them.

  She said, “I should probably go down the hall to my own bed anyway.”

  He pulled on his white T-shirt. And then, for several sweet, endless seconds, he just stood there gazing at her. “You’re something special. I still can’t believe it, that you’re here. In this room. With me.” He whispered the words.

  She wanted to leap from the bed and throw herself into his arms again. But there would time for that.

  Tonight. The word whispered through her, full of promise. Once Ben was in bed and Marcus had retreated to his room off the kitchen and Charlotte came up with yet another excuse to visit Silas across the yard, it would be just the two of them. They could be together. In every way.

  He was on the move again, putting on his heavy shirt, buttoning it up. She sat, all warm and cozy under the covers, and watched him as he buckled his belt, dropped to the chair by the window and pulled on his socks and his boots.

  “Breakfast,” she commanded, as he turned for the door. “Seven-thirty. Be there.” Some days he didn’t come in until after nine or ten and some days he and Silas took food with them and didn’t return until afternoon.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He sent her one last lovely, intimate glance and then he was gone.

  * * *

  Pres came in for breakfast as he’d promised Belle he would. He washed up fast and then joined the rest of them at the kitchen table, taking the empty seat between Belle’s chair and Ben’s high chair.

  “Good morning.” He gave Belle a grin he hoped didn’t reveal too much.

  “Good morning.” Her answering smile was merely cordial. The look in her eyes, however, made him want to leap up and haul her high against his chest and carry her up the stairs and straight to his bed again.

  Ben made a gurgly sound. “Hi, Dada!”

  And that reminded him to stop staring at her like he wanted to gobble her whole, to turn to his son. “Hi, Ben. How are you this morning?”

  Ben answered him in a long string of enthusiastic nonsense syllables, after which he picked up a handful of dry cereal, stuffed it in his mouth and chewed.

  Pres said, “Good to hear it, son,” as Charlotte appeared at his shoulder with the coffeepot. “Thank you,” he told her. She filled his mug, then went around the table topping off cups.

  When she sat back down, they started passing the bowls of scrambled eggs and sausage, the platters of flapjacks, the butter and the warmed maple syrup. It was their usual Sunday breakfast.

  “Silas,” said Charlotte in an admiring tone, “you weren’t joking. You really can cook.”

  The old man looked proud as a turkey gobbler in a hen pen. “A man ought to be able to iron his own shirts, fry up a mess of sausage and scramble a dozen eggs at the very least, I always say.”

  Marcus, silent as usual, looked from Charlotte to Silas, eyes narrowed. And then he glanced at Belle, after which he looked straight at Pres.

  Pres got the picture. The bodyguard knew everything. He knew about Charlotte and Silas. And he knew where Her Highness Arabella had spent most of last night.

  Did Belle know that Marcus knew? Would it matter to her? After all, it was the bodyguard’s job to keep her safe. And to keep her secrets.

  Pres didn’t like it. He didn’t understand it—the kind of life where you needed a professional soldier protecting you constantly. It was just another example of the vast difference between her world and his, more proof that he was living in a fantasy with her. And another indication that there was no way this amazing thing between them could ever go anywhere.

  And as long as he kept that in mind, well, there was no problem, right? He wouldn’t let himself go getting ideas. He would enjoy this time with her.

  And not start expecting there to be more.

  Beside him, Belle spoke. “We should keep the time in mind. We don’t want to be late for nine o’clock Mass. I was thinking we could take two vehicles as usual. Preston can drive Ben and me. Silas and Charlotte, you can ride with Marcus.”

  “What the hell?” groused the old man at full volume. “Leave me out of it. I’m not a churchgoing man. I haven’t set foot in a damn church since Pres’s mother passed.”

  Ben, in his high chair, stared wide-eyed. “Pawpaw.” He put his little index finger against his lips. “Shh.”

  Charlotte said quietly, “Silas, language. The child...”

  The old man sputtered some more, but he did tone it down a tad. “I’m just saying I ain’t going, that’s all.”

  Charlotte clucked her tongue. “Of course you are.”

  “No, Shar, I’m not.”

  Shar. He was calling her Shar now? Pres couldn’t resist sliding a glance at Belle to see her reaction. She was playing it downright demure, carefully slicing a bite of sausage, bringing it delicately to her lips, chewing with slow, measured care.

  “As I recall,” Charlotte reminded his father in a fond, indulgent tone, “just yesterday afternoon you stood right there on Main Street and told that lovely Deluca couple that you would be at Sunday Mass.”

  The old man made a huffing noise. “Pres told them. I didn’t say a thing. People can make up their minds to whatever they want as far as I’m concerned. That doesn’t mean I have to do what they decide is good for me.”

  “But it isn’t for you, specifically,” Charlotte said gently. And she tipped her head in Ben’s direction. “Silas,” she added. “Please.” That was all. Just the old man’s name. Softly. With that ladylike “please” right after it.

  His father huffed and grunted and knocked back a big slug of coffee. He set the cup down harder than he needed to. “All right. Okay. Sunday Mass. Why not?”

  * * *

  When they reached the pretty white Church of the Immaculate Conception, Pres and Belle took Ben to the nursery provided for the youngest children. They kissed Ben goodbye and told him they would be back soon. He waved at them, opening and closing his hand in their direction the way he liked to do, but he didn’t make any fuss at all. So they left him there with two pretty teenagers, both of whom seemed affectionate and attentive with the kids they would be looking after.

  Mass was short. Nobody in their group took communion. Did they all have unconfessed sins, then? Pres had a pretty good idea of what his father’s and Charlotte’s sins might be. And he knew his own and Belle’s intimately. He had no idea what sins Marcus needed forgiving for—if any. Strange, to think of the bodyguard that way, as someone with baggage like everyone else.

  A man. A sinner.

  Marcus seemed much too self-contained and disciplined to have any sins to account for.

  Pres spotted Lucy and Monty a few rows in front of them. He was careful not to waste any time looking at them. The last thing he needed was for Lucy to try and catch his eye—let alone for Monty to see her doing it.

  Belle sat beside him. He couldn’t keep from stealing frequent glances at her. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And since last night, to him, she seemed even more beautiful than ever—if it was possible for her to get any better looking than she’d been before. He loved the fine, pure line of her profile, the way her hair caught the light, reflecting copper glints in the shaft of sun coming in the stained-glass window at the end of their pew.

  Once or twice, she turned and saw him staring. She didn’t seem bothered by his gaping at her like a lovesick puppy. Each time she caught him looking, she gave him a secret, tender smile, a smile meant just for him. A smile that only made him want to stare at her some more.

  He kept reminding himself to get a grip. And he would. For a few minutes, he would pay attention to the droning of the priest. And then he would find himself turning her way again, getting hypnotized b
y the perfect curve her chin, the smooth line of her throat. He would be dazzled by the sight of the sun on her hair.

  After the service, the Delucas asked them to come on over to the Sweet Stop for lunch. Pres was thinking he ought to get back. He had a sick mare he wanted to look in on.

  But all of a sudden the old man was Mr. Sociable. “A fine suggestion, John. Don’t you think so, Shar? Lunch sounds mighty fine about now. After a generous helping of religion, I like a nice big burger and a jumbo order of fries at least as much as the next man.” He accepted the invitation for the rest of them.

  And why not? Pres found himself thinking.

  A man needed to eat.

  They caravanned over to the diner, which was packed with the after-church crowd. It took an hour to get a table.

  They didn’t get back to the ranch until after three. Ben was fast asleep in his car seat by then.

  When he stopped the quad cab and turned off the engine, Belle asked, “Shall I take him in?”

  He indulged himself and looked at her again. She’d made him crazy all day long with wanting to touch her, to kiss her, to be free to wrap his arm around her and have everyone in town know that she was with him.

  What would that be like, to have Belle at his side every day for the rest of his life? To sleep beside her in his bed every night? There was a dream worth dying for.

  A dream the likes of him was never going to make into reality.

  He knew that, he reminded himself for the thousandth time. He accepted that.

  He leaned close to her across the console between their seats, drawn as if by a magnet. He had treated windows in the cab, so it wasn’t all that easy to see them in there. Plus, the others were already filing into the house, not even looking their way. “God, you’re so beautiful....”

  She gave him that smile again, that little secret one that made him want to grab her close and never let her go. “Oh, Preston...”

  He loved the way she said his name, making it sound both formal and intimate at the same time. Because he couldn’t stop himself, he leaned in even closer and captured her mouth. He tasted her soft lips, felt her sweet breath across his skin.

  With great effort, he made himself pull away and answer her original question. “No. It’s all right. I’ll get him.”

  He got out of the truck. The car seat was on the driver’s side, so Pres opened that door and leaned in to unhook the sleeping kid from the seat.

  Ben woke with a start. He blinked furiously and then let out an ear-flaying shriek. “Mama! Mama...” He looked all around him, frantic. “Mama, Mama!”

  Stunned, Pres just stood there, holding the hook end of the seat restraint, as Ben waved his arms and screamed some more. “No, Dada. Mama. Mama....”

  Belle touched his shoulder. “Here. Let me...” She sounded unruffled. Not shocked in the least by Ben’s sudden outburst.

  Pres dropped the restraint belt. He couldn’t jump aside fast enough. “All right. Yeah. Please...”

  Ben kept screaming, calling for Anne as Belle calmly eased the restraint over his head and pulled him from the seat. She hugged him close, kissed his cheek and murmured gentle reassurances, even though he kept flailing and struggling and crying for his mama. Pres would have sold his soul about then, to have the power to bring Anne Benton back, to give the boy what he wanted so desperately.

  But Anne was never coming back.

  And when Belle left, if this happened, he was damn well going to have to be ready to step up and deal. “Here, let me take him.”

  She frowned over Ben’s squirming body at him.

  He spoke again, levelly, “It’s okay. Let me...”

  “No, no, no, Dada. No, Belle. Mama, Mama!” Ben screamed even louder as Belle passed him to Pres. “No, Dada, no!”

  “Tell him it’s all right...” She held his eyes, spoke in an even tone.

  Pres got to work on that. “Shh, Ben. Ben, it’s okay. Mama’s not here. Mama can’t come, but you’re safe. You’re all right. We...love you.” Damn. Was that the first time he’d said that? He said it again. “We love you so much. You’re safe. It’s okay....”

  Ben wasn’t convinced. He went on wailing, flailing his fists, shaking his head. Snot flew and tears streamed down his hot, flushed cheeks. Pres just held on, as gently as he could, and went on babbling about how it was okay and how Ben was safe.

  Slowly, the small body relaxed and the cries grew less frantic. In the end, with a watery hiccup and a sad little sigh, Ben leaned his head on Pres’s shoulder. “Dada,” he said, the word a sort of surrender. His body still quivered with the aftershocks of his outburst. Pres cradled him closer, pressed his lips against his sweaty temple, rubbed his back—and followed Belle into the house.

  She hung her heavy coat on the hall tree and then led the way upstairs. By the time they got to Ben’s room, the kid was conked out, fast asleep.

  “Naptime,” Belle whispered. She left the room.

  Pres knew what to do. He carried the limp little body to the changing table and got him out of his coat and winter clothes. Belle returned with a warm, damp cloth. She handed it over and he gently, with great care, washed Ben’s tear-stained face.

  His diaper had a load in it. Pres made short work of cleaning it up and putting on a fresh one. He snapped him into a footed, long-sleeved baby union suit—what Belle called a onesie.

  When he put him in the crib and covered him with a blanket, Ben didn’t even open his eyes. Pres stood over him, watching him, ready to scoop him up and hold him close if he woke up and started in screaming again.

  But nothing happened. The hot flush had left his innocent cheeks. He slept the deep sleep of the safe and the blameless.

  Belle turned on the monitor base and grabbed the receiver. They went out to the hall, where he caught her free hand and pulled her into his room.

  He took her in there and shut the door, then shucked off his winter coat and his Sunday jacket. He tossed them both across a chair. “What was that?” He sank to another chair by the window. “Is he all right? Is he...” He hardly knew what to ask her, didn’t know where to begin.

  She remained at the door, her back against it, leaning on it, as though Ben’s fit of crying had worn her out, too. “He’s as all right as can be expected, given that he lost his mother sixteen days ago.”

  “Sixteen days...” It was no time at all. He should have remembered that. It was so easy to forget, because he’d hardly known Anne, hadn’t seen her in two and a half years. Sometimes it was hard to keep in mind how recently she’d been lost to those who loved her.

  Belle lifted her proud chin. “Already, he’s healing. Forgetting her. You can see that in the way he behaves most of the time now. Sunny-natured, happy, curious and sweet.”

  “It hurts you.” He could see it in her eyes, in the trembling of her mouth as she spoke of her friend. “That Anne is fading from his memory.”

  She gave a brave little shrug. “It’s part of who we are, as a species, to learn to forget. It’s survival. When we’re small, we’re so vulnerable. All we know then is to bond with the ones who care for us. Ben’s...mechanism for memory isn’t really formed yet. He’s letting her go as he’s meant to do, and bonding with you. With Silas. As he’s already bonded with Charlotte and me. But now and then, something triggers him. The last few times, it’s been when he suddenly woke from a sound sleep. He wakes up and he...seems to remember her, to know that she’s not there.”

  “You think maybe he’s been dreaming about her?”

  “Perhaps. That makes sense. But whatever triggers him, he’s flung back to needing his mother, the one he knew first. And then he cries for her to come and comfort him. Anne...” Her voice caught. She coughed to clear her throat. “Anne was a fine mother, Preston.”

  He raked his fingers back through his hair. “I have no doubt.” His voice sounded raggedy to his own ears, rough with all the things he didn’t exactly know how to say.

  “I think that was the worst thing of all f
or her, about dying so young, to have to leave Ben behind.” She shut her eyes, drew in a breath and then finally looked at him again. “I suppose that’s every mother’s worst nightmare, to go away forever and leave a helpless child behind.”

  He rose. “And this...this bonding thing that babies do. That’s one of the reasons you got here so fast, brought my son to me not even a week after his mother was in the ground. So he wouldn’t have to get too...attached to you and then lose you, too.”

  She swallowed, hard. “Yes,” she said on a bare breath’s worth of sound.

  “You brought him right quick, even though no one would have faulted you if you had waited a little, kept him to yourself a while longer.”

  “I would have faulted me. It wouldn’t have been right.”

  He had no words then. Sometimes words were just a bunch of pointless noise anyway. He ate up the floor between them in four long strides. She watched him come to her, those eyes huge and haunted. He reached for her and she fell against him with a soft, surrendering sigh, her slim arms sliding around his waist.

  And he held her, wanting somehow to soak up all her hurts into his own flesh, to take them away from her, into himself.

  A careful tap on the door behind her had them pulling apart. Belle stepped to the side, smoothing her hair and straightening the front of her suit jacket.

  He opened the door enough to stick his head through. “Yeah?”

  Charlotte gave him a prim little smile. “We were worried about Ben....”

  It began to seem a little ridiculous, peering at her through the crack in the door. She had to have figured out that Belle was in the room with him. He pulled the door wide, so the women could see each other and he said, “We were just talking about Ben.”

  “Ah.” Charlotte’s expression was neutral, those prominent eyes giving nothing away. “Is he all right, then?”

  Belle was nodding. “He’s fine now.” She gestured across the hall at Ben’s open bedroom door. “As you can see, he’s fast asleep.”

  “Good. I just thought I ought to come up and...” Charlotte waved her hand in a gesture that said she couldn’t figure out how to go on.