Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (30 page)

“That would be preferable.” Her lips twitched in near laughter. “I plan on handing them out as gifts...to my aunt, Gavin and Haley, the rest of the Fosters and a few of my favorite regulars at the Beanery. Oh, and I was going to send several dozen to you and your family.”

“You were, huh? That's sweet. Everyone will love them, I'm sure.” A true enough statement, without doubt, but he didn't have the heart to confess that his mother and grandmother had already completed their own baking blitz. Cookies were not in scarce supply. “Well, here's the thing. I'll help if you want, but I can't promise anything more than presentable results.”

Barely, if that. He'd been excused from cookie-frosting duty a couple of decades ago, with a great amount of relief on his mother's and grandmother's parts.

“I want your help,” she said simply. “It will seem more festive with the two of us, and I'm sure you're exaggerating your shortcomings. I mean, who can't frost cookies?”

Ha. If she only knew. “Then sure, Anna. Whatever you need.”

“I'm so glad you said that.” Suddenly, her smile took on a definite devilish gleam. “As I have a few other ideas that fit perfectly into that specialty of yours.”

“Ah...what specialty would that be?”

“Why, fulfilling my needs, of course,” she said lightly, darting her gaze away from his. And damn if he didn't want to see her eyes, to ascertain if only amusement existed or if something else lurked. Heat or desire or longing or, preferably, an intoxicating blend of all three. “Unfortunately, we'll have to wait and see if there's any frosting left over.”

“Wait a sec,” he said, trying to catch up. “Frosting? What does that have to do with—” Oh. She couldn't mean... Could she?

“Yes, frosting. Might get a bit messy, though.” Now she glanced his way, and a hot kick of lust balled in his stomach. Hard and fast and unrelenting. She had
that
look. The same look she had the day he'd found her in his bed. “Tell me, do you mind a little mess, Logan?”

Her innuendo was clear enough, even if he didn't know the specifics. And he'd be a fool—an absolute fool—to put up any objections. Not that he had any. “Nope, sweetheart. Can't say that I do.” Though he was interested in discovering precisely what she had in mind. “That being said, I am curious. What are you thinking we'll do with any leftover frosting?”

“Oh, I'd hate to disappoint you by telling you now,” she said with a cute little wink. “Look around the kitchen. I baked dozens and dozens of cookies. Decorating all of them will require a ton of frosting, and I'm out of confectioner's sugar, so I can't make more. We might use every drop of frosting I have...and even if we don't, why ruin the surprise?”

Yeah, well, surprises were all well and good in the proper scheme of things, but when it came time to frost those cookies, Logan used his allotment sparingly. Very,
very
sparingly. So yes, his diligence assured that they had plenty left over, and yes, Anna was right.

They certainly did make quite the mess.

Chapter Eight

C
losing her eyes, Anna tipped her face to the gently falling snow and, as she'd done as a child, stuck out her tongue to catch a mouthful of icy snowflakes. It was Christmas Eve morning, and she and Logan had been at the Bur Oak Ranch—named, she imagined, for the numerous bur oak trees dotting the land—since late yesterday afternoon.

They'd driven onto the property just before sunset, and she'd glimpsed an old-fashioned wooden swing on the sprawling red-shingled house's wraparound porch. And she had the thought that it would be nice to sit and swing and think about nothing at all.

Waking up in an empty bed with no sign of where Logan might have gone, and finding the main floor empty—save for a trio of snoring border collies stretched in front of the fireplace—had inspired her to take advantage of the peace and slip outside.

She was still surprised she was even here, in the place Logan called home. Leaving her aunt alone for the holidays hadn't felt right. But Lola had insisted, stating that Anna shouldn't put off meeting Logan's family any longer, and had sworn she'd be just fine. After eliciting a promise that they'd celebrate Christmas upon her return, Anna finally relented.

So. Here she was, sitting in the cold morning air, catching snowflakes on her tongue and feeling as if she'd somehow wandered into a mystical winter wonderland.

Yesterday, between her nervous anticipation at meeting Logan's family and her near-crippling exhaustion, she hadn't really looked at the details of the ranch. Now, after a good night's sleep and without the anxiety-inducing presence of Logan's mother, grandmother or stern grandfather, she was able to relax enough to take in her surroundings.

A group of buildings—maybe fifty to sixty feet away—faced the main residence in a half circle, and behind them stood several more structures. Most were, she assumed, housing for the cattle, horses and the herding dogs that weren't lucky enough to sleep in front of a roaring fire. The other structures were likely storage for machinery, tools, equipment, feed and...well, whatever else a ranch required to function. Then directly next to the rear group of buildings were medium to large plots of land squared in by fences, resembling a neat if oversize checkerboard.

In the opposite direction existed a variety of snow-covered trees—pine, bur oak and others she didn't recognize—and a long, winding creek that bent and wiggled its form around the land's natural slopes and ridges, before cutting a path between a thick cluster of pines and disappearing from view. And extending along the other side of the family house was a seemingly endless expanse of wide-open land that, at the moment, was coated in a heavy layer of snow.

Yet, as much as Anna
could
see, she knew it was only a small slice of the entire pie and there was more wide-open land, more creeks and buildings and neat, fenced-in squares well outside her vantage point. In addition to the bunkhouses, there were a handful of residences—as in, actual, complete houses—where the rest of Logan's ranch-working family lived.

Then, beyond that, there was even
more
.

On their way in yesterday, Logan had explained that the ranch encompassed just over four thousand acres of mostly contiguous deeded land, and that he was in the process of finalizing a crop share lease for the section of unconnected property his family owned, which came in just shy of five hundred acres. He'd also told her that in addition to raising and selling cattle, they grew hay and corn.

So yes, it was a lot to absorb. Even for a woman born and raised in Colorado, a state that was home to many a ranch, and then went on to spend several years in the everything-here-is-big state of Texas. But she did not grow up on a ranch, and in Austin, she'd lived and worked and spent almost all of her free time in the city's art, music and culinary district.

She wished she better understood Logan's role here, though, and the innate connection he seemed to have with this land. Of course, in order for that to happen, he'd have to open up and let her into his head. They were easier with one another again, due in no small part to their physical relationship. So maybe, by the end of their visit, he'd start talking more.

As well, she was interested in his childhood, in the type of boy he'd been before growing into the man she knew. In her mind's eye, Anna pictured a boy version of Logan tossing a ball with his granddad, playing hide-and-seek with his cousins and building snowmen with his mom.

Laughter gathered in Anna's chest, which she released with a soft snort. Yeah, he probably had done all of those things, but based on Logan's laser-focus method of living and his mule-headed character, she guessed he also caused his mother, grandmother and granddad more than his fair share of grief. Not to mention plenty of sleepless nights for those same adults.

Standing since the coldness of the swing had, by now, soaked clear through, she shielded the glare of the morning sun with her hand and stared up to the second floor of the house, where the lower half of the roof jutted out at a narrow and precarious angle right in front of Logan's bedroom. And she couldn't stop herself from wondering now about the teenage Logan.

Had he ever crawled out of his window, onto that sloping ledge, and jumped straight to the ground with the certainty that no harm would come to pass, in an effort to meet a group of his buddies or even a girl he was soft on? She thought he probably had, at least once.

It was something she would have done, but not for those purposes. Anytime Anna had sneaked out of her house, her goal had been the simple one of escape. Solitude. Oh, she never went farther than the back of their yard, where she'd sit and look at the stars...and talk to her mom. In whispers, usually with tears, her yearning for Ruby so deep and strong she literally ached with the loss.

Sometimes, though, she'd be angry. So angry with her mom for dying, for leaving her and her sisters alone to deal with the fallout, with the unapproachable and unloving man their father had become, that she'd say awful, awful things into the night air.

After the anger, after the horrible words, her little girl's heart would break all over again, and she'd return to her whispers and her tears. Her incredible feeling of loss.

Anna sighed and pushed the memories down deep, where they belonged. Those days were far behind her, thank goodness, and she was no longer that sad, lost little girl. Hadn't been for years. But it was a heavy, somber thought. Too heavy and too somber for Christmas Eve, especially when surrounded by such beauty, serenity...and yes, Logan's word,
reverence
.

Logan.
She hadn't yet come to terms with the startling realization that she was already halfway through the process of falling in love.
Yeah, right.
Whom did she think she was fooling? She'd zipped right on by the halfway mark and was now closing in on three-quarters.

Didn't matter, she supposed, how far gone she was or how far she had yet to go. The facts were the facts, and while she had zero plans of wearing her heart on her sleeve, she also refused to tuck away her feelings as if they were shameful. They weren't.

And she wouldn't waste a second of their time together by playing a game of pretend. If she felt like laughing, she'd go ahead and laugh. If she felt like crying, she'd cry until she ran out of tears. And if she wanted to smear buttercream frosting on various parts of Logan's rock-hard body, and he was willing to let her do so...well, then why wouldn't she?

She couldn't deny that pain might lurk in the distance, waiting to gobble her whole, but if fortune were to look down upon her kindly, she might just find enormous joy at the other end. When faced with those two possibilities, joy won out. Every time.

As if in total agreement with this perspective, a resounding series of lightning-fast kicks vibrated inside Anna's belly. And she laughed—because that was what she wanted to do—good and loud. “Okay, my little angel,” she murmured, “let's go find some breakfast.”

Logan was probably searching for her by now, and she guessed she'd find Carla and Rosalie—Logan's slight, frail-looking grandmother—in the kitchen. While both women had greeted her with restraint, they had also kindly welcomed her into their home. As the evening wore on, the women continued to eye her in unabashed curiosity but kept their questions to themselves. And Zeke, Logan's grandfather, hadn't said much of anything.

It made for an awkward evening, but Anna understood. She was, after all, a newcomer. And since Logan had told his family the entire truth regarding their marriage, they knew she was a temporary newcomer, at that. So, she'd respected the distance and chose to ignore the quiet curiosity. But maybe today, supposing everyone loosened their reserve some, she'd ask Carla or Rosalie about Logan's childhood: antics he pulled, funny things he said, the name of the first girl he was ever sweet on. Anything and everything they were willing to share, she wanted to hear.

Maybe they'd even pull out their photo albums. She'd love to see a baby picture of Logan so she'd know if their daughter resembled him when she was born.

Walking slowly, Anna rounded the curving corner of the porch and was heading toward the back door when Logan stepped outside. His eyes found hers and he smiled.

“There you are,” he said, leaning his tall, strong, oh-so-masculine form against the side of the house. “I woke up early and went to get a little work done before the day started, and when I went in search of you, found that you had escaped. I...well, I was worried.”

“Nothing to worry about, as you can see.” She wasn't surprised to hear he'd decided to work on Christmas Eve. She also wasn't surprised that he'd worried about her. Both traits fit. “I wanted some time alone, is all, to scope out the area and relax. I...I'm glad I'm here, Logan.”

“I'm glad you're here, too, Anna.”

A simple enough statement, but it wound around Anna's heart. And then, also because she wanted to, she stood on her tiptoes and laid a soft kiss on his scratchy cheek. “You look quite handsome today, Mr. Daugherty,” she said. “And very much like a cowboy.”

Complete, even, with a dark brown, semicrushed-at-the-brim cowboy hat.

“Well, darlin',” he said in an affected drawl and with a slight tip of his hat, “when you're in Wyoming you gotta dress the part. And might I say you're looking quite spiffy yourself?”

He was joking, naturally, but that didn't stop the warm glow of pleasure from drenching her cheeks or drizzling down the back of her neck. Nor did it stomp out the wish—the hope—that he found her attractive. Sexy and beautiful would be nice, but she'd settle for pretty.

“You may,” she teased right back. “So long as you use a term different from
spiffy
.”

“Hmm. How about—” he gave her a protracted, intense look “—darlin', you're as lovely as a dewdrop glistening in the light of the morning sun.” He winked. “Better than spiffy?”

“Perhaps a little over the top,” she said, “but yes, much better.”

“I aim to please.” Suddenly, his cowboy bravado was gone, replaced by a tender sort of sweetness. “Are you too cold to sit out here with me for a minute? I have something I want to give you. And I'd rather do so in privacy.”

Would this man ever stop surprising her? “Oh, I think I can manage a few more minutes before I turn into an ice cube.”

“Don't worry,” he said, leading her toward the swing, “I'll keep you warm. Promise.”

Simple words, again, but they lit a fire in her belly and filled her heart with contentment. Yes, she was—at the very least—three-quarters gone. “I don't believe you've ever had any difficulty in that department,” she said as they sat on the swing. “And I hope that what you're about to give me isn't a Christmas present, since we agreed not to exchange gifts.”

“It's a man's prerogative to change his mind.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, gaily wrapped box. “And when I saw this, I couldn't resist. If it makes you feel better, consider this a—” He paused, frowned. “I was going to say ‘consider this a belated birthday present,' but I realized I have no idea when your birthday is. That's...wrong.”

She knew when his birthday was, of course. In the dead heat of summer, August third. She'd seen him write down the date when they filled out the paperwork for their marriage certificate, and she'd tucked the information into her memory for future reference.

“Well, first, I believe the saying is that it's a
woman's
prerogative, but I suppose men can change their minds, as well,” she said. “And my birthday is October eighth.”

“Ah, that makes you a Libra,” he said with a quick, effortless grin. “And don't ask me how I know that, unless you want to hear about one of my more...um...quirky ex-girlfriends.”

“I'll listen to whatever you want to share. Even stories about quirky exes.”

“Maybe I will tell you at some point, but right now I'd rather give you this.” He passed her the box, his gaze steady and sure. “Christmas gift, or a belated birthday gift, this is for you.”

After slipping off one of her gloves, Anna picked at the tape on the paper, trying to keep the gift wrap whole. She'd save it and the box as a reminder of this moment. Of her happiness.

Removing the lid from the box, she prepped herself to express the proper amount of gratitude for whatever she might find. Some men gave great gifts. Others, not so much. But the prepping wasn't necessary, because what Logan had chosen for her was...perfect. Delight and pleasure soaked in, along with a burst of emotion. No. He would never stop surprising her.

She looked at Logan, who watched her with intent focus. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her voice hushed. “I love it.”

Returning her attention to the gift, she pulled the necklace free and held it in front of her by the fragile chain to see the pendant better. It was formed in the shape of a tree with many twisty, slender branches, and on one of those branches was a single light blue gemstone. An aquamarine. The birthstone for March, for their daughter.