The Rancher's Christmas Princess (8 page)

“Well, yes. And there will be a mural. We bought a kit for
it.”

“A mural of what exactly?” He didn’t look upset or anything.
But he didn’t exactly look excited at the idea either.

“It’s, um, Winnie-the-Pooh sitting under a tree with a jar of
honey and bees buzzing around him. There’s Christopher Robin and Eeyore in the
background.”

Preston sipped coffee. “I’m guessing he’ll outgrow that in a
flash.”

“He’s not even two. He won’t outgrow Winnie-the-Pooh for years
yet.”

“You couldn’t have picked dinosaurs or horses or trucks or
something?”

She felt a sizzle of annoyance with him. “What have you got
against Winnie-the-Pooh?”

“I’ve got nothing against Winnie-the-Pooh. I just prefer
horses. Or trains.”

Silas chuckled. Belle shot him a quelling glance. The older man
put up both hands. “Hey, no problem. Leave me out of it.”

Belle glanced at Charlotte for support. Charlotte had her lips
pressed together in that way she did when she was trying to be extra dignified
but what she really wanted to do was laugh.

Was this little contretemps with Preston humorous, then?

She realized that maybe it was, a bit. She’d decided what she
thought was right for Ben. And Preston had his own ideas about that. She was,
perhaps, more than a little accustomed to having her own way about such things.
Due partly to her background and partly to her high-profile position with Nurses
Without Boundaries, people tended to defer to her. She made decisions and
choices and she followed through on them, having things her way most of the
time. She tried her best to be fair, but she knew she had definite opinions as
to how things should be.

However, in this case, she had to remember that the whole idea
was to get Preston to feel comfortable taking care of his son. If
he
had strong opinions about what he wanted in his
little boy’s room, well, that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

She knew that it was. But it was also more proof of all the
ways she was...losing him.

Losing Ben.

Dear God. Life was cruel. It was her job here, in Montana, to
lose Ben. So that Ben could gain his father, so that Preston could have his
son.

Sometimes doing what one had to do was too painful for
words.

And now it was way too quiet in the kitchen. Neither Silas nor
Charlotte looked much like they wanted to laugh anymore.

“Belle...” Preston’s voice was gentle.

She swallowed hard, and straightened up in the chair, lifting
her head proudly, meeting his beautiful blue gaze. “You’re right. I should have
considered that you might want to choose something else—or maybe not even have a
mural. I could...well, if that’s what you want, I...”

“Look, it’s all right. Winnie-the-Pooh is fine.”

“No,” she said. “It’s not. We’ll choose something else—that is,
if you’re willing to have a mural in the first place.”

“A mural is fine.”

“All right, then. Tomorrow, on the way to Missoula, we’ll stop
in town and trade in Winnie-the-Pooh for trains. Or horses.”

“Or cars.” He said it lightly. Teasingly.

And she felt better. About everything.

Charlotte said, “Which means, Preston, that you’re the one who
should go with Belle on the shopping trip tomorrow. That way you’ll be there to
approve the purchases for Ben’s room.” She turned to Belle. “I’ll keep Ben with
me here. It’s so much easier to shop without a little one in tow.”

Silas said, “Now, that makes sense.”

Preston asked him, “Can you handle things on your own
tomorrow?”

“I was running this ranch when you were in diapers.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ll take that as a yes.”

So it was agreed. Weather permitting, Belle and Preston would
go to Missoula as soon as Belle had put the painter to work the next
morning.

The second subject for discussion was Christmas. Specifically,
decorating the tree.

Silas said, “We can make this quick. Pres, you go up and bring
the decorations down. As I recall, they’re just about directly over our heads.”
He pointed at the ceiling. “You think you can find them? Good. Belle can help
you. Right, Belle?”

“Well, ah, certainly.”

“And Charlotte and I and the hands will go out and get us a
tree. That work for you, Charlotte?”

Was Charlotte actually blushing? “I would love to go and
acquire a tree with you, Silas. Are you sure we need both of your hired
men?”

“When I say a tree, I mean a
tree.
We’ll find us a tall one to stand proud in the front hall—and what are we
waiting for?” He shoved his chair back. “Bundle up and let’s get a move on.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Pres stood under the attic door with
Belle. He lowered the ladder and led the way up with Belle right behind him.

At the top, he turned on the attic lights and paused to glance
back at her. “This way,” he said, all too acutely aware of her, in her trim
brown pants that looked pretty amazing coming or going, of that snug sweater she
wore that was sort of brown and sort of gold and a little bit amber just like
her eyes.

He led the way through the stacks of boxes and crates and old
furniture to the place where the old man had said the Christmas things would be.
“Here we go.” There were boxes and more boxes of varying sizes, stacked close
together, each one labeled
Christmas
in his mother’s
clear, rounded hand.

“There are so many.” Belle sounded thrilled.

“Yeah.” He felt ridiculously proud of himself, as if he was
responsible for all this stuff. He explained, “My mom was really big on
Christmas. She always had a twelve-foot tree in the front hall. And then she had
miles of garland and lights for outside and in. And a manger scene. And little
snow scenes and angels with trumpets. I swear she covered every flat surface in
this house with some kind of Christmassy thing or other.”

Belle was watching him, her eyes so dark and deep. “You never
said how old you were when she died....”

“Nine.”

“So sad.” She watched him kind of hopefully, like she wanted
him to say more.

Why not? “It was a freak riding accident. Her horse got spooked
and threw her. She hit her head. Died instantly.” He stared at the stacks of
boxes. “My dad never had the heart to get all this stuff down again after
that.”

“Oh, Preston. You haven’t had Christmas since you were
nine?”

He gave her a shrug and a wry smile to show her it wasn’t
that
bad. “Sure, we did. The old man’s a good dad. He
went out the next year and bought a fake tree and some new decorations. We used
those until I was eighteen or so. And then it got seeming a little bit silly,
him and me and our fake Christmas tree.”

She gazed out over all the boxes and made a small, worried
sound. “Will it be hard for you—and your father—to decorate the house with these
things of your mother’s?”

He shook his head. “Naw. The old man’s pretty up front about
what he likes and what he doesn’t, about what bothers him, in case you haven’t
noticed.”

She chuckled. “You’re right. He’s quite direct. I
have
noticed.”

“If he didn’t want us to use all this stuff, he would have said
so.”

“And you? How do
you
feel about
it?”

“Good. It’s different now that there’s Ben. Ben is...” He
paused, seeking the right words. “Ben brings it home, what Christmas is all
about. And with you and Charlotte here, it makes the whole thing even more
special, you know?”

“Special.” She was still watching him. “I’m so glad you feel
that way.”

All of a sudden, he was kind of embarrassed. He grunted and
said gruffly, “I’m only saying it’s a good time to haul out all the decorations
and do it up right.”

“I’m glad.” She said it again, so quietly. Like it was a
secret. Just between the two of them. The bare bulb overhead cast her face in
shadow, put a bronze gleam on her hair.

He thought about her, about her real life. What did he know of
the life of a princess? “You won’t be home for Christmas this year.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I’ll bet your family misses you.”

“We’re all grown up now. We can’t all be together all of the
time. But yes, they miss me. And I think of them often.”

“You have a tree at the palace in Montedoro?”

She lifted her chin. Those fine eyes gleamed up at him.
“Several. Although I don’t live at the palace anymore, not since I returned from
college here in America. I have my own villa. I travel a lot for my work. When
I’m at home, I like having my own place.”

“A villa...” He tried to picture her there, surrounded by palm
trees, maybe on a terrace, with a view of some exotic, deep blue sea....

It made him feel rough and uncultured. Beneath her.

She said, “My father...he had a difficult childhood. My
grandfather,
his
father, wasn’t a nice man.”

“The one with the ranch near San Antonio, right?”

“Yes. The ranch called Bravo Ridge. My grandfather, James
Bravo, had seven sons. And all but one—the oldest, my uncle Davis—left home by
the age of eighteen. They left to get away from Grandfather James, who was both
verbally and physically abusive. My grandmother, my father’s mother, walked
around in a daze most of the time, my father always said. They never really
celebrated holidays. And my father always swore that when he had children,
things would be different. My mother, the sovereign princess, was in complete
accord with him. So in Montedoro, we celebrate every chance we get. At
Christmastime, the palace is ablaze with holiday lights. And there are parties
and balls. And a candlelight service at midnight on Christmas Eve.”

“We have those here—well, not the balls. But we have holiday
dances in the Masonic Hall, the Saturday before Christmas, and one on New Year’s
Eve. And all the churches hold Christmas Eve candlelight services.”

A smile played at the corners of her way-too-kissable lips.
“And don’t forget the Christmas Craft Fair.”

He groaned, just to give her a bad time. “That’s right. It’s
this weekend. We can’t miss that.”

“No, we most definitely cannot.” She said it so primly, in the
way that Charlotte sometimes spoke. Like a strict schoolteacher or someone on
Masterpiece Theatre.
Kind of stuffy, but in a
way that charmed him completely.

Two feet of rough attic floor planks separated them. It seemed
much too great a distance. He dared to move closer.

Her eyes widened a little—but she didn’t back away. Her scent
came to him, sweet and fresh in the dim, dusty space.

And he couldn’t resist. The temptation to touch her was too
powerful. It burned within him, undeniable.

He gave in to it. He reached out, brushed the back of his index
finger along the velvet curve of her cheek. So smooth. “So beautiful...” It
surprised him a little to realize he’d said the last aloud.

She sighed, the sweetest sound. And she whispered, “Really.
This is a bit mad, don’t you think?”

He’d already gone too far. So he went further still. He stroked
his hand down the rich silk of her hair. “Absolutely crazy, I agree.”

She tipped her head, the way a cat will do, fitting it more
snugly against his stroking hand. “It couldn’t...go anywhere.”

He admitted, “I know,” the two words more breath than sound.
And he dared to catch a loose curl, to rub it between his fingers. Not silk
after all. Silk couldn’t compare.

She reached out then. She put her hand against his chest, over
his heart. He was certain she could feel it pounding away so hungrily in there.
“Preston...”

“Belle.” That did it somehow. The sound of her name on his own
lips. It freed him to clasp her shoulder, to pull her closer—all the way. She
fit against him as though she was made to be there. “Belle...”

He lowered his mouth and covered hers.

Chapter Seven

L
ike nothing in the world, nothing he’d
ever known before, the taste of her.

He shouldn’t want her so much. But he did.

He had wanted her the first second he laid eyes on her, sitting
there so serene, so princesslike, in that booth at the diner. It was a wanting
that only seemed to increase with every hour, every minute, every beat of his
heart.

She made a low, rich, hungry sound and her hand moved upward,
to clasp his neck. She wrapped her other arm around him, too. And her lush mouth
opened beneath his, inviting him.

He didn’t need any more of a welcome. He speared his tongue
inside and tasted her fully, his head spinning with the scent of her, his senses
on fire with the soft, smooth, perfect shape of her pressed up close against
him.

“Mad,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Crazy,” he agreed, nipping her plump lower lip with his teeth.
“We can’t...”

“We shouldn’t...”

He kissed her some more—deeply. Hungrily. He pulled her up
close against him. He was shamelessly hard for her, aching with need in the
space of an instant.

She knew. She felt it, too. She pressed her body against him,
answering him without words, her slim hips moving, rocking against him, so soft
and willing, her body calling to his.

Wrong,
his mind chided.

Never so right,
his body
insisted.

She had hold of his shirt collar, and she was pulling him down
to her, her sweet lips open for him, offering him everything, as she kissed him
with such heat and intimacy that she blew all rational thought straight to
kingdom come.

He was about to scoop her up into his arms and carry
her...somewhere. He wasn’t sure where.

He couldn’t even think straight.

And then, with a low, desperate moan, she let go of his collar.
She flattened her hands on his chest—and she broke the straining, starving
kiss.

He shook his head, blinked, stared down at her. “Belle. What?”
He was panting like he’d just run a long, hard race.

She gazed up at him, eyes wide, the amber lights dominant, hot
as molten flame. “Preston.” Breathless. Yearning. “Preston, no...”

No.

He shut his eyes. Focused on his breathing, on slowing his
galloping heart, on regaining control.

No.

She was right, of course. It was a bad idea.

What he felt for her was dangerous. It could go nowhere. She
had her world. This was his.

This time, now, was special. She was here to help him learn to
be a dad to Ben. And once that was done, she would go.

That one night with Anne aside—a night he still didn’t really
remember—he’d never been one to engage in casual affairs. Or any affairs, when
you came right down to it.

And really, that was all it could be with her. An affair.
Casual. And temporary. A few weeks.

And then over.

He knew himself well enough to realize that if they became
lovers, it would be pure hell to learn to live without her. It was probably
going to be pretty bad as it was. There was just...something about her.

Something that called to him in a deep way. He’d known her only
since Monday and already he understood that she was going to leave a bad
emptiness behind when she went, even if he never held her naked body in his
arms.

No.
He turned the simple word over
in his mind. It was a good word, a useful word. Right now, it was the only
word.

Carefully, gently, he took her by the shoulders and set her
away from him. “You’re right. I...understand. We can’t be going there. It would
only make things tougher in the end.”

A hot flush flowed up over cheeks. Embarrassment. “I shouldn’t
have...I’m sorry, I...”

“Shh.” He put the pad of his index finger against her lips—felt
the warmth of her sweet breath—and withdrew it. “No apologies.
We
shouldn’t have. Let’s leave it there.”

“But you see, the really bad thing is, I
wanted
to kiss you. So much. It was just like that first night,
after the northern lights. It was such a powerful feeling. I couldn’t deny it. I
didn’t
want
to deny it. And it’s really not like me.
I’m very...practical, really. Very down-to-earth, not prone to flights of
romantic fancy.”

“Belle, I know.”

“And I
still
want to kiss you.
Again. And then again after that...”

He tried a smile. It felt too much like a grimace. “You know
this isn’t helping, right?”

“Oh, Lord.” She put her hand against her mouth and stepped
back, coming up against a pile of boxes, stumbling a little. He moved to steady
her. “Don’t...” She put out a hand. “I’m fine.” He dropped his arm to his side
as she drew herself up tall. “What a mess I’m making of this.”

“You’re not.” He sought the right thing to say, the thing that
would reassure her. “It was a kiss. Only a kiss.”

Her eyes were huge and haunted. They gave the lie to his
denials. But her mouth tried to smile. “Yes, of course. You’re absolutely right.
Only a kiss...”

And then, from the small baby monitor in her pocket and more
faintly from the floor beneath, he heard a fussy little cry. They both stood
stock-still, listening.

Saved by the baby,
he thought.

The crying continued, grew louder, more insistent.

“You go and take care of him,” Pres said. “I’ll see about
getting these boxes down the stairs.”

“Ask Marcus to help you.”

“I’ll do that. Now go.”

* * *

With Ben in her arms, Belle stood watching in the
archway to the front room as Preston pulled on his sheepskin jacket. It was
after six, full dark and snowing. With Marcus’s help, Preston had carried all
the Christmas boxes down to the foyer. The tree stand waited in the curve at the
foot of the stairs.

Outside, Silas, Charlotte and the two ranch hands had returned.
Shoving his hat on his head, Preston went out to help them bring in the tree.
Marcus put on his coat and followed.

Belle took Ben to the picture window and watched them untie the
giant tree from the bed of the pickup. They’d wrapped it in rope, compressing
the branches close to the trunk. Belle guessed it had to be at least fifteen
feet high. It was going to be quite a project to decorate that monster. They
would need a ladder for the side away from the stairs. The good news was that
judging by the number of boxes Preston and the bodyguard had hauled down from
the attic, they had the decorations to do it.

Charlotte, in her heavy wool coat and a warm wool hat, stood
out of the way. Belle couldn’t hear what her cousin said, but it appeared that
she was giving orders as to how the men should proceed. She waved her mittened
hands and clapped and jumped up and down like an excited child. She even threw
back her head and laughed once or twice. Belle thought she had never seen her
dear friend looking so happy.

Or so free.

Belle could almost envy the older woman. For once, Charlotte
seemed willing to simply go where her heart led her, not to worry about the
future, about what would happen in the end. Belle wished she could do the same,
just surrender to the moment, let her attraction to Preston take her wherever it
might.

But that seemed foolish. And somehow wrong. She wasn’t here to
find romance. She was here to do her duty to her lost friend. She was here for
Ben’s sake. And for the sake of Preston, too, because he was Ben’s father.
Getting too close to Preston could make things difficult in the end.

When she signed away her guardianship of Ben, she still hoped
to keep her connection with the child, to come and visit now and then, someday
even to have Ben visit her in Montedoro. That might be difficult if she and
Preston got involved and it ended badly.

But then she remembered those moments in the attic earlier, and
out beneath the stars, after the aurora borealis that first night. When he
kissed her, she forgot all the things that mattered most. Duty, responsibility
and doing the right thing? All that flew right out the window. She only wanted
to keep his strong arms wrapped around her, to feel his mouth against hers, to
breathe in the scent of him, to get lost in magic of his tender touch.

“Belle.” Ben caught her face between his two little hands and
brought her back to the real world. “Belle?” He kept talking, chattering away at
her. She didn’t understand a word. But she did get that he had realized she’d
gone daydreaming and he wanted her back there in front of the window with
him.

She kissed his fat, sweet cheek. “Look, Ben.” She pointed out
the window. “Your daddy, your grandpa and Shar-Shar are bringing in our
Christmas tree.”

Ben let out another string of nonsense words, smiled broadly
and pointed at the group around the bed of the pickup and the long, green,
compressed shape of the big tree. “Shar-Shar, Dada, Pawpaw...”

“That’s right.” She kissed him again. “They’ll be bringing that
tree in any minute now.”

As it turned out, it took a lot longer than a minute. But a
half hour or so later, Charlotte held the door open and they brought the
gorgeous thing in, stump first. Even tied up, it barely fit through the
extra-wide front doorway. With all five of the men helping, they managed to get
it upright in the giant tree stand. Then the two hands and Marcus and Preston
held it in place while Silas and Charlotte got down on the floor and turned the
enormous screws to hold it upright. Belle’s task was to tell them when they had
it straight and to make sure it stayed that way as Charlotte and Preston’s
father adjusted the screws.

Ben squirmed to get down, but Belle kept him in her arms. She
could see that it was going to be a challenge, keeping an eye on Ben when he was
near the tree. He was already walking and he would be pulling on the branches
and grabbing for the ornaments every chance he got. But he would learn. Somehow,
all children did.

She sighed in delight as the men unwound the rope and the thick
branches opened wide in all their fragrant evergreen glory.

Charlotte, who had come to stand beside her by then, sighed,
too. “Oh, I do love the scent of a fresh-cut tree.”

Silas, who was rolling the rope back up, remarked, “We got
ourselves a real beauty, I think.” He was looking at Charlotte and his
expression said that the tree wasn’t the only thing he found beautiful. Watching
him, Belle felt tender and protective toward both him and Charlotte. She also
felt wistful. And she was very careful not to glance in Preston’s direction.

Then Ben exclaimed, “Hawngry! Hawngry!” which made everyone
laugh.

Charlotte took charge. “Well, young man, then we shall have
dinner.”

The ranch hands, a pair of lean, quiet men whose names were
Jack and Vince, stayed to eat with them that night. They had Doris’s wonderful
chicken and dumplings and apple pie for dessert. When Jack and Vince went back
across the yard to the cabin, Preston gave them the second pie to share
later.

By then, it was time for Ben to get ready for bed. Charlotte
and Silas got started putting the lights on the tree. Marcus helped. For a few
minutes, Belle stood at the foot of the stairs with Ben in her arms, watching
her friend and the elder McCade hauling out the long strings of Christmas lights
from a couple of the boxes.

Preston came and stood beside her. A little thrill spiraled
through her, just at his nearness.

Ben chortled, “Dada, Dada,” and swayed toward him.

Belle shook herself free of the cobwebs of frustrated desire
and saw the moment for what it was: a great opportunity. “Here. Carry him up.”
Preston looked slightly terrified, but he rose to the challenge. He held out his
arms and Ben, still giggling, went into them. “All right,” she said. “Upstairs
we go....” She gestured for Preston to take the lead. Preston started up.

Ben looked over Preston’s shoulder, eyes wide and anxious.
“Belle?”

“Right here.” She started up behind them.

The minute he saw she was following, he relaxed and let the big
man called Dada take him up. He held Preston around the neck and babbled away at
him, telling him any number of important things in a language only Ben
understood.

Upstairs in the big bathroom next to Charlotte’s room, Belle
took over long enough to stand Ben on a stool at the sink and brush his teeth.
He was good that night, putting up with the brushing process, which as a rule he
fussed over.

She caught Preston’s eye in the mirror over the sink. “You
should brush his teeth twice a day, and especially before bedtime. Slowly, you
can start showing him how to do it himself.”

“How many teeth does he have now anyway?”

“Thirteen. And more coming in all the time. Teething can be
painful for him. He’ll be fussy and want to chew on a cold teething ring or a
biscuit. You can also give him a children’s painkiller if a new tooth is really
hurting him.” She turned to Ben. “Spit.”

He did, with enthusiasm.

She filled a glass so he could rinse and spit again. More water
ended up on the sink edge than down the drain. She grabbed a towel and blotted
it up.

Then she got him under the arms and swung him off the stool.
“There we go. Now Dada will help you get out of those clothes.”

Belle filled the tub as Preston undressed him. Ben watched
Preston solemnly and a little bit warily, but he allowed Preston to guide his
arms out of his shirt and lay him gently down on the thick bathroom rug to take
off his shoes and socks, his little trousers and his diaper. Belle took him and
put him in the tub. He laughed then, and splashed a little, and played with his
toys.

Belle washed him. And then she asked Preston to get the towel.
She let Preston pull him out of the water and dry him off, after which she
picked him up again and carried him to the bedroom changing table, where she put
on a fresh diaper and his Cookie Monster pajamas.