His Yuletide Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 12)

by Merry Farmer

  They turned onto a short wagon path beside one of the houses, then around the back and up a set of kitchen stairs. Vernon left the cart and trunks for a moment to unlock the door, then he and Hubert carried the trunks inside. Vernon’s house was clean, but barely furnished, with no embellishments whatsoever. It still smelled of fresh wood and paint. They carried the trunks to the hall, then circled back to the kitchen instead of carrying them up to whatever room Vernon had fixed up for Hubert to stay in.

  “Rex Bonneville died last April.” Vernon continued his explanation as he loaded wood into the kitchen stove and put a kettle on to boil. “But the Bonneville ranch was having problems long before that. Pops thinks it was mismanagement.”

  “I can believe that.” Hubert sank into one of the bare wooden chairs at the kitchen table with a sigh. “Old Rex never did handle his ranch as well as Howard Haskell did.”

  “And that louse of a son-in-law of his only made things worse.”

  “Now that you mention it, I guess I do remember you telling me about him falling out of a whorehouse window and breaking his neck when you visited me in Japan last year. I just didn’t make the connection that he died.”

  Vernon let out a wry laugh. “Rumor has it he was trying to get out of paying one of the whores, which is stupid, since Rex owned the place.”

  “So does that mean Vivian Bonneville owns the whorehouse now?” Hubert asked, his lips twitching at the idea of stiff, prudish Vivian owning a house of ill-repute.

  “Yeah.” Vernon snorted. “We all thought she’d close it down when Rex died. Instead, she raised the prices and brought in half a dozen new girls.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope,” Vernon said, crossing his arms and leaning against the kitchen sink. “Which is how everyone caught wind of just how bad things were for the whole family.”

  Huber frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “The whorehouse is their best source of income.”

  “What about the ranch?”

  Vernon shrugged. “They’ve got a hundred head of cattle out there, easily, but they can’t pay their bills, or the mortgage, which is the important part.”

  Hubert shook his head, rubbing his face again. “They must have taken out loans against their land and livestock to pay for….” He blinked. “To pay for what, though?”

  “Nobody knows. Even before Rex died, they had to bring that Price fellow in to straighten things out.”

  Hubert shifted in his chair. “Who is he anyhow? And why is he engaged to Bebe when it’s clear as day there isn’t enough love between them to light a match?”

  Vernon dropped his arms in a clueless gesture. “Price Penworthy comes from a long line of accountants and money men, or so Vivian and Melinda are always bragging to people. He’s an expert financier and money manager. He was supposed to sweep in and get the Bonneville books back in order.”

  “But instead he’s marrying Bebe?” Hubert glared at the stove as though it were his rival.

  Vernon let out a wry laugh. “Don’t take this the wrong way, big brother, but you can do much better than Bebe Bonneville.”

  Hubert did take it the wrong way, and then some. His back shot straight. “I love her,” he said. “She’s the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  “Right. And in all your years in the big city, and in the land of geishas, for that matter, you never once indulged?”

  Heat rushed to Hubert’s face. He’d been as human as the next man, but he’d always told himself that he needed to learn how to be a good lover so that he’d know what to do with Bebe.

  “I’ve never loved anyone else,” he said.

  “Well, it looks like you’re not going to get a chance to love Bebe either,” Vernon said. He pushed away from the sink and crossed to the table. “She’s marrying Price on Christmas Day.”

  “But she’s not married yet,” Hubert argued.

  “Christmas is in two weeks.”

  “So? That’s two weeks to get to the bottom of things and convince her to change her mind.”

  “Is it really worth it?” Vernon asked, then slipped into a smile. “Haskell is full of pretty girls these days. Bunches of them. Modern girls too, if you know what I mean.”

  Hubert arched a brow at his brother. “Does Pop know you’re treating decent girls like they work for Bonnie?”

  “Why are you assuming I’m treating anyone like anything? You should have seen the way Violet Marks reached for the goods when all I expected was a kiss.”

  Both of Hubert’s brows shot up, but he shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know what you get up to with the ladies. All I want to know is what I’m going to do about Bebe.”

  Vernon let out a humorless laugh and headed to the stove to check on the kettle. “Like I said, I don’t think there’s anything you can do about that whole thing. What’s done is done.”

  “But it’s not done yet,” Hubert insisted. It couldn’t be. Otherwise, what was the point of him coming home at all?

  Chapter 3

  “We need bunting,” Melinda declared at the dining room table two days later.

  Bebe shook herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into and asked, “What?”

  “Bunting,” Melinda snapped at her. “If your wedding is going to be the event of the season, we need bunting to decorate the ballroom for the reception.”

  “Oh.” Bebe deflated further. She planted her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand, and staring out the window. The landscape of the ranch was bleak and brittle, a perfect reflection of Bebe’s soul.

  “Don’t be stupid, Melinda,” Vivian sniffed from the head of the table. “Bunting is far too passé for an event like this. We need something far more spectacular, something Haskell will be talking about for decades.”

  “Yes, but if you will remember, dear sister,” Melinda said, her lips tight and her eyes narrowed, “we don’t have any money.”

  “We have to make it look like we have money,” Vivian growled, poking a needle with extra force into the old hat she was remaking for the fifth time. “I won’t have any of those rubes in town whispering about us for any reason.”

  “Even if they’re whispering the truth?” Melinda asked, staring at Vivian over the top of her wire spectacles.

  Vivian only sniffed in reply and stabbed her hat.

  Bebe sighed, ignoring both of them. People in town thought that Vivian and Melinda were the best of friends. They didn’t have to live with the constant bickering between the two. It had only gotten worse in recent years, even before their father had died. Melinda couldn’t forgive Vivian for marrying that rotter, Rance, and Vivian was disgusted by Melinda’s increasing prudery. Especially when it came to arguing about one of the only things that still made money for the family, the whorehouse.

  Of course, that argument was yesterday’s news. Bebe let her attention wander away from the list of wedding supplies she was supposed to be making, past the dry, dead-looking ranch, and on into Haskell. To the train station, to be precise. To the way Hubert had looked when he’d stepped down from the train.

  Time had been extremely good to the unforgivable lout. When he’d left, he was a handsome boy, with a pleasing roundness to his features. But now? Now he was a man, with a man’s physique. He was taller than his father, but had the same muscular build that would have suited a blacksmith. But in the big city suit and coat he’d been wearing, Hubert had looked more like an advertisement for shaving soap than a small-town worker. There’d been something in his eyes as well, a certain sophistication and worldliness. And the way he’d smelled when he took her in his arms when she broke down….

  She’d barely slept the past two nights for thinking about him. Even now, she wondered what he was doing, where he was staying…why the hell he’d come back now instead of seven months ago, when her father had died, or seven months from now, when she was already married to Price and the ranch had been saved. How could he abandon her long enough for her to hate him, then com
e back just in time to show her he was the only man she would ever love?

  “Bebe. Bebe. Bebe!”

  Vivian’s shout shocked Bebe out of her bittersweet thoughts.

  “Hmm? What?” She straightened, blinking as though coming out of a long sleep.

  “I asked you what color ribbon you wanted,” Vivian said through a clenched jaw.

  Across the table, Melinda held up a spool of blue ribbon and a spool of green.

  “Isn’t it supposed to be something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” Bebe said.

  Both Vivian and Melinda snorted and rolled their eyes and looked at her as though she were a particularly stupid child.

  “It’s not for the wedding,” Vivian bit out. “It’s for Reese’s Christmas present.”

  Before Bebe could say anything or even catch up to where the conversation had gone, Vivian’s son, Reese, dashed into the room from behind the half-closed door to the kitchen. “Ha!” he shouted. “I knew you were making presents for me. What are they? I want them. I want them now.”

  Bebe rolled her eyes and slumped in her chair.

  “We are not making your presents, Reese.” Melinda scowled at the boy.

  “Darling, you must wait for Christmas to have your presents,” Vivian said, beaming at her son as though he were the greatest gift that had ever graced the earth. It was a far cry from the way she had palmed Reese off on Bebe when he was a screaming baby. But as soon as Reese had learned to speak—and learned to flatter and coo over his mother—she had gone from ignoring him to spoiling him rotten.

  “I don’t want to wait.” Reese stomped his foot. “I want a present now.”

  “There, there, sweeting. We’ll find something for you.” Vivian brushed her fingers through Reese’s overlong hair, pinched his chubby cheeks, and looked around the table for something to give the boy.

  Bebe knew how this game was played and quickly hid her mother-of-pearl fountain pen under the table. Melinda wasn’t fast enough, though.

  “There,” Vivian nodded to the brooch Melinda was hurriedly unfastening from her blouse. It was new and served as both a brooch and a watch. “Auntie Melinda has a lovely pocket watch for you.”

  “But….” Melinda sputtered.

  Reese raced around the table and snatched the brooch from Melinda’s hand. The sharp end of the pin scratched her as he did. As Melinda yelped, Reese took one look at the brooch, pinched his face in rage, and threw it against the wall with a petulant shout.

  “I don’t want a girl’s watch, I want a real pocket watch.”

  Melinda leapt out of her chair to retrieve her brooch, then let out a strangled wail. Bebe didn’t need to see the watch to know it had been smashed.

  “I want a present, I want a present, I want a present,” Reese chanted, stomping his way around the table.

  Bebe would have expected that kind of behavior from a toddler, but Reese was nearly nine years old and should have known better. His chanting made her head throb and her heart sink to a new low. She rubbed her temples, then stood when neither of her sisters did a thing to stop his tantrum.

  “I’m going up to my room,” she said and started for the door.

  “You are not,” Vivian shouted after her. Both Bebe and Reese stopped in their tracks. “We have too much work to do for you to put on your wilting violet act.” Vivian’s voice took on a harsh edge, which made Reese slink to the side of the room and plop into a corner to pout. “This wedding isn’t going to plan itself.”

  “It most certainly isn’t,” Melinda agreed. “Why, to look at you, one would think you aren’t interested in your own wedding.”

  “I’m not,” Bebe sighed, dragging herself back to her chair and sinking into it. Thoughts and visions of Hubert filtered back into her mind. “Why don’t we just call the whole thing off.”

  Vivian and Melinda instantly reacted as though Bebe had just suggested they burn the ranch down. Vivian gaped like a fish, and Melinda turned a strange shade of purple.

  “You have to get married,” Vivian reminded her. “We need Price’s money.”

  “You’re doing it for the ranch, not for yourself,” Melinda added.

  “But are we sure we’ve exhausted all our options?” Bebe asked with a half-hearted renewal of energy. “We could sell off another part of the property. We’ve got half a dozen neighbors who want to expand their ranches. Why not scale back? We could even lease the land to them for a profit.”

  “Price says that won’t work,” Melinda said, tipping her chin up as though Price’s word was akin to God’s.

  “I’m not breaking up Papa’s ranch any more than we already have,” Vivian said, glaring at Bebe. “We’ve already lost a third of the property just to keep our heads above water. This is our land, our heritage. I will do whatever it takes to hold onto every last bit of it if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  “All right, then why don’t we talk to Solomon and—”

  “I will not have you or anyone else in this family so much as look at that—” She used a word that made Bebe flush with shock. “Besides,” Vivian sniffed. “Price has made it abundantly clear that he will leave if any of us sully ourselves by associating with that man. And like I said, we need his money.”

  “Fine,” Bebe blew out a breath. “So what if we sold the whorehouse instead? Surely, the profit from—”

  “We are not getting rid of the most profitable asset we have.” Vivian slammed her fist down on the table.

  “As far as I’m concerned, that den of iniquity should burn to the ground,” Melinda sniffed.

  “No one asked you,” Vivian barked at her. She turned her glare to Bebe once more. “You are marrying Price, and that’s that.”

  “She’s only got cold feet because Hubert Strong is back in town,” Melinda said.

  It was as if someone fired a shot. The tension that gripped the room in the silence that followed was almost painful. Vivian narrowed her eyes at Bebe.

  “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “So help me God,” Vivian pushed right over Bebe. “If you throw your family over for a man, like that harlot Honoria did, I will make it my life’s work to ensure that you are miserable.”

  Bebe could have argued that that was already Vivian’s life’s work, but she didn’t get a chance.

  “Hubert Strong is nothing more than a blight on the Earth. He’s the son of a railroad worker who couldn’t keep his hands off his wife. He’s poor, pitiful trash, and I’ll not let you destroy this family for some flippant childhood notion of romance that doesn’t exist.”

  Anger at Vivian’s close-mindedness nearly set Bebe off on an impassioned defense of Hubert, but her own hurt ran deeper than her sister’s arrogance. “You don’t have to tell me that romance doesn’t exist.” She glared right back at Vivian. “I’m marrying that stick insect of an accountant you can’t seem to live without to save your backside.”

  Vivian gasped in offense. Melinda snickered, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “At least you’re marrying him.” Vivian sniffed.

  Another long, tense silence filled the room. Bebe rippled with impatience, feeling like a trapped animal. She was bound to the petty, shallow, miserable women at the table with her by blood, but any feeling of affection she had for them had withered and died, along with the rest of her heart. And yet, it was that one tiny shred of attachment, the ranch, that made her feel duty-bound to go through with her marriage to Price. What other choice did she have in life?

  “You’re a thousand times better off without Hubert Strong anyhow,” Melinda broke the silence as she took up the old gown of their mother’s that she was reworking into Bebe’s wedding dress. Her expression was only a pretense of casualness. The flash in her eyes hinted that she was about to cause trouble. “I heard that he spent the last three years in Japan.”

  Confused about where her sister could be going with that information, Bebe could only say, “He
did. As a foreign correspondent for his newspaper.”

  Vivian glanced suspiciously between Melinda and Bebe as if she too knew Melinda was about to light a cannon.

  Melinda shrugged. “Isn’t Japan full of geishas? Hubert has probably debased himself with any number of them, and they’re far more exotic than anything Haskell has to offer.”

  The cannonball exploded, hitting its mark. Bebe sagged, her heart throbbing painfully. Melinda was right. Seven years was far too long to expect a man in his prime to wait for the things men and women did. And whether Hubert had been entertained by exotic women in Japan or not, he’d been around San Francisco women, sophisticated women. His tastes were probably so much more refined now, and the women he’d been with likely knew worlds more than she did about the most basic ways men and women interacted. And there she was, an ignorant, backwoods nobody.

  Vivian snorted, shaking her head. “Geishas.” A victorious grin spread across her lips as she picked up her hat and resumed her work.

  “Mama, what’s a geisha?” Reese asked from his sulking corner.

  “Never you mind, darling,” Vivian answered in a sing-song voice.

  “They’re sophisticated, foreign whores,” Bebe told him.

  Reese burst into laughter. “Aunt Bebe said whore!”

  “Shut up, Bebe.” Vivian glared at her.

  They fell into frustrated silence, everyone continuing their work. Reese got bored of waiting for someone to give him a present and went to find something else to busy himself with. Vivian finished her hat, decided she didn’t like it, then set to work pulling it apart. Melinda sewed away on the wedding dress, a smug grin on her face that said she was proud of getting under Bebe’s skin. Bebe attempted to go back to writing her list, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts together to save her life. Images of Hubert being entertained by beautiful Japanese women in silk kimonos the way the women at the Château d’Amour entertained ranch hands kept filling her mind.

  She was almost glad when the front door opened and shut and Reese called out, “Price is home!” from the hallway. Her stomach felt sick as Price strode into the room, a pile of mail in his hands, a small package sitting on top, Reese trailing behind him asking, “Did you bring me a present? Did you? Did you? Is that package for me?”