Maverick Christmas Surprise

by Brenda Harlen

  “I can’t imagine any one woman being able to keep up with six kids,” she said sincerely. “But kudos to her for trying.”

  He grinned at that and hit the light switch on the wall, illuminating a bathroom that was half the size of the enormous bedroom and twice as luxurious.

  “Wow,” she said softly, grateful that he seemed to assume she was reacting to the revelation of the facilities rather than the curve of his lips.

  “My dad spared no expense in here,” he confirmed. “But his two priorities were a shower with body jets and a tub big enough for his horse.”

  She stared down at the oversize soaker tub and imagined sinking into steamy water filled with mountains of bubbles. Of course, the tub was more than big enough for two, and her traitorous imagination immediately invited Wilder’s big, hard body to join her—

  She blinked and quickly dispelled the tantalizing image.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you could get a horse in there,” she agreed, not looking at him. “Because it’s definitely too big for a baby.”

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

  Since turning her bubble bath fantasy into a reality wasn’t ever going to happen, she suggested, “Plan B.”

  * * *

  “I thought you were joking when you said the kitchen sink,” Wilder admitted.

  Beth shook her head as she put the stopper in and turned on the faucet, testing the water temperature with the inside of her wrist. When there was about six inches of water, she took one of the folded towels and set it in the bottom of the sink.

  “I thought the towels were for drying the baby.”

  “The second towel is for drying the baby,” she said. “This one is so he doesn’t slip.”

  “Why do I think you’ve done this before?”

  “Because I have.” She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. “One weekend when Cody stayed with me, I forgot to pack his baby tub along with the rest of his things, so...Plan B.”

  “You forgot to pack his tub?”

  “That’s what I said.” She stripped the baby down to his diaper, then tested the temperature of the water again with her elbow before removing that final barrier and easing the little guy into the water.

  “His mom didn’t pack his stuff?” Wilder asked.

  “Sometimes,” Beth said.

  It was a surprisingly vague response from a woman who usually seemed happy to talk about her nephew—and extol Leighton’s maternal virtues. And though Wilder was tempted to press for more details, or at least inquire as to how many weekends she’d looked after a baby who was only four months old, he decided to let the topic slide—at least for now.

  “What do you need me to do?” he asked instead.

  “Why don’t you wash him while I hold him?” she suggested.

  “Because washing seems a lot more complicated than holding,” he replied honestly.

  She smiled but didn’t offer to reassign tasks.

  Of course, she was already up to her elbows in the water, holding the baby upright so he didn’t topple over.

  “Wet the washcloth, wring out the excess water and gently clean his face and neck. And don’t forget behind his ears,” she said.

  He followed her directions, feeling awkward and inept—and far too aware of the scent of his shampoo in her hair as he huddled close to her by the sink.

  “Now squeeze a drop of bodywash onto the cloth and work up a lather,” she said.

  She patiently talked him through the process of washing and rinsing the baby’s body, then his hair, while she held Cody in place.

  “This will be a lot easier once he’s able to sit up on his own,” she promised.

  “And a lot easier with help,” he acknowledged. “I don’t think I could have tackled this on my own.”

  “Sponge baths work in a pinch,” she said. “But it’s good to get babies accustomed to the water, and Cody always seems to enjoy his bath.”

  It was obvious to Wilder that she’d performed the same task dozens of times before, and he was grateful for her help and guidance. But her obvious ease with and affection for her nephew caused him to question again why Leighton, wanting a break from the demands of parenthood, hadn’t chosen to leave the baby with Beth.

  While he was mulling over these questions, she’d toweled off, diapered and dressed the baby.

  “There’s my sweet-smelling boy,” she said, nuzzling him for a moment before setting him in his car seat.

  “Only until he fills his diaper again,” Wilder noted.

  Beth shook her head as she turned back to the sink to drain the water.

  It was then Wilder noticed that the front of her shirt was wet—and plastered against her like a second skin.

  Though he knew he shouldn’t stare, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the delicate lace pattern of her bra, clearly visible through the now-transparent fabric, and he couldn’t help but admire the nicely rounded shape of the breasts inside the lace cups.

  She lifted the sodden towel from the sink and twisted it in her hands to squeeze out the excess water, causing her breasts to lift and strain against the fabric, making his mouth go dry.

  “—in the washing machine?”

  He turned quickly, so that she wouldn’t catch him staring. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I asked if you could keep an eye on Cody while I go toss these towels in the washing machine,” she said.

  “I’ll do it,” he said, grabbing the towels from her and beating a hasty retreat, grateful for the opportunity to escape the temptation of her nearness.

  * * *

  Max found Beth waiting for the kettle to boil when he walked into the kitchen later that night.

  “You couldn’t sleep, either?” he guessed.

  She shook her head. “I hope I didn’t disturb you by moving around in here.”

  “I didn’t hear anything but the leftover pumpkin pie calling my name,” Max assured her.

  “Are you sure it was pumpkin pie talking?” she asked. “Maybe it was apple.”

  “It was definitely pumpkin,” he told her. “And bourbon whipped cream.”

  “I finished the pumpkin earlier,” she confessed guiltily. “But I didn’t know it was the last slice until I saw the empty pie plate after I’d eaten it.”

  “Was it good?”

  “Really good,” she admitted.

  “Eva Stockton makes the best pies in Rust Creek Falls—maybe all of Montana,” Max said, opening the door of the pantry. “Which is why I always order an extra one from Daisy’s Donuts in town.” He winked at her then as he pulled a baker’s box out of the back of the cupboard. “Or two.”

  She exhaled a sigh, apparently relieved to know that she hadn’t deprived him of his coveted late-night snack.

  “Do you want a cup of tea with your pie?” she asked, as the boiling kettle automatically shut off.

  He cut a generous wedge and transferred it to a plate. “Thanks, but I prefer milk near bedtime.”

  She opened the fridge to retrieve the milk—and the container of bourbon whipped cream he craved.

  “You should put a dollop of this in your tea,” Max suggested, as he scooped up a mound of the alcohol-infused topping. “It might help you sleep.”

  “Maybe too well,” she said. “I want to be able to hear Cody when he wakes up.”

  “Wilder will hear him,” he said. “I had the crib set up in the room adjacent to his to ensure it.”

  “Clever,” Beth acknowledged, as she carried her cup of tea to the table.

  Max took a seat across from her with his pie and his glass of milk. “Wilder told me that he made an appointment at the clinic for a paternity test.”

  She nodded as she dunked her tea bag in the hot water. “Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Waste
of time if you ask me,” he said.

  “I’d never heard your son’s name before I saw it written on a sticky note in my sister’s apartment.” Beth admitted. “So when I did, I googled it.”

  “And?” Max prompted.

  “And I’d think, considering your family’s vast wealth, you’d want DNA proof before welcoming a random child into your home.”

  “Cody isn’t a random child,” Max said. “He’s a Crawford.”

  “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like proof of that before I leave my nephew here.”

  “Ahh,” Max said, and nodded. “This isn’t really about Cody, it’s about you.”

  She sipped her tea, perhaps considering his remark, before she responded. “I made a promise to my sister to always be there for him.”

  “And yet, she brought him here,” he pointed out. “Abandoning him and abdicating her own responsibilities.”

  “She didn’t abandon him,” Beth denied. “She left Cody with the man she believes is his father.”

  Though Max could appreciate her wanting to defend her sister, facts were facts.

  “She left him on the doorstep,” he pointed out. “And I’m sorry if it seems as if I’m judging her too harshly, but I’d argue that a woman who can walk away from her children doesn’t deserve to have them.”

  “Them?” Beth echoed.

  “Him.” Max cleared his throat. “She doesn’t deserve him.”

  She nodded slowly, as if she understood that they were no longer talking about her sister—or not just her sister.

  He scowled, none too pleased to realize that his son had spoken to this woman—a virtual stranger—about their painful family history. But of course he had. There was no other reason for her to have picked up on the slip of his tongue except if she knew about Sheila’s defection.

  And though Beth had admitted to googling Wilder’s name, Max wasn’t worried that a cursory online search might turn up details of his marriage or divorce. Especially when he’d paid good money to ensure they stayed buried.

  “Leighton made a mistake,” Beth said now, as she put her empty mug in the dishwasher. “But she’ll come back for Cody. You’ll see.”

  Max hoped she was right.

  But he sat at the kitchen table with only his disquieting thoughts for company for a long time after Beth had gone upstairs to bed.

  He should hit the sack, too. Morning came early and there was a lot of work to be done—especially as he’d directed Wilder to take a break from his usual chores to spend time with Cody. Of course, now that Beth was staying at the Ambling A, Max suspected that she’d assumed primary responsibility for her nephew. But it was good for Wilder to watch and learn, even if he was still in denial about his relationship to the child.

  A certain amount of denial was to be expected under the circumstances, but Max anticipated that it would be followed soon by a whole gamut of other emotions. He hoped one of those emotions was anger. Because Wilder should be mad. He should feel ripped off of all the experiences he’d missed because Cody’s mother hadn’t bothered to tell him that she was going to have his child. He should be furious he’d missed the first four months of the little boy’s life. That Leighton had deprived him of the opportunity to be there for his son from the beginning.

  Just as Max had deprived Sheila of the opportunity to be there for her children.

  He remembered the night of their final confrontation as clearly as if it had just happened.

  “I could never love anyone more than I love my children,” she insisted, when he accused her of choosing her lover over her family.

  “And yet you left here and went to him,” he pointed out, his tone dripping with anger and bitterness—but not hurt. He wouldn’t let her see the hurt. He would never admit how her betrayal had gutted him.

  “You told me to leave. I had nowhere else to go.”

  He had told her to leave—to get out. But only after she’d confessed that she’d fallen in love with another man.

  “You chose him,” he said again, confident that he was on the moral high ground. Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect husband, but he hadn’t cheated.

  “No,” she protested. “I didn’t choose him. Not over my children. I couldn’t. Please, Max, try to understand—”

  But Max had been too hurt and angry to understand.

  Maybe there had been a tiny part of him that wondered if he was making a mistake, but he didn’t allow himself to show any hesitation or doubt. It wasn’t in his nature to back down. And it sure as hell wasn’t in his nature to give a second chance to the woman who’d betrayed not just him but their family.

  But in the end, he was the one who’d been deprived of a second chance to make things right. Because Sheila had signed the divorce papers he sent to her, then died of a broken heart.

  A myocardial infarction, actually.

  The autopsy would later reveal a previously undiagnosed condition that explained how a thirty-two-year-old woman in otherwise good health could suffer such a tragic event.

  But Max knew the truth—he’d killed her.

  Chapter Seven

  Beth was up early the next morning and feeding Cody his cereal when Wilder came into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee.

  “And I thought ranchers were early risers,” he remarked, rubbing a hand over his raspy cheek.

  The handsome cowboy was dressed in a similar fashion to what he’d been wearing when she first showed up at the ranch—flannel pajama bottoms and a soft cotton T-shirt over hard muscles. His jaw was similarly stubbled, his hair equally tousled. And just like then, her blood hummed in response to his raw masculinity.

  “Ranchers have nothing on babies,” she told him, pointedly ignoring her body’s totally inappropriate reaction.

  “Yeah, I learned that yesterday. And the day before,” he acknowledged, stifling a yawn. “But I didn’t hear him this morning.”

  “I managed to get to him before he made too much noise,” she said.

  “I’m pretty sure my father put him in the room next to mine so that I’d have to deal with middle-of-the-night feedings and diaper changes,” Wilder remarked.

  “And you did all of that the night before,” she pointed out. “So it only seemed fair that last night was my turn.”

  “Do you always try to be fair, Lisbeth?”

  “Maybe,” she said, wondering how he managed to make fairness sound like a character flaw.

  Or maybe she was being overly sensitive—which was definitely one of her character flaws.

  “Do you want me to make you some eggs?” she asked, when Wilder opened the refrigerator door and stood for a long moment staring at its contents.

  He took out the carton and slammed the fridge door shut again before turning back to face her. “If I want eggs, I can make my own eggs,” he snapped at her.

  “O-kay,” she said, and dipped the plastic spoon into Cody’s cereal again.

  Because if she was guilty of being overly sensitive, he was just as guilty of being an arrogant jerk.

  And apparently he wasn’t done being an arrogant jerk, because after pulling a frying pan out of the cupboard he said, “I don’t know what you think is happening here, but I have no interest in playing house with you.”

  “Playing house?” she echoed, torn between bafflement and outrage. “Is that what you think I’m doing—playing? Do you honestly think any of this has been fun for me?”

  Though she kept her voice low so as not to upset her nephew, she made no effort to disguise the fury beneath her words. And when she stood to carry Cody’s now empty bowl and spoon to the sink, she felt a grim sense of satisfaction that Wilder actually took a step back, out of her path.

  “Let’s revisit the most fun parts,” she suggested. “Maybe showing up at my sister’s apartment and discovering she’d left town without te
lling me?” She unbuckled the harness that held Cody in his seat, then lifted the baby into her arms. “Or answering her phone and finding out that my infant nephew was in the care of a stranger almost seventeen hundred miles away? And then driving for twenty-eight hours through the darkness of night and all kinds of weather to make sure he was okay—but essentially being held hostage by a man who doesn’t even want to believe he’s his father?

  “You know what? You’re right—it’s been so much fun I almost wish I was back in grade school so I could write an essay on how I spent my Christmas holidays.”

  And with that parting shot, she turned on her heel and walked out.

  * * *

  He could be a complete ass at times.

  Today was apparently one of those times.

  Wilder had no defense for his behavior. Sure, he could make excuses—and having a baby dumped on his doorstep would probably be at the top of the list—but his actions and accusations were indefensible.

  And if he was truthful, he’d admit that his questions about Cody and his relationship to the kid weren’t all that had kept him awake last night or caused his pissy mood today.

  He’d been thinking about Leighton, too, as he’d tossed and turned. Wondering why she’d never told him that she was pregnant. Even if she’d had valid reasons then, why had she never reached out after the baby was born? And, if not then, how about when she decided to undertake the drive from Dallas to Rust Creek Falls with the baby in the back seat of her car? Because a phone call at any of those times would have been preferable to no phone call at all.

  And though he’d been thinking about Leighton and all the reasons he had to be furious with her as he’d finally drifted off the sleep, he’d dreamed about her sister.

  And how screwed up was that?

  Sure, Beth was an attractive woman, but she wasn’t at all his type.

  Not to mention that she was the kid’s aunt, and since there was a possibility that he might be the kid’s father, imagining her naked just seemed wrong. Because yes, he hadn’t just dreamed about her, he’d had a sex dream about her—and woken up with a raging hard-on.