The Rancher's Christmas Princess

by Christine Rimmer

  “As do we,” Charlotte agreed.

  * * *

  Pres came in at a little after five. He left his dirty boots outside and headed straight up the stairs in his stocking feet to wash off the smell of horse and manure.

  The door to the kid’s room was wide open. He glanced in there on his way past and saw Belle sitting on the braided rug by the window. She had Ben in her arms and was reading him a picture book.

  They looked good together, Belle and the boy. Content. Relaxed. He felt a little jab of guilt, that he would take the child from her.

  But it couldn’t be helped. The boy was his and belonged with him.

  Belle read, “The truck goes vroom, vroom, vroom.”

  Ben imitated the sound by making a growling noise in his throat. Then he laughed in delight at his own approximation of the noise.

  “Very good,” said Belle, and kissed the top of his blond head.

  That was when the boy glanced Pres’s way. He actually tried on a shy little smile. “Hi,” he said.

  Pres felt a definite tightness in his chest. “Hi.”

  Belle glanced his way, too. Was that gladness he saw in her eyes at the sight of him?

  Oh, come on. Why should she be glad to see him? She was a princess and he was no prince. In a month or so, she’d be outta there. She’d go back to her own world where the men wore designer duds and never smelled like manure.

  “Dinner in half an hour?” she asked. “I know it’s kind of early, but I thought it would be nice if Ben could eat with us. He gets hungry early.”

  “Hawngry,” echoed Ben. “Hawngry, hawngry. Vroom, vroom...”

  “Five-thirty’s fine,” he said. “We always eat around then anyway. Dad should be over from his place in a few minutes. I’m just going to clean up a little.”

  “Doris said she thought there was a high chair up in the attic?”

  He nodded. “Soon’s I wash off the grime, I’ll go up and get it.”

  When he emerged from his room ten minutes later, she was waiting for him in the hallway. “I left Ben with the others downstairs. I thought maybe I could help.”

  It was a job he could have easily managed on his own. But still, it was nice of her to offer a hand. “I warn you, it’s dusty up there.”

  “A little dust is not going to hurt me.” She wore gray wool pants and a tan sweater and a pair of low-heeled dark boots and she had her hair swept up, a few curls loose along her cheeks.

  He wanted to reach out, catch one of those curls, rub it between his fingers, to bend close and breathe in the tempting, heady scent of her. But he only shrugged. “All right, then. This way...”

  The attic door was near the back stairs. He pulled the chain to lower it and extended the stairs to the floor. He went up, with her behind him. At the top, the light string dangled from the rafters. He gave it a tug.

  Bare bulbs glowed along the roofline. He stepped clear of the ladder. She climbed the rest of the way up and then followed him as he made his way, half-crouched, to where the stuff of his childhood was stacked. He pulled off one tarp and then the other, revealing old toys and a couple of trunks and a few pieces of furniture, including the wooden high chair with the back carved with teddy bears twined in ivy. The tray was also of wood. It lifted on a simple hinge.

  “A rocking horse,” she marveled, touching the big toy’s white head, the curling golden mane. She set it to rocking. “It’s a beauty. I haven’t seen one of these in years and years.”

  “Paint’s a little faded, worn in spots...”

  “Was it yours?”

  “And my dad’s before me. And I believe my grandfather’s before him. I think some long-lost great-great-uncle made it. A carpenter, I think he was.”

  “Oh, and look. A rocking chair...” She rocked it as she had the horse. It creaked just a little. It was plain, of dark wood. He didn’t remember it. Had his mother used it when he was a baby?

  He had no idea. “Don’t tell me. You want me to bring both of them down, along with the high chair.”

  Her eyes gleamed at him through the dusty dimness. “The rocker, right away, yes. It’s nice to have one, especially for reading to him before bed. The rocking motion helps put him to sleep.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “They grow so fast. Soon, he’ll be too old for rocking to sleep....” Her voice trailed off on an echo of sadness. And then she seemed to shake herself. She said brightly, “And you must promise me that you’ll bring the horse down for him when he’s a little older.”

  He was doubtful. “Do kids even care about rocking horses these days? Don’t they have Nintendos and iPads and all those other electronic toys to keep them busy?”

  “Yes. And electronic devices are wonderful, but so is a rocking horse. Especially a fine one with a golden mane and a gilt-edged red saddle and flaring nostrils like this fellow.”

  God, she was beautiful. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right. How beautiful she was...

  “Preston.” She said his name so softly.

  He remembered to breathe again. “Yeah?”

  She only looked at him as he stared back at her. For a long time. Too long, really. They both knew it, as they stood there between the rocking horse and the high chair, in the light of the bare bulb a few feet away.

  He never should have kissed her last night. He realized that now. If he hadn’t kissed her, he wouldn’t know what he was missing. It was probably not a good idea for any man to get a taste of paradise. What man could live with just a taste?

  She glanced away. He wanted to reach out, turn her face to him again, pull her close, cover that soft, fine mouth with his.

  But he didn’t. He resolutely kept his yearning arms at his sides.

  And at last, she looked at him again. Now that golden gaze was careful—and a little too bright. “Well, shall we carry the high chair down?”

  “You go ahead. I can manage it.”

  * * *

  Belle wasn’t surprised when Ben grew fussy during dinner.

  It had been a hectic day. And his world just kept on changing. His life hadn’t really been what anyone would call normal for months now. He needed consistency and routine. He needed them badly.

  When he started throwing cooked carrots, she realized the meal was through.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I think it’s time for a bath....”

  “No!” exclaimed Ben. “No, no, no!” He threw another carrot. It hit Marcus on the cheek. Belle rose then and quickly wiped his hands, as he fussed and wiggled and made his displeasure known.

  “I’ll take him,” Charlotte volunteered.

  “Thanks,” Belle said. “Don’t get up. I’ve got him.”

  “He’s a feisty one,” said Silas, with what actually sounded like approval. “We McCades are a feisty bunch.”

  “Oh, are you, indeed?” Charlotte asked Preston’s father in a tone that could only be called flirtatious.

  Silas gave her a look. A very warm, appreciative look. “Yes, ma’am. We most certainly are.”

  Charlotte and Silas? Surely not...

  Ben wailed as she scooped him up out of the chair. “No. Belle, no! No, no, no!”

  She left the dining room in a hurry, Ben flailing in her arms.

  Upstairs, she took him to his crib and put him into it.

  “No. No, Belle, no, no...” He cried and shook his head and waved his little fists.

  “I am sorry you are so upset.”

  “No, no, no, no, no!”

  “I am going to leave the room now, Benjamin.”

  “No! No, no, no no...”

  “I will return when you are quiet.”

  “No, no, no, no!”

  Resolutely, she turned and left the room, his wails and “no”s ringing in her ears. With a sigh, she shut the door and sagged against it. His cries were muted now, but no less hard to bear. She knew that such behavior was not the least out of the ordinary for an almost-two-year-old. But still, it wasn’t easy to let him cry it out, especial
ly given that he’d lost his mom such a short time ago.

  “Could you maybe use a little support?” Preston. He stood down the hallway, at the head of the stairs.

  She blew out a slow breath and smoothed the front of her sweater where Ben had gripped it in his angry fist. “Support is most welcome. There’s nothing as exhausting as a tired, frustrated toddler.”

  His mouth had a wry twist to it. “I think I’m going to need a nanny.”

  “Yes.” She straightened from the door and went to join him. “I’m sure you will. You can’t run a horse ranch and be with Ben all day.”

  He dropped down to sit on the top step. “But not right away. I want him to...know me, to come to trust me first, before he gets attached to a nanny.” He patted the empty space at his side.

  “That makes complete sense to me.” She sat next to him, her ears tuned to the sounds behind the closed door, her mind on those moments in the attic, when she had yearned only to kiss the man beside her a second time. “You’ll need to hire someone by the time I leave, though....” He wore a blue shirt that matched his eyes and he smelled of soap and some bracing, clean-scented aftershave.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that. Will do.”

  From behind the door, the nos were becoming less frequent, the wailing distinctly diminished. She tipped her head, listening. “He’ll be ready for his bath in just a few minutes.”

  “Is he...is he all right? I mean, Dad said not to get my long johns in a twist over a little temper tantrum. But is that all it is? It can’t be easy for him, losing his mom, his whole life turned upside down...”

  “He is all right,” she promised. “Your father’s advice is sound. But yes, it doesn’t hurt to be extra aware of Ben’s moods now, to be sure all his needs are addressed. Losing one’s mother is terribly painful and difficult at any age.”

  He made a noise in the affirmative. “Yeah.”

  “But you know that,” she said softly.

  He stared out over the foyer. “It was a long time ago, when my mom died. I hardly remember her. But I do kind of remember that it was bad, that there was...an empty place. A big one that used to be filled up with love and...I don’t know, smiles and kisses and cookies and all that stuff.”

  She studied his profile. He was easy to look at. “What a beautiful way to put it.”

  He grunted. “I’m just glad—that he’s okay, I mean.”

  “He is. He will be.”

  “And I want him to start getting used to me being around.”

  “Yes, he must come to know you, to trust you, to look to you for comfort, to count on you. That’s important.”

  “So I can help with the bath?” He looked so handsome and hopeful. “Or at least, you know, be there, if it doesn’t upset him to have me there....”

  “Yes. Absolutely, you may.”

  “Whew.” He braced his arms on his bent knees. “I was worried you would say no with him already so upset and all.”

  “Anything that brings you and Ben closer together, nearer to being the family you need to be...I will always say yes to that, Preston.” He looked at her then, admiration in his eyes. She wished he would never look away, even though she knew her wish was completely selfish. And purely futile. What could they have together? He loved this ranch. It was in his blood, his DNA.

  He wasn’t going to leave it to marry a princess and live in Montedoro.

  And she believed in the work she did. She found meaning and purpose in her life. Moving to Montana to be a rancher’s wife, it wasn’t the life she’d always imagined for herself.

  So what would they have, then?

  A love affair? A fling? She’d never been a woman who engaged in affairs. She didn’t think she was ready to become such a woman now.

  No, it wasn’t going to happen with them.

  And she needed to remember that.

  She said, “We must speak about Christmas.”

  “Must we?” He was teasing her.

  She remained serious. “Yes. How do you celebrate the holidays here in Montana?”

  “In Elk Creek? Enthusiastically. There are any number of Christmassy goings-on. Community events. Church stuff. Here at the ranch? It’s been years since we even put up a tree.”

  “That will have to change. Children need...ritual. They need to celebrate, to experience...wonder. To know joy.”

  “Joy, huh?” He nudged her with his shoulder, the way he had done that morning, when he finally stopped being so angry about Anne having kept Ben from him.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “Joy. Definitely. And you mentioned church activities. What church do you attend?”

  “Er, we used to be Catholics, when my mom was alive. Now I would call us basically lapsed.”

  “Community, Preston. It’s so important. And regular church attendance helps a child to feel more a part of his community, to be more a part of his community. Plus, it never hurts to bring a child up with an awareness of a higher power.”

  He was watching her again, his head tipped to the side. “A higher power, huh?”

  She nodded. “I’m trying very hard not to be pushy about this.”

  “But you want me and Dad and Ben to be churchgoing folk.”

  “At least consider it. We could all go together this Sunday.”

  “You say that so sweet and all. But I’ve noticed you’re a very strong-minded kind of woman. When you want something done, it tends to get done.”

  Why lie about it? “I am strong-minded, yes.” She gave him a bright smile. “So, then. Sunday Mass. We’re agreed on that.”

  He held her gaze for longer than he should have—longer than she should have allowed. Yearning rose within her for...more. With him. Of him. Slowly, he nodded. “Church on Sunday. Sure.” He looked out over the foyer again.

  With difficulty, she found her voice and suggested, “And as far as the Christmas traditions you need to start establishing, do you have decorations or will we be buying those?”

  He answered rather gruffly. “I think we do have decorations up there in the attic somewhere.”

  “Will you find them and bring them down?”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Wonderful. And we’ll need a tree.”

  “No problem. We got trees coming out our ears around here. We’ll find a nice one and cut it down.”

  She got her legs under her. They were strangely shaky. Holding the banister for support, she rose to her feet. “Hear that?” He gazed up at her. What she saw in those summer-sky eyes of his made her knees go weak all over again. “Silence. Sweet, sweet silence. I do believe that Ben is ready for his bath.”

  He rose. And then he just stood there, gazing down at her as she gazed up at him.

  She wanted to reach for him, to pull that dark gold head down, until his lips touched hers, to thread her fingers in his hair. She yearned to reach for him. That yearning rose, like a tide. It spilled upward, overflowing the boundaries of her heart.

  He asked, so gently, “Belle?”

  She didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Resolutely, she turned and led the way back to Ben’s room.

  Chapter Six

  When Belle opened the door, Pres looked in and saw Ben sitting quietly in his crib.

  Belle asked, “Are you ready for your bath now?”

  The kid seemed to actually consider the question. And then he nodded. “Bath. Yes.”

  So she went on into the room, scooped him out of the crib and took him to the bathroom, where she filled the tub, helped him out of his clothes and into the warm water.

  Ben was subdued. Almost as though he felt guilty for being such a pill. More likely, though, he was just plain exhausted after a hectic day. Plus, he’d expended some serious energy having that tantrum. That had probably worn him out, too. He sat in the tub and yawned and halfheartedly poked at a couple of floaty toys Belle had put in there for him.

  The blue-tiled bathroom was good-size, with both a shower stall and a tub. Plenty of room for Pres to
hang out near the door, out of the way.

  Belle knelt on the bath mat, soaped up a cloth and washed Ben’s face. She sudsed up his little body. Pres watched her, thinking how much he liked her brown hair with its streaks of red and gold. He liked the way she held her back so straight and proud, even on her knees beside a bathtub.

  He’d wanted to kiss her, back there at the top of the stairs.

  He’d wanted it bad.

  And he would have done it if she’d given him the slightest encouragement. He knew she was right not to, but that didn’t make him want to kiss her any less.

  Ben yawned again. He slumped his soapy shoulders and let out a long sigh. Then he frowned and all at once, he seemed to be seeing Pres. Really seeing him, standing there by the door. “Hi,” he said, suddenly bright and alert. “Hi.”

  “Hey, there, Benjamin. How are you doin’?”

  Was that too many words? Ben looked at him kind of puzzled. And then, finally, he said, “Hi,” again.

  “That’s your daddy,” Belle told him, simple and direct and straight-ahead as you please. Pres’s heart ached—a good ache—and his throat felt tight. She dribbled water over those fat little shoulders, rinsing off the soap bubbles. “Can you say that? Say, ‘Hi, Daddy.’”

  Ben looked at her and laughed. “Belle.” He put his little hand over her mouth. “Belle...”

  She kissed his fingers. “Say, ‘Hi, Daddy.’”

  Ben laughed again. And then he got serious. He looked directly at Pres and said, “Hi, Da-da.”

  Now, there was a moment worth waiting half a lifetime for, a moment a man holds in his heart for all of his days. “Ben,” he replied, his voice only cracking a little bit. “Hi.”

  * * *

  The next day, Wednesday, Silas and Preston had work that couldn’t wait. They were up and gone before Belle and Charlotte brought Ben downstairs.

  Preston had left Belle a note under a magnet on the refrigerator.

  “Here,” said Charlotte. “Let me have that handsome boy.”

  “Shar-Shar...” Ben reached for her.

  Belle handed him over and took the note off the refrigerator.