by Lisa Jackson
He rotated her foot. A shaft of white-hot pain shot up her leg.
“Ouch.”
“That hurts?”
“Big-time.”
His eyebrows drew together and he rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Looks like you either sprained it or broke it.”
“No—”
“You’ll probably need X-rays.”
Lesley’s heart sank. “It’ll be fine,” she said, refusing to doubt her own words. She had to be healthy. She was a single woman with a baby to take care of. She couldn’t be laid up. Wouldn’t.
“I’ll bring you a couple of aspirin.” He glanced at her for a second and her heart did a stupid little glitch. He was handsome in a rugged, harsh-featured sort of way. Tall, lean, with wide shoulders and slim hips, he wore faded, battle-scarred jeans, a pullover sweater and an expression that wavered between tender concern and irritated worry. His eyes were a steely gray and guarded secrets at which she could only guess. Lesley figured him to be a loner, a man who didn’t like too many intrusions in his life, a man who had his own extremely private demons to deal with.
He sauntered into the bathroom in stockinged feet and returned with a glass of water and bottle of overthe-counter pain relievers.
“I’ve got coffee warming on the stove...or...hot water if you want something else. I might have a tea bag or two, I’m not sure.”
“I’m fine,” she said around a yawn, and was surprised when he threw the covers back again and propped her foot with a pillow.
“Needs to be elevated, and I’ll get a bag of snow to help with the swelling.”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble.”
“Sure I do,” he said firmly, and left quickly only to return with an insulated rubber sack that felt ice-cold to her as he placed it upon her ankle. She sucked in her breath then let it out slowly. “It’ll help,” he assured her.
“If I don’t die of frostbite first,” she muttered, surprised at her cranky tone. It had been a long, hard day, and despite Chase Fortune’s best efforts, she didn’t like being told what to do. She ached all over.
One side of his mouth lifted in a manner she found disdainfully irritating as well as damnably sexy. “I’ll wake you for dinner.”
Dinner. It sounded and smelled like heaven, but she couldn’t just lie in the man’s bed, eat his food and expect him to take care of her and her newborn daughter. He was a neighbor, a stranger, a man she didn’t know and shouldn’t trust, one with his own set of problems. Besides which, she couldn’t impose upon him, couldn’t let herself become beholden to him in any way. And what the devil was she thinking, deciding that his smile was sexy? It must be the postpartum elation she was feeling, the exhilaration of holding her hours-old daughter close and knowing that the baby was healthy and safe.
“Listen, Chase. I have to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Angela. I really don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you, but I can’t impose on you any longer. Really. I have to go home and—”
“No!”
He said it so sharply she jumped.
“I mean you can’t be serious,” he said, and all hint of a smile left his face. “You gave birth less than six hours ago and, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard raging. Your vehicle’s disabled. You’ve either sprained or broken your ankle. You don’t know how healthy your baby is. And, assuming you could get over to your place, which you can’t, there’s no electricity or telephone service, so you wouldn’t be able to heat the house or communicate with anyone if you have a problem.”
“Are you done lecturing me?” she demanded, even though she knew he was right.
“For the moment.” His harsh expression softened a bit. “Until you come up with some other lamed-brained idea. Now, just take it easy. It looks like you and I are going to have to wait out this storm. Together.” He slid a glance at the sleeping baby. “Just the three of us.” His slate-colored eyes told her that he wasn’t any happier with the situation than she. “Yell if you need anything.” He turned on his heel and left, but his dog gave off a weary sigh and curled up near the bed, sad eyes on the light spilling through the open doorway as if he intended to guard the place.
Just the three of us. The words had an odd ring to them. For the past six months Lesley had told herself she was alone and that’s the way she wanted things—a single woman making her way in a man’s world. She had been certain that even after the baby was born, she wouldn’t want another man in her life. No way. No how. One marriage was enough, thank you very much.
She felt her eyelids grown heavy and gave in to the sleep that might ease the throbbing in her ankle and the lingering pain deep inside from the birth. She wouldn’t impose on Chase Fortune too much, she thought, drifting off, but for now, she didn’t have any say in the matter. The best thing to do was trust in him, accept his hospitality and eventually, when she was up and on her feet again, find a way to repay him.
When she awoke, there was music coming from the living room. Over the sounds of pots rattling, the fire crackling and Angela’s soft breathing, Lesley heard the fragmented strains of a Christmas carol.
“The first Noel, the angels did say...”
“Merry Christmas,” she whispered to her baby and let slumber overtake her as thoughts of her new child, guardian angels and a very tough-looking rancher filled her head.
* * *
“Waaaa!”
The cry started out as a whimper, but quickly rose to a lusty full-blown wail.
Chase was just pulling the chicken out of the oven, and he heard Lesley’s voice, muted and soft from sleep, as she talked to the infant who had one helluva set of lungs.
Within seconds the noise quieted, and Chase suspected that Lesley was feeding her daughter. Rather than interrupt, he cut up the chicken, placed the hot vegetables and meat on a platter and poured the gravy, if you could call it that, over the meat and potatoes.
By the time he carried a tray into the bedroom, Lesley was buttoning up her nightgown, but Chase caught a glimpse of one perfectly rounded breast. A dark, wet nipple peeked at him. He looked away quickly, but not before she met his gaze with her own, and for a heart-stopping second, he was lost.
“How’s—how’s she doing?” Chase asked as he set the tray on the nightstand near the bed.
“Fine, I think.” Lesley’s finely arched eyebrows drew together. “Near as I can tell. She eats well and sleeps all right and...has a decent voice on her.”
“I noticed,” he said drily. “I’ll be right back.” He walked into the living room and wondered why he felt so compelled to wait on her hand and foot. She didn’t seem the kind of woman who expected that kind of treatment, but, for the first time since Emily’s death, he felt a need to protect and help her and her tiny daughter. He consoled himself with the thought that this was only for a few days, until she was able to take care of herself and her baby and the storm had passed. Then she was on her own. He dug in the small closet where he’d seen an old TV tray, compliments of the previous owners. Quickly washing it off with a rag, he returned to the bedroom with the tray and a lantern.
Next he opened his bottom dresser drawer, dumped the jeans onto the top of the bureau and lined the empty drawer with a blanket. “I’m fresh out of bassinets and cribs,” he explained, gently lifting Angela from her mother’s arms and placing her in the drawer near the bed. The baby’s body was warm, and she made happy little gurgling noises, but Chase told himself to stay detached. This little lump of flesh wasn’t his kid and after a few days, wouldn’t be his responsibility. Satisfied that Angela was content and comfortable, he straightened and motioned to Lesley. “Now, you, lady, have some dinner.”
Lesley glanced down at the makeshift cradle. “Will she be all right there?”
“Unless you crawl out of the bed and step on her, and I don’t think you’ll be doin’ much of that with that ankle of yours.”
“I know, but—”
“If you need to use the bathroom, cal
l me. I’ll take you.”
She blushed scarlet. “No, I couldn’t. I mean I’ll get there by myself.” He sent her a disbelieving look, but didn’t argue. He set her tray across her lap, then got a second for himself and watched as she ate heartily.
“So where’s Angela’s father?” Chase asked as he dunked a biscuit in a pocket of lumpy gravy.
Lesley cleared her throat. “Aaron died six months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” She replaced her fork. “He was older than me by twenty years and...well, he had a heart attack one day.” Her eyes clouded with what Chase supposed was grief, but there was something more to the story, as well, something she didn’t want to confide. The corners of her mouth turned down a bit, and the slight dusting of freckles over her nose seemed more pronounced. She pushed around her vegetables with her fork, and he decided he didn’t need to pry. She’d been through enough for one day. “When he died, everyone thought I should sell the ranch, move into town, but I wanted to try and make it on my own. With my daughter, of course.”
“To prove a point?” he guessed.
“Maybe.” She didn’t elaborate, and he held his silence.
It had been years since he’d shared Christmas Eve with anyone. Even with all his relatives he’d chosen to spend the holidays alone since Ryan’s death, ignoring the traditions of Thanksgiving and Christmas in favor of quiet solitude. On those holidays he’d usually spent time riding through snow-crusted hills, eyeing the scenery, telling himself that there was a God, that his son and wife were in heaven, that he could get by on his own, that he didn’t need anyone. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Within a few short hours Lesley Bastian and that mite of a daughter of hers had started turning his mind around. As he chewed on a tough bite of chicken and watched golden shadows from the kerosene lantern play over the smooth contours of her face, he had the distinct impression that the widow next door was about to change the course of his life forever, and he wasn’t certain it was for the better.
CHAPTER THREE
If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay in that bed until I can drive you to a hospital so a doctor can look at your ankle.
Chase’s words still echoed through the empty cabin as Lesley struggled to her feet. The baby was sleeping in her makeshift bed, Chase was outside, and Lesley wasn’t going to let him boss her around. He’d been wonderful in his gruff way. For the past few days he’d waited on her hand and foot, taking care of both his place and hers, but she couldn’t stand being idle a minute longer. She needed to get on with her life, and the thought of some man, any man, Chase Fortune included, telling her what to do, made her see red. This was as good a time as any to test her ability to stand.
Gingerly she placed her feet on the floor and pushed herself upright. Pain screamed up her ankle and leg. “Darn.” Light-headed, she dropped back down on the bed for a second, then decided she wasn’t going to let the sprain get the better of her. She tried again. The pain hit her hard, then dulled. It wasn’t so bad this time. Gritting her teeth, she balanced on her good foot, then, using a cane Chase had found in the attic, hobbled into the living room, where a fire crackled brightly.
She and Angela were alone. Chase was out looking for the missing livestock.
Leaning against the counter, she took a good hard look at the place. The house was decorated sparsely with an eclectic array of used furniture that somehow jelled together to give an authentic mountain-cabin feel to the place. The couch had once been deep forest green and was now worn and lumpy. A sleeping bag was thrown over one overstuffed arm and had sufficed as Chase’s bed. An old leather chair sat near the fire, and a drop-leaf table separated the living area from the kitchen. Four chairs surrounded the oval table, none of which matched another.
She’d asked enough questions to learn that most of the furniture had come with the place, and she supposed he was a man who traveled light, didn’t collect a lot of possessions or dust, and was used to moving from one place to another.
In the kitchen she poured coffee from a thermos and stared through the frost-covered windows to the barn, where snow was piled high on the roof and icicles dangled, sparkling in the pale winter sun.
Livestock, black Angus and white-faced Hereford cattle, chewed their cuds under a pole structure or milled in the snow that had been trampled.
She was sipping from her cup when the house seemed to shudder. The motor of the refrigerator began to hum. Lamps were suddenly lit.
Electricity! Finally. She snapped on the television set and saw the familiar characters of a soap opera. “Good.” Lesley’s spirits lifted instantly. “Back to the twentieth century!” She hitched her way across the room to the wall phone and nearly shouted out loud when she held the receiver to her ear and heard an honest-to-goodness dial tone for the first time in half a week.
Her heart hammered, and she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. There were so many people to call to tell them about Angela.
First on the list were her parents. She dialed their home in Seattle and waited impatiently, her fingers tapping anxiously on the counter.
One ring. Two. Three.
“Come on. Be home.”
“Hello?”
At the sound of her mother’s voice, tears filled Lesley’s eyes. “Hi, Grandma,” she said.
There was a stunned silence and then her mother shrieked. “Lesley? You had the baby? Frank! Frank! Get on the extension, it’s Lesley! She had the baby! Where are you? What happened? Oh, my God, we were so worried!”
There was a click and she heard her father’s voice. “Les?”
“Hi, Daddy.” Tears of relief spilled down her cheeks. “Mom’s right. You’re a grandpa now. Angela Noel Chastina Bastian was born on Christmas Eve and she’s beautiful.”
“Well, I’ll be—” her father whispered.
Her mother began to sniff, and Lesley couldn’t help but giggle through her tears. They were all a bunch of romantic softies deep at heart. “As I said, we were so worried,” her mom repeated. “We couldn’t get hold of you, not even through the police and...and the television reports said the storm there was the worst ever.” Her voice cracked. “There were pictures of stranded cars and frozen cattle and, oh, I just thank God that you and the baby are safe.”
“Me, too.”
“Are you at home?”
“No. At the neighbor’s. If it hadn’t been for Chase coming along...” She couldn’t imagine what would have happened. Quickly she recounted the past few days, leaving out only those parts that would upset her parents and lingering on the birth and Angela. “I was lucky I guess.”
“Very,” her mother agreed, then promised to visit as soon as the weather allowed.
“She’ll be there if she has to walk through another blizzard,” her father said, chuckling. They’d been waiting to become grandparents for years, but Lesley’s sister, Janie, wasn’t interested in becoming a mother. A lawyer, married to another attorney in the same firm, Janie lived in San Francisco and enjoyed an urban professional life uncluttered by children.
“So this Chase fellow, he’s still helping you out?” her father asked.
“I’m still at his house, but I think I can go home today or tomorrow. If not, you can reach me here,” Lesley added, rattling off the telephone number. They talked a few more minutes about the holidays and relatives and Angela’s future before hanging up, then Lesley called her sister and left a message on Janie’s answering machine.
She’d hung up and was hobbling back to the bedroom when the phone jangled. Thinking her mother had decided to call back, she hiked her way back to the kitchen and snagged the receiver on the fourth ring just as Chase appeared on the back porch.
“Hello?” she said, smiling, as she watched Chase shake the snow from his jacket and hat.
“Oh...hello,” a woman said. She sounded young and a little put off, as if she hadn’t been expecting to hear Lesley’s voice. Foolishly, Lesley’s heart sank. “This is Kelly S
inclair. I’m trying to reach Chase Fortune.”
“He’s right here,” Lesley replied, surprised at the knot of disappointment in her stomach. Chase shouldered open the door and gave the room a quick once-over. “The power’s on.”
“Finally.” She held the telephone toward him and forced a smile she didn’t feel. “It’s Kelly.”
His eyebrows elevated. “Who?”
“Kelly Sinclair.”
“Oh. Good.” His demeanor changed instantly. The hardworking, abrupt cowboy switched into an even-tempered man. He took the receiver and grinned. “Merry Christmas—well, it’s a little late, but we’ve been snowed under. Suppose you heard.”
Angela started to cry, and rather than eavesdrop on Chase’s private conversation, Lesley started for the bedroom.
“Hey, wait. I’ll help you,” he said, but Lesley’s spine stiffened. She wasn’t going to depend upon him.
“I’m okay,” she said over her shoulder as the baby’s cries got louder.
“You’re sure...what?” he said into the telephone again. “Oh, no. Just the neighbor. Yeah, we had a little trouble here over the holidays.”
Just the neighbor. Lesley’s teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. She gripped the cane even harder. Of course she was just his neighbor. What more did she expect? Sure they’d been trapped together for four days and in that time she’d seen through Chase’s hard facade to the gentler man behind his brooding eyes and harsh expression. Though he’d avoided holding Angela, he’d been concerned for her well-being. He’d made sure that Lesley was recovering and she’d noticed that he’d slipped his old dog scraps from the table and watched him absently rub his ears. His concern for his newly acquired herd seemed to run deeper than a simple worry about profit and loss. Deep inside, Chase Fortune probably had a heart of pure gold; he just did a darned good job of hiding it.
