A Fortune's Children's Christmas

by Lisa Jackson

  “It’ll be a damned feast,” he muttered to Rambo, who had stationed himself on the braided rug under the table and stared up at Chase hoping for a scrap. “Later.” He donned hat, jacket, gloves and boots again, then carried in more firewood and stoked the fire. Satisfied that there was enough oak for the night, he checked on the stock one last time, trying to see through the storm and hoping that the last of the strays had made it back to the barn. But his count was off. Between twenty and thirty head of cattle were still unaccounted for. “Great,” he muttered as he walked back to the house. What a lousy way to start off his year of trying to pull these rocky acres into the black.

  By the time he returned to the cabin, the aroma of roasting poultry mingled with the scents of burning wood and kerosene. He turned on the radio again, listened to a depressing weather report and, as a static-laden version of “O Come All Ye Faithful” filled the room with music, strode into the bedroom. Lesley was awake and had somehow managed, with the aid of sponge, towels and the bucket of warm water he’d left at the bed, to clean herself and the baby. Now the little girl was dressed in a white sleeper that was trimmed in red and green and looked a couple of sizes too large.

  “Merry Christmas,” Lesley’s smile was infectious. He wondered if she was the prettiest woman he’d ever met with her silver-green eyes and teeth that overlapped just slightly.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said gruffly.

  “I’d like you to meet Angela.”

  For a second he thought she was hallucinating again, but she cocked her head to indicate the sleeping baby.

  “Angela? That’s what you named her?”

  “Actually Angela Noel Chastina Bastian.” Lesley blushed a little. “Angela because of the angel…”

  “I remember.”

  “And Noel because it’s Christmas.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “And Chastina after you, because if you hadn’t come along when you did, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “No reason to think about it,” he said, dismissing the dangerous emotions that seemed to settle in the small room. He silently cautioned himself to be careful. This was, after all, a dramatic night, and whether they’d chosen to or not, he and Lesley had already handled the heady, exhilarating experience of Angela’s birth. “Maybe you should have named her after her father.”

  Lesley’s smile disappeared slowly. Her face clouded and she looked away. “Aaron wouldn’t have appreciated the gesture.”

  His gut clenched. So she was, or had been married to Aaron Bastian. The thought made him sick. But hadn’t she said she didn’t have a husband? Were they divorced? Had she ended up with the ranch?

  Clearing her throat, she shifted the sleeping baby, who was snuggled against her breast. “Something smells good.”

  “Does it?”

  “Mmm.” When she turned back to him, her eyes held that special sparkle again, a lively brilliance that he was beginning to find fascinating.

  “We can only hope.”

  “Tell me about yourself,” she suggested. She tossed a lock of springy curls from her face, and he found the act sexy, though he didn’t know why. Didn’t want to think about it. “All I know is that you’re one of Kate’s great-nephews. That’s a pretty long list.”

  He settled into the old rocker, propped his stockinged heel on the edge of the bed and warned himself to be careful. This woman, whether she knew it or not, was touching emotions he’d thought were long dead. For a second he considered telling her that he’d once lived on the spread that she now owned, that her ex-husband had bought the place for a song when Chase’s father had nearly run it to the ground, but she probably knew more than her share of what had happened. Besides, it was all ancient history. Water under the bridge. “The reason I’m here,” he said, “is because of a deal with Kate. To coin an overused phrase, she handed me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” He explained about Kate’s bargain, and Lesley listened while absently rubbing her daughter’s tiny back. His gut clenched, but he continued to tell her about the birthday bash where Kate approached him.

  “One year isn’t much time to turn things around.” Her forehead creased with lines of concern.

  “I wasn’t doin’ much of anything else. I’ve been a foreman for three ranches, one in Wyoming, another in Texas and the last in Western Washington. Now I’m working for myself.” He didn’t add that owning his own place had been his lifelong dream, that ever since Zeke had lost the ranch next door, Chase had been determined to find another place, to stake his claim and make a home. Nor did he bring up that his dreams had died with the death of his son. “Now, maybe I should have a look at that ankle of yours.”

  “It’s fine,” she protested, but he moved his foot out of the way and raised the blankets at the foot of the bed. “Really, Chase, you don’t have to—”

  “Shh.” He shot Lesley a look that was both tender and tough, a glance that warned her to be still, and though it rankled her a bit—just who did he think he was bullying her around?—she was touched at his concern. His callused fingers gently probed the skin around her foot and the back of her leg, carefully examining—the act nearly sensual. But that was foolish. She barely knew the man. He was just being cautious.

  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 over-the-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 a
nd 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, call 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 con-fide. 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.

  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 p
ushed 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.