It would be so much easier to share the demands with someone, she thought wistfully, so much more meaningful to share the joys.
She stole a glance at the man beside her. Every line in his face, every expression on his lips was as dear and familiar to her as if they’d spent a lifetime together, rather than a few short months. Here was someone who wanted to take on that duty, who was eager to be a father to his son or daughter. On that score at least, she had come to trust Clint without reservation over the past few days. He loved the baby she was carrying as deeply as she did.
Tell me what to do, she prayed. Please show me the path to take.
There were no blinding messages in response, no signals in the night sky as they made their way home again. Maybe, as she had accused Clint of doing earlier, she was rushing things, trying to force a resolution when the only real answers would come with time. Patience, never one of her virtues, was absolutely necessary with so much on the line.
At home, when everyone else climbed up the steps to their rooms, Clint lingered at the foot of the stairs, his steady gaze on her.
“Sit with me awhile,” he suggested. “By the tree.”
As tired as she was, she was unable to resist the appeal of the invitation, the draw of the man uttering it.
The lights were still on, blinking reds and greens, blues and golds, a magnificent display of shimmering Technicolor. Leaning back in his arms, she half closed her eyes to soften the effect into something reminiscent of an Impressionist painting.
“What is it about a Christmas tree that makes us feel as if we’ve been touched by magic?” she asked.
She could tell from his thoughtful expression that he took the question seriously, and she loved him for that. Some men would have laughed it off as romanticized nonsense. Clint had always taken her most whimsical statements seriously, though. He was also capable of wicked wit or off-the-cuff philosophy. Their conversations had never been boring.
“It takes us back to childhood, maybe,” he said. “Back to a time when we were truly innocent and filled with anticipation.”
“Back to a time when we were greedy little brats, you mean.”
He laughed. “I was trying for a positive spin.”
“Do you ever think about what our baby will be like?”
He seemed startled by the shift in topic. “You mean boy or girl?”
“No, I mean the kind of person he or she will grow up to be. Does it scare you, thinking about what the world is like and how to protect him?”
“Or her,” he reminded her. “Now, having a girl scares me more than a boy. I figure I won’t want any daughter of mine to date until she’s ninety for fear she’ll run across a man like me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“You, of all people, have to ask?”
“You’re strong. You’re decent. You’re intelligent. Any woman would be lucky to have you,” she declared with feeling, then recognized the irony.
“May I remind you that a very short time ago you turned down my proposal before I could even get it out of my mouth,” he said, obviously aware of the irony, too. “I’d rehearsed the darned thing, too.”
“Want to say it now?” The suggestion was made only half in jest. A part of her wanted a chance to say yes, even if common sense told her to stay silent.
He studied her intently, then shook his head. “Not right this second, angel. I can’t take being humiliated twice in one night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I was being impulsive. You were trying to use good sense. Marriage isn’t something to jump into for the wrong reasons.”
He rested his hand on her belly, and Angela felt her pulse skitter crazily. His expression turned awestruck as the baby shifted inside her. When he lifted his gaze to hers, she was almost certain she detected the sheen of unshed tears.
“Though this is a pretty darned good reason for getting married, if you ask me,” he said quietly.
It was, Angela agreed to herself. But it wasn’t the one she desperately wanted to hear. She could have told him that, probably should have, but she didn’t. She wanted him to recognize their love on his own, to admit to it without any prodding from her...if he could.
“I think I’ll go up to bed now,” she said instead. She stood up, then bent down to drop a kiss against his cheek. “Good night, Clint. Merry Christmas.”
He captured her face between his hands and kissed her back, slowly, persuasively until her knees were so weak she could barely stand. If he’d meant to make a point, if he’d meant to remind her that the passion between them burned hot even now, then he had.
“Merry Christmas, angel,” he murmured. “See you in the morning.”
With her blood pumping fast and furiously through her veins, she regretted the decision to leave, but pride wouldn’t let her turn back. That was the trouble with the two of them, she concluded. They both had pride to spare, but no one with whom to spend the night.
* * *
Christmas morning dawned cold and bright. Sun glistened on a fresh covering of snow that had fallen after they’d gotten home from church the night before. Clint had caught a glimpse of it when he’d finally gone up to his room.
He’d stood by the window for an eternity, staring out at the stark, rugged terrain of White Pines softened by its blanket of white. Oddly enough, he’d felt no envy. His own ranch might be smaller, less ostentatious, but he owned every acre of it free and clear. He could take pride in the work he had done to make it a thriving cattle operation, one that would grow over time.
Was it enough to offer a child, though? Especially a child who could have at least some small stake in all this someday? He didn’t like the doubts that kept creeping in when he least expected them. He didn’t want to think about going home without his son or daughter.
He didn’t want to think about going without Angela.
It was strange. He had come to Texas in search of Hattie—or more precisely, the child he’d fathered—but he’d found a different woman entirely. Not just in name, but in demeanor and more. To be sure, her body had changed with the child she carried, but it ran deeper than that. Hattie had been flirtatious and loving and generous, but he’d never seen the strength in her that he saw in Angela. She was prepared to face the uncertain future on her own, if she had to, without him.
His own feelings had changed over the past few days, as well. He’d come after a child. His child. He’d stayed, at least in part, because of a woman. She intrigued him in ways that Hattie never had.
Only one thing had stayed the same; the hunger she could build in him with just a glance. The skim of her fingers across his flesh, the touch of her lips, and he was achingly hard and hot as a branding iron.
Those thoughts of permanence and forever were coming more and more frequently, buoyed by the notion that the foundation was more solid. His attraction to her had deepened into something that could last through time. And this time, he thought, they had the truth on their side. They had a fresh chance to get it right.
He thought about what Jessie had told him earlier about a woman needing to know that a man wanted her for herself and not for the baby she carried. Maybe it was time he admitted that, put his heart on the line. Not doing so up until now had been a coward’s act. When Angela had turned his proposal down she’d refused an offer only slightly better than a business proposition. If he told her he cared, if he confessed to loving her, it would be him she was rejecting. Little had ever frightened him before, but that did.
He’d had a lot of months to toughen his pride. He’d had that final scene between them to play over and over again. He’d had the night she’d given him the slip in Montana to reinforce all of his fears that the woman he was chasing didn’t want him. Just as his father hadn’t. Old insecurities that had festered for years came back to haunt him.
He had n
o proof, none at all, that her feelings toward him had changed. Not really. Oh, she had returned his kisses with a matching ardor. She had sent glances his way that could steam up a mirror two rooms away. That should have been reassurance enough.
But Angela was unpredictable in ways that Hattie hadn’t been. Telling her how he felt still seemed risky. The knowledge she would have after such an admission would give her a certain kind of power over him, and he didn’t like giving anyone around him an edge they could turn against him.
He’d wrestled with the dilemma most of the night. By dawn the answers were no clearer than they had been.
He could sense that others were stirring. He’d checked with Consuela the night before, and she’d assured him that his gift for Angela had arrived and been safely hidden. It would be under the tree by this morning. Just thinking of it made him smile.
He rushed through his shower, dressed in another suit and struggled with another damnable tie. He’d be glad when the holidays ended and he could go back to wearing comfortable denims and flannel shirts again. He’d noticed that the other men had been complaining good-naturedly about their own fancy clothes the night before. Except for Jordan. He was a man who looked as if he’d been born to wear pinstripes. He was as relaxed in Armani as the rest of them were in their Levi’s and Wranglers.
He thought of that soft, green velvet dress that Angela had worn the night before. It had taken every bit of his strength to keep from caressing the fabric and the woman wearing it. He supposed wearing a fancy suit once in a while was a small price to pay to see the women gussied up in velvet and silk and diamonds. Seeing the pendant he had given her nestled between her breasts had made him smile.
Pausing outside Angela’s door now, he listened for sounds of her stirring, but heard nothing. He realized why, when he got downstairs. She was in the living room with her grandfather, Justin and young Harlan. They were all dressed up and staring avidly at the mound of packages under the tree.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Clint said, not even trying to hide his amusement.
“Merry Christmas, son,” Harlan said. He eyed Clint hopefully. “Did you hear anyone else stirring up there?”
“Not really. I just heard you all coming downstairs.”
Four faces reflected obvious disappointment. Clint noticed that Angela’s gaze was fixed on the huge, wrapped package tucked back in one corner. From its size, Clint guessed it had to be the one he’d bought for her. He picked out the huge, lumpy present she’d chosen for him, then returned his gaze to her.
“Curious, angel?” he inquired, taking a seat beside her.
“It’s Christmas morning. Of course I’m curious.”
“We could open just one package each,” Harlan suggested. “Wouldn’t be anything wrong with that, would there?”
“Grandpa, you know the others would kill us,” Justin said. “The rule is we wait until everybody’s up.”
Harlan grinned. “Then the two of you go upstairs and raise a ruckus. Let’s see if we can’t get this show on the road.”
When the two young men had raced off, Angela regarded him sternly. “Grandpa, you’re worse than they are.”
“There’s nothing like the spirit of giving to perk up a man’s day. I’m old. I have the right to indulge my kinfolk.”
“Who are you trying to kid?” she teased. “You want to see what everyone got for you.”
“Watch it, girl, or that present with your name on it just might vanish before we get to the unwrapping.”
“He always threatens us like this,” Angela told Clint. “The man threatened to take back my teddy bear one year.”
“You told me the one you had at home was bigger. I figured you didn’t need two. Also thought you needed to learn something about gratitude. You learned your lesson, didn’t you?”
She grinned at him. “Yes, Grandpa,” she said dutifully. “I think I’ll go tell Consuela and Maritza we want to eat breakfast before we open packages. I’ll suggest a nice, long, leisurely breakfast, pancakes, waffles, the works.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, catching her hand when she would have sashayed past him. He turned his gaze on Clint. “Take her for a walk, will you? Keep her out of mischief until the others come down.”
Clint glanced outside worriedly. “I don’t know, sir. It looks awfully cold and slippery out there. There’s more snow coming down, too.”
“Traitor,” Harlan taunted. “I guess I’ll go up and see if my wife is awake.”
“Let her sleep if she’s not,” Angela said. “Yesterday was a long day. Today will be, too.”
“Then she can catch up on her beauty sleep tonight, not on Christmas morning.”
When he’d gone, Angela shook her head. “He always was the first one up on Christmas morning. He said he loved seeing our faces when we sneaked down the stairs to see if Santa had come.”
“Who was second?” Clint asked.
“Me,” she admitted. “Jenny always tried to act blasé and Dani was a sleepyhead. I didn’t get any real competition until Sharon Lynn was big enough to get down the stairs by herself.”
“Which just shows that some things never change,” the woman in question said, yawning as she joined them. “Has anyone made coffee yet?”
“There’s a pot on the buffet in the dining room,” Angela said.
“I’ll get it,” Clint offered. “I could use a cup myself. Angel, what about you? Is there decaf?”
“I already have my herbal tea,” she told him, lifting the mug to demonstrate.
He left the two of them poking at packages. They were still at it when he returned with the coffee and a huge tray of freshly baked sweet rolls Consuela had told him were meant to tide them over until after the presents had been opened.
One by one the others straggled down the stairs, as Angela and Sharon Lynn waited impatiently. Harlan was grumbling when he returned, decrying Janet’s determination to shower and dress before joining them.
“I’ve given that woman enough fancy robes to stock a lingerie shop. Couldn’t she have worn one of them?” he complained.
“Maybe she figured that once this day gets rolling, she wouldn’t have another chance. No woman owns a robe that’s fancy enough for greeting guests. What time are people expected for the open house?” Angela asked.
“Noon, same as always.”
“How many?” Clint asked.
“Not too many this year,” Harlan said. “A hundred or so.”
The whole town of Rocky Ridge wasn’t much bigger than that, Clint thought. Yet Harlan was more nonchalant about entertaining for such a crowd than Clint would have been at fixing dinner for four. Of course, with Consuela and Maritza on the job, he probably had very little to do except stay out of the way.
It was twenty minutes before Janet came downstairs. A cheer went up.
“Finally,” Harlan said, feigning exasperation. There was too much love shining in his eyes for the comment to have much bite to it. She settled on the carpet at his feet and rested her head against his thighs. His weathered hand settled gently on her head. There was no mistaking how they felt about each other, Clint thought, envying them.
Lizzy deemed herself Santa and parceled out packages with enthusiasm. For all of the insistence on waiting until everyone was downstairs, there was no organized system to the opening. Everyone shredded paper as fast as they could. Shouts were exchanged. Thanks were hollered back and forth. The excitement in the room was palpable.
Clint was startled when the first gift was pressed into his hands, stunned when several more were added. He was relieved that he’d insisted on shopping for everyone, including the cats who were getting tangled up in the scattering of ribbons as they chased wads of wrapping paper.
He saved Angela’s present to him for last, then laughed aloud when he saw the huge teddy bear she’d chosen. “For me?�
�� he inquired. “Or the baby?”
“It had your name on the tag, didn’t it?” she responded, then grinned. “But I know you’re the sort of man who’d want to share with his baby.”
“We’ll see,” he said, settling the bear beside him in the crook of his arm. “I kind of like this guy. He snuggles up and doesn’t talk back.”
“Watch it,” she warned, laughing.
Whether it was the gift’s placement in the corner or Lizzy’s unerring sense of the dramatic, Clint’s present for Angela was the last one delivered. It took help from Justin to drag it across the room.
Angela stared from the huge box to Clint and back again. “What on earth?”
“You won’t know until you open it,” he teased.
She studied the package intently. “You didn’t bring this home yesterday.”
“Nope,” he said complacently, amused by her perplexed expression.
“How’d it get here?”
“I had it delivered.”
“From where?”
“Darlin’, just open the thing.”
“Yes,” Harlan said. “Hurry up. We’re all waiting to see what’s inside.”
Encouraged by everyone, she began enthusiastically tearing away the wrappings. As he’d instructed, though, the box was plain. It revealed absolutely nothing about the contents.
“Want some help?” he asked, moving to her side and taking his knife from his pocket. He opened it and cut through the tape that sealed the flaps, then sat back and waited for her reaction. The entire room had fallen silent, and all eyes were on Angela as she peered inside.
She lifted out sheets of recycled packing paper, one after another. Clint watched her face intently and knew the precise instant when she saw the gift.
“Oh, Clint,” she whispered, eyes shining. “It’s beautiful.”
“What is it?” Harlan demanded, trying to peer over her shoulder. “Let me help.”
He lifted out an exquisite hand-carved cradle and set it gently beside Angela. Made of cherry wood, it was intricately detailed and polished to a warm shine. A puff of yellow bedding with teddy bears lined it. Clint imagined that giant teddy bear Angela had given him standing watch over the cradle and his child. It was as if they’d been on the same wavelength in some way.
The Heart of Hill Country Page 15
