Christmas On The Ranch: The Rancher's Christmas Baby / Christmas Eve Cowboy

Fawn hadn’t seen Jackie cry since Harry had died, and God knew she’d had plenty of reasons to weep. She’d been strong for so long now, but her weakened physical state was obviously wearing on her.

“I knew he’d be bitter,” Jackie whispered raggedly, “but...” Shaking her head, she wiped at her eyes and focused on the baby. “It’ll be okay.” She managed a wobbly smile. “Despite everything, this has always been my home. It’ll be okay.”

Fawn didn’t know if Jackie was trying to convince herself, comforting the baby or sending up a prayer of faith. Turning back to the stove, Fawn took a plate from the counter and filled it. She carried it to the table for Jackie then poured a glass of water and laid a knife and fork next to it, along with a paper napkin.

“Do you need me to cut the steak?”

“I’m not that far gone.”

Smiling grimly, Fawn went back to the stove and filled another plate, this time with full portions. She poured iced tea into a tall tumbler, pocketed napkins, laid the knife and fork onto the plate and carried everything from the room in search of Dixon Lyons. Thankfully, she found him in the living room, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. He had showered and changed, but even with his head bowed she could tell that he hadn’t shaved. She was glad because she had the feeling that he would be wildly attractive clean-shaven, and she didn’t need that distraction.

“I brought your dinner.”

He jerked, as if he hadn’t heard her approach. For an instant he glared up at her, but then his gaze softened and he reached for the plate, nodding.

“Thanks.”

Parking the heavy stoneware plate on his thighs, he picked up the knife and fork and began to eat. When the steak cut easily, he lifted an eyebrow. He hummed when he began to chew but otherwise said nothing.

Fawn passed him the napkins and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. He shot her a glance but continued eating without comment. While he ate, she took the time to pray, asking for the words to make him understand the situation and face his responsibilities. When she was done, she decided that bluntness would suit this man best. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Your stepfather is dead, and your mother is dying.”

Dixon dropped his fork and looked up at that. “What did you say?”

Fawn met his gaze squarely and said as kindly as she could, “Jackie is dying. It’s her heart. They’ve recommended her for transplant, but for many reasons she’s low on the list, so it’s not likely she’ll live long enough to receive a new heart.”

After placing his knife on the plate, Dixon carefully set the plate aside. “You’re telling me that my mother’s heart is so bad she’s literally dying.”

“Yes. And because Harry was an independent trucker, what insurance they had barely covered his debts. He left her destitute. She tried to work after his death, but her pregnancy wouldn’t allow her to continue, so—”

“Whoa.” Dixon held up a hand, palm out, gray eyes wide. “Pregnancy? Her pregnancy?”

“Of course. Apparently, she already had heart damage, but no one realized it. She was tired all the time, sick and weak a lot, headaches, nausea, various pains and swelling... They were seriously talking about ovarian cancer. When they first found out she was pregnant, we thought that explained it all. We didn’t know until after Harry died that her heart was bad. And the pregnancy just wrecked it.”

Dixon stared at her as if she’d spoken in a foreign language. “You’re saying my mother was pregnant when Harry died?”

“Obviously.”

“How is that obvious?” he demanded, spreading his hands.

Shrugging, Fawn braced her hands on her knees. “I’d think that Bella makes it obvious.”

“Bella! Bella?”

It hit her then with the force of a slap that he really didn’t know, hadn’t put it together at all. Her head jerked to the side as the implications registered. “Oh, how stupid I am.” No wonder he’d asked about her husband! What he must think! Shaking her head, she tried to set it all straight. “The baby is your sister.”

If his eyebrows had risen any higher, they’d have disappeared into his hairline. “What?”

“Bella Jo is your sister.”

“But...” He couldn’t seem to form words for several seconds. “Her hair...”

“Is dark like Harry’s,” Fawn supplied. “Or like Harry’s was before he started going bald and shaving his head.”

Still, Dixon stared blankly at her. “I don’t understand.”

Fawn went to her knees, reaching for his right hand. She gripped it tightly with hers. It was a strong hand, long-fingered and square-palmed, calloused with much use.

“Dixon,” she said carefully, “Bella is your mother and Harry’s daughter.”

His gray eyes plumbed hers. “Not yours?”

“No.”

He gripped her so hard that Fawn feared bruises, but she showed no response.

“My sister.” Suddenly, he dropped Fawn’s hand and bowed his head, pressing his temples with his fingertips. “My sister.”

“Yes. Born the last day of July.”

He looked up again, obviously doing the mental math. “She’s barely four months old.”

“That’s right.”

“My mother’s forty-four! How did this happen?”

Fawn sat back on her heels, trying to find a suitable reply to that. “The usual way, I imagine. I know it took them both by surprise, but they were happy about it, ecstatic. Especially Harry. He was only forty, you know.”

Dixon looked at her then as if she’d suddenly grown an extra nose. Lifting his hands to his head again, he fell back against the couch. “Oh. My. Word.”

Fawn thought about trying to point out the ramifications in light of his mother’s health issues, but he was obviously struggling with these fresh realizations, so she kept quiet. After a moment, confident that he finally understood what had brought them here and why they could not simply leave again, she quietly rose to her feet, picked up his plate and left him alone with his thoughts.

Chapter Three (#ue7056940-6668-57ed-a224-d6854caee1d9)

His sister!

A four-month-old sister. Bella. Bella Jo.

Dixon could barely believe it, but evidently it was true. At forty-four, Jackie had given birth to her second child. His sister. In addition, Jackie was in ill health, but dying? He had much more difficulty believing that than everything else. He set it aside for the moment.

He hadn’t known Harry Griffin at all, but apparently Jackie had been happily married to the man, who turned out to have been a few years her junior. Dixon recalled the times his mother had urged him to get to know his stepfather, and now he regretted that he hadn’t found a way to do that, but he simply hadn’t seen any reason to do it. Until now. Now that it was too late.

Unsure what to say, think or do, Dixon found himself in prayer for the third time since he’d arrived home that evening. The only words his whirling mind could come up with were, Lord, help. I could really use some help.

One thing about being Jackie Jo Crane Lyons Griffin’s son, though, was that a fellow learned to stand up and take life like a man early on. It was either that or cower in shame. Dixon didn’t cower any better than his mother did, so after a few minutes he got up, squared his shoulders and walked back into the kitchen.

His mother still sat at the table, cradling Bella Jo in her arms. Jackie pulled the nipple of a bottle from the baby’s cupid’s-bow mouth and tilted Bella up onto her shoulder. She’d barely landed the first pat before the baby belched like a twelve-year-old boy trying to impress his buddies.

“Always the lady,” Jackie quipped, lowering Bella to her lap. “Just like your mother. Poor thing.”