Big Sky Christmas

“Yes, but he’s my son, not my husband. I’m not even thirty years old.” She hesitated, then added, “One day I might start dating again. Can you imagine how weird it would be for my boyfriend to have to drive out to my deceased fiancé’s ranch in order to pick me up?”

Laurel wrinkled her nose. “True enough. Darn. I was really hoping I could talk you into this. But it’s cool you’re thinking of dating. Who’s the guy?”

“There is no guy. I’m speaking hypothetically.”

“There are some awesome single cowboys in the area. I met several when I was working at the café.”

Winnie felt not even a spark of curiosity. She’d only brought up the possibility of dating again so her friend would stop pushing her to move out to the ranch.

“Speaking of the café.” She grasped the opportunity to change the subject. “I want to thank you again. If you hadn’t kept the Cinnamon Stick running while I was laid up at Mom and Dad’s, I’d be out of business by now.”

“Hey, I would have done it for free. And you insisted on paying me a salary.”

“Well, of course. It was the least I could do.”

“You’ve always been there for me when I needed you. And I’m glad I could finally do the same for you.”

Laurel was talking about the years when they’d been young girls on neighboring farms in the Highwood area. Laurel had been only eight when her mother died. Left alone with a cool, distant father, she’d been unofficially adopted by the Hays family. The two girls had spent so much time together they were like sisters—except they rarely fought.

“Tell me. Do you think Jackson’s doing okay?” Winnie had her eyes on him as she asked this. While he was listening to Corb talk, he was watching Bobby. What was he was thinking? She’d noticed how moved he’d been when he’d met her son earlier. Was it the likeness to Brock that got to him?

Laurel sighed. “Corb’s worried about him. We hoped moving to Silver Creek Ranch and working for Maddie Turner might help. But he seems as withdrawn and sad as ever.”

“Did you see how choked up he got when he met Bobby?”

“Yes. But so was Corb. And Olive can’t take her eyes off him, either.”

“I’m a little worried that people are going to expect Bobby to be exactly like his father as he grows up.”

Laurel nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. I hate to say it, but maybe you’re right to keep a little distance between your son and Coffee Creek Ranch.”

And by Coffee Creek Ranch, they both knew she meant Olive.

* * *

WHEN THE EVENING was over, Jackson volunteered to load Bobby’s gifts into Winnie’s car. He wasn’t looking for opportunities to be alone with Winnie, but Laurel and Corb had left five minutes earlier when Stephanie started fussing for her nighttime bottle. And he couldn’t leave Winnie to manage alone.

The babies had managed to make quite a mess and it took him a couple of trips to get everything in the trunk. By then Olive had said her farewells and Winnie had her son strapped into his seat. By the angle of Bobby’s head, Jackson suspected the little guy was already asleep.

Winnie was wearing a red coat that looked great with her dark, wavy hair. The night was clear, the air cold and crisp. Already the tip of Winnie’s nose was turning pink.

She waited until he’d emptied the last of the packages, then closed the trunk. “What a lot of loot. And it’s still six weeks until Christmas.”

“She’ll spoil him then, too,” Jackson predicted.

“God, I hope not. I don’t think I have enough room for all of this, let alone more.”

“Maybe I should build in a storage unit in the new bedroom?”

“What an awesome idea.”

He went to open the driver’s-side door for her, but she didn’t get in. Instead she surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you were at the dinner tonight. I wasn’t sure you would be.”

“I didn’t want to be,” he admitted. “Corb pretty much twisted my arm.”

“Was it because of Olive that you didn’t want to come? Or me?”

“A little of both.”

“Ouch. Brutally honest, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t say that to hurt your feelings.”

“Oh. So it was a compliment, then?”

“Damn it, Winnie. It’s complicated.” She couldn’t know how hard this was for him. If only he could see her the way he saw Laurel, Cassidy or even B.J.’s new wife, Savannah. They were all beautiful women, too.

But only Winnie set his blood on fire.

And it was so, so wrong. It had been wrong when Brock was alive. And it was just as wrong now that he was gone.

“I’ll come by the café tomorrow afternoon to start work on the new bedroom.”

“Are you sure? If seeing me is such a chore, maybe I should hire someone else to do the work.”

“Hire? I wasn’t asking you to pay me.” He sighed. Somehow this conversation had gone completely sideways. “Brock would want me to do this. For the baby. For you. So please let me build you the extra bedroom, Win.”

She looked at him as if there was something missing, something she wanted but couldn’t find.

He was relieved when she finally turned away.

“Okay, Jackson. I won’t say no. You can start the work whenever you want. And I promise to stay out of your way.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, Jackson put a pot of coffee on to boil on the big cast-iron wood-burning stove in Maddie’s kitchen. It was only eight o’clock, but he’d already finished the chores. They were pretty simple, with only thirty cattle and a half-dozen horses to look after. Hard to believe that at one time the Turner ranch had rivaled that of the Lamberts.

Jackson added another stick of birch to the stove, then halved a couple of Vince Butterfield’s cinnamon buns and added slices of cheddar and wedges of apple to each plate.

He took the simple breakfast, including coffee, on a tray to the sitting room, where Maddie was ensconced in the recliner chair that had once belonged to her father. Her border collies, Trix and Honey, were sleeping at her feet. He’d let them out for a romp in the snow earlier, and they were tired now.

Maddie shooed the ginger cat from her lap while he set her plate and mug on the table beside her chair.

“Waiting on me wasn’t part of our deal. I’m perfectly capable of getting my own meals.” A year ago Maddie had been plump, but she’d lost at least twenty pounds since then, which was a lot considering her short stature. Her once rosy complexion was gray now, as was her short, wiry hair. Only the remarkable green of her eyes had been untouched by disease.

“I know you’re capable,” he said. But he’d noticed that if he didn’t bring her food, she rarely ate. “I was hungry myself, so I figured I might as well bring your breakfast at the same time.” He took his plate from the tray, waited for her to take her first bite then made quick work of his.