Big Sky Christmas

Thud. Winnie glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed Olive’s lack of enthusiasm toward her new daughter-in-law. Laurel caught her eye, then winked.

Winnie struggled not to laugh. She finished her champagne, set down the glass then moved closer to her friend.

“I guess Olive was hoping B.J. would do better?” asked Winnie. Which, in Olive’s mind, meant marrying a local ranching girl whose father owned lots of land.

Laurel was in a forest-green sheath that showcased both her slender figure and her gleaming red hair. “Yes. Savannah is an amazing woman and a terrific sheriff. But her parents had some troubles—financial and otherwise—and Olive doesn’t approve.”

“Bad bloodlines, huh?”

“Yup. Olive thinks she should be able to control the breeding lines of her children, the same way she does the quarter horses.”

Winnie chuckled. Laurel was great at seeing the humorous side of almost any situation. When she was in the early stages of her romance with Corb, Olive had actually invited one of Corb’s old girlfriends to dinner, hoping to divert his attention. Winnie would have exploded in a similar situation, but Laurel had somehow dealt with it.

“It’s crazy, but I guess Olive gets her way sometimes. Witness Cassidy and Dan Farley.”

“That almost backfired on her,” Laurel whispered back. “Didn’t I tell you about the ranch getting quarantined?”

“Probably. I’ve been so sleep deprived lately, my memory is shot.” She searched the crowds until she found Jackson. He was talking with a couple of local ranchers, but as soon as she spotted him, his gaze met hers.

She felt the oddest warmth steal over her. Quickly she glanced away. “What’s up with Jackson? Why didn’t he bring a date?”

“Who would he bring? He’s been all work, no play since—”

Laurel didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

“Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”

“You can try. Most everyone else has. Except Olive, of course. She’s the only one in all of Coffee Creek who really does seem to blame him for what happened.” Laurel rolled her eyes at the unfairness of it all.

Before Winnie had a chance to reply, the band started playing and Corb claimed his wife for a dance.

Winnie watched the pair walk off, hand in hand. They were so good together. Would she and Brock have been as well suited? She’d never know.

Winnie turned and headed to the bar to get a glass of cranberry and soda. There were still a few people she ought to talk to, then she’d go home. She’d told Eugenia that she wouldn’t be out very late.

Once she had her drink, she swiveled back toward the dance floor—and found herself face-to-face with Olive.

The matriarch of the Lambert family was looking her best tonight. Her silver hair was beautifully styled and her trim figure looked sharp in a vintage Chanel suit. Olive always managed to look like a lady—even when she didn’t act that way.

“I haven’t had a chance to welcome you back to Coffee Creek.” The words were nice, but Olive’s eyes were cold.

Winnie accepted the tepid hug Olive offered, catching a hint of classic Chanel No. 5 perfume as she did so. “Thanks, Olive. I was wondering if you’d like to pop in at the café next week to meet Bobby.”

“My grandson, you mean.” Olive’s green eyes glittered with affront. “I must say I was surprised—and hurt—that you never sent us a birth announcement.”

Trust Olive to make an issue of this, here, in public. “I did call,” Winnie said.

“Your message said nothing about having a baby! We had no idea you were even pregnant.”

Winnie pulled every inch she could out of her spine. This woman had intimidated her at one time, but no longer. “Well, you would have if you’d returned my earlier call, after Brock’s funeral.”

Olive’s eyes dulled. “That was a terrible time. I wasn’t up to talking on the phone.”

“It wasn’t a great time for me, either.” And yet she’d made the effort to get in touch with her fiancé’s mother, even though she knew Olive didn’t like her. She’d hoped they could come together in their shared grief over Brock’s death. And she’d wanted to break the news about her pregnancy in a more personal way, not through a generic birth announcement.

But Olive hadn’t called back. And a month later Winnie had tried again, with a similar result.

“You could have written. Or sent word via Corb or Laurel.”

“I could have,” Winnie agreed. “But you may have guessed by now that I have a stubborn streak.”

She met Olive’s glare without backing down. The honest truth was she still resented Olive for being so cold toward her. She knew—because Brock had told her—that Olive had tried to talk him out of marrying her. Olive had thought that her youngest, and favorite, son was making a mistake in marrying a simple farm girl from Highwood. Brock had laughed about it later, when they were alone.

But she hadn’t.

“I was trying to save you and Brock both a lot of heartache. You weren’t suited for each other.”

Winnie’s heart raced. This woman was unbelievable. Like a snake, she struck quickly with her venom. “You can’t know that. He loved me. And I loved him, too.”

A drop of soda spilled onto her foot. Realizing her hands were shaking, she put her glass on a nearby table. She wanted to leave. But Olive had her cornered.

And she wasn’t finished.

“You don’t have any idea what it takes to be a rancher’s wife. You couldn’t have—”

Suddenly Winnie spotted a familiar figure, a man in a dark gray suit. He was headed for the bar, but he didn’t seem to have noticed her. She put out her arm and managed to snag a bit of his sleeve.

Jackson turned.

“You wanted to dance? We’d better do it now, since I have to go home early.”

Jackson’s gaze went from her to Olive. The widowed mother of four children—three, now that Brock was gone—had two spots of red burning on her cheeks.

“We aren’t finished here, Winnie,” Olive said.

“If you want to meet my son, then I think we are.”

Winnie kept her hold on Jackson and pulled him toward the dance floor. Sensing his reluctance, she figured he didn’t like to dance.

“Sorry to drag you out here,” she said, once he’d swung her into his arms with surprising finesse. “Olive was in attack mode and I needed to escape.”

“No one does attack mode quite like Olive.”

Jackson was two-stepping like a pro—why didn’t he like dancing when he was so good at it?

She glanced up at his handsome face. His gaze was fixed across the dance floor, almost as if he didn’t want to look at her. “You two don’t get along, either, do you?”

According to Brock, when his father decided to take Jackson in under the foster-care program, Olive had been opposed to the idea.