The Rancher's Christmas Princess

She was a good judge of character and so far Preston had done nothing to raise any red flags with her. On the contrary, he seemed to her a solid, trustworthy man. A responsible man. When she’d asked the chatty motel owner about him, the woman had said he was gruff and not an easy man to know, that he’d only gotten more withdrawn after a “disappointment in love” two years before. Belle had wanted to ask the woman for details about that “disappointment.”

But she hadn’t. It would have felt too much like gossiping. Still, after what Mrs. Seabuck had said about him, she’d worried he would be hard to know.

And then she’d met him and found him much too easy to talk to. He hadn’t been gruff or withdrawn in the least, not with her anyway.

She could find no excuse to keep the truth from him. She needed to follow through on her dear friend’s final request.

Anne had wanted it this way....

Anne.

Just thinking her name brought a fresh surge of pain. Her friend had been gone for only ten days. Maybe she should have listened to her parents, waited for the investigator’s report at least.

All she really wanted was to keep Ben with her, to raise him as her own.

But that wasn’t to be. In the end, she was honor bound to carry through and do what Anne requested.

How to get started, though? How to get the all-important words out of her mouth?

Dear Lord, she still didn’t know.

It was snowing lightly, the white flakes flying at the windshield out of the darkness. So beautiful. So cold.

The land was bare and rolling with a silvery glow about it. Staggered, leaning fences lined the slopes to either side of the two-lane highway. Farther out, she could see the dark shapes of evergreens. The sky was endless—cloudy overhead, but clear far in the distance. On the crests of the mountain ridges way ahead, beneath the lowering dark clouds, she could see a band of cobalt studded with stars.

“Here we are,” Preston said. Neither of them had spoken for several minutes. He turned the four-door pickup truck onto a smaller road. The lights of Marcus’s SUV beamed in through the rear window as the bodyguard swung in behind them.

Thick evergreens, several rows of them on either side, lined the curving road. “Ponderosa pines,” he said. “They make a good windbreak.”

The snow had stopped. They rode between the thick stands of dark trees. And then the road opened up. There was a rustic arched gate with a sign: McCade Ranch. Beyond the gate, she saw barns and sheds, pastures and corrals, the land rolling in the distance. Farther out, those craggy peaks poked into the sky.

There were two houses facing off across a wide yard and circular driveway from each other. They were both two-story, of wood and natural stone, the smaller house seeming almost a miniature of the larger one. There were lights on in both houses. Nearer the barn, she saw another house, more rustic, like a cabin. There were lights on inside that one, too.

Preston parked in front of the largest house. Marcus pulled in behind him and was at her door, opening it for her, before Preston could get there.

She got out and went to meet Preston as he came around the front of the pickup. “Marcus will need to go in first, if that’s all right? To...have a look around.”

Preston shrugged. “Whatever it takes.” He turned to the bodyguard. “Go ahead. It’s not locked.” Marcus went up the steps and disappeared inside. Preston offered his arm and she took it. They proceeded up the steps at a slower pace. “So...do we wait out here until he gives the okay?”

She felt her cheeks redden. Really, all these security protocols did become tiresome. “It should be only a minute or two. And the good news is, once he gives the all clear, if you ever invite me back, he won’t insist on doing this again.”

“You sure?” Blue eyes teased.

“I promise.” Her gaze drifted to his mouth. It was a fine mouth, firm and yet well-shaped. She wondered what it might feel like pressed to hers—which was a completely unacceptable and inappropriate thing to be wondering.

She was not going to kiss this man. She hardly knew this man. This evening was not about kisses and she desperately needed to remember that.

“Don’t look now, but here comes my father.” Preston’s gaze had shifted. He was looking out across the front yard. Which meant maybe he hadn’t seen her staring at his lips—she hoped. “Whatever he says, don’t believe a word of it.”

She turned to look. A tall, rangy white-haired man with a thick, walrus-worthy moustache came striding toward them dressed in a pair of jeans that had seen better days and one of those waffle-weave shirts that looked like it doubled as his pajamas. He had bushy gray brows and a definite gleam in his eyes.

“Preston,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling and full of good humor. “Where’s your manners? You bring a lady home, you know I need to meet her. It’s only right I give her warning about you.” The old guy’s mustache twitched. He gave Belle a wink. “I’m Silas. The charming half of the family.” He offered a leathery hand.

Belle took it. “Arabella. Please call me Belle.”

He enclosed her hand between both of his. His gray eyes twinkled down at her. “I heard about you. They say you’re a princess....”

“Back it down a notch, Dad,” Preston muttered dryly.

The door opened and Marcus emerged. “All clear, ma’am.”

Silas patted her hand before letting it go. “A bodyguard. I can tell by that thing in his ear. And the lack of any facial expression whatsoever.”

Preston appeared to be suppressing a groan. “Why don’t we go in?” He gestured at the open door.

“Don’t mind if I do, son.” Silas gave a little bow. “But after you, Your Loveliness.”

Belle grinned. She couldn’t help it. So often, people were intimidated by her background. Not Silas McCade. “Why thank you, Silas.” She led the way into a roomy two-story foyer. Wide stairs led to the upper floor. It seemed to her a sturdy, solid house. A house that could do with a woman’s touch—some brighter colors, different curtains. But still, it was a fine house. Clean and well-maintained.

“Let’s go in the living room.” Preston helped her out of her coat and hung it on the hall tree, along with his own and that handsome cowboy hat he always wore. Then he gestured toward the open double door to her left. She went in. The McCade men followed. Marcus remained behind, near the front door. Preston told her, “Have a seat.”

She did, on the sofa.

Silas took an easy chair across from her. “A little whiskey would be welcome, son. You, Belle?”

“Nothing right now, thank you.”

Preston poured a drink, gave it to his father and sat down in the other easy chair.

Silas started talking. About how he had the foreman’s cottage across the yard, about how it got lonely at the ranch on a cold winter night. “Nice,” he said, “to have a little feminine company around this old place.” He started in about the horses they raised. “Preston’s good with horses and our breeding program is one of the best in the state. But I’m what they call a natural. You heard about those horse whisperers? I can do them one better. I don’t even have to whisper. A horse just naturally wants to please me. They know what I’m thinking and they do what I want them to do without me having to breathe a word.”

Preston advised softly, “Don’t let false modesty stand in your way, Dad.”

“Never have. Never will.” Silas drained the last of his drink and stood again. “Well, I guess I’ve monopolized the conversation enough for this evening.” He gave a nod of his shining silver head. “Belle, it’s been a delight to meet you.”

“And to meet you, Silas.”

Now Silas seemed almost shy. “You come back again. Anytime. Often.”

“Thank you.”

He left them.

Preston waited until the front door closed behind him. “No one quite like my dad.”

“He’s a charmer, definitely.”

“For God’s sake, don’t ever tell him that. He’s impossible to live with as it is.”